Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.”

 - Libba Bray

-

He screwed up; there’s no other fucking explanation. 

As Hawks finds himself in the middle of a small classroom surrounded by several students hunched over their desks in deep concentration, he knows he’s having a vision of his soulmate’s past. Because despite a top hero suddenly appearing, only the crowns of the students’ heads are visible. The room remains so quiet that he could hear a pin drop, likely due to the neat ‘practice exam’ scrawled across the chalkboard, material similar to what Hawks’ tutors used a decade ago. 

Meanwhile, the strict-looking teacher at the podium is glaring holes into a white-haired boy seated at the back beside the window. 

That must be him.

Hawks exhales slowly, calming himself such that his heart no longer drummed in his ears, then approaches the boy - his soulmate - the Dabi existing in this memory. There’s a pull in his chest, an otherworldly thing that gravitates his body and attention towards Dabi like a high-powered magnet. With each closing step, Hawks feels the pull settle into a more comfortable flutter of warmth; it makes him unwittingly smile. What a convenient soulmate identifier.

Hawks whistles. “Look at you - the uniform and white are quite cute on you, hot stuff.”

Fate seems to enjoy a good joke in pairing Dabi, the serial arsonist and murderer and villain, with him. Everyone has a single soulmate in this world. Even if they don’t turn into a romantic interest, their existence becomes significant to the other. But while his assigned contact for the League is important, he didn’t think Dabi would be his 1 in 120 millionth; no, his 1 in 7 billionth soulmate when considering not just Japan but the entire world’s population. 

Soulmates are a weird concept alongside quirks, with not much research available other than a forewarning of unique visions at the first meeting and lack of physical danger since time spent during a vision doesn’t translate to the real world. Also, those witnessing them can’t interact with anything. Hawks playfully confirms that by spreading his wings wide and twirling on his heel, observing them pass through desks and students and even Dabi like ghostly apparitions. 

But he’s getting sidetracked. Though the pairing is less than desirable, the Hero Commission will still be happy about this. 

Based on the reports Hawks has reviewed about Dabi, his secretive nature and street smarts are consistently noted. As such, the Hero Commission has ordered Hawks for his infiltration mission to utilize his silver tongue and share information sparingly because for this kind of villain, if a deal looks too sweet, they may react negatively to it. 

So this makes things much easier. Such a driven and intelligent villain with an extremely volatile quirk like Dabi doesn’t pop out of nowhere.

“You can’t withhold anything from me here.” Hawks singsongs. “I was gonna say this during my introduction, but I got eyes of a hawk, y’know. I just crave and hoard information.” 

A blank exam paper rests on Dabi’s desk, seared at its edges like a match had been put to it, but disappointedly no birth name was written. Meanwhile, the boy is turned towards the window, palm under his chin and likely daydreaming with the wintery fantasy outside; it's a serene white across the school’s front yard from the fresh snow and absence of any passerby. Hawks crouches down slightly then to be eye-level, unhesitating to invade Dabi’s personal space and tilting his head to peer past long bangs; golden gaze details everything from Dabi’s white hair, too soft looking to be dyed, to pale (almost translucent) skin and gorgeous turquoise eyes framed by long lower eyelashes and dark circles. 

“What a waste.” 

Young Dabi’s got such attractive features, like a snow angel, but grew into that Frankenstein’s monstrosity. Considering his size and lean shoulders and rounded face, Hawks guesses Dabi to be about thirteen here. 

“The black hair dye is a nice cherry on top of your edgelord aesthetic, though.” 

There’s a fancy pin on the left lapel of Dabi’s blazer, with a design so intricate it’s practically a jeweled brooch; it just screams money. Now that Hawks thinks about it, the classroom is quite small with only ten students present like a private cram school; the walls are bare, yet its wainscotting border panels are decorated with gold-plated leaves and weaving vines. The teacher’s clothes and students’ bags all seem to be brand names, shiny accessories on their wrists and adorning their fingers.

Though Dabi seems to be an outlier on those aspects, it still makes Hawks chuckle. “Oh, Dabi - of all things, you came from money? I’d never have imagined you as a spoiled, snobby rich kid.” 

Under Dabi’s ironed black blazer is a white hoodie, which covers a fully buttoned-up shirt. Hawks didn’t think a fire user would wear this many layers indoors (since they tend to overheat), but keeping warm must not be the main reason as he notices bandages peeking out around his neck. There’s more wrapped up to his wrist, visible only from the long sleeve of his perched arm slipping down. From what? Hawks can’t conclude anything, even if he and the Hero Commission expected the villain to have a troubled past. To what extent, though?

“If only there’s a voice assist option with these visions. Like, I ask something, and you robotically answer me the truth - and only the truth.” He chirps, but after a moment of his outlandish hope being met with silence, he sighs deeply. “At least tell me your name, geez.”

Straightening himself, Hawks walks away to observe the surroundings. With his silver tongue and presence useless here, he’s feeling rather dispirited; the socially focused hero has never been good at sitting still, comically lost on what to do with any free time. Skipping right through the closed sliding doors, he makes just two steps in the hallway when a throbbing ache suddenly grips his chest and sends ripples of pain through his body until his legs nearly collapse under him. 

“Fuck -” Hawks gasps, light-headed as he quickly shuffles back into the classroom, and the pain ceases. “Okay - wow, that fucking hurt.” 

No straying too far away from Dabi. Noted.

Seriously, even in a flashback, his soulmate can still cause so much trouble.

Dutifully returning to Dabi, he leans against the windowsill with arms crossed before Dabi's desk, wings folding at his back. Soulmate visions are different for everyone since it's entirely dependent on what’s most significant to them. They may show the best or worst day, which Hawks assumes the latter for Dabi because what else could it be? He's currently trapped in a fucking cram school session during a practice exam. 

“Don’t tell me you became a villain because you hated school…” Hawks jokes, though he can’t deny the possibility. “You had some grudge against your parents for trying to educate you into an upstanding citizen that you went and became the opposite?

“You must be having a field day with whatever you’re seeing then. I didn’t exactly have a chance to enjoy school like you.”

