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It takes about a fraction of a second for the scream to register in his ears, and all reluctance to leave him. The shrill sound punts him past denial and into terrified understanding:
Keigo "Wing Hero Hawks" Takami means far too much to him.
Every thought becomes buried under all-consuming terror.
Oh - he had dully known himself attached and sentimental, even before his fight with Endeavor's youngest spawn was interrupted by the solid, physical manifestation of the feelings he'd held. One does not nickname his fellow man "birdy", and one does not refer to his fellow man in the possessive tense, without understanding himself at least a little attached.
Here is where he'd miscalculated:
He'd thought it only a minor thing. Pointless, too small to even squash with reason.
So now he is biting his tongue and eating the aftermath of that system failure, high tailing it and setting off, running so fast it's like his lungs are about to take the same path of his skin:
Burnt to ash.
Ash like that which falls, like black snow, much slower than the body of his bird.
Dabi pushes himself past the flame that licks at his heels, ignores the blood that boils, the pain that blurs his sight.
For he cares very much about that figure, wingless and mutilated, falling down limp and heavy - unable to break his own fall.
The mind's processes deteriorate. Everything blends together, until only one clear thought remains:
GET THERE! NOW!
It felt impossible for time to move so quickly and so slowly at the same time, like lightning streaking through the sky and gone in a flash, and like thunder, delayed in its delivery.
He comes back to his senses with the feeling of that graceless body collapsing atop his own. Somehow, he made it before his bird collided with the earth beneath him. Somehow, even with his wings clipped, his Hawk had managed to make it to his arms.
Behind closed lids lay the amber eyes Dabi so wanted to see, but for now the breath on his neck as he curled around the unconscious form was enough. It had to be. His birdie was alive.
There wasn't a single word he could muster, and hardly did he manage to breathe; After their bodies joined as one, the only thing he was aware of was a whirlwind of movement around and behind him. He refused to move, on his knees, Keigo in his arms held close to his chest. Nothing and no one could make him let go.
Hazy, barely registering: some odd, familiar voice's mention of the katana Keigo had been using.
Did it fall with him?
It did, if he hears it right. And though they say it sliced through his shoulder and down his back. That was news to him. It hadn't slowed him down anyway, and if it meant it had not landed on his bird he would take the blow tenfold… Not that that meant a lot. He hadn't felt it at all.
The world sways. He keeps his eyes open through the wet warmth of his blood. Wrath simmers under it all - but with the body limp in his arms, it is twisted and bent over backwards, turned into something else.
That only really becomes clear when Endeavor steps forward. Defenseless, so close. A target still.
But to attack would be to let go. And there, in that place, his bird has no allies beside him.
He snarls and snaps - stays back lest he froth at the mouth like the beast he's let himself become, bothering to sit still through the growing pain only for the sake of that body which he holds.
He clings to the injured body, stroking his fingers through the sandy blonde locks, and, to the sway of the world and the growing dizziness, he's left to ignore the burn of tears that, despite their effort, could not fall.
The world sways as if they were dancing. Night falls over his eyes, despite how much he puts up a fight.
He can't say he dreams, though eventually to sleep he falls.
~~~
Oxygen fills his lungs in a rush, pushed in, out.
All he hears is the beeping of the machine, responding to the frantic racing of his heartbeat. To open his eyes is a fight, but not one he loses.
A failure Dabi may be, but he has something to do now. To deal with.
Looking around, it's another fight to get his bearing. The white walls are darkened by the drawn curtains, the light coming in from the hallway.
He spends all too much time trying to figure out what the loud beeping signifies. Eventually, he manages to focus, eyes locked in on a whiteboard by the door with a variety of words scrawled across it in multicolored markers.
Hospital. He was in a hospital.
Alone.
At first that last thought raised more panic within him, but then he paused. Why was he alone? Why would they trust him to be left alone?
And, above even that:
Where was Keigo?
And just like that, reason jumps out the window, runs to the nearest bridge, and jumps off of it too.
