Chapter Text
“ Shadows chased me far from home
I remember when my heart was filled with gold
And you know
I've been burned, I've been burned, I've been burned
You've seen me lose control
It's not worth, it's not worth, it's not worth my soul ”
Toward the Sun
The watery-clear light seeping from the curtain informed Keigo that it was barely dawn when he woke up. Weary honey eyes closed again and he sighed tiredly without moving, resting on his front, face smashed in the pillow. He had barely slept, once again. He was used to the lack of rest, before, when he was still a Hero… but ever since his early retirement, he couldn’t recover as fast as he did. The numerous doctors he’d seen had warned him. Given the severity of his wounds, it would take a long while for him to recover from his physical damages. The implication of an even longer, if ever, recovery for the psychological ones had hung heavy in the air.
Keigo held back a sob as much as he could. No. It was too early for it . If he let it jump at his throat first thing in the morning, he knew he would be miserable for the whole day. Then again, all his days were miserable since that spiraling Hell of a battle.
Hell. Fire. Burn.
A pang of anxiety crawled through his whole being, making all his muscles tense and the tiredness disappear, like icy hot water thrown at his face. He knew he couldn’t stay laying on his bed anymore. He needed an occupation, something to focus his mind on, something to swallow him whole, even if for a couple of hours. If not, he would definitely get an anxiety attack or a depressive episode. The term never failed to make him smirk bitterly – how could it still be called “episodes” when he wanted to end his life almost constantly?
No, he couldn’t let himself dwell on it, he had to cut the rising crisis before it could totally unfurl.
He got up slowly but still hissed at the painful tugging at his back – don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it . His knees were wobbly, his body still not used to its new, lighter equilibrium. He almost tripped on the short distance leading to his bathroom, and had to grab on the dresser to not fall on the ground. Keigo felt the prickling of tears in his eyes, but he refused to cry. He was pathetic enough as he was.
He had taken down the mirror in his bathroom, or more accurately, smashed it in a sorrow-drunk night, but the shower still sent him back how things had changed, and it hit him like a sucker-punch in the solar plexus.
The shower was huge. Way too big for his now too small frame.
Don’t think about it don’t think about it.
He used to take almost too hot showers, to sooth his aching muscles after a long day. Now, he didn’t go inside if the water was something warmer than lukewarm. You’ll get used to it, the doctors had said. And yet, he still had not, and doubted he would ever. How can one get used to nightmares? To acrid panic flowing with the tiniest increase of warmth? To warmth shifting from comforting to utterly frightening? How can one get used to the loss of the one thing that made them who they were
Three weeks ago, Keigo had gone to the little 24/7 minimarket two streets away. He had been careful to go very late so there wouldn’t be too many people, and had put a hoodie on, so he wouldn’t be recognized. Other than the cashier and himself, not another soul was there. As he was paying, the cashier had smiled and, probably wanting to make small talk, had said:
“You know, you kinda look like Hawks, the Number Two Hero! Has anyone told you before?”
He had been stunned, like a piece of the ceiling had dropped on him. He must have looked pale, because the cashier had asked him if he was alright. And it made sense, really : the Commission had chosen to not reveal how wounded the Number Two had been, and it was logical people wouldn’t recognize him with the ugly scar on the left side of his face and the lack of -
Don’t think about it.
Almost mechanically, Keigo started to lather his body. He didn’t want to shower, he would probably not even leave his nest today. He rarely had, for the last few months. The Commission had told him to lay low but screw those bastards, Keigo was not obeying orders this time. He was doing this because he wanted to. What was there for him outside now? Yes, the Nomus had been stopped. Yes, the Front had been stopped. Yes, Shigaraki and his fucked-up mentor had been stopped. And yet again, it didn’t bring him any joy. The Heroes had won, but at what cost? Was the Commission really much better than the Front anyway? Keigo was well placed to know how ugly the Hero business was behind all the glamorous appearance.
His hands automatically went for his wings but were only met by a void.
The lump in his throat came back like a menace, heavy and full and making it hard to breath.