Truly, Hawks wonders what Dabi could be seeing on his side. Perhaps the day the Hero Commission saved (bought) him? When he debuted? When he first met Endeavor face-to-face as fellow top-ranked heroes? Between those joyous milestones, there’s been plenty of hardship and wounds and loneliness, but the journey has been worth it; therefore, he doesn’t think his worst days could come from then. Dabi could also be witnessing his future. 

Either way, Hawks will have to warn the Hero Commission of possible personal information and confidential missions being compromised.

A clack startles Hawks out of his thoughts. 

Glancing to his side, he finds Dabi packing up, unceremoniously dumping his pencil into his backpack and hoisting it over his shoulder. While the other students exhale and stretch out of relief from finishing their practice exam, Dabi simply waltzes to the front with the still blank paper in hand. 

Hawks giggles as he follows. “What a rebellious thing at such a tiny age.”

As expected, Dabi isn’t met with the kindest attitude from the teacher. The exchange is silent: Dabi drops the paper onto the podium, sparing a single glance at the aged woman and uncaring of the deep irritated crevices in her expression, and twirls on his heel to leave. Hawks has to commend Dabi for his shamelessness and nerves of steel. The teacher reminds him of the Hero Commission’s president, and damn, he’d be immediately begging for forgiveness if such a look was directed towards him, no matter if he’s aware of his wrongdoings.

“...what a disgrace.”

Hawks jerks to a stop as Dabi does, the hero grinning sheepishly. “Oh, man…”

“Your middle school teachers warned me of this, but months into your freshman year and nothing has changed - you’re still the same degenerate. I feel sorry for your father.” The teacher mutters, voice full of contempt; she’s not hesitating to reprimand him right in front of his classmates, who all seem to have paused in their seats to listen in. “For all he sacrifices for society, the least you could do is not stain his good name.”

Is that...something you say to a kid? Hawks blinks, albeit flabbergasted. Even he’s never been called out like this in front of the other Hero Commission trainees, and he doubts taxpayers’ and parents’ money in good conscience should be used in funding the school to allow this.

“Ha.” Rolling his head, Dabi sneers over his shoulder and narrows his eyes fearlessly at his teacher. “And your forceful favoritism is ugly. Why don’t you actually kiss my father’s hairy ass? I’d love to see that rather than the passing scores you keep faking on my report card.” 

Hawks snaps his head towards Dabi, jaw dropping. Of all things his soulmate could’ve said first in this vision, he certainly didn’t expect that - not with that angelic face and adorably high-pitched voice.

Still...though the insult is on-brand with villain Dabi’s book, the innuendo made with it is concerning. And potentially true by the instant scarlet flush taking over the teacher’s face. 

“You - !” Slamming her hands against the podium, wooden seams shudder under the force as she crumbles Dabi’s exam paper with a vicious scowl. “Failures like you - you should be grateful and on your knees for the investment your father has put into your future. Heroes like him are the pillars of our society, and yet you - ! You dare embarrass him just by existing every single day!”

What? Hawks swallows hard, glancing around at the nonchalant expression of the other students as if such abusive speech from their teacher towards an impressionable teen is normal; a couple even seems to be holding back a snicker. 

And Dabi is no different, aside from the slight darkening in his demeanor and shaking fist at his side. He swiftly exits the classroom without another word. 

“Dabi -” Hawks starts, feet heavy from what just transpired, only to flinch at the teacher’s continued mumbling. 

“A failure like you...for your father’s sake, should not see the light of day.” Her head’s down, hands clenched so tight and ripping Dabi’s paper. “That’s right… We don’t need less than perfect pieces in our society.” 

“Fuck - do you ever shut up?” Unable to stop himself, Hawks growls at her. 

Even if neither she nor the students (especially the ones with shit-eating grins) nor Dabi can hear him, such a stupid speal about discarding people like inanimate pieces shouldn’t be spouted so carelessly. Sure, Hawks grew up with a few handlers bearing similar skewed views that heroes are the pillars of society and that their image should be perfect - from their backgrounds and careers and legacy; and that such perfection should be applied to their family and peers. 

They’ve once said: ‘Stains shouldn’t be attached to heroes. At least, the public shouldn’t know about it - otherwise, how would they place complete trust in them?’ 

And he understands that; Hawks has learned through his own short but packed career. They’re correct...to an extent. 

Just take the infamous All Might as an example; despite his hard-earned victory over AFO, his retirement managed to shake the foundational trust amongst the public towards their heroes and reminded them what was obvious: that heroes are humans, themselves. They make mistakes, have off-days, and collapse just as well. But within current society, heroes are revered and celebrated with their faces on merch and media and billboards, monopolizing essentially all advertising surfaces. It cemented an exaggerated ideal that heroes can be on duty 24/7, at the public’s beck and call. 

It also unfortunately births fervent believers like Dabi’s teacher.

Could this be why Dabi turned to villainy? 

Perhaps no one ever bothered to gently erase such rhetoric from his mind.

A pain blooming in his chest spurs Hawks to move, rushing through the door and flying down the polished stairs connected to the hallway. Unable to thoroughly observe his surroundings, he merely notes the lack of students and staff present; it supports his theory that this is a private school during a special cram session. 

One which Dabi completely played hooky in, Hawks huffs in amusement. Though, he’d probably do the exact same had he have to deal with that old bat of a teacher every session.

The sight of a white figure walking through the fresh snow has him smiling, and the hero drops right beside Dabi, unseen and unacknowledged other than the ache in his chest settling. He smiles wider when he finds he’s got a foot of standing height on the youth. 

“Hey, Dabi, you’re kinda small for your size, huh?” Hawks chirps, bracing his arms casually behind his head; he had guessed Dabi to be around thirteen, but “from what that teacher said, you just walked out of a session for high school freshmen - did you skip grades? Or puberty just came later to you?” 

Silence answers him, but Hawks doesn’t mind. He was raised as a socially focused hero, so talking to himself to pass the time has become habitual.

Each breath taken is easy, lacking the harsh intake of the wintry chill and visible exhales. It seems the ghostly setting applies to the vision’s atmosphere as well, with Hawks walking comfortably despite the thin layers of his suit and without sliding across the iced road.

