Chapter Text
Tokoyami pushes the food on his plate around listlessly. “Are you sure I’m not doing anything wrong? The sponsors I got don’t seem very…. interested in speaking with me. Some of the other tributes have mentioned their sponsors meeting with them but none of mine have approached me yet.”
That’s for the best, Hawks thinks, but doesn’t say out loud. He tries not to imagine which tributes are already being followed by Capitol people. Probably the pretty Capitol girl that volunteered in place of District One.
He knows he’ll have to contend with the sponsors he convinced to support his tribute eventually, but right now, while they’re on the Victory Tours, that’s a problem for later Hawks.
“You’re fine, kid. Don’t worry so much. Enjoy the tours while you can, we’ll be right back to shitty District Twelve food once they’re over.” Hawks pops a juicy purple grape between his teeth for emphasis. Truthfully, he’d prefer the tough meals in his district over the rich Capitol food that always makes his stomach ache any day.
Tokoyami just sniffs at his poor table manners and turns back to Shinsou.
Hawks goes back to picking at his plate, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone that might try to start a conversation. Thankfully, this particular dinner is all tributes and mentors—no Capitol citizens to leer at him—but there’s still the risk of someone asking questions about his own Games, or life in the Capitol, or life in District Twelve.
It’s exhausting. But there’s only two more Districts to go through before he finds out if he gets to return to Twelve or if the Capitol wants to keep him for a while. Maybe they’d send him back to Twelve to make sure Tokoyami learned the ins and outs of the job. Or maybe they’d figure Twelve has another hero now, so Hawks isn’t needed there as much anymore. Maybe they’d want him in the Capitol full time from now on.
What a fucking nightmare.
“Hawks, are you not hungry?” Jeanist speaks up from his other side.
He gives a thin, close-mouthed smile. “Not really. Don’t do too well with these train rides, I guess. I’d rather fly if they’d let me.”
“Well, you know they prefer to keep all the Victors together.”
“Lucky me,” he mumbles, stabbing a few peas he’s been chasing around his plate.
Jeanist doesn’t respond, obviously picking up on his bad mood. Hawks reaches forward to grab a banana from the center of the table only to brush hands with Kamui. Great.
“Oh! My apologies! Here!” Kamui tries to hand him the fruit, hand shaking a little.
Hawks stares for a moment before plastering on an easy smile. “No worries, man, I’ll grab something else.”
Kamui visibly wilts into his seat. It’s not like Hawks blames him for being scared of him—but damn, would it kill the guy to stop shaking like a puppy every time they get stuck in a room together?
He snatches an apple off the table instead, taking a bite while rolling his eyes. It’s a good thing Kamui managed to get through their Games without facing a villain on his own. If he’s this traumatized just from seeing what Hawks had done, he can’t imagine what he’d be like now if he’d had to do any real fighting himself. Hawks can feel Mount Lady’s glare from the other end of the table, but she won’t scold him in front of everyone else here, so he’s safe for now.
The combined hum from the moving train and the chatter around the table is giving him a headache. He’d rather have eaten in his own room—or, even better, not at all—but Tokoyami begged Hawks to come and spend time with the others.
It’s bad enough the kid’s entire group survived their Games together; that kind of bond is dangerous for the Commission, so it’s dangerous for the kids. The last thing Tokoyami needs is Hawks in the mix as well.
But how the hell is Hawks supposed to get Tokoyami to stop talking to the first friends he’s ever had?
“Hawks.” Tokoyami jolts him out of his thoughts, and he realizes he’s let the chewed piece of apple mush sit in his mouth for way too long. Ugh. He struggles to swallow it without choking. Wouldn’t that be a show for the rest of the table.
“Yeah, kid?”
“Is there—um, how do I…” He’s flustered, feathers around his neck ruffling up a bit. The kid’s way too obvious about everything he feels. Exactly the kind the Capitol loves to eat alive. “Is there anything in particular I need to do once we’re at the Capitol? Some of the other mentors have mentioned a party for us…”
“Who told you about that?” Hawks scans the table quickly, trying to decide which stupid fuck was describing the Capitol event for Victors as a damn party, of all things.
Tokoyami’s eyes narrow at him. “I’m not telling you just so you can go start another argument. Someone needed to tell me what to expect from this trip and you haven’t exactly been around to.”
Geez.
Okay, so, that’s not not true, but in Hawks’ defense, he really doesn’t see why his presence or absence would be that big a deal to the kid. He got him through the Games—kind of—so really, their relationship should be a done deal. Tokoyami is free to be a hero now, or, he will be once these damn tours are over. He doesn’t need Hawks’ advice anymore, and if everything goes to plan, he won’t need his advice ever again.
But that’s too much info to throw at him right now. So, deflection it is.
“I’m not going to argue, Tsukoyomi. I just need to make sure of who’s lying to you. I’ve told you before, everyone you see here is competition now. Including me, but you’re not exactly a threat to me so you don’t have to worry about that.” Tokoyami scoffs, so Hawks changes tactics. “Look, I’m just trying to protect you here. That party —” The word tastes sour in his mouth. “—isn’t exactly fun. I can get you out of going. You, and maybe the brainwashing kid too, you can have a movie night or something instead.”
