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“Burnt Wings & Blue Flames” (Dabihawks AU)
Hawks didn’t usually go to bars.
Too loud. Too crowded. Too many eyes.
But tonight, he didn’t have much choice.
“Come on,” Toga sang, practically hanging off Dabi’s arm as she dragged him down the neon-lit street. “It’ll be fun! You never have fun anymore!”
“I have fun,” Dabi muttered. “Just not… this kind.”
“You both have terrible definitions of fun,” Hawks said lightly, wings tucked tight beneath his jacket as he followed anyway.
The bar was dim, smoky, and pulsing with music that rattled through the floor. Hawks already regretted it.
They found a booth, Toga bouncing between them like she was powered by chaos alone, Dabi slouched back like he wanted to set the furniture on fire just to feel something.
Hawks excused himself after a while to grab a drink.
That’s when it started.
“Hey, feather boy.”
Hawks paused.
A man leaned too close beside him at the counter, grin sharp and unpleasant. “You’re that hero, right? Pro hero Hawks? What’re you doing slumming it here?”
“I’m off duty,” Hawks said smoothly, already stepping aside.
The man followed.
“C’mon, don’t be like that. Buy me a drink. Or maybe—”
A hand grabbed Hawks’ wrist.
That was new.
And immediately unwelcome.
Before Hawks could respond, a voice cut in — low, bored, and dangerous.
“Let go of him.”
Dabi stood there like he had been carved out of smoke and bad decisions. His eyes flicked to the man’s hand on Hawks’ wrist.
“Or I’ll remove it for you.”
The guy scoffed. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”
Dabi sighed like this was already tedious.
“I’m the guy telling you you’re about five seconds from losing fingers.”
The grip dropped instantly.
The man backed off, muttering curses as he disappeared into the crowd.
Silence settled.
Hawks exhaled slowly. “Thanks.”
Dabi shrugged. “You looked like you were about to do something stupid.”
“I was about to do something polite,” Hawks corrected.
“That’s worse.”
Despite himself, Hawks laughed.
Toga popped up between them moments later like nothing had happened. “Did I miss drama?!”
After that night, things… shifted.
They started seeing each other more often. Not planned. Just coincidences that stopped feeling like coincidences.
Dabi didn’t talk much, but he always showed up when Hawks was around. Hawks didn’t ask why — he just accepted it.
Toga, of course, declared it “friendship destiny” and took full credit.
But Hawks wasn’t doing great.
Rent kept climbing. Hero work was exhausting in a way that didn’t leave bruises — just emptiness. His apartment felt less like a home and more like a place he passed through.
One night, he mentioned it casually.
“I might have to crash in my agency office a few nights,” Hawks said, spinning a bottle between his fingers. “Landlord’s being a pain.”
Toga gasped. “Nooo! That’s so sad!”
Dabi didn’t look up. “Come stay with us.”
Hawks blinked. “What?”
“We’ve got space,” Dabi said flatly. “And Toga already basically lives there half the time anyway.”“Burnt Wings & Blue Flames” (Part 2 — Angst AU)
Hawks should’ve gone home.
That was the thought that repeated in his head later — fractured, out of sync, like a song stuck skipping.
He hadn’t meant to stay out long.
Just a drink.
Just noise to drown out the silence.
Just enough to stop thinking.
But the glass he was handed tasted wrong.
Sweet. Too sweet.
He frowned at it, but someone laughed beside him, and the sound blurred into something softer, easier.
Then the world started to tilt.
Not violently.
Just… gently wrong.
Like gravity forgot him for a moment and didn’t care to correct itself.
He stood up.
The floor didn’t agree.
“Easy there, feather boy,” someone murmured, hand at his elbow.
He tried to pull away.
Didn’t manage it properly.
The alley outside was colder than he expected.
Or maybe he just couldn’t feel temperature right anymore.
Footsteps followed.
Too close.
Too patient.
He tried to turn, tried to focus his wings, but his body didn’t respond the way it was supposed to.
Something about that scared him more than anything else.
Then—
Heat.
Not his.
Someone else’s.