“Anyways, it’s a bit annoying that you grew taller than me when you should’ve stayed this round and tiny. Maybe I should be calling you little Dabi instead? What do parents usually call their kids - honey? Baby? You’re cute right now, so it fits pretty well. Not to mention...” A swipe of his hand passes right through Dabi’s face, making Hawks huff. “Damn, too bad. Being able to report to the Hero Commission that I was able to pinch the League’s most elusive member’s cheeks would’ve been hilarious.

“Though...you’re really not him. Not yet.”

Hawks takes in Dabi’s hunched form: hands shoved in his pockets, with jacket hoodie up and wrapped in a sloppily knitted scarf; barely a sliver of his face could be seen like this. And despite no one being around, his turquoise eyes are trained on the ground. The youth’s pace is slow, unbalanced, and every so often, he stumbles and grunts across a patch of ice on the road. 

He’s truly a child here, Hawks thinks, as a newfound weight blooms in his gut. Though, he’s quick to dismiss it because he shouldn’t be feeling anything - much less sympathy or worry - for this soon-to-be villain. 

Even if Dabi’s currently injured.

Trailing golden eyes focus on Dabi’s legs, visibly thin even past the uniform’s loosely-fitted pants and delicately moving like a newborn deer hyper-focused on just getting one foot past the other. Hawks can sense droplets of blood smudging across Dabi's inner thighs with his heightened senses, and since Dabi has started his trek (presumably home), the scent of copper has only increased in the air, stains neatly hidden due to the dark colors of his clothing. No wonder Dabi keeps stumbling, even across sanded surfaces.

“Seriously, you just keep raising more questions. And unnecessary feelings...” 

As soon as those words left his mouth, Hawks flinches and forcibly folds his hands behind his back, swallowing down heroic instincts. Because just then, a particularly thick patch of ice nearly drops Dabi face-first onto the ground had it not been for the telephone pole breaking his fall. Damn it. And Hawks was about to catch him even though he knew - he fucking knew - it’d be impossible; his hands would’ve just passed through. 

When he notices a cut forming on Dabi’s palm as a result of the near fall, he sighs. “A baby - you’re literally a baby, Dabi.” 

His soulmate’s a fucking clumsy ass, accident-prone baby. At this rate, how’s he supposed to keep a straight face when interacting with the villain version in the real world?

“So... I’m guessing your father’s a hero?” Quickly changing the subject, Hawks says. “Must be quite the big name if your school is trying to get into his good graces while still dealing with you. Should've known you'd be one of those rebellious and ungrateful kids with a golden spoon.”

This insult feels heavy and wrong on his tongue, but it’s necessary.

The Hero Commission has placed trust and investment into this infiltration mission, so what’s the point if useless feelings arise from this? The real Dabi’s no longer this adorable, salvageable child.

“Was becoming a villain your way to prove some point? Acting out in private had no effect, so you had to trouble the rest of society?” 

And villain Dabi has certainly caused trouble - from leading the U.A.’s training camp raid that kidnapped a student to leaving burnt corpses like gingerbread trials to back alley hideouts of hardened criminals; too bad no police searches of those areas bore fruit to the League’s own hideout. 

“You’re smart, Dabi. But what’s your purpose? Your name has spread quite far, wanted posters with your face spread around the hero community, yet no one has come forward - not your father or any public tips. No one’s come forward to claim you. Your family probably doesn’t even know you exist as a villain, though I kinda get it - the scars are nasty and edgy and maybe a bit sad. I’d never thought as a child, you’d look this cute. 

“Still, I thought family would be...more perceptive…”

The hero cuts himself off, golden eyes bulging wide and shaking, as his feet stumble into a very, very familiar street. Because only one gated mansion resides here, tall and powerful in its bearing much like the top-ranked hero that owns it.

“What? No - wait, what?” Hawks gawks, passing the gold plated name engraved on the wooden panel hanging at its entrance.

‘Todoroki,’ it states.

Todoroki Enji - Endeavor.  

“No way - no - ! You can’t be his son!” Hawks screeches; impulsively and fervently, his wings puff up in defense of his childhood savior - his role model - his star. “Y - You can’t be related to -” He stutters, blood draining from his face, as Dabi unlocks the side door with familiarity in his movements; there’s a black cat charm on his keyring that speaks of a personal artifact.

No.

No - Dabi could be the child of a live-in servant; Endeavor and his family reside in such a huge mansion, he’s got to have some, right? Because he can’t - he just can’t - 

“Touya-nii!” 

A white-haired child (with red streaks below his ears), dressed in just a thin t-shirt and basketball shorts and barefoot, skips from the porch towards Dabi with a toothy smile and equally sparkling grey eyes; his steps part the fresh snow, absent of sluggishness as if the cold didn’t affect him. Though he’s the same height as Dabi, the boy’s obviously younger from the innocent demeanor and elation practically tangible from Dabi’s presence. 

Todoroki Natsuo. Hawks recalls him from Endeavor’s profile in the Hero Commission. He’s the son with the most similar build to Endeavor, so the recognition is instant; even Natsuo’s university profile picture is strikingly similar to a young Endeavor first entering the hero scene. 

“Natsu - what the hell? Even if you’ve got an ice quirk, you can’t fucking come out here wearing nothing!” Dabi scolds, tugging off his scarf. 

Cupping his hands over his ears, Natsuo whines as he slides to a stop before Dabi. “Nooo. I just got an earful, so not you too - you sound like Yumi-nee - ah!”

The scarf gets thrown on the younger boy, Dabi rolling his arms to wrap the cloth twice around his head despite the high-pitched squawks of protest. “Shut up. If Yumi told you off, it’s for a damn good reason.”

Natsuo wiggles his hands free, yanking the scarf to gather around his neck and inhaling a deep breath from the near suffocation attempt, a gleeful smile still plastered. 

Dabi huffs, his frown melting into a small smile. “You loser. Now, tell me why you ran out like this.” He says as he hurries inside, shaking off clumped snow on his clothes once he reaches the concrete steps. 

“I’m, uh…” Natsuo follows closely on Dabi’s tail. “...training?” There’s a flippant show of flexing his lean biceps within the foyer. 

Dabi scoffs. “For what? Becoming the world’s first living snowman? Because I know you don't wanna be a hero, so tell me the real reason.” 