“You’re gonna get him in trouble, Hawks. You know all the victors have to attend the Capitol party,” Lady pipes up with her incredibly unwanted opinion.
“He just doesn’t want Tokoyami to see him cozying up to all those Capitol assholes.” Mirko chimes in. “That way, he can go back to District 12 and pretend he’s not selling himself for a cushy Capitol life and all that jewelry around his neck.” She turns towards Tokoyami, leaning in with her elbows on the table. “Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planning on retiring to a life of luxury now that he has you to take over Twelve for him.”
Hawks bares his teeth at her. “Don’t be jealous just because gold looks better on me than you.”
“Don’t be jealous just because I have enough morals to not sell myself to the enemy for a few perks.”
“Enough!” Jeanist yells, silencing the table. “Hawks, you know you’ll only draw attention to him if you try to get him excused from the party. Mirko, be more careful what you say here.”
The Commission is always listening goes unsaid.
It also goes unsaid that most of the damn table believes Hawks is the Commission listening.
Whatever.
Hawks sighs and shrugs his shoulders, pushing his chair back from the table with an awful screeeeech that makes everyone flinch.
“So, while spending the rest of my evening listening to all of you chew and talk with your mouths open would be great, I think I’m gonna go ahead and turn in for the night. Have fun warning all your students about the different kinds of drugs they’ll be offered at that party .” He slams the door behind him when he leaves, listening for a minute to make sure the table erupts into a new argument before he actually heads down the hall to his room.
Then a tug at his clothes stops him in his tracks. Is Jeanist ever gonna grow out of this particular trick? It always makes Hawks feel like a dog on a leash.
“Was it necessary to goad them like that?”
“Was it necessary to follow me out so everyone knows we’re talking?”
Jeanist sighs. “Hawks, it’s okay to be seen with others once in a while. You can’t keep letting the Commission have control over every single move you make.”
Jeanist doesn’t get it. He’s good at playing this game, about making sure he’s popular enough amongst the Capitol to prevent his assassination, but also unimportant enough to fly under their radar for direct control. Hawks isn’t. They own him, body and soul. And every person he’s seen with is another person in danger, all because of him.
It’s not paranoia. It’s happened before.
“If they controlled every move I made you’d be dead right now.”
“Oh, so now we’re at threats? I know you’re stressed. I am too. You need to talk to me instead of trying to push me away. I can help you.”
“What the hell can you help with?!” Hawks blurts out. He instantly regrets it, but it’s too late to take it back. Jeanist has always been too good at getting under his skin. “In a few days we’ll be back at the Capitol, and I’ll find out if I get to be their 24/7 soldier or if I get to crawl back to Twelve and put a target on Tsukoyomi’s back. And the more that you insist on hanging around me, the bigger the target on your back gets too. I thought you were smarter than this.”
Jeanist lifts a hand to his shoulder, before thinking better of it and taking it back. Hawks relaxes just a bit. “If the Commission decides I’m worth taking out, I’ll gladly put my life in your hands.”
Hawks’ heart beats fast in his chest. He doesn’t need to hear this right now. “The hell is that supposed to mean? You know I can’t get most people out. The only ones I manage with are the ones the Commission doesn’t really care about.”
“I trust whatever decision you’ll make, Hawks.” Jeanist does touch him this time, a light tap on his head that Hawks barely manages to not flinch from. “I trust you to do whatever you can to save me. And if you can’t see a way out for me, then I trust you’ll make it quick.” He turns around then, and heads back into the dining area, leaving Hawks alone with his thoughts and wild images of blood on his hands for the night.
“Okay, so, my best advice here is to talk as little as possible. They are not gonna like us here. Actually, it's probably better that you try to stand as far away from me as you can while we’re here.”
“Why? Shouto survived, they shouldn’t have a reason to dislike us.”
Hawks almost winces. “They don’t have a reason to dislike you , Tsukoyomi.”
“... What did you do?”
They’d be here for days if he tried to go through that particular list.
“I had to arrest one of their more popular Victors a few years ago. Things didn’t end well for her; last I heard they turned her into an Avox.”
Tokoyami’s face scrunches up, and it’s the last thing Hawks wants to deal with right before they go out onstage. Tokoyami has got to get better at hiding what he’s thinking if he wants to survive outside of District Twelve.
Then again, if Hawks is living at the Capitol from now on, Tokoyami won’t have to worry about ever leaving Twelve.
He puts both his hands on Tokoyami’s shoulders, feeling grateful for the few inches of height he has on him. “Look, part of being a hero, part of being a victor , is that sometimes we have to do things we don’t necessarily agree with. But we still have to do them, because there are things we’ll lose if we don’t. Do you understand?”
Tokoyami’s eyes are wide, and Hawks almost shivers. Maybe he’s given away too much. Will this put the kid in danger?
He nods seriously, like he understands just how important this is for him. Tokoyami’s always trusted Hawks more than he should. “I understand, Hawks. I’ll stand with Shinsou and Mirko.”
Hawks gives a half smile in return. “Good idea.”
He waits for Tokoyami to walk past the doors out onto the stage before following a few seconds behind. He squints as his eyes adjust to the bright sun outside. The crowd in front of them is dead silent, as always, but he feels his feathers stiffen at the hostility he can feel from them when he walks to his place on the stage. At least he was exempt from speaking this year, since there were so many fresh tributes to give speeches instead.
