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“Are you sure there are no other ghosts around here?” Hawks asks again, peering around the crumbling grand halls of the mansion.
Dabi gestures expansively around, his arm clipping through one of the pillars. “You’re the medium here, do you see any ghosts besides me?”
“No—but something has to be killing all those people here,” Hawks argues.
Dabi just shrugs. “Could be your run of the mill serial killer.”
“Then why aren’t there any ghosts here? Violent deaths usually lead to a ton of angry ghosts,” Hawks points out.
Dabi looks around, his expression a bit distant. “…Well, there’s only two options there. Either they all passed on already—maybe forcefully—or, something has been consuming them.”
(And who better than Dabi to know that?
Hawks had first run into the very persistent ghost while investigatinga nasty case of spirits in an old orphanage that liked feeding on and leeching off the life of living children there. By the time he had spirited the children out and come back, Dabi had actually consumed most of those malevolent spirits into himself.
He had first tried to banish Dabi, but they had had to team up to restrain and then banish the nastiest spirit of that group, and in the end, they had come to an understanding of sorts.
Dabi only consumed malevolent spirits—he himself was more of a spirit of vengeance than anything now, and with all the wicked spirits he had consumed, he was almost more demon than ghost now, except for one tricky facet—it was very hard for him to travel far.
With Hawks as a focal point though, he could—and Hawks could use a partner who could flush out ghosts and other tricky beings.
Miruko thought he was entirely insane for teaming up with someone he should be getting rid of, but it’s not like Hawks’ hands are clean, and Dabi is—
Well, he’s a total edgelord, but that tends to come with the territory of being a vengeance demon, and despite ample opportunity at this point, he hasn’t tried to devour Hawks. For the most part, Dabi contents himself with snarky commentary and heated looks.
…or at least, Hawks likes to think it’s heated. Maybe Dabi is actually just sizing him up to devour him, and not in a sexy way.
But be that as it may, that mystery will have to just rest because they have a series of grisly murders to solve first.)
Hawks sniffs the air and frowns. “No smell of incense, and I don’t sense any holy water, so it’s unlikely someone forced them to pass on, and murder victims rarely pass on on their own without trying for their murderer first—do you sense any big bad spirits around?”
“Besides myself, you mean? No,” Dabi replies, flitting through the wall and returning back. “Could be hiding though.”
“Something is definitely hiding here,” Hawks replies grimly, going for the steel sword at his side (iron was always best when dealing with supernatural creatures). “Just can’t tell if it’s a spirit or human.”
Dabi grins sinisterly, his dark coat spiraling around him like edges of shadows. “Well, either way, bad luck for it to meet us.”
(…iI’s really bad that Hawks finds that super hot, right?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, bad enough that he’s crushing on his work partner, but add on top of that that he’s a ghost and super dead already, but he’s—
It’s sad, but Dabi is one of the few people who have stuck around.
And he’s unfairly hot for a half-burned husk of a man, seriously.)
Hawks hums in agreement, adjusting the collar of his jacket (it’s always too hot around Dabi), and unsheathing his sword, moves forward as Dabi starts to step through walls.
It’s eerily quiet all around—not even the scuttle of rats or cockroaches that one would usually hear in an abandoned house this size. Hawks just follows the blood spatters, still reaching out with all his senses, feeling a total emptiness until—
“Feel that? It’s kind of—magic-y?”
“Magic-y?” Dabi echoes, popping up next to him. “Is that the official medium term that we should be using now?”
Hawks rolls his eyes. “You know I’m not officially sanctioned by anyone—”
“Yes, yes, yes, you’re a rogue agent after you realized you were working for the bad guys all along, and then you ran into me, and thank the hells for that, or else your pretty self would have been gutted and gored a long time ago.” Dabi rolls his eyes and leans forward.
Hawks snorts. “I wasn’t that bad— ”
“Not what Shigaraki told me,” Dabi interrupts, examining his painted black nails (as a medium, Hawks can make some things material for Dabi, and Dabi had been willing to trade the location of some long lost spiritualist tomes for black nail polish, so it’s win-win for both of them). “He said that you were on the verge of getting torn apart in a graveyard just the time before you met me—”
“Necromancers always have to be so dramatic,” Hawks says with a huff and a wave of his hand. “Maybe things got a bit dicey in that graveyard, but nothing that I couldn’t get out of, obviously. And if Shigaraki is so savvy, how come you didn’t partner up with him.”
“Because he’s annoying and more obsessed with staying inside and playing video games than going out to do necromantic shit,” Dabi replies bluntly before the corners of his mouth curve up again. “Besides, you’re much prettier.”
