Chapter Text
The bird was late.
Dabi checked the time on his phone and grumbled to himself. It wasn't altogether strange, but definitely uncharacteristic for the hero, who seemed to pride himself on perfection despite the lazy persona he donned. Though, he supposed it had only been ten minutes past their set meeting time and he'd certainly kept Hawks waiting longer — he liked to remind him just who was in control here — so the least he could do, besides leave, was light a cigarette and give him another five minutes. That's all.
Twenty minutes and three cigarettes later, Dabi breathed out a plume of irritated smoke and rose to his feet. Scouring the horizon, he couldn't even catch a glimpse of scarlet wings approaching, and the pissed off text he sent twenty-five minutes ago was still left on delivered. He had now waited for Hawks longer than he'd waited on anything since Sekoto Peak, and the fact he'd given him even a fraction of that time was infuriating to Dabi. He half-wished he had Hawks' quirk, if only so he could fly down from this rooftop and go find the feathered bastard to make him pay for wasting Dabi's time.
He glowered out at the light of the rising moon as it breached the frame of tall buildings off in the distance. Snowflakes were beginning to drift lazily from the patches of dark clouds overhead.
Well, he couldn't fly, but he could still go find him. He tossed the cigarette butt aside and clambered down the fire escape, dropping to the ground with a thump. He set off at a brisk pace, unwilling to waste more time than strictly necessary on his mission to torch the hero. The streets were bare at this hour, and in this neighborhood, scant few street lamps lit his way. Dabi strolled along with his hands in his coat pockets, his footfalls on the pavement the only sound that split the still air.
If Hawks didn't have a damn good reason for no-showing, he'd probably kill him. He was a liar, and a piss-poor one at that, and only good as long as Dabi could play around with him anyways. ...Or only as long as Shigaraki allowed him to keep playing, before things got too serious for frivolities.
Somewhere off in the distance, a yell echoed off the buildings. Not uncommon in this territory of cracked windows and crumbling facades, populated with the sort of folk who wouldn't look twice at someone like Dabi, but it piqued his interest nonetheless. His stride quickened and his route shifted to lead him toward the sound. As he drew nearer, guided by another shouted swear, he could pick up the distinctive sounds of a fight. Sparks and flickers of flame licked up his arms out of pure defensive instinct, though he slunk close to the walls as he approached and peered around the corner.
Sure enough, there was Hawks, and he was singlehandedly fighting what looked to be an entire gang of villains that had ambushed him.
The street was littered with bodies. Close to a dozen men lay incapacitated, knocked out or dead. Five more surrounded him, and though Hawks was more than capable, he looked overwhelmed and exhausted. Sweat dripped down his forehead and his jacket was shredded down one side, blood seeping through the slashes in the fabric. Dabi leaned against the brick, hidden and content to watch the situation unfold. The hero spun, feathers flared and razor-sharp, with two long primaries clenched like swords in his fists. Eyes narrowed, he ducked and dove under each attack and met them with his own, slicing through meat and tendons with practiced precision.
Dabi had never seen the hero kill before. Sure, he knew he had, knew all heroes were just glorified trained killers, but Hawks had preached against the people he fought beside and pledged himself in alliance with those he was cutting down. It was enough to pique Dabi's interest and enough to draw his phone from his pocket for a quick video. Blackmail.
Two more men fell at Hawks' feet, but another scored a blow against his side and sent one of his feather swords skittering away over the asphalt. Dabi leaned forward, enrapt, as red soaked through the tan of Hawks' sleeve. Panting, the hero readjusted and recalled his feather sword to his hand as blood dripped down his fingers. He spoke something to the trio, too low and too far away for Dabi to hear, but the cut of his mouth was harsh and snarling. The man closest to him moved in, a high-pitched laugh rolling off his tongue, and Hawks leaped into the air with a flap of his wings. He spiraled and landed hard on the shoulders of another attacker, driving his legs to collapse beneath him. Winded, the man lay there as Hawks hopped off and parried a jab by the first attacker. It was sheer seconds before the man had dropped, bleeding and whimpering. The final two danced around him, more nimble-footed than their compatriots. Hawks was entangled in combat with the one who had spindly claws for fingers, and they shnked against the hardened edge of his feather blades. The other slunk around the back of Hawks, evidently looking for a cheap shot while the hero was distracted. Dabi smirked.