They have Endeavor’s son speak first, since Two is his District. The other tributes give shorter speeches, except for the green-haired kid that caused such a huge scene during the Games. He’s mumbled and rambled his way through every speech so far. It might be endearing if it weren’t so annoying.
Hawks wipes the sweat from his forehead as the kid launches into another stuttered sentence. Didn’t All Might teach him how to work a—
No .
He really wishes they would finish up soon. All this time standing still on stages combined with all the altitude changes they’d had during their trip had left his bad leg absolutely aching . He shifts the weight off of it, leaning heavily on his left side. It helps, but he still could use an ice bath and a heating pad.
There’s a stir in the crowd, and Hawks switches his attention from his throbbing leg to the citizens in front of him. He searches them carefully, and— there —Endeavor’s approaching. Hawks had been wondering why he hadn’t been at the train station to welcome his son home. Must’ve had some work to take care of first.
The girl from Eleven steps up to the mic next, cheeks even pinker than usual from standing in the sun for too long. Her stylists would have to fix that for the party at the Capitol. Maybe it would protect her, the easy discoloration of her skin. The Capitol liked them pretty, and while Uraraka was cute enough, she didn’t seem like she’d be to their usual taste. Too ordinary.
“I want to apologize,” she speaks into the mic. Hawks’ entire body goes stiff. “I want to apologize to Yu Hojo’s family. Deku and me tried to save him, but we couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
The crowd is quiet, but Hawks sees the shuffling, the looks between them. Unrest. Danger. For everyone here.
He snatches the mic stand from her, knocking her gently back with a wing. “Alright everyone, I think we’ll have to cut this one short. Your victors are great aren’t they? Let’s have a round of applause!” The crowd is painfully silent, most of them staring at him with varying levels of aggression. Tough crowd. “We hope you all enjoyed the show, I’ll see you again next year!”
If the Commission doesn’t have his damn head for this screw-up.
He ushers everyone back through the doors into the building behind them, ignoring the protests from all the brats. God, are all kids this stupid nowadays or is this group just something special? The Commission agents slam the doors behind them, but Hawks can still hear muffled murmurs from the crowd. That was bad. That would get people killed. That would get all these kids sent straight to the President for a “warning”.
And Hawks refuses to let Tokoyami ever go through that.
“Mind telling us what the hell that was about?” Uwabumi asks, irritation leaking into her voice. Probably put out that her tribute didn’t get a chance to speak.
“Just stopping the kids from saying anything stupid onstage. The last thing we need is the Commission getting more involved in these damn tours because our new victors couldn’t behave.”
“All I did was honor one of the people who died in that arena,” Uraraka says. “It’s not fair that his family has to watch us be honored for surviving when he didn’t.”
Fair? Like a sixteen year old has any idea what fair was. If anything was fair, Hawks would’ve been able to get through the damn Tours without making an ass of himself in front of any of the Districts. He really doesn’t need to take anymore hits in popularity with them.
“She didn’t do anything wrong!” The green-haired kid pipes up, because of course he does. Hero of the hour, the President’s latest problem, which makes him Hawks’ latest problem too. “Those people didn’t deserve to die in there, any more than we did.”
Hawks wipes a hand over his face, frustrated. Okay, so, objectively, he gets it. He knows the “villains” of the Games don’t deserve what the Capitol does. He’d even argue that most of the winning tributes are aware of that in some capacity. You don’t walk into Hell and not feel some camaraderie for the people with you, no matter what side you’re on.
But no amount of sympathy changes the fact that the Commission will order him to kill these kids if he can’t keep them under control.
“I think Hawks is just concerned that you’ll get into trouble.” Kamui’s words send a chill up his spine. Does he not know the room they’re in is probably bugged?
“I’m concerned that you’re showing sympathy to the wrong people.” The words grate at him, but he has to save this somehow. “Remember all the villains in the arena with you did something to get there. And, if given half a chance, they would kill you.”
“But they didn’t! We showed them mercy, and they gave it back to us!”
“They gave you mercy once. But what happened at the end of it? When it came down to you or them?”
The kid—Midoriya, Hawks reminds himself—has tears in his eyes.
“That villain would’ve killed you if Todoroki hadn’t taken him out first. Your mercy would’ve gotten you and all your friends killed in your sleep eventually.”
“Hawks—” Kamui interrupts.
“Kind of surprised that you of all people would even think of sympathizing with villains, after what they did to Fatgum.”
The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Kamui visibly wilts, face turning to the floor in shame. Hawks doesn’t talk about Taishiro with the other heroes much—he has to relive everything enough to feed the Capitol’s unending curiosity about his Games—but it never fails to make an impact.
No one would ever forget the image of twelve year old Hawks covered in blood and tears.
“Just because it didn’t work out in my Games, doesn’t mean there’s not a better way,” Midoriya grumbles through tears. “Why are you defending the Games? I know you can see how awful they are too!”
“That’s because he isn’t one of us.” Mirko chimes in. “Just because he was born in Twelve doesn’t mean he’s not Capitol through and through.”
“I’d rather be a rich and happy Capitol pet than spend all my time getting us punished because I can’t keep my damn mouth shut.” He shoots back. “You kids think you’re protecting anyone by doing this? All you’re doing is putting your families in danger. Ask Mirko what the Commission does to rebels.”
