Chapter Text
Despite weeks having passed, Hawks still gets that deep seated nervousness in his chest when he has to meet up with Dabi. However brief their conversations are, they’re always tense. The Villain is constantly searching for some tell, some giveaway, just waiting for Hawks to slip.
To be fair, Hawks does the same, watching closely whenever they talk. But Dabi is near impossible to read. Hawks has never met anyone like him. Were it any other circumstance, he might find that fun. Interesting. But the stakes are too high to enjoy this.
Tonight is worse, however. On his evening patrol, Hawks had a bit of a scuffle with a group that worked together just a little too well. Nothing he couldn’t handle, of course, he just took a few more hits than he’s comfortable with. Now, because of it, he’s hurting and worse, running late. Which he knows Dabi will hate.
Hawks is getting closer and closer to getting the Villain to fully trust him but something like this could set him right back to the beginning. Dabi is a bit temperamental like that. Unpredictable.
So, in an attempt to preserve his questionable, unethical relationship, Hawks neglects to get properly looked at before stepping into the dilapidated warehouse in their rotation of places to meet. Really not a place Hawks would like to be with open wounds but he doesn’t have much choice in the locations Dabi chooses to see him. Besides, this’ll probably be quick. It’ll be fine, Hawks can get looked at after. He hopes, anyway. He’s pretty sure he’s fractured a rib or two. And his head is starting to pound. There’s a sizable gash in his side he’s trying to ignore, hoping the dark fabric of his compression shirt adequately hides the blood.
His footsteps echo off the cement floor. The place smells of mildew and dust. Dabi is leaning on a crumbling wall, arms crossed and watching out a broken window. He looks bored and disinterested with a blank look on his face, as per usual.”You’re—”
“Late?” Hawks interrupts, trying to sound light and easy. He smiles, approaching Dabi casually despite the pain wracking through his body. “I know, I’m grateful for your patience. I got a bit held up. Came as fast as I could.”
Dabi finally looks over to Hawks and he frowns, letting his gaze slowly rake over Hawks’ figure. From the bruises and cuts on his face, then the tension in his posture, and finally to the wound in his side before flicking back up to his face. A chill ripples across his shoulderblades, far too exposed. Those gorgeous blue eyes always see far too much. He’s not at his best right now, either. Were they to fight, Hawks is too hindered to do well.
“... The fuck happened to you?”
“Just work, you know, but I’m…” Hawks’ dismissal trails off when Dabi steps away from the wall, unfolding himself to reach for Hawks. His breath stutters when Dabi’s fingertips brush lightly against his jaw, tipping his chin up. His thumbs swipes over a shiner developing on Hawks’ cheekbone, light as a feather. Then he slowly turns Hawks’ face to look at a still bleeding cut hidden under his hairline. “Um…” He tries to piece his racing thoughts together but blood thrumming in his burning ears drowns out any useful ideas.
Dabi isn’t one to get close, not often. He usually stays out of reach in front of Hawks, arms crossed and with that bored look on his face. Maybe sometimes smug or skeptical. Now he looks… Disapproving. A frown pulls at his expression, brows knitted firmly together.
His gaze dips lower and his other hand rises to the gash in Hawks’ side, lighting pressing the pads of his fingers to the ripped fabric around the wound. When Dabi pulls his hand back to check, it comes away wet and red. “Were you stabbed??” Dabi asks, rubbing his fingertips together and looking back to Hawks’ face.
“It’s just a nick,” the Hero dismisses, snagging both of Dabi’s wrists to push his wandering hands away while stepping back. His wings give a beat, trying to disperse the tension in his shoulders. This kind of attention from Dabi is distracting. He’s here for work. There’s a goal he has to mind. It’s easier when Dabi’s just annoyed with him, not… Whatever this is.
Dabi’s nose scrunches up as he considers something, looking over Hawks again. “... Ugh, come on.” Dabi snags the collar of Hawks’ uniform jacket and briefly pulls him as he starts walking out of the warehouse, strides long and confident. The Hero gets the hint quickly, following after Dabi, not wanting to piss him off and damage their already shaky relationship.