His wings. His solace. His freedom.
Gone in ashes.
The devastating feeling overwhelmed him and his vision whitened. This was all it took to sweep his already shabby sense of balance, and he crumbled gracelessly on the cold, wet tile.
“Fuck! Fuck…”
He yelled then whimpered, his voice completely broken in the last syllable. The bird in his brain let out a miserable chirp of sorrow. Keigo took a shaky breath but it came out as a sob.
It had still managed to win this morning again.
His arms weaved around his knees and he rocked himself like a child would, like he used to do when his father came back drunk, yelling and kicking at him. But his wings weren’t there to protect him anymore. Tears swelled in his eyes, and this time, he didn’t try to hold them back. They ran too hot on the cold skin of his cheeks, and Keigo hiccuped again at the phantom touch of his feathers brushing against him, making himself as small as he could - because he felt small, small and pathetic, small and alone. Tossed like a tool which had become useless.
And surely he was useless for the Commission if he didn’t have his quirk anymore, but to himself, it was even worse : a part of him had been ripped away, a part whose loss made him utterly hollow. The Commission was devastated as it meant the ending of Hawks, the useful puppet they had sculpted to their wish since the blond was a child, when actually it was not just the ending of the Hero. It was also the ending of Keigo in his whole, as the human being he had not been considered anymore. It was not just the end of his Hero career - which in itself was already a hard blow, with all the sacrifices he had made to be one. And his dream, his blossoming career, had been turned to ashes by scarred hands and blue flames in mere seconds.
He would never feel the safety of his wings again, nor the liberation of flying high and away from all the burden he had tangled himself in, all for lies, in the end. Endeavor had tried to come see him once, and to text him a couple of times but - Keigo couldn’t. Even with Endeavor taking off the flames from his face. Even if Endeavor didn’t look that much like D- like him . Keigo knew, they both knew, fuck, the whole world knew. And while Keigo knew very well that fathers and sons were not necessarily alike, it didn’t change the core of Keigo’s inability to cope with the older man, for now at least.
The vision of his idol, of the man he had looked up to his whole life, of the one responsible for all of Keigo’s choices and sacrifices, had been turned to ashes too. He had discovered the Hero he considered the greatest man ever was in fact as much of an abusive parent as his own father : and it had hurt as much as the burning of his wings.
And while he knew Endeavor was genuinely trying to become a better person, Keigo couldn’t help the heart-breaking shattering it had been, to see the one thing which had given him strength and courage to be but the utter opposite of what he believed.
Strength. Courage. Dreams and values. Talk about a fucking joke.
Keigo didn’t remember actually getting up, drying and dressing himself up - automatism, once again. He didn’t remember how long he had stood on the floor, shower still running above him, prostrated pathetically like a broken toy.
Sometimes he wished D- he had killed him. He wished Tokoyami hadn’t been so fast in reaching out for him.
No, he shouldn’t think like that. His protégé had risked his own life to rescue him. This would be an insult to the teen’s bravery. This was the string the former Number Two clutched to when his thought was getting too dark and he was about to say fuck it all and just give up - on everything. For now, the string was enough, but Keigo could feel it getting thinner as time passed.
Someone knocked on the door.
While he wasn't expecting anyone, the blond didn’t even raise his head. He just sighed.
He really didn’t want to see anyone. Yet he knew any form of distraction was good when his mood was getting unsafely gloom.
“Hawks, I know you’re here. I’ve not lost my time coming for nothing. Open up.”
The stern, apathetic voice surprised Keigo and stayed unrecognised at first. His thick eyebrows furrowed. He had heard this man before, but…
Oh, he got it now. Eraserhead.
This surprised him even more. Why the Hell was Shota Aizawa here? They weren’t close. They had never worked together. They had seen each other maybe three or four times, for Hero-related meetings. And Eraserhead was not known for his sensitivity, so Keigo was certain this was not a get-better kind of visit.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. It couldn’t hurt to just open the door and see what the other man had to say.
So Keigo got up, even with the heaviness in his body, and went to his door.