“I - I might not wanna be one, but - I can’t just let only you and Shouto do it! Bro’s allegiance, right? You did it, so I’m training too!” 

A complicated expression, one a mixture of anger and sorrow and guilt, flashes across Dabi’s face, but it’s quickly gone with a sigh. “Whatever, just don’t be stupid and overwork yourself. Is the old bastard in?”

Natsuo nods. “Yeah, Dad’s home...and just finished - um, with Shouto in that room.” 

Lowering his head into the scarf, Natsuo rolls his lips as Dabi grimaces and the mood literally plummets past the frozen temperatures outside. 

Shit, Hawks has assumed that Endeavor would steer being a detached family head, considering his demanding profession and blunt and sometimes overzealous personality, but Hawks doesn’t like such dark looks on his sons (one not proven yet, but still) - not Natsuo fidgeting with his fingers, nails bitten out of anxiety, or Dabi grinding his teeth in a snarl. And all this just from mentioning that Endeavor’s home.

Dabi - no, his name’s Touya. Possibly Todoroki Touya. 

What the fuck? Endeavor’s profile never once documented four biological children, but soulmate visions can’t lie. 

“Um, Touya-nii…” Natsuo starts, voice apprehensive. “Shouto - he’s hurt. I think...more than usual. Yumi-nee was running around looking for a stick.”

“To settle an arm or leg?” Dabi asks, far too calm to news of their youngest brother having a broken bone. “What, I didn’t think Shouto has progressed that far in training for the bastard to hit that hard.”

“I - I don’t know. He just - screamed a lot.”

Dabi turns, blinking in surprise at Natsuo’s upturned eyes directed at him, a silent request being conveyed. For what, Hawks doesn’t know though Dabi must, as a scowl crosses his face. “You’re kidding - I haven’t even talked to the kid in forever.” 

“Shouto -” Natsuo snaps his mouth shut, swallowing as if to choose the words carefully. “Yumi-nee needs your help. She...was really worried that she couldn’t treat him right - not like you could.” 

“She knows when to call in that shitty doctor.” 

“But by the time he’ll arrive -” 

“The bastard won’t let permanent injuries on his masterpiece. Don’t worry, he’s got an investment in the future - far more than the kid himself.” 

“Touya-nii, please?”

The stressed plea causes Dabi to jerk, ceasing his walk amid the quiet hallway. His turquoise gaze turns strained at Natsuo’s insistence until he sighs deeply and heavily. “Fucking hell - fine.” Unbuttoning his uniform jacket, he tosses that and his backpack to Natsuo. “Take these back to my room, will ya?”

“Of course!” Natsuo cheers, a bright smile returning. 

“First-aid kit?”

“Yumi-nee already brought it with her - they should be in Shouto’s room in the annex.”

Dabi scoffs. “Always hilarious that that old bastard moved his masterpiece to the back annex. As if it’s Shouto he’s ashamed of.”

“Touya-nii…” Natsuo says, tone low in warning. 

“I know, damn it. I’m already gonna do the kid a favor, so don’t blabber stupid stuff to Yumi.”

Natsuo mimes zipping his mouth, then double zips the other way with his left hand, Dabi’s articles tucked under his armpit. It manages to break the mood slightly, Dabi displaying a rueful smile as he trudges away from the younger boy. It drops instantly, as Dabi’s expression craftily washes blank into a detached mask like that of trained agents about to undergo an interrogation - or torture. His shoulders hunch into himself, body language incredibly telling that he doesn’t want to be here in his own home. 

As Dabi passes closed doors one after another, winding hallways bare of pictures on the walls, and across a mezzanine overlooking a well-kept indoor garden and field, Hawks can’t help but think: this place is fucking dreary. There’s evidence of it maintained: decor consistent in simple yet regal oriental style, floors polished, decorative pillars and corners spotless of dust, and flowers fresh in vases. But it looks uninhabited, like an extravagant tourist spot to keep appearances rather than someone’s home. 

Fuck, Hawks never thought the Hero Commission’s training to hone his observational skills and blunt disposition would ever be used on Endeavor. 

What the hell is going on here?

How could a soulmate vision impact him this much? It should’ve been a bonus information gathering event on Dabi - should’ve been a simple bullet point in the report he’ll turn into his superiors. But with Endeavor’s unforeseen, personal involvement in Dabi’s past, there’s a visceral fear that something monumental will be revealed - for both himself and society. 

Dabi turns a corner then suddenly flinches to a stop. 

“Touya.”

Hawks sucks in a sharp breath at the familiar, husky timbre. Leaping to stand behind Dabi, he unwittingly smiles when Endeavor appears into sight. Fanboy heart, be still! His role model towers over them - there in the flesh, dressed casually in a black turtleneck that doesn’t leave anything to the imagination, fierce turquoise eyes and clean shave visible without his usual flaming mustache and beard. 

Except, the atmosphere feels wrong. 

Is the vision playing tricks on Hawks? Why…? The power and charisma that are synonymous with Endeavor somehow seem menacing - overbearing and suffocating - from Dabi's position. The hero's rugged body blocks passage, muscles flexing as he crosses his arms and looks (no, is that a glare?) down upon Dabi.

“Touya, just where are you going?”

“I…” Dabi swallows as he lifts his head, spine still notably hunched like a prey trying to hide but also guarded against a predator. “I’m going to greet Shouto - haven’t seen the kid in a while.” 

“He just finished training and is resting. Don’t bother him.” 

Compared to when Dabi had stood defiantly before his teacher, he looks small - fragile and afraid, and yet, the challenge remains in his eyes and voice. He scoffs. "You mean: don't bother Yumi while she's patching the wounds you put on our five-year-old baby brother?"

Endeavor’s brow twitches. “They're necessary to get stronger. You've experienced it too and must understand, though Shouto’s already at a higher level than when you stopped.”

“Hah - as expected of the masterpiece. Anyways, I'm just going to help - I'm better at patching wounds than Yumi, after all. More experience due to someone.”

“That's unnecessary.” Endeavor says, unperturbed to Dabi’s rising tension. “Again, he's fine.”