The room this time is silent when he leaves.
“Looks like you’re as popular as ever.”
Hawks looks up from his drink to see Mirko leaning over the bar. It’s the first time she’s spoken to him since the disaster at Two. The bartender passes her a beer as she crunches a peanut shell between her teeth and spits it onto the floor. Gross.
“Same to you,” he says easily.
She scoffs. “Yeah, right. I’ll never compete with you, golden boy.”
She obviously means it as an insult, but it’s hard to take offense to it coming from her. Mirko had lost too much in exchange for her freedom. Hawks would rather work under the Commission’s thumb for the rest of his life than have everything taken from him like she had.
Even her clothes flaunt their lack of power over her, a sweatsuit that she’d obviously been working out in, judging by the wet stains across her chest. Meanwhile, Hawks is dressed up in yet another ridiculous outfit, covered in body glitter and paint and oily makeup.
It’s a party to introduce all the new victors to the Capitol, Hawks had explained to Tokoyami.
It’s a party to see which of us they want to buy for the night to celebrate, he’d left unsaid.
“How’d your boy do with the Victory Tours? Are you getting along any better?” Hawks asks, trying to shift his thoughts away from the feeling of itchy sequins against his skin.
“Why would the kid I gave up as dead want to get along with me at this point? He doesn’t need me. He never needed me, apparently.”
“I told you you’d regret underestimating him,” Hawks said, throwing back his whiskey sour and signaling to the bartender for a refill. “You focus too much on power types. Quirks like his are twice as dangerous if they’re used correctly.” Which, the kid obviously knows how to do, considering he’d taken out two of the villain tributes completely on his own.
“Whatever, I’m not looking to get lectured by the guy whose tribute was unconscious for half the Games.”
Hawks almost winces, but forces himself to relax. It doesn’t matter. Tokoyami had survived either way. Honestly, it’s better that he hadn’t performed well. Less attention that way. His tour so far had been blessedly uneventful, so unlike Hawks’ own tours over a decade ago that he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.
“I did mean to ask, though,” Mirko continues, shoving another peanut into her mouth as she settles onto the stool beside him. Her ears twitch in amusement, and he’s sure he won’t like whatever comes out of her mouth next. “How much did you have to pay for the kid’s donations? You were so busy you didn’t even watch most of the Games.”
Hawks lets an easy smirk slide onto his face. “Aw, didn’t realize you were so interested in how I spend my free time, Mirko. What, do you feel like you missed out on your chance to have a fun and easy life at the Capitol?” He leans into her space, whispering in her ear. “I can always let them know that you wanna take them up on that original offer.”
He’s not surprised when he’s doused in cold beer from her glass. She always does have trouble holding back when she gets angry, even in public.
Ugh. The night was going to suck even more if he had to walk around soaked like this.
“Can’t wait for the day those creepy fucks finally get tired of your ass and toss you away.” She stomps away, presumably to find some poor workout equipment or unsuspecting victor to take her anger out on.
Huh. What a surprise to finally find something he and Mirko agree on. He can’t wait for them to get tired of him either.
Until then, though, he intends to milk their favor for all it’s worth. So he tips back his second drink, since his clients always tend to be a little… handsier around the tours. Probably riding that adrenaline high of watching a bunch of children fight for their lives.
He lets his eyes wander around the room. Tokoyami’s safe, standing awkwardly in the corner with Shinsou. His quirk combined with Tokoyami’s mutated appearance had succeeded in keeping even the most thrill-seeking Capitol denizens away from them.
Tamaki, Mirio, and Hado have stuck together throughout the night, but Hawks can see the way the girl is being eyed. There’s no way she won’t be requested. Both her and the dark-haired girl that represented One. If the Todoroki boy didn’t have the scar across half his face, he’d be worried for him as well, but the Capitol rarely wants damaged goods.
He spots someone approaching his client for the night out of the corner of his eye, and he moves to intercept her without thinking.
“You don’t want to go with that one.”
Uwabumi looks as beautiful as always, red dress slit up to her thigh, her blonde hair piled in a loose bun on top of her head where her snakes rest peacefully. She’d won their Games with those good looks, hiding away from the other tributes using her snakes’ senses while the Gamemakers systematically killed all other competitors. Her donations from eager solicitors kept her fed and comfortable while most of the others struggled.
Hawks isn’t envious. For someone as beautiful as Uwabumi, the Capitol’s favor has a price. He knows that better than anyone.
There had been a time they’d been comrades, along with Kamui and Taishiro.
Now, Uwabumi looks at him with nothing but disdain, as most of the tributes do. Of all of them, he was the only one to remain close to the Commission after the Games, after knowing everything they did. He’s the worst kind of traitor, and they all know it well.
He tries again. “He has a special interest in our kind.” Her eyes dart to the red wings fluttering lightly behind him.
“You sure you’re not just telling me this so you can take him for yourself?”
“Well, that’s part of it too. But it’s also the fact that my feathers grow back. Do your snakes?” He gives an unkind grin, all shiny teeth. One of the snakes on her head hisses at him. Good. It’s best they learn to recognize predators.
A champagne glass is held out to him, snatched from one of the trays nearby. “Noted. I’ll find someone else. Any other tips on who to avoid? These aren’t my usual clients.”
