Work Text:
Dabi had awoken to a bed that wasn't his.
Sterile, stark white walls and IVs. The sound of his own heart rate beeped by his side from machinery that hit a little too close to home. Panic clawed through his chest as he bolted up right.
It's the second time he awakes to a body he doesn't know, to a place he doesn't remember going to.
No staples. Still scars, but they're more pigments now. There are bandages and skin grafts that are more healthy than they are the familiar purple of burned skin. It is foreign, but all signs point to healing.
He's not a walking corpse anymore.
The war ended, and Dabi lived.
. . . . .
War memorials.
Dabi's no stranger to those even when they had made it out alive. By an impossible chance of fate, anyone who mattered between them had lived to see the after.
Toga. Spinner. Shigeraki. Kurogiri. Twice.
They aren't victorious, but being on AFO’s side was never about being victorious. They had known how the story would end; Dabi had dressed for his funeral. It's only that they never expected to live long enough to see a second chance.
The war ended in spring, their new life bloomed right out of ashes.
It's been a year.
Hawks is still unaccounted for.
With the first upcoming anniversary, the news and public declare their intentions on television. Intent, on declaring Hawks legally gone with the casualties of war.
In this memorial, we will honor the number two hero Hawks, otherwise known as Takami Keigo whose whereabouts and remains are still unfound, but authorities and heroes alike are ready to let him rest…
Dabi doesn't stay long enough to hear what they'll have to say, straps of his duffle digging into skin.
The television clicks shut.
. . . . .
Hawks could be dead.
All signs of someone unfound and unnoticed pointed towards so, but they don’t find any traces. No bones, no feathers. There is no evidence Hawks is gone, only that they can't find evidence of his existence.
Like Hawks just up and disappeared, among the shambles of the world. Without a trace.
Dabi refused to believe it.
Dabi knows Hawks. For what it was worth and however impossible their play pretend of a relationship may have been, he likes to believe he knew Hawks more than anyone else did.
And if there's anything he knows to be true if everything about Hawks was a lie, it's that Hawks is a survivor.
If he's never been anything else, he was that.
Dabi is certain of it in the still beating of his stubborn heart. Certain, because he's the one who chased Tomie down; he's the one who dug through the HPSC’s files. The only one who visited senior Takami in prison.
Hawks always survived.
Through the abuse. The streets. The car crash. The fire. The war cannot have been any different.
It's lower than a one in a million chance and Dabi knows too, even if Hawks is out there, there's always the possibility that he may not be in the country anymore. Hawks could well be anywhere.
His family pleads for him to give up.
His friends—the League still, just not of villainy anymore—understand to an extent, but reasons Dabi could be chasing after the memory of Hawks for the rest of his life.
They’re not in the wrong.
But they all lived. They survived.
Why not Hawks?
Their words may come out of concern, but all Dabi thinks is that Hawks doesn't have a family or friends to begin with. If he’s got words of care aimed at him, Hawks does not. He knows if he doesn't find him, no one else will.
Almost dramatically, Dabi had hung up the phone, his words heated as every part of him has always been. He is the fire flowing through his veins, not so much has changed. It's not the bitter resentment that's left behind now, but this is his life to live.
If Dabi spent his whole life vying to be a hero or dying for revenge, to live to find Hawks makes more sense to him than anything he's ever done.
It’s clarity, a purpose. He’s not delusional. He’s spent his whole life without what he wants.
This time? Nothing will stop him. If it's the rest of his life that he spends looking for Hawks, so be it.
If all that he has left is Hawks’ old feather? It’s enough.
The feather doesn't decay nor does it decompose with time. It's as pristine as the day Hawks handed it to him from his wings, eyes too bright, knowing curl at edge of his lips.
Personal.
It is this too, that tells him in his heart of hearts, that Hawks must still be alive.
The feather pockets into his coat.
Dabi won't let Hawks become a cold case.
. . . . .
Japan is vast. Dabi only realizes how vast it really is and how much he’d spent so much of his life confined to certain parts, when he spends all his days in and out on the road.
Hawks is out there, somewhere. He doesn't know where, but Dabi will find him.
Even when he runs himself ragged.
The days and nights are long. He's never too cold or too hot with the quirk of both beating through his veins now, but the climates are still harsh as the seasons come and go, and all Dabi has to show for it is another dead end.
Dabi watches cherry blossoms fall. He feels the heat and humidity rise. He crunches through the hue of leaves, colors resemblance of Hawks, and slides through ice that takes the grounds.
Every shadow that passes in the sky is not Hawks. Every bird does not lead to Hawks. Every word of mouth of any chances of an off-sighting from a local, isn't really him.
Dabi is desperate. Alone. He's staring up at the stars in another part of a countryside that he's lost count of, the fields stretching for kilometers.
He's venturing through the mountainous regions of Gifu now, soaking up every dramatic view. Vibrant blue waters and luscious green forests. Carved, steep rice paddies and deep river gorges.
Out here, it's scenic and serene.
But it is not Hawks.
. . . . .
It's almost December again when all the leaves have turned and snow is expected to be around the corners.
He thinks of Hawks and wonders if he's warm enough. If he's eating enough.
Dabi ensures he does the same, wanting to prove it's different when he meets Hawks again. Different, because he's healthy now; he eats enough. He takes care of himself and he's ready to live. The way they never had a chance to. This time, with Hawks.
If only he could find him.
No different than before, he's always thinking of Hawks these days. Only he's more honest about it now. About his feelings.