“Funny. You said the same thing about Mom after you sent her to the mental hospital -”

A loud crack echoes as Dabi’s neck jerks to the side, the sound reverberating through the vacant hallway, as a large red handprint blooms across Dabi’s left cheek. The boy stumbles but remains on his feet, cupping his struck cheek with shaking fingers. His breath stutters for an instant, a cusp of a whimper before he’s biting his lower lip hard to stifle it. 

"You're in a mood today, Touya. Did you cause trouble at cram school again?"

“I wouldn't need to attend in the first place had you not pushed me to miss school. Remember, you old bastard?” Dabi hisses, baring his teeth. “I had so many fucking seizures from my quirk screwing up my body that I had to be put in a medically induced coma. That entire year I was under - did you ever visit me?”

A flicker of orange flame appears under Endeavor’s clenched jaw. “I was busy.”

“With fucking what? Busy torturing Mom until she snapped and hurt Shouto - because she thought he was you -”

The crack this time is louder, crueler, and with more weight behind it; the same hero’s hand that has saved Hawks and countless others is being used to harm his own son. Dabi’s unable to hold back the cry of pain, collapsing against the wall and barely catching himself before his temple could smack against it. 

However, no reprieve is given. 

As Endeavor seizes Dabi’s thin wrist, yanking so that the boy’s forced to confront him head-on, his iconic mask of flames materialize, readying himself like he would against a wicked criminal. “You should thank me for sending her away. She was sick - daring to touch what’s mine and poisoning you with such biased hostility. You're just like her - frail and mentally weak. Even worse, your body rejects my quirk as you grow older. 

“In the future, will you try to hurt Shouto as well?

“I - I'm not a fucking monster. Not like you.”

Endeavor twists his grip, ripples of red surfacing on Dabi’s pale skin in its wake. Dabi cries. The hero’s expression suddenly becomes thoughtful and says. “It's been a while since I've last trained you.”

“Ah.” All color drains from Dabi’s face, replaced by so much fear. He struggles desperately, feet dragging on the floor and straining the tender flesh of his caught wrist until the shade becomes an ugly purple. “No - no, let me go, you sick fuck!”

But it’s useless.

Unable to break free, Dabi’s thrown into a spacious room filled with training equipment and lined with fireproof black material across its walls. Breath short and legs trembling, Dabi still manages to stumble into a guarded stance and sneer hatefully. “What? Beating Shouto up wasn't enough for you? Gotta torture another weak brat for the sake of your ego?”

Endeavor glowers, eyes hard and disappointed. “Everything I've done is for your own good. Your quirk has gotten stronger over the years, but you can't control it - not like Shouto. I’ve long lost all expectations from you, so the least you could do is not trouble me by keeping yourself out of the hospital.

“I'll focus on building your endurance here.”

And that’s all the warning Dabi gets, before Endeavor’s seizing his left wrist once more and igniting it in flames. The boy screams, pitched and full of terror.

“This hurts?” Endeavor growls. “It's less than what Shouto took today - far less than your own quirk at a normal output and it hurts?! Quit screaming, Touya!”

Dabi shakes his head, tears running his flushed cheeks and clawing at Endeavor's arm. “Please, stop -” He begs brokenly as flickers of blue from his own quirk spark in fright, fueling the open flame. “I'm sorry, Dad - I'm sorry, I'm sorry - !”

“Pathetic.” Endeavor clicks his tongue. 

Dabi gets tossed to the ground, hitting his side and shoulder hard against the wooden floor; the boy chokes, quaking and curling into himself as the flames dissipate and leave behind burnt-through tears of his jacket. Visible skin of Dabi’s forearm bears an angry red and branding of a large palm. 

“Return to your room, Touya. Shouto doesn't need any failures tainting him.” 

And Endeavor leaves without hesitation, slamming the sliding door until its hinges creak. 

And Hawks crumbles to his knees beside Dabi, tears welling up in golden eyes. Gaze hyperfocused on the boy’s collapsed form, he absorbs every muted sniffles and gasps; each one creating a chip in his cored admiration for Endeavor. 

This is the real Todoroki Enji? Under his pristine heroic persona, this was what transpired behind closed doors? 

Why? How could this happen? 

Dabi just wanted to help patch up his baby brother at the request of his other. But for it to result in a second-degree burn from his own father - the No. 2 hero then. To Endeavor, this is training? Just setting a child’s arm on fire and telling - demanding him to endure it? Did he subject five-year-old Shouto to the same treatment?

Fuck - Dabi’s scars; there’s a high chance they weren't self-inflicted like Hawks had initially theorized. 

Soulmates witness either the best or worst day of their half, be it the past or future. It can’t get any worse than this, right?

A scream - Dabi’s screaming again, and if Hawks could break out of his shock, he’d surely do the same. Instead, he helplessly watches Dabi gasp for breath, voice cracking and chest heaving erratically, as his turquoise eyes start to lose focus; they’re signs of an impending panic attack, but practice moves Dabi, clawing his burnt arm until welts of blood form. The pain subverts the attack, though it causes fresh tears to fall. 

Just pass out, Hawks thinks. It'll be easier that way.

He's passed out plenty of times during the Hero Commission’s training. Though, Hawks has grown up monitored across the hour by handlers who'd at least carry him to the medical bay with functional beds. But here? Where Endeavor’s mansion holds enough walls and space to mute such tragic screams?

At least unlike him, his soulmate’s strong. Dabi can recover by himself.

With a pained groan, Dabi rises to his feet, clutching his left arm tightly to his chest. His hair hangs heavy over his eyes, damp from the cold sweat peppering his temple and nape; lips pale and bitten through, he looks tired. Like a zombie walking, he drags his injured self out and backtracks his route, across the mezzanine and a couple of corners, until he finally staggers through a door and collapses face-first onto a bed.

Only then, does Dabi take a moment to breathe. 

“Dabi…” Hawks whispers as he stands to the side, holding back another sob in his throat. “Why...must you be my soulmate? I - I haven’t cried since my father abandoned my mother and me. It was the tipping point for her to drown in drugs and alcohol, but - why?  

“How could you do this to me? Endeavor’s my idol - someone who’s emotionally supported me for so long, and yet - you had to show me such - such...horrendous things.”

Dabi provides no answer. Yet, what just happened surely speaks volumes in his stead. 

“Why must you play with my feelings like this?” 