He takes his time, casually describing the woman with the purple hair and lips, who’d left other tributes with scars on their hip bones from where her nails had dug in too deep. He points out the one that gets too obsessed after a few appointments, who once followed a victor to his apartment and tried to force their way in. He whispers in her ear about the man with sharpened teeth, who enjoys the taste of flesh and tries to ply victims with pills and drinks until they’re too numb to feel him gnawing on their bones.
Their drinks disappear quickly, trays popping up beside them quick enough that they barely notice their drinks have been replaced with new ones. Hawks knows what’s happening: two of the most sought-after tributes, giggling and flirting with each other. The eyes in the room pierce him.
This is why he’s stayed away from Uwabumi all these years.
He spots Tokoyami walking towards him from the corner of his eye and turns his back to him, a clear sign to go away. God, he’d warned the kid a hundred times to stay the hell away from him at the party. The last thing he wants is to be answering questions about his student later.
“You should go for the lady in the suit. She’s sweet as long as you’re willing to play at being lovers.” He feels the pleasant buzz under his skin and leans into it. A little less coherence would probably help him get through the night easier.
“Who does that leave for you?”
He needs to get Uwabumi out of the party soon, before anyone grows too attached to the sight of them together. He doesn’t need a plus one for his appointment tonight.
“I’ve already got plans with the gentleman staring at us from the corner.”
She’s subtle, barely sparing a side glance at him, but it still makes Hawks tense. His client wouldn’t enjoy knowing he’d talked about their arrangement.
“Will you be safe?”
He blinks.
“I promise you I can take care of myself.”
Her snakes hiss again, although this time it’s at an encroaching Capitol citizen interested in interrupting their conversation early.
“Maybe you should find a different patron too.”
He wants to look away from her on instinct, avoid her sharp eyes, but it would only be a sign of weakness. And weakness is something he’s not afforded at the Capitol.
“I think you should be less nosy, Uwabumi. I’ve been in the Capitol just as long as you have, even if I’m younger.” He cocks his head to the side. “Besides, you remember what I’m capable of, right?”
The music in the room swells, then quiets as the song ends.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m concerned.”
She’s giving him a softer look than she has in years, and he can almost smell the fire they huddled beside on cold nights in the arena. Maybe that nostalgia is what makes him warn her. “Your District’s girl, she’s Capitol, isn’t she?” Uwabumi nods, gaze becoming much more focused. “There’s whispers about her. Get her to spend some public time with her family. Maybe take the girl from Seven with her if she’s feeling generous.”
“Are they safe here tonight?”
He takes a moment to think. How much should he say?
“Watch them. Make sure all the kids stay in groups.”
She eyes him carefully for a moment but steps away all the same, hips swaying lightly as she approaches the woman he advised her to. Good. Uwabumi deserves a client who will be kind. She’s not made for the abuse of the more violent Capitol denizens.
None of the kids who won this year are either, but he’s not sure how many he can keep safe. His reach is painfully limited.
A breath brushes against his ear, and he struggles not to tense when a hand comes to rest lightly on his hip.
“Who was that?” his buyer for the night whispers gently in his ear.
“Just another tribute looking for advice. Nothing special.”
The fingers on his hip press in lightly—a warning—as the music in the room gets louder. Tonight’s party is just as disappointing as all the ones before it. Hawks wonders, not for the first time, how people so desperate for entertainment are so incredibly boring. The Capitol citizens are starving for something to fill the void of their lives, so they make paintings, music, and stories by the dozen.
Decades of art, and all of it woefully empty of substance, because the greatest tragedy of the Capitol is that the people living there have nothing meaningful to say.
“Are we heading back to your place so soon?” Hawks asks. He missed a lot of opportunities by warning Uwabumi. If he doesn’t arrange his clients himself, they’d go through the Commission for his services. Which means a lot less control over the where and when.
“I think I’d prefer to watch you flutter around the room for a while longer, little bird.” The hand pushes him forward, and Hawks’ lip curls in disgust at the pet name. “Entertain me.”
Waking up the morning after a night with a client always feels like ass. It’s worse whenever they make him sleep over at their place, but last night’s was happy to kick Hawks out of his place immediately afterward. The walk of shame back to his apartment—still missing one shoe—isn’t fun, but it’s better than waking up in a strange place again.
He’s aware that he isn’t alone in his apartment, though.
He can hear the water running in the sink in the kitchen, and pots and pans clanging around. But there’s only one person with a key to his place here that actually knows where all his kitchen supplies are, so he makes sure to take another shower—he’d scrubbed his body red and sore under the water last night, but a morning shower usually helps get whatever bits of body paint and glitter he’d missed off—before walking out of his bedroom.
“How many times am I gonna wake up to you in my apartment?”
“As many times as you insist on going home with the most dangerous people you can find.” Jeanist shoots back. “Don’t snip at me when you’re the one making me worry.”
Hawks can’t help but roll his shoulders, both incredibly sore from how he’d slept with his hands tied to the headboard last night. Stupid bastard didn’t even bother to untie him before passing out.
“I’ve told you before, I can handle myself. I don’t need you looking over my shoulder.” They’ve had this argument too many times, so after a short glare Jeanist just turns back to the stove and ignores him in favor of cooking. Hawks sighs and runs his hands through his wet hair. He hopes Tokoyami made it back safely with the other Victors last night. His own memories of the party get a little fuzzy after a few drinks...