He had barely flicked his gaze away, just scoping out the array of twitching bodies, when a screech split the air. Hawks was on the ground — the final two villains stood over him, one with his hand still outstretched and a quivering grin stealing over his face. Purplish smoke rippled off his splayed fingertips. Dabi saw red— no, blue — before he could stop himself, the street was raging with cerulean fire and he was stalking toward the prone hero like he was staking his own claim. No longer recording, his phone was clutched tight in his pocket.
The culprit whipped about to face him, face stark with recognition birthing terror. In a moment that came too fast for thought, his clawed companion was a shrieking sky-high pillar of flame. Hawks stirred at his feet, rolling instinctively away from the explosion of heat. Hazy yellow eyes slit open and fluttered half-shut again, pupils moving unsure between the approaching man and the retreating one.
He couldn't say what it was that drove him forward, only that his head was swarming with a possessive wrath that begged to be released.
"D-Dabi! What are you-"
"Bold of you to attack my asset," he snarled, tipping his head to one side.
"Your... asset?" Panicked brown eyes darted down to the fallen hero at his feet and back to Dabi. "I— we didn't know, we just-"
"Wanted the 'cred'?" Dabi bared his teeth in an ingenuine smile. "Congratulations, you're the strongest and bravest of all the corpses."
"Wait!" The man scuttled backward, stumbling over his own boots, hands help up to placate. "He's fine, I swear, I didn't— my quirk doesn't kill, he's fine—"
And sure enough, Hawks was struggling to sit up with a strange fogged look on his face. He no longer seemed to register that either man was there. One hand rose to his face, and fumbled and tapped at his forehead with clumsy movements. Dabi left him to it, pushing past and chasing the assailant leisurely away. The hand in his pocket tapped at his phone screen, unseen and unheard. He didn't need to see it to know the passcode, or how to pin a location.
"What's your quirk?"
"Amnesia... he's alive, he'll be fine in a minute, but he won't remember anything..."
Dabi grit his teeth. "You're telling me that you cost me months of reconnaissance?"
"I didn't know!" The man was panting now, abject terror twisting his features. "I just— he was too much, I needed to disorient him for a few seconds..."
"You'd better pray to whatever gods you know," Dabi spit, "that Shigaraki has a use for you and that shitty quirk."
"...What?"
Dabi took another step toward him, fire lighting up both palms, and the man staggered back and tumbled through the portal with a startled shout. Objectively speaking, it wasn't a shitty quirk. It was a damned good one in the right hands, and if he hadn't dedicated so much time to getting into Hawks' head, he would likely think the whole situation was hilarious. As it currently was, Dabi let out a long breath and shook his head.
Fuck.
Movement shuffled behind him, and Dabi half-turned his body to look.
Hawks was still sat on the ground behind him, legs folded beneath him and hands planted on the grimy concrete. As Dabi regarded him, he blinked and tilted his head back to look up at him. A fat snowflake landed in his hair and melted away in the gold. Dabi grumbled and lit another flame in his palm; alert again, amber eyes flicked toward the light and stared, transfixed by the shimmering cerulean climbing up Dabi's forearm.
"Thanks," he rasped, still watching the dancing flame. "For saving me, I mean. I think you did? I'm gonna be honest, I don't really know what's going on right now." He let out a laugh, bright and bell-like as usual, yet hollow and nervous.
"No?" Dabi hummed, stepping toward him. Unflinching, Hawks merely looked up at him, finally tearing his gaze away from the fire. There was a shade of panic in those eyes, but true to himself, he kept it guarded. "What do you remember?"
Hawks sucked a breath through his teeth and averted his eyes again. The anxious ruffle of feathers was his only response for a minute, testing Dabi's waning patience, while the hero sat perfectly still and wracked his brain. When he looked back at Dabi, his face was wan and his smile wary.
"You."
"Me?"
"I don't know why, but all I can remember is you."
Dabi tapped his foot, incredulous. "What about me?"
"Well, sort of. I have this... feeling, about you, when I look at you. Like we were close."
"Close, hm?" With his other hand, Dabi fished in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it off the flames dwindling in his palm. He raised it to his lips and took a drag, eyeing the hero knelt at his feet. "Close how?"
Hawks' brow knit. "I dunno. There's a warmth there. I know I know you, I just..."
Well, no matter. This could work. Dabi was nothing if not adaptable; little else in his life had ever gone according to plan this far, and why should this be any different? But he could work with this. This... This could be better, actually.
Dabi squatted before him. He let his eyes crinkle up into a smile and hoped the bare of his teeth was friendly. "Yeah, we're friends. Good instincts, birdie."