A sharp burst of blue flame cut through the alley like a warning shot from hell itself.
A voice followed, low and lethal.
“I don’t remember inviting you anywhere near him.”
Hawks’ knees hit the ground, but arms caught him before he fell fully.
Familiar arms.
Rough. Steady.
Dabi.
“…took you long enough,” Hawks tried to say.
It came out wrong.
Dabi’s jaw tightened as he looked at him — really looked at him.
Then his attention snapped upward.
The other figure tried to run.
They didn’t get far.
No gore. No spectacle.
Just fear and heat and the unmistakable message that survival was a mercy, not a guarantee.
And then silence again.
Toga arrived like a storm minutes later.
“Oh my god,” she said, voice suddenly sharp in a way she rarely allowed herself. “What did they DO to him?”
She was at Hawks’ side instantly, crouching, hands hovering like she didn’t know where it was safe to touch.
“He’s not—” she started, then stopped. “He’s not okay.”
Dabi didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Hawks blinked slowly up at them, trying to focus.
“Toga…” he mumbled. “Hey…”
Her expression crumpled for half a second before she forced it back into something brighter — but it didn’t fully stick.
“I’ve got you,” she said quickly. “Okay? You’re fine. You’re with us.”
Dabi scooped him up without asking.
Hawks didn’t resist.
Couldn’t, really.
The apartment was too bright when they got back.
Too safe for how unsafe the world had just been.
Dabi set him down carefully — almost awkwardly, like gentleness wasn’t something he practiced often.
Toga was already rummaging through cabinets.
“We have water. And snacks. And—wait, do we have electrolytes? We should have electrolytes. People always say electrolytes.”
“We are not building a hospital in the kitchen,” Dabi muttered.
“We might have to!” she shot back.
Hawks gave a weak laugh.
It hurt to laugh.
Everything felt distant. Delayed. Like his body belonged to someone else and was only occasionally forwarding messages to him.
Dabi sat beside him.
Didn’t touch him at first.
Just stayed there.
A solid, burning presence.
“If you ever go out alone again,” Dabi said quietly, “I’m chaining you to the couch.”
Hawks blinked slowly. “That’s… romantic.”
“It’s practical.”
Toga appeared again, pressing a bottle of water into Hawks’ hands. “Drink. Please. I am being emotionally responsible right now and I don’t like it.”
Hawks managed another small smile.
“You’re doing great.”
“I know,” she said solemnly. “I hate it.”
It took hours before the fog started lifting.
When it did, it hit all at once.
Memory. Fear. Anger.
And then the shame.
Hawks stared at his hands.
“I should’ve known,” he muttered.
Dabi’s voice cut in immediately.
“No.”
Hawks glanced at him.
“You don’t get to do that,” Dabi said flatly. “Don’t turn this into something you caused.”
Silence.
Toga curled up on the other side of him, unusually quiet now.
“…we should’ve gone with you,” she said softly. “Or you shouldn’t have gone at all. Or—something.”
Hawks exhaled shakily.
“I’m fine,” he tried again.
Dabi scoffed. “Stop saying that.”
That made him pause.
Dabi leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling like he was annoyed it existed.
“You’re not fine,” he said. “But you’re here. That’s enough for now.”
Something in Hawks’ chest tightened.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Something warmer.
Stranger.
Later that night, Hawks didn’t leave.
No one suggested he should.
Toga fell asleep first, curled against the arm of the couch like she’d simply powered down.
Dabi stayed awake longer.
So did Hawks.
At some point, Dabi spoke without looking at him.
“I burned him pretty bad.”
Hawks didn’t ask for details.
Just said, “Good.”
A pause.
Then Dabi let out a quiet huff — almost a laugh, but not quite.
“You’re not normal.”
“Neither are you,” Hawks replied.
That earned a look.
Long. Measuring.
Then Dabi shifted slightly closer.
Not touching.
Just close enough that it mattered.
Nothing became official that night.
Nothing needed to.
But something settled anyway — quiet, certain, irreversible.
Like a door locking.
Or opening.