“We’ve got a meeting with the President today.” Jeanist’s tone is careful, but clipped. He’s fishing to see if Hawks knows anything.
Unfortunately for both of them, he doesn’t. “Really? Did she say what for? Is it just with us?”
Jeanist gives him a careful look. Right. Hawks knows he can’t answer here, in his apartment. “Apparently so.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
This could be really bad. It could mean she knows what Hawks and Jeanist have been plotting. Or it could just mean she wants Jeanist to design Hawks’ next interview outfit. The issue is that it’s impossible to tell.
“Well, I guess we should eat and get ready then, right?”
They eat in silence, and Jeanist doesn’t say anything when Hawks slips back into his bathroom for a third shower— he never really feels clean —before dressing in jeans and a soft cotton shirt. They take Jeanist’s car to the President’s office, and he lets Hawks fiddle with his radio buttons instead of faking conversation.
Hawks knows from experience that it's always freezing in the building, yet somehow he forgets to bring a jacket every time. The inside is clean and sparkling as always, almost sterile with the smell of chemicals in the air. Hawks prefers the dusty air in Twelve.
“Right on time, you two. Please have a seat.” It’s praise that Hawks knows well, but only in the sense that it’s expected of him. She’s never tolerated lateness from anyone, but especially not her Victors, and especially not Hawks.
“First of all, I believe congratulations are in order. Both your tributes passed this year, and that’s always something to be proud of.”
“Thank you. We’re proud of them as well. Both our mentees did admirably, and the entire group’s teamwork carried them through, like a pair of well-made jeans.” Hawks sees the President’s right eye twitch at Jeanist’s pun. Heh.
“Yes, teamwork in the Games is always a nice surprise,” she says. “But the real reason I called you both in is because of the upcoming Games. As you both know, this year will be a Quarter Quell.”
Every 25 years, the Commission comes up with an even more horrifying concept to enact on the Districts, called a Quarter Quell. They’ve always been particularly bloody. Endeavor’s infamous Games were a Quarter Quell, one where there were double the amount of villains against the tributes. Still, he’d won, fire charring the corpses of his foes in a record time beaten only by All Might, earning his place in history as one of the most controversial winners.
She clears her throat and says, “For this year’s Quarter Quell, all the tributes will be chosen from past Victors,” and Hawks is underwater. He can feel himself still sitting up, somehow not screaming like he wants to, but he can barely hear past the siren in his head.
The death siren. The one that sounded over and over again. The one that he set off when he slit their throats. The one that told him he wasn’t fast enough, that he couldn’t save—
“Hawks!” He blinks hard and locks eyes with the President. She looks irritated. “Don’t drift off when I’m speaking.” She huffs out a breath, and crosses her legs behind her desk. “Now, our expectation is that you both will enter the Games for your respective Districts. The Capitol won’t want to see the same mutant from Twelve win again, and it would make for great television to have two of our most popular Victors in the same Games, don’t you agree?”
Of course it will. Because all the Capitol cares about is entertainment. Not their lives. Not the lives of the people he’ll have to kill to survive again.
“Sure,” He smiles easily, keeping his wings pressed tight to his back instead of letting them fan out in a threat like he so desperately wants. “Are there any others who’ll be chosen ahead of time for the Games?”
She narrows her eyes at him before returning his grin with a serene expression of her own. “Of course not. That would be unfair. We’re only doing this for you two to help boost your ratings even more.”
Does she want a fucking thank you card or something?
Jeanist is still calm beside him, one leg crossed neatly over the other and hands folded loosely in his lap. Hawks wonders how the hell he isn’t crawling out of his skin by now. Jeanist hasn’t even been an active pro for years since his clothes picked up popularity in the Capitol. He’s maintained his status through his work as one of the best designers in the business for tributes. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s been Hawks’ personal designer since his first Games. If anything, Jeanist should be the one panicking—not Hawks, who’s only had time to get faster, stronger, and more lethal since his last Games.
“Is there any particular reason to choose this year’s tributes from the current tributes?” Jeanist asks. “It seems like it’ll cause a bigger fuss in the Districts to possibly lose their heroes.”
“We expect some level of turmoil over it, sure, but excitement as well. Besides, surely professional heroes like yourselves will be able to handle something like this easily?”
“That’s another concern,” Jeanist continues, leaning forwards towards the President’s desk, “Do you really expect villains of the normal level to be any kind of problem for experienced heroes?”
At this, the President smiles serenely, and Hawks’ blood runs cold.
“We’ve already thought of this, which is why the criminals for this year's Games will be pulled from more experienced villains. That should give you plenty of challenges, right?”
“And where are we getting these supposed villains from?” Jeanist asks, even though he knows she won’t answer.
“The Commission has to keep some secrets, Jeanist. For the good of all.”
Hawks remains present for the rest of the conversation, listening and offering his own suggestions for how the announcements should go and what possible uprisings they’ll have to look out for. It doesn’t surprise him when the President asks him to stay behind for a moment and discuss some private business, but Jeanist still looks concerned as he walks out the door.
“You want District Thirteen.” He asks once his feathers no longer feel the vibrations from Jeanist’s footsteps down the hall.