“Where are we going?” Hawks asks as they step outside into the night.
“You’ll see, bird. Congratulations on your impromptu graduation of probation.”
What the hell does that mean?? But Hawks stays quiet, not daring to ask anything else.
With wings folded tight to his back and all his feathers pressed flat, Hawks trails after the Villain. Eventually, he lets go of Hawks’ wrist and doesn’t look back to see if the Hero is still on his tail. He is, following out of the warehouse and down the street, silent with every turn. Dabi avoids main roads, preferring to travel via side and back allies, even if it takes a bit longer. Hawks doesn’t mind, glad to hide away from curious eyes, though the walk has his ribs aching.
Eventually, weaving their way out of the warehouse district, Dabi turns to walk around a rundown apartment building, opting to take the stairs framed by the building. And once the two of them have climbed three flights, Dabi steps onto the catwalk, producing a key from his jacket pocket and shoving it into the keyhole of the fourth door. Hawks watches, eyes widening.
Is this—Is this his home??
The building isn’t very nice, it’s not in the best shape. The paint on the walls is peeling, the cement floor is cracked enough to be hazardous. About a third of the lights aren’t working. The railing on the stairs and around the catwalk shift precariously under pressure.
When Dabi opens the door and steps inside, Hawks only now hesitates to follow. From what he can see, it’s not much better in there, though a clear attempt has been made. Sparsely decorated and still a bit drabby but cleaner.
“Are you coming in or what?” Dabi asks flatly. Hawks shakes his head to clear it of judgey thoughts and steps inside, shutting the door behind him.
Though, maybe following a Villain back to his home, alone, when no one knows where he is, isn’t such a good idea. At all, actually. Second locations are generally to be avoided. And for good reason.
Dabi scoffs and snags the collar of Hawks’ uniform jacket and drags him further into the apartment, through the main room, down a small corridor, and into a bathroom.
“Sit.” Dabi points at the edge of the bathtub on the opposite wall of the door. He obeys, trying not to smack the Villain with his wings on the way, while Dabi starts digging under the sink, pulling out a plentiful box of first aid supplies. “Take off your shirt.”
Hawks blinks a few times. His processing is lagging behind what he’s seeing. Because surely what’s happening isn’t what Hawks thinks is happening. “... What?”
“Your shirt, idiot.” Dabi sets the box on the closed toilet lid and then washes his hands at the sink. “I’m not working around it. Take it off or I’ll do it for you.”
Hawks’ face burns at the thought. In no position to refuse, he obliges before Dabi makes good on his threat. Hawks sheds away his jacket, letting it fall behind him into the tub. Then he peels off his compression shirt, gritting his teeth as his ribs wail in protest. It’s not very graceful, especially given his wings, but Hawks eventually drops the shirt to join his jacket.
Dabi’s toweling off his hands, looking at Hawks, seeing what he has to deal with. His vibrant eyes rake down and back up Hawks’ figure in a slow, patient way that makes chills rise across the back of Hawks’ neck. He gets the urge to fold his arms over himself, wanting a modicum of modesty, but Dabi has already stepped up and kneeled in front of him between his thighs, prodding at the bruising blossoming over his ribs. The pain is searing under the pads of Dabi’s fingers and Hawks forces himself to maintain steady breaths.
“Don’t they have doctors for you?” Dabi asks, the annoyance obvious in his voice.
“I was running late enough, I’ll just see one later.” Hawks’ voice is strained, earning eye contact from Dabi. It makes something tight seize in his chest. More than just the protesting of fractured ribs.
“That’s fucking bullshit,” Dabi grumbles, turning to dig into his supplies box. He pulls out a few things and starts working on the gash in Hawks’ side, cleaning it with something that stings bad enough that the Hero clenches his teeth.
Hawks leans back, feathers rousing, trying to focus on something other than Dabi’s hands tending to him. “You don’t give me much choice, you know,” he points out through the pain. “I can’t contact you. And you’re pissed when I’m late. So I have to pick my battles. I choose to prioritize you.”