"Birdie?" Hawks echoed. His wings twitched and realization flickered across his face, followed by a genuine smile of relief. "Is that my name?"
"You don't remember that either?" Dabi puffed on the cigarette again, then offered it to Hawks, who wrinkled his nose at the odor and shook his head. Heh. Guess he forgot that he likes those, too. "Nah, that's a nickname."
As a plan unraveled before his mind's eye, he knew it would be a mistake to give Hawks back his hero name. It was too easy to research, too easy to piece things together. This could be good for them, great for Dabi, if he played his cards well. And certain cards, once trump cards, became a sudden necessity. Patient and confused, Hawks lifted his hands off the concrete and clutched at his knees.
"Your name is Keigo."
"Keigo." Hawks repeated the name like a foreign word, tasting it on his tongue. It must have felt right, somewhere deep inside, because he looked to Dabi with eager hope. "What about you? I'm sorry, I can't remember."
"I'm Touya," Dabi drawled. He puffed the cigarette again and stubbed it out on the asphalt. Though he didn't identify with the name any more, its utterance gave him a sense of satisfaction melded with unease and an old, undying ember of rage.
"It's nice to meet you again, Touya," Hawks chirped with a beatific smile. He held his hand out to Dabi, and after a moment, Dabi reached out and shook it. Hawks' voice was lower, mellower, than the one he used for the public. Dabi wondered if this was his true voice, finally. "Do you know where I live, too?"
"Yeah." Dabi hopped to his feet and, still holding Hawks' hand, pulled him up. Hawks stumbled as his legs unfolded and bumped against Dabi's side. His instincts screamed to set the bird alight, but now he had to play nice. He let the fire simmer beneath his skin just enough to warm him, but withheld it from reaching out in infernal tongues to swallow that crimson plumage. "With me. It's not too far. Come on, I'll take you."
"Thanks, Touya," he said, sheepish, and fuck this was a mistake. The name was a bullet in his resolve each time it left Hawks' lips, and he has a hero clutching his hand and blinking too-innocent eyes up at him, wiped clean of the countless lives they'd seen come to an end. It roiled disgust in Dabi's gut, aimed at Hawks and himself and the smoldering piles of ash they'd left behind. Hawks hadn't questioned the portal yet and Dabi hoped he didn't; he wasn't sure yet how to navigate the situation without fumbling his chance, and he needed time to think of how to do this well. Any information that might clue Hawks in to who he truly is, and who Dabi is, needed to kept far away from him. And that included details about the League... at least, for now. It also meant he couldn't take Hawks home.
"Stay close to me," he murmured, and Hawks crept closer as they walked. "Hate to be the one to tell you, but it's a rough neighborhood." Hawks laughed again.
"Dude, you were just holding fire. I'm not scared."
Dabi sneered. "You should've seen yourself before I found you, birdie."
Hawks looked down at himself, picking at the blood coating his torn jacket. "Yeah, I wish I remembered how this happened."
"You were attacked, dumbass."
"No shit," he retorted, "I meant I'd like to know why."
"Hmph. Couldn't tell you."
"Looks like I got my ass handed to me. I'm not much of a fighter, I guess."
"No... Not really." Dabi smirked to himself as Hawks trotted along just behind him.
"Well, good thing you were around then!"
"Good thing I thought to go look for you," Dabi countered. He slipped his hands into his pockets and turned down the next corner. Ramshackle buildings stretched in a daunting line down the unlit street, and Hawks faltered. Dabi didn't bother to glance back as he kept going; he trusted that Hawks would follow, because even for an oblivious amnesiac, he had to know that it was far safer with a familiar face than alone in these parts.
It was almost too good to be true, how close they were to one of the League's safehouses. This one was old, unused since the bar days, but Dabi still crashed there every so often. Particularly when his rendezvous with Hawks brought him to the area, as they so often did. The bright, popular hero liked to avoid well-traveled locales when they met, too nervous to be spotted with someone like him. He had never said as much, of course, but Dabi could read through his easy claims of not wanting to make Dabi travel too much, of how it's easier for him with his wings. He was surely hoping he would catch wind of where Dabi lingered; funny how he was, now, and yet unable to do anything with the information he couldn't even realize he had been chasing.
The safehouse was tucked between two other dilapidated houses in the middle of the street. It was a nondescript thing, the outer facade in such a disarray it blended in spectacularly with its surroundings, but Dabi had taken care to liven up the interior. Not too much, of course—it wouldn't do if the house was broken into and any valuables taken, but there was an old television, blankets and spare clothes, and bottles of water in the fridge.
