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It’s easy to assume, off the bat, since his feathers detach and leave two stubby little sticks of bone behind, that Hawks does not feel his feathers. But that couldn’t be less true. If one were to give it more than two seconds of thought, they would realize just how stupid an idea like that is in the first place, considering what he uses them for.
But Dabi’s never really given Hawks’ feathers and how they work very much thought. It doesn’t really matter to him.
He’s thinking about it now though, staring up at Hawks, who’s pinned to the wall like a butterfly on a board by two knives through his wings. Blood drips down the wall through the punctures. Dabi hadn’t even realized they were able to bleed. Hawks is unconscious, it seems, his head limp, chin against his chest.
“Jeez, Birdie,” Dabi murmurs. This just proves he can’t be sending Hawks on recruitment missions. It was a bad idea anyway, in hindsight. He grasps Hawks’ left ankle, having to stand on his toes to do so, and gives a short tug. “Wake up.” Hawks hardly budges.
Someone having managed to best Hawks in combat is crazy, especially since they’re lying a few feet away, a feather sticking out of their chest, soft. It was probably knife-sharp before, but it’s lost that quality since Hawks fell unconscious.
“Wake up,” Dabi says again, louder, yanking a little harder. The bird’s head rolls, eyes fluttering before finally opening.
“Mmmmm…” he groans, softly, face twitching with pain. “Mmmwha?” The grogginess would be concerning, if Dabi cared any more than he does. As is, it’s just plain annoying.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Dabi calls. The haste with which Hawks regains awareness is indicative of something that Dabi doesn’t care to think on. Waking up and becoming alert so quickly is a learned skill.
“Fucking-” The swear is odd from the hero, from the hero, but understable. He struggles for a moment, like that’ll free him. It looks painful, the way the feathers twist and bend around the intrusions, drawing more blood that cascades down the wall.
“Just detach ‘em? I’ll catch you, pinky promise.” He holds out his arms. He probably wouldn’t be able to hold up Hawks’ full weight, especially not to catch him.
“Can’t,” Hawks slurs. All his twisting has revealed the dart sticking out of his neck, previously hidden by his coat. Drugged, then. Well, maybe he can’t entirely be blamed for this whole thing, not that Dabi would ever admit that.
“Why not?” asks Dabi, gruffly, without sympathy. He doesn’t think it’s the drugs, because he’s seen Hawks keep going after hitting his head hard enough to make him stumble, but he can’t really be sure. He doesn’t know much more about Hawks’ Quirk than the public does, and it’s very likely he’s kept some things secret.
“I can’t control damaged feathers,” Hawks replies, remarkably calm and clear for someone who was drugged and pinned to a wall less than an hour ago. “And it’s hard anyway when I’m- impaired.” He reaches up and yanks the dart out, stuffing it in his pocket.
“So do I need to get you down, then?” Dabi snaps. Hawks, bleary eyed and in pain, shrugs as best he can. His shoulders must be in agony. Hanging by one’s arm for an extended period is painful enough. His wings must be so much worse.
“I can do it,” he puffs, a few feathers detaching to nudge at one of the knives. “Might- might take me a minute.” It looks extremely painful, the way the knife minutely shifts as it’s pushed. It is also extremely slow. Dabi rolls his eyes.
“ Fine, I’ll help.” He drags one of the crates around the warehouse closer, and brings another one when that isn’t enough to reach. Standing on top of them is precarious, they wobble when he shifts his weight too much. Unfortunately, they aren’t quite tall enough for Hawks’ feet to reach, so Dabi will still have to catch him when he’s freed from the wall.
The first knife comes out easily, thanks to Hawks’ feathers loosening it. It does, though, come out with vaguely inhuman screech as Hawks tips sideways, all of his weight being forced onto one of his wings.
“Fuck!” Hawks shouts. Dabi doesn’t tease him, it’s probably agony. His toes brush the crate now, just barely, and he scrabbles for purchase that he won’t be able to find, desperate to get the weight off of his wing. The knife is slowly tearing through his wing as his weight drags him down, and Dabi, assisted by some of Hawks’ feathers, hastens to rip the thing out.
Hawks crashes down when they do, right into Dabi’s arms. It’s only thanks to a few extra feathers that they manage to stay standing at all.
“Thanks,” Hawks mumbles as he disentangles himself from Dabi and jumps to the floor. He stumbles, knees visibly shaking, and only just barely manages to keep himself from face planting. Heaps of feathers detach, leaving only the damaged ones in their wake. His face is twisted as he cranes his head to look at them.
“Yikes,” Dabi comments, stupidly. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t help but feel a little bit of sympathy. But Hawks just fists his hand into the mess on his left wing and rips all the feathers off in one go. He gasps, hunching over as he does, but that’s all.
“It makes them grow back faster,” Hawks says to Dabi’s baffled look. “Well, not really, but this way I don’t have to feel them at all. He does the same on the other side, then the rest of the feathers return to their places, filling out his wings again. It’d be hard to see the bald spot left behind if you didn’t know it’s there. “I won’t be doing one of these again, sorry.” Hawks says, straightening his posture. “I told you it was a bad idea, anyway. I’m the number two hero, I can’t be recruiting villains. They’d never trust me.”
“Yeah, sure.” Dabi lazily waves hand at him. “We won’t have you do it anymore.”
“Great.” Hawks starts toward the exit. “Call me when you need me.”
“Will do,” Dabi replies.