Chapter Text
Cold blue flames lick Dabi's arms as he stands in the alleyway. He can feel the skin peeling and becoming sticky in the wretched heat of his own anger. Somehow, it is out of his control. The villain has no greater power over his body than he does the stars in the sky. He is a mottled corpse made up of constellations of scars.
Every staple and piercing a hungry sun millions of miles away from him. This may be his body, he may walk around in it, but the mirror will never hold a familiar face.
The villain slumps down, head hitting the gutter as he looks up at the night sky. Moonlight spills like milk over the dirty brick wall in front of him, washing it white with cool evening light.
His head hurts, his limbs hurt, the notches in his spine jut out to connect him to the pavement and in this moment he isn’t a man wasting to death in a pool of his own sweat, but a boy, tired after a long day in the sun. Sometimes when he lets the flames simply dance over his arm, he can pretend that he is still standing in his backyard in the summertime.
Dabi coughs, harsh and grating against his throat, before lifting a hand to muffle it. Tears press against the confines of his mind, begging for a release. Their soiled fingers scratch at his throat but no water falls down his cheeks. He is so empty and so alone, head spinning like a carousel as he lies on the ground. The gutter is hard and a puddle of rainwater soaks his hair to the root.
Dabi wishes he understood, he wants so desperately to know why he can’t pick himself up one more time. He’s done it for years, what’s one more time? Tomorrow the sun will rise and this feeling will shrink back into the shadows. Tonight though, it just drags its dirty nails across the nape of his neck.
Dabi remembers seeing his grave for the first time, it’s a plain old thing, just his name and two dates. Before he’d gone to see it for the first time, there was this strange hope in his heart that it would say “beloved son” or anything on it that showed he was a good child. There’s nothing to show for the hours he worked for his parents’ affection, how closely he followed in their footsteps just to be cast aside. That was his first role and his first failure.
How much longer is he expected to live, knowing he will never amount to anything at all? Knowing he can never receive the redemption that will bring his life some grain of meaning. He will never be accepted for who he wants to be.
Not a hero, it’s been a while since he dared to dream of that sort of thing.
He wants to be something, anything that won’t burn up under the light of day. Someone who doesn’t wilt when the sun goes down. Someone who doesn’t lie in alleys wishing for company. Dabi is a pathetic shell of a man, rich in flaws and quick to criticize. He wants so deeply that there is a gaping wound in his chest from desire. It bleeds and sputters, spilling onto every person who dares to reach out a helping hand. His heart hammers violently in his chest causing him to shake.
The worst part is, he cannot put a name to the feeling that courses through his soul. It is not loneliness, for he cannot possibly be lonely. The villain does not want someone else there, but he wishes so badly that if he did want someone, they would come.
There is no use for self-pity when you are as stubborn as he is. What sort of selfish idiot longs for someone to simply bear witness to their suffering? He does not want to be saved, does not want to be rescued from the confines of his own mind, does not want someone to find him in this alley, bleeding out and unconscious, and drag him to a hospital to get him back.
Dabi wants them to watch, wants to stand behind a glass wall as he shoves a gun down his throat, and for the last thing he sees to be their faces crumpling in grief. A sob falls from his lips as he pictures the scene, not even he can ignore how objectively morbid and self-centered it is.
He knows trauma can fuck people up but these thoughts have been circulating through his brain for as long as he can remember. Perhaps that’s why his parents treated him the way they did, they saw the ugliness before he did, and thank god for it.
Some kids just need that extra bit of tough love to get them to behave. Clearly, he was one of them, or else he would’ve had a kind father. His dad should’ve killed him when he had the chance, should’ve known that there was no other option with his son.
(“Touya” comes the cold voice from the doorway. A small boy with shaggy white hair looks up from his book, eyes wide and jaw clenched.
“Your mother said you snuck out today” says his father.
The boy doesn’t move, searching the room for another exit even though he knows there's no escape from this.