He unlocked the door and stepped aside, raising an eyebrow for the visibly perturbed Hawks. Hawks stepped in and looked around hesitantly. Dabi followed, crowding behind him to force him a few steps farther in, and locked the door behind them. Hawks jolted at the sound, but cast Dabi a grateful glance.
"This is it?"
"Yup," Dabi drawled, nudging past him and kicking his boots off. Sure, it was a little shabby, but he crashed here enough that the place was relatively tidy, if a bit musty. A clean environment was a non-negotiable for Dabi if he wanted to avoid bothersome infections. Hawks toed off his own boots, wandered off around the sagging couch, and poked his head in the kitchen. He looked around and then walked in to examine the empty drawers and cabinets.
"Did we just move here? It's so empty."
"Yeah," Dabi said, pleased for the easy explanation. "Haven't had a chance to go shopping yet."
Hawks didn't respond. He meandered back out of the kitchen, swiveling his head this way and that to take in his new surroundings with an anxious shine to his eyes. Dabi plunked himself down in the sofa and watched as Hawks padded off toward the door to the hallway and disappeared down the dark corridor. There was nothing here that might be incriminating — they cleaned up their traces — so Dabi relaxed into the well-worn cushions and closed his eyes, content to let the other man explore. Fortunately, there were two bedrooms here. Gods forbid he had to bunk with the bird.
In the distance, he could hear the whine of old hinges as doors opened and closed, and Dabi imagined Shigaraki would sound similar when he told him he wouldn't be around much for a while. It shouldn't be a surprise; Dabi had always had his own agenda and Shigaraki was more than aware of that. This new ploy had huge potential for the group's benefit, anyway. If he kept Hawks far away from anything having to do with the idea of heroes or villains, and most importantly their own true identities, he could forge a monumentally powerful weapon loyal only to him. And, by extension, the League, but that was of lower priority. Hawks' speed and trained precision combined with his own explosive firepower would leave Endeavor to crumble to ashes at his feet.
"Touya?" Hawks reappeared in the doorway. His wings bore dust at the ends of the longer feathers, and the line of his mouth was dubious. "When did we move here?"
"Signed the lease yesterday," he replied. "It's been vacant for a while."
"I can tell," Hawks huffed. He drew nearer and sat beside Dabi on the couch without a second thought. "I'm starving," he added, and as if on cue, his stomach rumbled. Dabi was pretty fucking hungry too, now that attention had been brought to the matter.
"Well, yeah. We were grabbing dinner when we got attacked." He was lucky lying was second nature to him. "Didn't end up making it anywhere, of course. I'll order something." Dabi pulled his phone from his pocket and Hawks leaned over his shoulder, fascinated. "...Do you not remember phones?"
"I do," Hawks said slowly, sitting back again. "But it's foggy? Like with you. I know I had one, but I must have lost it..."
"You're acting very normal about all this," Dabi remarked. Hawks laughed.
"Trust me, Touya, I'm freaking the fuck out inside. But what am I gonna do about it? I'm just lucky I had you with me."
"Yeah, good thing. Do you remember food you like?"
"...no."
"Chicken it is, then." He tapped out an order and submitted it; it was common knowledge that Pro Hero Hawks loved fried chicken—he'd even been featured in advertisements for his favorite brand—and he doubted his taste buds changed when his memories melted away. Hawks leaned so close over him that his cheek pressed to his shoulder, rapt on the screen and breathing serenly.
"Is it good?"
"Your favorite."
Hawks let out a contented hum and sat back again, curling his wings around him like a blanket and settling into the old couch like it was the comfiest thing in the world. His eyes slipped shut and Dabi felt secure enough to stare at him a moment, absorbing the absurdity of the evening.
A lucky thing indeed, that Dabi happened to be around when Hawks was attacked. Just a stroke of chance that it happened on a night they were meant to meet, and that he walked that way home... and now he'd been handed this golden opportunity on a blood-red platter. Who would have though he would be so open, easy, and trusting as a blank slate? With doe-like eyes and the smile of a lamb, it's like he was begging to be led to the slaughter. But Dabi wouldn't kill him. He would reform, reshape, recreate the hero Hawks into his perfect pet bird, loyal only to him and as cutthroat and deadly as the truest villain. And it all started with a simple order of chicken.