Depending on where you stood.
And for once, Hawks didn’t feel like he was falling alone.“Burnt Wings & Blue Flames” (Part 3 — Aftermath)
Morning didn’t feel like morning.
It felt like something arriving late to a scene already over.
Hawks woke slowly, like his body was negotiating whether it still belonged to him.
The ceiling came into focus first. Familiar. Too familiar.
Then the sound of quiet movement in the kitchen.
Clinking glass.
Soft footsteps.
Voices — low, contained.
He turned his head.
Dabi was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, staring at a mug like it had personally offended him.
Toga was perched on the counter beside him, swinging her legs.
“…I still think we should file something,” she was saying.
“No,” Dabi said immediately.
“But—”
“No.”
Hawks tried to sit up.
Instant regret.
The room tilted slightly, and a hand was there before he even fully registered the movement.
Dabi’s hand.
Steadying him without hesitation.
“You’re awake,” Dabi said flatly.
“Observant,” Hawks croaked.
Toga lit up instantly. “Hawks! Hi! Welcome back to consciousness!”
“That’s… one way to put it.”
His voice didn’t feel like his own.
Neither did his body, entirely.
Dabi shoved a glass of water into his hands without ceremony.
“Drink.”
Hawks obeyed.
Mostly because refusing felt harder.
For a while, no one pushed anything heavier than that.
Toga made food like it was a competition against anxiety.
Dabi stayed near the doorway of every room like he was keeping watch over something he refused to name.
Hawks noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He always noticed everything.
“You didn’t sleep,” Hawks said eventually.
Dabi didn’t look at him. “I don’t need to.”
“That’s not how bodies work.”
“I’m aware.”
Toga popped her head between them. “He was sitting in the dark brooding! Like a tragic wet cat!”
“I was not brooding,” Dabi said.
“You were absolutely brooding.”
“I was thinking.”
“That’s brooding.”
Hawks let out a quiet laugh — then stopped when his chest ached.
Dabi’s eyes flicked to him immediately.
“You should rest,” Dabi said.
“I’ve been resting.”
“Not like this.”
Something in the way he said it made Hawks go quiet.
Later, when Toga finally passed out on the couch mid-sentence (still holding a spoon like a weapon of war), the apartment fell into a different kind of silence.
Not empty.
Just… contained.
Hawks sat on the floor instead of the couch.
Dabi sat nearby. Not touching. Just there again.
The space between them felt different than before.
Smaller.
Heavier.
“About last night,” Hawks started.
Dabi cut him off immediately.
“No.”
Hawks blinked. “No?”
“I said don’t do that,” Dabi said, finally looking at him properly. “Don’t turn it into something you need to fix in your head.”
Hawks went quiet.
That was… harder to argue with than he expected.
A long pause stretched.
Then Hawks exhaled.
“I hate not being in control,” he admitted.
Dabi’s expression didn’t soften, but it shifted — just slightly.
“Yeah,” Dabi said. “I noticed.”
That should’ve sounded like sarcasm.
It didn’t.
A week passed like that.
Not recovery.
Not normalcy.
Something in between.
Hawks stayed.
No one asked him to define it.
Toga treated it like obvious fact.
Dabi treated it like a problem he didn’t mind solving.
And Hawks…
Hawks tried not to think too hard about the way he always ended up in the same room as Dabi.
Or how Dabi always positioned himself so Hawks could leave if he wanted.
But never did.
The first time it almost became something else, it wasn’t planned.
It was late.
Toga asleep.
Lights low.
Hawks standing by the window, wings half-unfurled just to stretch.
Dabi behind him, leaning against the wall.
“You’re staring again,” Hawks said without turning.
“You’re always saying that like it’s weird.”
“It is weird.”
A pause.
Then Dabi stepped closer — slow, like he was giving him time to move away.
Hawks didn’t.
Dabi stopped just behind him.
Close enough that Hawks could feel heat without flames.
“You’re still here,” Dabi said quietly.
Hawks smiled faintly. “You’re very observant.”
Dabi huffed.
Then, softer — almost reluctant:
“You don’t have to stay.”