Despite the chill air of the mansion, Hawks feels himself flush (godsdamnit—Dabi’s like this all the time around him, you’d think he’d be used to it by now, but nooooo), and he replies in as steady a voice as he can manage, “Thanks, hot stuff, but if you’re comparing me to Shigaraki after a gaming bender, that’s not a high bar to clear.”
Dabi clicks his tongue. “Obviously, but I do think you could have made a killing as a model or idol. Pity that the Council would murder you if you made your survival that public though… Still, the world’s loss is my gain.”
Hawks chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, not sure about being an idol, you have to sing for that, don’t you?”
Dabi shrugs. “I think some people get away with just lip-syncing or looking pretty. And I see you didn’t deny the modeling allegations.”
“Slinking down a catwalk sounds like a lighter version of some of the training I went through, so you know, I think it could work,” Hawks tilts his head. “Not sure I have the height, though.”
Dabi looks him up and down. “Yeah, not for the runway. But for ads or something? You’d sell whatever you were shilling like hotcakes.”
Hawks can’t help but laugh at that, gesturing around them. “And instead, here I am, off to see some kind of serial killer with only a ghost/demon as witness.”
“It’s a private show, and I am quite thrilled,” Dabi intones, cracking his neck and smirking at Hawks. “Well, then, shall we proceed into the ‘magic-y’ room? Do you know if it’s trapped?”
“Let’s,” Hawks says with a nod, striding forward. “Of course it has to be trapped—this whole place reeks of a trap.”
“The Council is the type to bait a trap with a serial killer,” Dabi acknowledges. “But Shouto would have given me a head’s up if they had been planning for anything like this… I’ll float through first and check?”
“Take a feather first,” Hawks says, shifting his wings out and plucking a feather out of them to offer to Dabi. “So you can manifest if you need to.”
Dabi takes the feather from Hawks’ hand, their fingers brushing together as a light jolt of warmth. Dabi holds the feather to his mouth, suddenly solid. “…if you make a habit of this, Hawks, a boy could get ideas.”
Hawks licks his lips, suddenly feeling as though he desperately needs to drink some water. “…It’s only practical. You being able to go ghosty or physical temporarily.”
“Mm, has a lot of applications,” Dabi drawls, drawing the neck down his chin and then the line of his neck.
Hawks shifts, his wings stretching around him before he tucks them back in. “…there’s a time limit on that, and let’s maybe discuss that when we’re not in a serial killer mansion?”
“You’re so vanilla.” Dabi sighs, sticking the feather in his voluminous trenchcoat and going translucent again. “We’ll have to work on that later.”
And with that, he floats away, leaving Hawks red-faced and his jeans feeling far too tight.
(…this is definitely not the time and place.
Although, is the time and place going to be his shitty apartment, because if so, he desperately needs to clean—
No, no, focus Hawks. Possible serial killer on the loose! Deal with that, and then be horny on your own time when you might not get stabbed!
And not in a fun way!)
Hawks shakes his head, adjusts his pants, readies his sword, takes a bottle of holy water out for good measure (just in case it is some really nasty demon or devil—can’t be a ghost at this point), and shifts a bit more so that his hawk senses are more in play as he moves forward.
The air is still far too still as he inches forward, but the sensation of deep, roiling, nearly greasy magic gets stronger and stronger, clinging to his senses like putrid slime.
(…this is a ritual spell, it’s the only kind that is this dark and deep and yet also structured.
And rituals done in a house of slaughter never means anything good to anyone.
Shit, he should have armed Dabi better—Dabi is formidable with his hellfire, but against ritual magic, sometimes cold hard steel is the only solution—)
A bang sets off, with intense heat streaking by, and Hawks’ wings spread out as he flies down the hall, because that’s Dabi’s blue flames, and if Dabi wouldn’t unleash that against just any opponent.
Sword drawn and the heat-protective runes on his jacket activated, Hawks slams into the room to see Dabi flickering in and out of tangibility, clue flames scorching the room, feather red in the dark as a hooded figure, holding a tome and a knife, cackles before them.
(Mortal and alive then.
Not a demon or devil, so one less trick to worry about, but also sadly, the holy water is now useless.
Also that doesn’t answer the question, what magic can they sling?
One would think blood, given the amount around the room, but he’s not sensing anything like Toga’s aura, the only bloodwitch he knows.
Also, otherwise, all the blood splatters around them should be exploding or turning into traps or something.
And what does this guy want beyond just killing people?)
“At last!” the hooded figure shrieks, revealing crazed eyes and creepily sharp teeth. “A worthy addition to my eternal army of the damned!”
“Pass,” Dabi says adamantly, dodging the hooded figure’s knife and blasting him with flames. “I’m extremely bad at listening to authority figures.”