It's only now too, that he has no one to tell, the feelings budding in his chest overwhelming.
Dabi is sure he looks to be nothing more than another weary traveler and out here, Hawks is less of a name, less recognized. The people don’t know who he means.
Winter already looks bleak.
By an off chance of a streetside stall that Dabi takes rest at, he hears word of a shop.
Something of a sandwich shop that popped up not too long ago, but has already earned the praise of locals. The locals describe it as the fastest sandwich shop. Fresh and piping hot, made to order. Easy to grab, in and out.
It's just about nothing. The fastest anything can't mean much, but like a moth drawn to a flame, Dabi listens.
Listens, because Dabi's got nothing to go off either, all too used to roads that lead nowhere. He's hanging by the threads and following lines of words full of nothing out of desperation. Longing. Impatience.
He doesn't remember how many months it's been now. How many dead-ends that never hint of the only bird he wants to see again.
The only anything he still wants.
He's got nothing to lose now, so what's another shot at a less than a million chance?
. . . . .
Dabi follows a trail down the old cobblestone streets, along the river that flows down stream. The fog grows heavier as evening falls and it's about cold enough that he should find proper lodging soon.
One more stop, Dabi tells himself. He won’t sleep right if he doesn’t check it out.
It's traditional out here. Old construction and sliding doors. It’s hundreds of years of history charmed against old grained wood to the backdrop of timeliness mountains. It’s almost a piece frozen in time, undisturbed by the modern world.
He imagines Hawks could live out here. If he wanted a change of pace, a change of time.
Hawks could be here.
It’s doubtful. Dabi knows better than to get his hopes up now, better than to hope optimistically to a fault, even if that was Hawks’ trademark.
The directions lead him to a humble little shop. Its menu is simple at its doors: Hida Beef sandwiches, made to order.
It is their specialty around here, but it is not chicken. That simple detail alone makes something inside of Dabi already feel defeated.
But that’s nothing new.
Dabi brushes a hand against the sign as he ducks inside, the warmth of heat and fresh baked bread and beef hitting him all at once.
He'll get a sandwich, if nothing else.
“Be with you in a moment!” a voice chirps from him behind the counter amidst a flurry of red hard at work.
Back turned, his head is but a halo of gold.
Red feather wings flutter.
When the owner turns to greet him, the words come quickly, “Welcome! How many sandwiches would you—”
The words cut off just as fast when Hawks freezes on the spot. His blinks come rapid, like he's not certain if it's all imagination.
Dabi in white hair. Dabi with healthy lines to his old scars. Dabi in black coat, simple tee, leather pants and long boots… here in the middle of nowhere Gifu.
Of all the words that Dabi has imagined greeting him with—
Hey little bird…
Where have you been? I've been looking for you. I miss you. I love you. I need you. I want you.
The greeting doesn't come. All Dabi croaks out is, “You didn't come back.”
Hawks opens his mouth.
The world suspends, a lot like the setting that Dabi's suddenly found himself in.
There's a swallow in Hawks’ throat and then the words make out, too soft, not a greeting either. “Didn't think it mattered.”
Dabi doesn't know what his eyes are doing these days. If his eyes water, not blood anymore, but something else closer to the beating of his heart. His ears pick up the words, but it's like he doesn't.
What is Hawks saying?
“What?” he says, throat tight. “You do. You always do.”
Hawks shakes his head, gold sweeping across his forehead with the motion as he whispers on, “Couldn't watch you die… couldn't watch you wake up either, without room in your life for me.”
Dabi swallows the tightness in his throat.
All of the months that he's spent running after Hawks… all this time, only to find Hawks left because of Dabi?
Because of Dabi.
“When I woke up,” he recalls, the shock of making it out alive. To live. To still be here. To get another chance. “All I wanted was a life with you.”
Hawks opens his mouth again. The words don't come.
Dabi doesn't wait, he clambers himself across the counters. There's no staples pulling across his skin to stop him; he’s waited long enough.
Hawks’ eyes widen. Disbelief. Wonder. It's almost hysterical as he asks, “What are you doing?”
“What do you think, little bird?” Dabi says. "I'd dig through the ends of heaven and hell to find you. And that is a promise and a threat."
It's gold that blinks back at him. Gold that he's chased all these months.
“Do you know how many months, how long I've been looking—” his voice breaks.
For you.
It's fond. It's Dabi, matching desperation beating in his chest because Dabi's heart has always been honest.
Hawks knows; his feathers will always pick it up.
Dabi holds out a hand.
Hawks takes it, softened callouses against healed skin grafts. Dabi pulls him close, head resting against his shoulders.
It's been too many months, too many years but Hawks’ hand against his is unchanging; he doesn't think there will ever be a time he wouldn't recognize this touch.
"Don't,” Dabi starts. “Don't ever run so far away that I can't follow again."
All his life Hawks has thought he's the one left behind, the one that had to run so far away to even feel an inkling of peace from insignificance.
He doesn’t have to matter. He doesn't have to be anyone out here. There's no chance to be left behind, but…
Dabi shows up and puts it all in perspective. Dabi, who’s chased after memories of him against the odds. And Dabi, who Hawks looks at now, white hair framing healthy eyes, and all he knows, is an unmistakable feeling beating in his chest.
“I won't,” he promises.
“Fuck,” Dabi exhales. “Fuck. I'm never letting you go again.”
When Hawks exhales out something between a cry and a laugh, close, finally, so goddamn close, it's like no time has passed at all.