Hawks finally turned.
Looked at him properly.
“I know,” he said.
And neither of them moved for a moment too long.
Something unspoken stretched between them — not gentle, not safe, but real.
Hawks broke it first, but not by leaving.
Just by stepping closer.
Dabi didn’t back away.
Didn’t advance either.
Just let it happen.
Like he’d been waiting for permission he refused to ask for.
From the couch, Toga mumbled in her sleep:
“Finally… idiots…”
Neither of them acknowledged her.
But Hawks laughed under his breath.
And Dabi… didn’t.
But he stayed.
It still wasn’t a confession.
It still wasn’t a label.
But when Hawks woke up later — actually rested for the first time in what felt like weeks — Dabi was still there.
Not guarding the room.
Not standing watch.
Just there.
Sitting against the wall.
Eyes closed.
Like he’d fallen asleep on purpose this time.
Hawks didn’t move.
Just watched for a moment.
Then, very quietly, he said:
“…hey, Dabi.”
A pause.
Then Dabi’s eyes opened slightly.
“Yeah?”
Hawks hesitated.
Then smiled a little.
“Nothing.”
But he didn’t look away.
And neither did Dabi.
Not this time.“Burnt Wings & Blue Flames” (Final — Found Family)
It didn’t happen all at once.
That was never how things worked with them.
It happened in small, ordinary pieces that slowly stopped feeling temporary.
Toga started calling it home without thinking.
Dabi stopped correcting her.
Hawks stopped leaving his things in a bag.
Then one evening, everything just… settled.
Toga had declared it a “mandatory bonding night,” which in her language meant blankets everywhere, snacks stacked like a supply raid, and absolutely no escape routes allowed.
“I made popcorn!” she announced proudly, dumping a bowl onto the table.
“It’s burned,” Dabi said immediately.
“It’s caramelized emotionally,” she corrected.
Hawks snorted. “That’s not—”
“It is now,” Toga said firmly.
Dabi sat down anyway.
That alone felt like a victory.
The apartment was warm in a way it hadn’t been before — not from flames, but from presence.
From noise.
From people who stayed.
Toga curled up between them like she belonged there by divine right, already halfway asleep but still determined to participate.
“No tragic brooding tonight,” she mumbled, pointing vaguely at Dabi.
“I don’t brood,” Dabi said.
“You do.”
“I reflect.”
“That’s worse.”
Hawks laughed softly, leaning back against the couch.
For a moment, it almost felt unreal — like something fragile that would vanish if he acknowledged it too loudly.
But it didn’t.
It stayed.
At some point, Toga fully passed out mid-sentence, head falling onto Hawks’ shoulder.
Neither of them moved her.
Dabi watched for a second, then exhaled slowly.
“She trusts you,” he said.
Hawks blinked. “She trusts you too.”
A pause.
Dabi gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “That’s her first mistake.”
Hawks smiled.
But there was something quieter underneath it now.
Something heavier.
Something certain.
The room dimmed as the night went on.
Only the city lights filtered through the window, painting everything in soft gold and blue.
Hawks shifted slightly, careful not to wake Toga.
“I didn’t think I’d end up here,” he said quietly.
Dabi glanced at him. “Here?”
“This,” Hawks said, gesturing vaguely. “Whatever this is.”
Dabi didn’t answer right away.
Then, bluntly: “Me neither.”
That honesty sat between them for a moment.
Not uncomfortable.
Just real.
Hawks gently lifted Toga off him, settling her onto the couch properly. She didn’t wake — just curled deeper into the blankets, muttering something about “team chaos winning.”
Dabi watched him do it.
Always watching.
Always there.
When Hawks straightened, they were facing each other properly now.
No distractions.
No noise.
Just the two of them and the quiet hum of a place that somehow became home without permission.
Hawks spoke first.
“You know,” he said lightly, “this is the part where something dramatic is supposed to happen.”
Dabi raised a brow. “We already had the kidnapping attempt.”
“Fair point.”
Silence again.
But it wasn’t empty.
It was full in a different way.