The hooded figure nimbly dodges the flames with a flicker of form that makes Hawks grudgingly realize that they’re probably some kind of shifter (as if shifters needed a worse rep—Hawks doesn’t get much of the brunt of it since even though he is a bird shifter, since he looks mostly human, but after parting ways with the Council, he’s seen that a lot of more animalistic shifters get a lot of shit), and says with a manic grin. “That doesn’t matter, all you have to do is submit.”
“ Hard pass, I’m extremely spoken for,” Dabi retorts, tucking Hawks’ feather back into his coat to go intangible again before gesturing to Hawks. “Any time now, pretty bird.”
“Yeah, hands off,” Hawks says, letting his wings unfurl behind him and lifting him up as he stabs at the maniac.
Said maniac somehow twists out of the way, his maniac grin unchanging. “Oooo, the Council’s rogue shifter—their former blood knight and assassin—you will be a worthy addition as well to my army!”
“I’m done taking orders,” Hawks replies, detaching some of his feathers, sharpening them, and sending them directly at the maniac.
Several of them stab into him as the maniac scowls and tries to brush them off. “Owwww—that’s unfair!”
“It is a bit OP, but you’ve never met my little brother—that guy’s powers really are the definition of unfair,” Dabi quips, materializing behind the maniac to set his robes on fire.
The maniac screams and then hits Dabi with the tome while chanting something and trying to flick his blood onto him.
(Shit—
Even if he’s not a bloodwitch, there’s a lot of nasty spells even a normal mage can inflict with enough of a blood sacrifice, especially if it’s their own.)
Hawks slams into the maniac before he can even think about it, some of the dark runes emanating around Dabi now swirling around him instead, and he quickly cuts himself with his sword to spill his own blood on Dabi.
“ NO!” the maniac screams, clawing at Hawks’ feathers. “ What have you done? ”
Hawks doesn’t bother to answer, just taking advantage of the maniac’s distraction to shove the sword straight through his chest.
As the maniac gurgles away, Dabi says lightly, “Seems you can take the shifter away from the Council, but it’s hard to take the Council assassin instincts out of the shifter…”
“Quiet, I need to harness his soul to get him to answer a few questions,” Hawks snaps as the life seeps out of the maniac’s eyes and he stretches his senses to try and catch hold of his ghost.
“Why? He already gave his entire motive rant—he just wants an undead army,” Dabi rolls his eyes. “Which isn’t even creative…”
“Tell that to Shigaraki,” Hawks reminds him.
“Shigaraki already had an undead army—he needed a living one to try and topple the Council,” Dabi points out. “Or I suppose, not quite living, but the kind that could think for themselves at least—”
Dabi suddenly doubles over, not even making any noise, and Hawks immediately abandons his attempts at hooking into the maniac’s ghost to rush to Dabi’s side. “What’s going on? Are you hurt? What’s happening? ”
(Shit, what was that last spell?
It’s too much to hope that his blood could block it—why didn’t he think before throwing himself in there—this is what happens when he gets too attached—)
“I’m—I don’t know—feels—feels weird—”
Hawks tries to reach out with his medium senses, but instead of Dabi’s usual stormy presence, he feels a mix—Dabi’s flames flicker in and out of his senses, but sometimes he feels alive, and then sometimes he feels not there at all.
He frantically reaches out to grab at Dabi, his hands touch solid flesh, and the wild oscillation in his senses abruptly stops at alive.
(…what the hell?
Even when Dabi grasps Hawks’ feathers to materialize, he’s still not alive—he can better interact with the physical world, but it’s not the steadiest of connections.
This is—
What the hell was that spell?)
Dabi gasps a breath then stares down at Hawks’ hand that has moved to his chest.
“…my heart is beating,” he says dumbly.
“Yeah, I can feel that,” Hawks replies, frozen with his hand on Dabi’s speeding heart rate and warm skin. “Are you—do you feel—”
“I haven’t felt like this for longer than I can remember,” Dabi says, his hand coming up slowly to grasp the back of Hawks’ hand. “I—does this only happen when you touch me? Because you got your blood on me?”
Hawks reluctantly lets go, keeping his hands close, and then Dabi’s usual stormy aura returns as he turns translucent again.
“…so, you’re alive when I touch you, it seems,” Hawks says, laying a hand on Dabi again and touching solid flesh. “…I don’t know what he was originally intending with that spell, but—”
“Probably something way more sinister, but he didn’t get to finish it,” Dabi replies, his hands drifting up Hawks’ arms, his eyes tracing his touch. “I feel—you feel so good.”