Dabi sighs and pushes his body down the sheets, leaving crimson stains behind, until he falls to his knees by his bedside. Digging under the bed with his scatheless arm, he fishes out a metallic lunchbox; despite its decorative film torn on the cover and edges sunken in from use, its red-orange tint reminds Hawks of Endeavor’s merch lining the stores. Dabi snaps the lock open, extracting a spiral mini notebook and a polaroid camera. But it's what’s underneath that makes Hawks gag. Because there are countless polaroid images of subjects bearing visible wounds, labeled with specific dates; most of them are a majority of Dabi, though a few pictures a woman with equally white hair and dull grey eyes. 

“O - Oh my God.” Hawks doesn’t need to go through each one to know what they’re for: proof of Endeavor’s domestic abuse.

One print is that of the woman sporting a split lip and dark bruise across her right cheek, shirt collar pushed down to also capture that on her shoulder. Another simply focuses on her forearms, a red imprint of something - a pole or a hero’s backhanding arm - struck across them. 

There are more - far too many more images.

Fresh tears drop as Hawks watches Dabi bite into his sheets, muffling his whimpers and fighting to peel off his jacket. Once his hurt arm comes free, Dabi’s left panting, devoid of tears perhaps due to having emptied them all. There are old scarring, scratches, and rough-looking blemishes along his collarbone and down his right shoulder, and from the sliver of skin peeking past the jacket’s zipper, there’s some across his chest.

The poor boy’s marred all over. How did no one notice or report this? 

A flash. Then, another. The polaroid camera captures today’s incidents from the most prominent injuries to his swollen cheeks; just more pictures to add to the lunchbox that’s already filled to the brim. 

Dabi reaches for the marker in the box, wincing when he unconsciously uses his hurt left arm. So he’s left-handed. Testing its function, Dabi twists his wrist and flexes each of his fingers, stupidly until the lesions bled again.

“Fuck…” Dabi groans, settling for grabbing it with his right hand. 

Flipping the notebook open, all entries that Hawks catches read like a detached diary - or medical logbook; on the first random empty page, Dabi jots down messily: ‘angry,’ ‘mom,’ ‘training.’ 

‘Angered Endeavor from mentioning Mom, so he trained me,’ Hawks guesses that'd be the real entry once Dabi can write properly. 

“Fuck -” Dabi repeats and sways on his knees, crumpling onto the carpeted ground. Hawks thought his soulmate finally passed out until a small - broken and vulnerable - voice sounds. “Natsu, hey… Why - was I born?” 

Hawks’ breath hitches.

“Y’know, today, the old bastard...to me, he -” Dabi laughs wetly, a mixture of blood and tears falling past his lips; he must’ve bitten his tongue from holding back the pain. “Yeah, I’m really - really nothing more than a trial period for his masterpiece. Even though I never...wanted to hate the kid like this…” A pause. “I wonder if this is normal… The old bastard said it is. My teachers, the police, even the Hero Commission…”

Dabi went to his bosses for help? Hawks shudders. 

Because that’d implicate them in actively covering up Endeavor’s abuse. Hell, ‘Todoroki Touya’ wasn’t even listed under Endeavor’s profile, which means they - they really fucking erased him from existence. 

“They said they got a prospect of the same age doing the same thing.”

What? 

“Called him bird orphan, or something - said that he’s training enthusiastically and without complaints, so I should do better. But me constantly hurting like this... is this normal? I haven’t...even healed completely from the last time I talked back to him…”

Hawks doesn’t have an answer; because nearly all thoughts and words stuck on his tongue would challenge the very educational foundation his handlers have beaten into him. Hawks became a powerful and top-ranking hero in the end, after grueling years of training and enduring, so does he have any right to criticize the Hero Commission’s methods? Endeavor’s methods? Shouto has proved his strength during the publicly broadcasted sports festival, surely having endured Endeavor’s training, unlike Dabi - a training that has a 50% success rate, with the failure becoming a villain. Is that normal?

“Shit…” Dabi wheezes. “I can't even pass out because I've gotten used to this level of pain… Fucking bastard should’ve made it hotter - should’ve tried harder to kill me...”

“No.” Hawks clenches his eyes shut, collapsing beside Dabi as trimmed talons tear into blonde hair. “No, no - Dabi, this isn’t…” 

Hawks didn’t grow up normally - he never had the chance to either - but this? This can’t be it.

Sobbing, the hero’s wings span wide around them, unconsciously cocooning them both. 

Just what has his soulmate suffered through? 

-

“...do you think he’s asleep?” 

“Maybe - oh, don’t knock, Natsu. We shouldn’t disturb him.”

Wings twitching at the hushed whispers, Hawks brushes a phantom hand past Dabi’s hair, a faint smile on his lips, and stands. The boy finally settled just moments ago, and Hawks spent every single agonizing second by Dabi, who shivered and gasped and groaned until the cold sweat dissipated and color returned to normal across the healthy expanse of his skin. Currently, Dabi’s starfished on the ground, eyes closed, and chest rising steadily. Hawks would much prefer him on the bed, but he’s already commending Dabi for being able to rest in this state and would hate for anything nonsensical to disrupt that.

Hawks peeks his head through the door and finds two small children, one being Natsuo, eyes red-rimmed and snot-covered, with nails even more bitten through than before. The other is a girl bearing similar features to the children in this household: slim build, white-haired with scattered red streaks, dull turquoise eyes, and a haunted expression far too tragic for their tender age. Todoroki Fuyumi clutches a first aid kit tightly against her chest, feet shuffling anxiously but in comparison to Natsuo, who’s openly sobbing by her side, it’s obvious she’s forcibly trying to keep calm for both their sakes. 

“T - Touya-nii - because of me, he’s hurt a - again...”

“What do you mean?” Fuyumi asks, voice careful and neutral. 

“I thought you would need help with Shouto - t - thought it’d be good for Touya-nii to meet him after s - so long, but I -” Natsuo wails. “I just sent him straight to Dad - !” 

“Not so loud, Natsu.” She shushes him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, which he latches onto immediately. 

Meanwhile, Natusuo bites into his free hand to stifle his hiccups and convulsing gasps. Every so often, Hawks thinks he spots snowflakes glimmering across flushed cheeks. “B - But Yumi-nee, you don’t understand - he screamed so loud while I just hid.” 