Hawks stepped closer.
Dabi didn’t move.
Didn’t tease.
Didn’t interrupt.
Just waited.
“You’re terrible at this,” Hawks murmured.
“At what?”
“This,” Hawks said softly, gesturing between them. “Whatever we’re doing.”
A pause.
Dabi’s voice dropped lower. “You’re still here.”
Hawks smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
Another step closer.
“Still here.”
Dabi finally exhaled — slow, controlled, like he was letting something go he didn’t know he was holding.
“Don’t make it complicated,” he said.
Hawks tilted his head. “Too late.”
That earned the smallest shift in Dabi’s expression — something almost like resignation.
Or acceptance.
Or both.
Hawks reached up first.
Fingers brushing lightly at Dabi’s collar like a question instead of a demand.
Dabi caught his wrist — not to stop him.
Just to hold him there for a second.
Then he leaned in.
The kiss wasn’t careful.
It wasn’t gentle in the soft way people usually meant.
It was real.
Grounded.
Like something that had been building for too long to stay quiet anymore.
Hawks’ wings shifted slightly behind him, instinctive, but he didn’t pull away.
Neither did Dabi.
When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t dramatic.
Just quiet breathing and the faint awareness that something had changed shape between them for good.
From the couch:
“…finally,” Toga mumbled without opening her eyes.
Dabi let out a short, annoyed breath. “She was awake.”
Hawks laughed, forehead still almost touching Dabi’s.
“Of course she was.”
Toga smiled sleepily. “I approve… chaos family…”
Then she went back to sleep.
Dabi looked at Hawks again.
Still close.
Still here.
“…you staying?” he asked, quieter than before.
Hawks didn’t hesitate this time.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’m staying.”
Dabi studied him for a moment longer.
Then, like it cost him something to say it:
“Good.”
Outside, the city kept moving.
But inside, for the first time, nothing felt like it was running away.
Just three people.
A broken boy who learned how to stay.
A burned man who learned how to hold on.
And a girl who decided they were hers before anyone else got a say in it.
And somehow…
It worked.
“That’s not true!” Toga said brightly. “It’s only like… seventy percent.”
Hawks hesitated.
Then smiled. “Yeah. Okay. Just for a bit.”
He should’ve known “a bit” would start to feel like something else entirely.
The night everything shifted again, Hawks went out alone.
Just a drink. Just to clear his head.
Bad idea.
He didn’t remember much after the second glass — just a stranger being too friendly, then too insistent, then the world tilting wrong when he stepped outside.
Footsteps followed him.
Too close.
Too steady.
He made it back to the apartment building on instinct alone.
And then—
The air changed.
Heat flashed behind him.
A scream cut off halfway through.
Hawks turned slowly, wings half-unfurling—
Dabi stood in the alley, blue flames licking low around his fingers, the stranger on the ground coughing and scrambling away in terror.
Dabi didn’t even look at him as he spoke.
“You keep doing that,” he said coldly, “and I’ll make sure you don’t get up next time.”
The man ran.
Silence returned.
Hawks leaned against the wall. “You followed me?”
Dabi finally looked at him. “You were being followed.”
“…fair.”
A beat.
Then Dabi stepped closer, studying him. “You’re hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Hawks said automatically.
Dabi’s eyes narrowed like he didn’t believe him for a second.
Then, quieter: “Idiot.”
But he reached out anyway, steadying Hawks when he swayed slightly.
That was the moment something changed shape between them. Quiet. Unspoken. Real.
After that, neither of them really pretended anymore.
Dabi started standing closer.
Hawks stopped leaving when he could stay.
Toga noticed immediately.
“Finally,” she said, arms crossed like a judge delivering a verdict. “I was getting bored.”
“You were actively encouraging this,” Hawks said.
“I know,” she grinned. “I’m supportive.”
Dabi groaned. “This is your fault.”
“My fault?” Toga gasped. “I literally created love!”
Hawks laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch.
Dabi didn’t laugh.
But he did sit closer after that.
Closer than before.
Closer than necessary.
And Hawks didn’t move away.