Hawks flushes, hand still on Dabi’s warm chest.
(So, obviously they’ve touched before, since he is a medium, and Dabi can use his energy to manifest—hence the feathers.
But it’s not all that sustainable, and it’s a drain on his own resources, so they don’t make a habit of it.
This—
Changes the game they play with each other.
It makes it way more serious.
Does he want that?
…he’s never been that close to anyone before because the Council’s top assassin wasn’t really allowed such distractions, and even if he had been lonely, there had never been time to seek anyone out.
But with his partnership with Dabi, he has spent many a night contemplating what it would be like to have something more with the ghost.
Even if it’s stupid, even if Dabi may just want to feed on him—what if?
And right now, Dabi is human under his hands, can’t feed on him at all, and still apparently wants him.
How can he not try?)
Hawks stares into Dabi’s electric blue eyes, swallows, and says, “…better than when you’re just using my energy to manifest?”
“Yes, because I don’t have to focus on not draining you dry,” Dabi replies immediately, licking his lips. “…I’d rather drain you dry in more pleasurable ways.”
“…While I’d like that, where does that leave us after?” Hawks asks, hating how breathless his voice has grown.
(Wow, just show how desperate and inexperienced you are, Hawks, why don’t you.)
“Obviously still partners,” Dabi says, his hands drifting up Hawks’ back. “As long as you will have me. I’m not about to give you up, pretty bird, you’re one of a kind. And if I have you, I don’t like to share.”
Hawks feels as though as if he’s about to melt, but he didn’t last as the Council’s top assassin for so long for nothing, so he steels himself to ask, “I’m sure you say that to all the mediums you meet.”
“Baby, you can ask Shigaraki or Toga or any of the others yourself to verify that there’s been no medium like you in my life before,” Dabi says seriously, one hand petting at Hawks’ wings. “And if I have my way, there will be no others.”
“…because we’re bound by some random blood magic spell now?”
“That, and—you’re someone who walked away from ultimate power,” Dabi says, his voice unusually serious. “You broke with the Council at the risk of your own life, and now you’re dedicating your life to solving mysteries for regular people, trying to right the injustices that other people want to close their eyes and just forget—I’ve never met anyone like you before, and I doubt I will again. You’re it for me.”
Hawks swallows. “For how long?”
“For a while now,” Dabi smirks at him. “I will admit, I had some thoughts about just consuming you at the start, but—you really have turned your back on the Council. And you really are trying to right the wrongs you did.”
“I don’t think I ever can,” Hawks confesses, looking down at his hands. “I—you know that I killed a lot of people.”
“As have I,” Dabi points out. “Although everyone I murdered definitely deserved it.”
“Not everyone I killed did.”
“And the fact that you can admit that is something a lot of people can never do,” Dabi says in a nearly wistful tone. “You’re a light in the dark, pretty bird, and that’s why I’m yours.”
Hawks’ breath catches.
(No one has ever been his.
If it’s a trick, it’s a cruel one, and while Dabi can be cruel, he very rarely has been to Hawks after the first few months of their acquaintance.
Maybe it’s stupid, but he still wants to believe him.)
He leans forward, starting to go on tiptoe, and Dabi’s eyes darken as he leans down and captures Hawks’ mouth with his own.
(Hawks is sure most first kisses are awkward, somewhat embarrassing affairs, but he doesn’t have time to feel awkward with Dabi surging against him.
It’s nothing like how he imagined it, and somehow that makes it better.
This is them, Dabi solid under his hands, biting at his mouth as the barbs on his face dig into his cheek, his hands like brands wandering all over his body.)
Dabi doesn’t appear to need to breathe, but Hawks does, so eventually they do have to pull apart for air, Hawks awkwardly tugging his shirt back down while Dabi simply starts attempting to lick up his neck. “Hey—oh that feels good—uh—this—this is really amazing, but—oh don’t stop that—but— but— I don’t really want to get it on here in this creepy mansion, do you?”
“Why not?” Dabi asks, looking genuinely puzzled. “That maniac is dead, there’s no other ghosts here, and if your knees can’t take the floor, I’m sure we can find a dusty bed somewhere—”
“It’s not going to be sexy when I have a coughing fit from the clouds of dust on that bed, not to mention that I bet half the dust is actually decomposed skeletons or something,” Hawks says dryly.
“If you think about it, all dust is technically partially people’s flaked off skin and hair—”
“So let’s not roll around in it and go home instead,” Hawks insists, taking Dabi’s hand in his own.
Dabi’s eyes are warm as he grips his hand. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
(The Council is still out there, and Dabi’s new status as ghost/demon is now even more in flux, but at least they’ll face it together.
For always.)