Pain flares across his back from the pressure of his weight, and words about a katana flit across his mind. They lingered just long enough to make him shift to his other side, and push up again. Still painful, but manageable, hardly worse than his usual level of pain.
His feet hardly feel the cold of the tile floor, and yet the stench of bleach and chemicals burns his nose. He leers at his arm, grimaces and impulsively reaches, seething with the warm trickle of blood that follows the sharp sting of the needles he pulls and lets fall against the bed.
The sling sitting next to his bedside is not even worth a glance as he swings off the side of the bed and starts to move.
And that's when he feels a weight dragging down his ankle.
A monitor. Rubbing on burnt flesh. That meant something, it meant a lot, but it would have to mean it later.
The halls were a faded yellow with a hideous blue stripe at hand level, the lights fluorescent and far too bright, the floor beige tile and dirty, the corners where it meets the wall crusted with old dust.
His feet patter quickly across the cold floor, the sound barely registering to him as it grows louder, faster, practically slapping as he bolts into a run. ,
He got all of that from a cursory glance, his eyes taking in name tags on doors with far more interest. Were his mind any clearer, he might've recognized at least some of the names.
The time it takes to see Keigo Takami's name place is blown out of proportion in his feverish mind… But eventually he's there, and the door handle is cold under his hand, and he sees his breath puff out like steam in front of him as he slips inside the room.
His heart pounds in his ears as he stares at the prone form on the hospital bed, railings up in case he rolled over in his sleep.
Though, if it was sleep and not him still being unconscious Dabi would filet his arm - he does not think he can handle this being only from his side.
The noxious smell of bleach hit his nose, followed by the whitewashed walls he had ignored in his own room as panic had set it.
Rhythmic beeping next to the bed almost made his heartrate spike again with memories he did not want in the forefront of his mind. Shoving those thoughts back with a snarl he forces his mind to stay right there in the present, staring at his bird.
His bird looked frail hooked up to more needles and lines than Dabi thought he had ever seen before, and he stomped his foot without thinking before memories could even attempt to creep back in.
That sound was apparently the catalyst needed for Hawks to stir, and it was much easier to focus back in at that point. A moan escaped the blonde's lips as he shifted. If the bruises Dabi could see on his upper back and shoulders were any indication, he suspected any type of movement would hurt his bird.
The scratchy fabric of the blanket covering him was a heinous slight against the country's Number 2 Hero as far as the burned man was concerned, and he looked for anything he could use that might be more suited to... how many times now had he referred to Hawks as his bird? Nope, don't think about it. Not at that moment. He can leave the higher cognitive functions for later.
Now he has a duty as simple as day, though probably not one suited for the sort of demon he became.
Dabi rips the curtain surrounding the bed down, wincing at the sound it makes.
It was the only other fabric large enough to cover the pathetic excuse of a resting place and it felt softer than the blanket that was somehow identical to the one he had woken up under. Did hero ranking mean nothing to these people? Shouldn't a literal celebrity get better treatment than a villain with an ankle monitor?!
Fury aside, because all that would do would be burn the privacy curtain he was holding, Dabi looked back at his, yes his, fuck it, bird.
Something feels so deeply wrong about seeing him without his wings. Deep breath, Dabi, don't burn this place down with Hawks still inside, he tells himself - that pointless inner monologue that turns into a mantra - Deal with that later, if the heroes don't.
If the heroes didn't, he'd burn them all on his bird's behalf.
The curtain was draped over the prone form before he slowly pulled back the flimsy, pilled hospital blanket from underneath. Hawks' head turned to him as the sensations around him changed, bleary eyes, hardly focused, trying to see who was in the room with him.
"Hey, bird brain," His voice spills quiet and hoarse, cracking like he's become young again.
With some delay, those yellow eyes manage to focus on him, holding a torrent of emotions, all seemingly at war for dominance. Fear, concern, confusion, hope, uncertainty, pain. Before any of them could win out those features settled into a resigned defeat, knowing he could not do anything about whatever it was that Dabi was there for.