“Glad to see you’re quick to catch on today.”
He takes a breath, trying to keep his calm. His infiltration mission just started a few short months ago, and she’s already expecting too much. “How the hell do you expect me to get them here? I’ve told you, they don’t trust me yet.”
“They don’t need to trust you, not entirely. Think, Hawks. The entire reason we sent you in is because we found out about their plans to invade. This is an opportunity for them to get people on the inside. They could use the opportunity to destroy the arena and strike in the middle of everything.”
Hawks wonders how District 13 would know about the weak spot on the inside of the dome, but doesn’t ask.
“And you’re willing to risk something like that?”
She smiles tightly. “Of course. Because I know you won’t let it happen.”
“You’re overestimating me.”
“See, I don’t believe I am.” She stands, walking around her desk to step behind him, and he knows better than to get up from his chair while she’s standing over him. “I trained you for this, Hawks. This is the mission it will all come down to. If we’re able to take out District Thirteen, the Capitol will no longer have to live in fear like it does. We can change things, don’t you want that?”
He swallows hard. Should he answer? What’s the right answer here? Is there a right answer? He can’t tell if she’s being genuine or if this is another test of loyalty.
“There are… some things I think we could do differently.”
“Like what?”
“The Games… I don’t think we need them anymore. Everyone wants to be a hero anyway. Wouldn’t it be better for your image if the exam for the hero tributes were more of a test and less of a bloodbath?”
She hums, considering, and Hawks can’t help but press on.
“And the Districts, especially Eleven and Twelve. They’d be more loyal if they weren’t starving.” He swallows hard, and prays he doesn’t kill anyone with his next words. “The heroes would be more loyal too, if they were… considered more.”
“You think there’s a problem with how we treat our heroes?”
He turns to look at her. “You threaten us. You threaten our families, our loved ones. Of course there’s issues.” He rubs at the rope burns around his wrists. “But there doesn’t have to be, not if the threat from Thirteen is gone. There’ll be nowhere for anyone to run, you won’t have to worry about being overthrown.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
She smiles at him, just like she always did when he was a kid and he’d completed a training exercise correctly. “Is there anything you want? You’ve done so much for us, for the Capitol, over the years. Surely there’s something you’d like to ask for in exchange for all your hard work.”
He knows the answer to this question. “I’m fine. I have everything I need already.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She returns to her desk, and checks the calendar. Hawks keep his breath of relief quiet to not draw her attention back onto him. “Now, I also wanted to let you know your schedule for the next few weeks. The rest of the tributes and heroes will be returning to their respective Districts by train in two days, but you have a lot of requests from our Capitol sponsors to fulfill, don’t you?”
He silently nods and listens as she lays out his schedule.
When he finally leaves her office, he can’t bring himself to speak. His heart is racing as he steps down the hall, and he struggles to keep the panic off his face. He’d be even worse off if he has a panic attack in public again.
He’s so focused on not freaking out that he almost runs straight into the woman turning the corner.
“Oh, shit, my bad, I didn’t mean to—”
Her head is freshly shaved, the once-vibrant colors missing. Hawks’ words die in his throat, and he carefully looks at the spot right above her head so he doesn’t meet her eyes. She’s already stepped back, but doesn’t say anything. She can’t say anything, because they took her fucking tongue and it’s all Hawks’ fault and —
He’s trembling when she passes him, continuing down the hall without another glance.
When he finally pieces himself back together and makes it out of the building into Jeanist’s car, he’s lost his voice again. Luckily, Jeanist takes one look at him and turns the radio back up.
He flies out of the Capitol nearly two months later, directly after his final appointment. He’s still covered in sweat and glitter and lipstick from the party, but he can’t bear to stay there any longer, so he wraps himself in a jacket and takes off into the air without changing. The evening sky is calm, and it reminds him of just how easy it would be to take off and never return.
He lands hard on the marshy ground outside his mother’s house. They live in Victor's Village, which had been otherwise empty until Tokoyami and his parents moved a few houses down. Still, it’s quiet even with the extra family.
He takes off his shoes outside, tossing them into the can beside his house. The strappy sandals he wears at the Capitol aren't fit for life in Twelve, where rocks and tree roots are constant menaces to even the thickest and toughest of boots.
“Mom? You here?”
He can see a light on in the living room, and he walks in to see empty beer cans covering the coffee table again. The television broadcast is showing a rerun of this year’s Games, with commenters making comparisons to previous Games and tributes. He wonders how long she’s been watching. He wipes off some glitter from his cheek in case she turns around.
She doesn’t.
“Hey, it’s awful late to be up like this. Think it’s time for bed?”
“Where’ve you been.” It’s not a question, not the way she says it, with her voice flat and quiet.
“I told you before I left, Mom.” He says, starting to pick up the cans and toss them into the empty trash can in the kitchen. “I had to take Tsukoyomi on the Victory Tours. You saw our speeches, remember? The woman from the Capitol was sitting with you in the good seats, even.” He tries for a smile, but she’s not looking at him, the eyes from her quirk all focused on the television.
“I saw. Figured you’d be back with the kid.” The TV goes dark for a moment as it switches to a commercial, but she still doesn’t turn around, completely transfixed on the black screen. Even though she's not looking at him, he can still see her eyes reflected in the glass.