“Touya-nii’s strong - you know that. Besides, you said...that Dad wasn’t using his strongest fire?”

“Y - Yeah.” Natsuo sniffs. “It didn’t go hotter than orange flames, but Touya-nii was still -”

“He’ll be fine.” Fuyumi quickly interjects. “He’s...faced worse, so the wounds shouldn’t be any different than those he gets from his quirk. He just needs to cool down, which...he knows to do.”

Does he? The hero has never once heard of casualties being responsible for handling their own treatment or aftercare. 

Hawks glances behind him at Dabi’s forearm that has developed a sleeve of darkened scabs like that of volcanic patches - hardened and cracked at the edges wherever there’s contact with undamaged skin. It’s reminiscent of the villain’s extensive scarring, and the hero feels sick knowing who instigated them. 

“...I don’t hear anything.” Hawks turns back to Fuyumi pressing her ears against the door; she straightens, sighing. “Let’s go. He'll come out when he wants to.”

“But what if -”

“Touya-nii had cram school since 8 AM, a practice exam, and returned to… Anyways, we should really let him rest. Out of all of us, he knows best, so if he needs us, he’ll call.”

He did, though. Hawks thinks solemnly. Had a whole existential crisis about why he was born, as well.

“I’ll ready some ice packs and burn ointments in the kitchen for when he comes out for dinner. So, come on, Natsu - Dad’s tired and doesn't like unnecessary noise in the hallways.” She stares at her younger brother, eyes sympathetic yet hard, to convey the urgency. 

Fuyumi couldn’t be older than fourteen, yet she’s talking about all this like it’s normal, hypothesizing about wounds and improvising treatment; but perhaps it is - in Endeavor’s household. 

After a moment, Natsuo reluctantly nods. “...if only Touya-nii could master Prominence Burn, t - then Dad wouldn’t ignore him or pressure Shouto like this. They’d be such great h - heroes together, right, Yumi-nee?” 

She hums, though it lacks vigor, and deposits the first aid kit beside the closed door, then guides Natsuo away with a hand on his back.

Sighing deeply, Hawks makes a mental note to check on Dabi’s siblings and hospitalized mother once this vision ends. Shouto would receive the moral support and much-needed care at U.A. (a teenager’s walls could only stand for so long around a bunch of nosy aspiring heroes), but these two? They fell past Endeavor's radar growing up, but that doesn't mean their own share of wounds didn't fester. However, he'll have to be strategic about this; building off past experiences with victims, they’ll surely withdraw from confrontations about their past or suddenly offered support, considering he’s merely Endeavor’s coworker in the real world. 

Had fate not intervened, Hawks doubts the abuse would ever come to light. 

And he'd simply continue being the fervent fanboy - the ignorant and fake hero. Like so many others cheering Endeavor, he would've discounted Dabi for a mere stain - a pebble trying to crumble society for flippant reasons. 

But now? 

Hawks can't even bear to see Dabi - his soulmate - without his heart clenching painfully.

“Seriously, what a jokester fate is...” 

Making someone occupy his mind to this extent - making Hawks want to save this precious boy at all costs. The hero never had the opportunity or permission to treasure someone, but surely this is it - this desperate desire to protect and wish for their happiness and safety. Because why the fuck wouldn’t his soulmate deserve all that? 

“Why...didn’t I meet you earlier, Dabi?” 

Because in a foolish thought, something could’ve been different - something other than Dabi’s trail of charred bodies, the involvement in Snatch’s death, the dangerous and obsessive (yet valid) desire to destroy their No. 1 hero. At the moment, Hawks’ got nothing to prove that this boy, this salvageable existence, still lives within the villain - that Dabi deserves another chance at a normal life. And even if he wholeheartedly believes in that, it’d be a disservice and affliction to his soulmate if he can’t convince the Hero Commission and the society Dabi would return to of it, as well. 

“...that’s right.” 

Flinching, Hawks looks over his shoulder to find Dabi’s risen form.

His soulmate stands on wobbly legs, staring distraughtly at his open hands as if they carried all the world’s sins; with crazed eyes, the turquoise gaze teeters at the edge like pulsing flames of his quirk about to explode.

“That’s right -” Dabi rasps. “If only I could master Prominence Burn, he’d - I wouldn’t be...”

“Fuck, you heard them?” Hawks winces, quick to skip to Dabi’s side. His hands reach out to rest on tiny - far too tiny - shoulders, pushing through with the phantom touch to satisfy his own need to provide a pacifying hold on the shaking boy. “It’s alright -”

Except, Dabi suddenly surges forward. 

“Ah - !” Hawks startles, swiveling gaze catching the tailends of Dabi’s back. “Hey, what - wait, Dabi!” 

Throwing open the door, Dabi all but stumbles across the desolate and dark hallway, hands clawing at the walls to hasten his steps, undeterred by the scabs on his arm and hidden wounds under his clothes breaking open from the rough movements. 

“Dabi, stop! Where are you going?” Hawks immediately catches up, wings twitching apprehensively as fine feathers detect every wheeze and incomprehensible babbling coming from the boy.

“Because of me - If only I could just master it... I - I can -”

He’s not in his right fucking mind. Hawks realizes in horror. But how could he be? Anyone less capable would’ve broken ages ago under this roof.

Stop him.

Someone - anyone, please notice.  

Hawks’ breath hitches when the first drops of Dabi’s blood splatter behind him, staining the floors and freely falling until they color his fingertips. And yet, Dabi’s uneasy, determined pace doesn’t even stutter, and crimson streaks eventually decorate the bare walls.

Stop him, please! 

However, only stillness rears its head with every passing closed door and empty corridors. 

Where the fuck is everyone?

“Endeavor-san! Da - Touya is - !” Hawks screams, urgent and desperate; he ceases his steps the instant what looks to be the back door appears in Dabi’s path. “Fuyumi-chan! Natsuo-kun!” 

A bang of a door opening, followed by a blooming ache in his chest, prompts Hawks to turn back towards Dabi. He gasps at the distance his soulmate has already put in between them. 

As a last plea, he calls out for: “Shouto-kun, stop him! Please - ! Touya needs you!” 