It wasn't as if he had no reason to think Dabi might be there to end him. Didn't change the fact that the reaction hurt to see.
With a sigh, the burnt husk lowers the guard rail, glances past the flinch and the wince and the small whimpering sound that precede a pitifully futile attempt to move away from him.
Sitting down in the newly opened spot, Dabi stops moving entirely. Clearly Hawks did not want him there, wariness radiating off of him overlapping with the resignation, but he was close. He wanted to stay close even if his bird didn't want him there.
Nothing in him could make sense of the change he had been through in the last... however many hours that made him save his bird from falling out of the sky to his death.
Maybe, to someone with a normal ability to reason things and understand emotions, it could make sense, but Dabi was neither reasonable nor normal in any way that could be measured. Instead, he just sat there, unmoving and immovable, watching as his own eyes unfocused until he was seeing double while he tried to decide what to do next.
After a couple minutes of nothing pressure on his side brought Dabi back to the present. This time it was his turn to moan as blinding fluorescent light bounced off of striking ivory and he was laying in a bed with an old, wrinkled man looking down at him with a deceptively optimistic grin.
No, no no no, here it was bad. He had escaped this place. He could not be here again-
"Dabi?" A soft, deep voice called out to him, and the past was gone again, replaced by questioning amber close to his nose. When had he laid down? When had they gotten so close? ....When had resignation turned to concern again in Hawks' eyes as he looked him over?
"You're back," he heard when the eyes rose to meet his again.
He grunted, very much not focusing on the fact it was easier to stay in the moment when all he could see was gold flecked amber and soft pale skin.
That soothing voice grounded him again, even as the words threatened to choke him. "You aren't planning on burning me to a crisp this time, are you?"
In response Dabi shifted closer, feeling his bird's arm wrap around him in a painful facsimile of protection and comfort, though he knew it was a tense grip.
"Never," he whispered against the neck he tucked himself into. "Not- not truce. Peace."
A disbelieving snort reminded him that he had, in fact, done just that not that long ago in a desperate need to prove where his loyalties lay.
He had been lying to himself then, and his bird suffered for it. That was a truth he would have to live with for the rest of his life.
"Never again," he amended. "Never again."
The arm relaxed.
They both knew he'd never get any closer than that to an apology, and it seemed to be enough for now.
After a few minutes of silence he heard a soft snore and it was not lost on him that, injuries and pain be damned, it took a level of trust to fall asleep in front of someone. Especially him.
It might take time, he knew from experience that these things took time, but he would earn that trust. Starting with giving in to the exhaustion that was threatening to overwhelm him and slipping into the darkness, feeling his limbs entangle unbidden with his birds as he fell under.
~~~
Voices filtered into his mind as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Conversations he could never seem to hear all the way through in the comfort of strong arms before he slipped away again.
"-questioning."
"-able, yes."
"-dangerous-"
"I know-"
"-my responsibility-"
"-villain-"
"-custody-"
"-can't accept this-"
A new voice, feminine, evoking emotions Dabi once thought long dead and buried, responded, and his incoherent brain didn't understand.
"-finally finding your own son?"
Own... son? His haze was lifting just a bit at those words, that voice. He knew the responding voice, he wanted to burn the vocal cords out of it.
"He's a villain-"
"Shut up, Enji-"
In so far as he was capable of love (his bird being the exception to all emotions), Dabi loved that voice.
"Just be happy he's alive-"
And with some humor he thinks: there he is. His sperm donor. The bastard.
He's all quiet exasperation, his casual clothing and the unlit match of his beard making him almost normal.
He'd lunge to attack, to tear that from him…
But around his waist, strong arms feel just a bit tighter - oh, he must be so numb, left arm buried under Dabi, not that he can muster the care through the comfort.
He compromises to delay the patricide, as a leg draped over his own squeezes his thigh. They both smell like hospítal cleaning supplies… And short of changing the past, there's no other present he'd rather lie in.