“Ah, well. You know the Capitol people love me. They weren’t really ready to let me go…” He trails off, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. He separates some of his feathers to help him clean up the litter around the room quicker, throwing it into empty garbage bags and tying them off. He’ll take everything to the dump tomorrow, since it’s too late right now. The house probably needs a good deep cleaning, since he’s been gone so many weeks.
“I thought you left me.”
“What? I’d never leave you, Mom, We’ve talked about this before.” Well, he’s at least talked at her. He’s not sure how much she actually hears. “I just have to work a lot, but it’s all to take care of you, remember? I told you I’d make sure you wouldn’t have to worry about anything.”
She’s muttering into her hand, and he wonders if she’s high again. How does she keep getting a hold of morphling? He needs to figure out how to watch her better. Maybe one of the neighbors could start dropping by while he’s gone.
“Look, let me help you to bed. I’ll clean up here and we can talk in the morning, okay?” He reaches out to take her carefully by the hand and gently pull her up.
She flinches away from him, cowering into her arms.
“I can- don’t touch me- I can walk myself.” She stumbles away into her room. He wonders if she’ll remember this tomorrow. He hopes not. One of them should have some peace, at least.
Most of the trash in the room is bagged up, and he sinks into the couch and stares at the screen in front of him.
“And while this bird boy doesn’t resemble anything close to the one who stole our hearts all those years ago, you wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he’s Hawks’ protege! After all, look at these moves!”
The scene switches to a replay from Tokoyami’s Games, when he used a sword from the Cornucopia to parry a blow from one of the villain tributes. It’s clear that his style is similar to Hawks’ own, focused more on speed than raw power. Without Dark Shadow, Tokoyami had been forced to rely on the hand-to-hand combat Hawks had drilled him in. At the time, he wasn’t sure if spending the time on skills unrelated to his quirk had been worth it, but Hawks was grateful for it as soon as he saw the bright lights all over the arena.
“And, just for comparison, let’s see that same style of swordplay demonstrated by Hawks!”
It switches again, and he scrambles for the remote, hidden somewhere in the couch. He can’t look, not right now, still covered in the filth of the Capitol. Couch cushions fly across the room as his feathers ransack the place, and when he hears the first siren sound, he sends a feather directly into the television screen.
It’s quiet.
In retrospect, he could’ve just used his feathers to turn it off manually.
Oh well. He can always buy another. After all, his clients had tipped him very well, and he never had much use for money during his Capitol visits. He just hopes his mom spends most of tomorrow sleeping so he can get a new one before she wakes up.
He slinks towards his bedroom, and showers for an hour and a half before dressing and quietly heading out for the woods at the edge of the District’s fencing.
They’re dark and balmy as always, making sweat drip down his forehead even in the cool of the night. His feathers stay puffed, sensitive, searching for whenever his contact would decide to arrive.
“So, what’s the emergency meeting for?”
Dabi looks haggard as always, thin in a white shirt that sticks to him from sweat. Hawks wonders how he manages to even stand sometimes.
“The Commission has something big planned for the Quarter Quell. Something you may be interested in.” Dabi quirks an eyebrow, and Hawks takes it as a sign to continue. “This year’s hero tributes will be chosen from former Victors.”
Dabi whistles low, obviously impressed. “Damn, didn’t expect them to fuck their golden gooses over this badly. What do you think about it? Gonna send bird head in your place?”
Hawks tenses. This is why he hates dealing with this asshole. “No. I’ve already been informed that my name will be the only one in the bowl.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“You a therapist now? Makes me feel like shit. But it gives us a chance.”
“Does it now.”
“Yeah. You have a shot to have some of the most powerful protection for the Districts locked up in an arena fighting. It gives you the perfect opportunity for an invasion.”
It should be the moment District Thirteen has been waiting for this entire time. A chance to get through the lowered defenses. The Games were the perfect time, since all Capitol eyes would be on their television screens. Even the heroes assigned to guard wouldn’t be as alert as they would normally be. Not with something as historic as a Quarter Quell going on.
And, if Hawks plays his cards right, it could be the perfect chance to get some people out of the Districts and into the safety of Thirteen. And if things don’t go according to plan, and Thirteen is taken out, he might be able to negotiate with the president for better laws. Either way, it’s a win.
“And I should trust you, why?”
Only issue is the asshole standing in front of him. If Dabi refuses to cooperate, the entire mission will be a bust.
“You should trust me because I’m valuable, and so is my information. District Thirteen has been on the outskirts of the rest of society for too long; don’t you wanna take this chance to finally change things? All you’ve done since I met you is talk about how fucked everything is. I’m giving you a chance to fix things here.”
Dabi steps forward into his space, but Hawks holds his ground. His eyes track Dabi’s hand as he slowly lifts it to Hawks’ neck and rubs his thumb into the hollow of his collarbone. It pulls away pink.
“Got a little lipstick there, Hawks . Must’ve had a nice time in the Capitol, as usual.” Dabi snorts and turns away, walking back towards the edge of the woods. “I’ll pass along the info and let you know what the boss says. Good to work with you, hero.”
Ugh. He can’t believe he let himself walk around covered in lipstick kisses.
At least he hadn’t been around anyone who cared enough to notice.