Dabi takes a deep breath, pausing for just a moment. But that’s all the acknowledgement Hawks gets. The Villain moves on, pulling a staple gun from that box.
“I don’t keep sutures, this is the best you’re getting from me.” He lines up the gun to the gash in Hawks’ side. For a brief moment, Hawks considers refusing this strange attention. But his eyes flick over Dabi, noting the carefully placed, well-spaced staples all over him. He supposes if any non-medical professional is to administer staples, Dabi might be the best choice.
They bite going in, of course, but Dabi’s hands are efficient and confident. It only takes a few, then he’s covering them up with an antibiotic salve and layering a bandage on top. The salve is soothing and Hawks lets out a breath, one that brushes through Dabi’s hair in front of him. Hawks turns his face away, not about to let that happen again.
Next, Dabi’s cleaning the bruising over Hawks’ ribs, hands much more gentle now that he’s not checking for breaks. He pulls a lidocaine patch from the box and sticks that over the fracture. It would be easy to make this process hurt more than necessary. With Dabi’s general hatred of Heroes and distrust towards Hawks, he expected Dabi might take advantage of the opportunity to be less than kind. But, instead, the Villain takes care to be light with his hands, trying to cause as little excess pain as possible. It has Hawks reeling.
How could a Villain be more careful than most of his doctors?
It only gets more confusing when Dabi shifts his attention to Hawks’ face. His hand settles on Hawks jaw to keep him still while the other works to clean blood off of him. The wounds have slowed since their walk to Dabi’s apartment. It stings when he goes over the cuts but Hawks is far more distracted by the focused look on Dabi’s face. He’s really trying, here. For Hawks, of all people, for some reason.
The Villain leans in a bit when he starts applying the salve to the cuts, bringing that warmth back to Hawks’ face, though he dares not bend away further. His ears start to burn and his chest aches from adrenaline. Hawks’ hands grip the edge of the tub so hard that his knuckles creak.
Dabi’s close enough for Hawks to see that the roots of his long lashes are white. He bites the inside of his scarred lip as he works. He can feel his steady breath ghosting over his skin. Dabi would likely feel Hawks’, too, were he not holding it.
Dabi starts with the one hidden within Hawks’ hairline, careful to part the blonde locks to see it properly. Then the one on Hawks’ cheekbone where the bruising is darkening. The last one, a split on his bottom lip. Which Dabi tends to all the same as the others, touch gentle and thorough. Every touch of those warm hands has Hawks spiraling. Mindful and steadying and kind. It’s clinical but not in the same way as the HPSC doctors Hawks has seen for his whole life. There’s no indifference.
When he’s done, Dabi sits back on his heels and looks up at Hawks, checking over his work. Hawks stares back at him, hoping the warmth in his face isn’t visible.
“Anywhere else?”
Hawks swallows. “No…”
Without another word, Dabi stands and washes his hands again before putting away his supplies back in the box, which he then returns to under the sink. Hawks remains seated on the edge of the tub, watching. The care has definitely soothed, though also confused. Why would Dabi go through the effort? Especially with no heads up. This was an impulsive decision. And while annoyed, as Dabi always is, he never expressed disdain for helping. Helping a Hero, nonetheless. Hawks doesn’t know what to do with any of this information.
When Dabi’s done drying his hands, he faces Hawks again and reaches with palm up, expecting something. “Your burner I gave you,” he demands flatly.
For a brief moment, Hawks frets he’s lost privileges over this. “Why?” he asks, not making a move to pull it out of his pocket.
Dabi rolls his eyes and huffs. “Because you’re not doing this again. If you need to see a fucking doctor, see them. I’ll wait.”
Hawks blinks, then fishes the phone from his pocket and hands it to Dabi, placing it in his open palm. Dabi’s quick to open it and update a new contact on it. Then he simply hands it back. Relief sweeps through Hawks.
“Text that number if you’re gonna be late. Say why. I don’t want to see you hurt like this again.”