But then the pain bursts to an intolerable degree, clouding his focus.

“Fuck - no. I can’t -” Hawks grits his teeth, talons clutching over his heart, to keep consciousness. “C’mon, Touya’s handled far worse than this.” He can’t collapse, not when fate purposely placed him here within this vision; he can’t just not see it through the end.

Once more, Hawks rushes after Dabi into the wintry scenery, being met with a sloping mountainous trail covered in pristine white past the boundaries of Endeavor’s mansion. He spares a passing glance at the disorderly fences and neglected garden (such a stark contrast to the neat and systematic designs of the front lawn and indoor spaces), then he’s taking flight. Dreary clouds above, whilst surrounded by husks of once glorious trees, Hawks follows the otherworldly pull until he finally catches sight of familiar white hair and frail body.

“Touya!” The hero stumbles a bit with his landing, unable to guesstimate the distance to the ground with thick layers of snow in between, and to his alarm, it nearly reaches his kneecaps. 

He gapes in amazement at the deep tracks left behind by Dabi, considering the snow reaches halfway up the boy’s thighs, yet he continues. Aside from the redness on his cheeks and nose, Dabi’s sickly pale all over; it doesn’t help that even the torn jacket blends in with the colorless scenery. 

How his soulmate climbed all the way up here in his state is beyond Hawks, but fuck - how the hell didn’t anyone notice or commend Dabi’s perseverance? Such a positive and highly sought trait. Even if he didn’t become a hero, this drive would’ve catapulted him to success regardless of what field he pursues. He would’ve succeeded - he would’ve brought pride to the family. No doubt about it.

And yet, why did no one ever realize that? Why didn’t Endeavor realize that? 

“Touya, why did you come here? Let’s go back, please.” Hawks pleads, keeping close step with the trudging boy. 

It’s useless. These words and feelings - they’re all meaningless at this point. 

But Hawks doesn’t stop. Because in his gut, there’s a visceral fear that something far worse will occur here than anything that has transpired before. 

“I...I don’t like this. Please - don’t do anything stupid.”

His soulmate finally comes to a stop in a clearing, chest heaving from the trek. Despite being out in the cold for a while, thick fumes continuously materialize past his lips. It’s expected of a fire user to be able to stay warm in such freezing conditions; however, from textbook knowledge, any elemental users are more at risk from drastic temperature fluctuations. Hawks suspects that once Dabi loses control of his quirk, his body would be seized by hyperthermia faster than others.

The surrounding trees are bare, branches hanging like slender claws, with notably mismatched shadings across each individual trunk; the side pointed towards the center where Dabi stands seems darker in coloration due to a layer of soot. The ground isn’t coated in snow but rather with sleet and blackened flakes, as if the surface has been unnaturally transformed to maintain a higher temperature such that the flurries of snow become unable to stick or gather.

Is this a regular training spot? For Dabi or possibly Endeavor? 

Okay, Hawks thinks. Foolishly: there’s still a chance.  

There’s a good birdseye view of the Todoroki mansion, so if Dabi suddenly trains Prominence Burn here, someone would see the unnatural blue light. 

They have to. For Dabi’s sake - fucking please. They must.

The first flicker of brilliant blue makes Hawks break out in cold sweat. 

Dabi has gotten into stance, lowering his center and folding thin arms against his sides, dancing orbs of fire alight on each of the boy’s clenched fists. The pose is akin to Endeavor charging his quirk to become the embodiment of a solar flare. 

But Dabi isn’t as resilient to his own power.

Because what starts as flames the size of a pulsing heart abruptly explodes into an inferno, exponentially multiplying in size and lethality. The sleet evaporates within an instant as surrounding trees catch on fire, tremble and soon crumble to ashes. 

Along with Dabi.

“Oh my God - !” Hawks screeches, but it’s deafened by the heartwrenching and excruciating screams from his soulmate. “No, no, no - !” 

The stench of burning flesh and flickers of violet sparks amongst the wall of blue consume Hawks’ senses. Past arms held defensively over his head from instinct, golden eyes bulge out wide in terror as the flames soar high like a festive bonfire, while the most combustible and precious flint crumbles to his knees and hands at its core. 

This can’t be fucking happening. 

“Run! Fuck, why - why won’t you move?! Touya!” 

The boy suddenly flinches, ceasing his screams to gape at Hawks. No, not at Hawks but rather at the Todoroki mansion behind him - the home that shows no signs of activity despite their eldest child literally burning alive. 

But it’s not just that that hurts. Because despite the vibrant fire surrounding him, Dabi’s eyes are dull and weary, turquoise color the only thing similar to the flames. His soulmate’s feet remain rooted to the ground, just accepting the destruction upon his body, as it tears into his soul that's already been beaten to hell; except, in this instance, he’s unable to rise back up on his own.

And Hawks cries, far louder and more grieved than ever before, as a flash of white blinds him. 

.

.

.

Hawks gasps, sucking in sharp breaths as he struggles to remain on his feet. He blinks rapidly, driving away the screen across his vision as his senses focus one by one. Due to his hunched over position, concrete greets him. Lacking the white sheen of layered snow. The air is cool, not frozen. And it stinks like garbage and piss customary with back alleys.

He’s back. No -

A stuttering exhale sounds before him.

They’re back.

Hesitantly, Hawks clutches his chest and straightens to find the villain - his soulmate - Dabi similarly hunched over. Though, when he snaps his head up, Hawks’ breath catches. Because Dabi’s looking directly at him with parted mismatched lips, but not with a gaze belonging to a villain towards a hero; nor of a murderer or despairing child. Somehow, his eyes remind him of an unhurt Touya, where something other than rage and mania exists in the turquoise sea - something like hope.

Just what did Dabi see during his vision? 

Though, does it really matter? If it was able to return that spark in his eyes.

Like a flower bud having broken through layers of the frozen landscape and finally being able to bask in the light, Dabi looks at Hawks with wonder and awe. As if there's a future to be sought after all this.

Oh. There’s his precious soulmate - still alive and fighting. 

So Hawks doesn’t think about the Hero Commission or the mission or even the greater good of society, as he smiles, relieved and joyous, with tears streaming down his face.