“You know you’re not allowed outside. You are too dangerous to be out there. What if you hurt someone? And then I’d have to clean up your mess.”
Touya stays still, not looking up to meet the eyes of the other. Maybe if he’s quick he can slip past his father and avoid this training for a few hours.
However, the moment he stands and tries to run, the man is yanking his arm and yelling at him while flames lick at his face.
“What is wrong with you? Is this any way for a (italicize) hero to act? Heroes don’t hurt people, and they definitely don’t run when they need to be trained”
Touya nods desperately, just trying to move away from his father. The fire burns and his eyes smart from the pain. The first blow is dealt in the form of a slap to the face that causes his eye to well up immediately from the heat.
Everything goes grey as he floats above his body, trying to escape the searing pains. Touya curls up in his mind, shaking only internally, as he takes the beating like a hero. If he were a stronger person, he would force himself to be present for the entire duration, but he’s so tired and it hurts so bad.
It hurts so much. It hurts. It… his thoughts pause as his father steps out of his field of view. When he comes back to his body, the overwhelming amount of pain tells him that he was gone much longer than he first thought. The hero is standing to the left of him with his face to the wall.
Touya winces, head pounding as he tries to force out a sentence. “Dad…” he manages before stopping in his tracks. His father stares at him in anger before grabbing his neck and squeezing tightly. Touya chokes, coughing and sputtering apologies to the hero as everything fades into nothingness.)
What a mercy it would’ve been, to have him killed before he could wreak havoc on the nation.
He tried, in the beginning that is, to get better. Tried to get a job but everyone either flinched or couldn't even look him in the eyes. Most stared, glances that became glares once they got a good look.
Sometimes he wonders if it was all a dream, if one day he will wake up in his childhood bedroom and realize that the last few years have been nothing but a nightmare. And then he will go to the Academy and Hawks, Kiego, will be there to keep him company.
Dabi had recognized the hero when he debuted, although, purely by accident. Hawks was plastered on a billboard, red wings impossible to ignore against the bright blue background.
A wave of sickening nostalgia had crashed over him. He’d always imagined that Kiego ended up like him, sidelined by society, more so for his own peace than anything else. Not even a year later, he was the top third hero in all of Japan. They used to spend all day together, wrestling and racing in the training rooms at the Academy. The only place he was allowed to go outside of his home, the only place Endeavor approved of.
Those days were always the most peaceful, laughing and running with the blonde boy, being able to escape it all. Hawks has begun trailing around with the League and unfortunately, Dabi was the one who had been chosen to handle him. He’s nothing like he used to be, just smiles and flattery now.
The pavement hurts, and Dabi's heart is so heavy. He wants to feel something, needs something between his lips right now. Wallowing is fun for a little bit, but right now he wants to be drunk. The villain wants to be intoxicated enough that he won’t remember tonight in the morning. He stands, stumbling in a bit with half-asleep feet. The League isn’t far from here, he should be able to steal a bottle of something strong before slipping back out into the night
~~~~~~~~
Hawks wanders through the narrow hallways of the League, sweat soaking his spine as he looks for a specific member. Dabi wasn't even here earlier but he always shows up once the sun goes down. There's something off about him, something that prickles under Hawks's skin when he sees the man. The villain is filthy, and always two steps ahead of everyone else. A door slams in the distance and the hero's eyes dart around wildly until his pulse finally slows.
Why Hawks was chosen to infiltrate the League is beyond him, lord knows he isn't a good liar. What's worse is that the commission had worked so hard to keep him away from villains his entire life, just to throw him to the wolves as soon as they saw an opening.
The hero ducks around a corner, avoiding Shigiraki and his peeling skin as the villain stumbles down the hall half drunk. What he would do to never have to touch that nasty man again.
Somehow he'd been roped into bandaging one of the leader's wounds after Shigiraki got into a fight. Twice and Toga had stood over him the entire time, making sure he wasn't going to pull a knife on their friend. Every time his hand brushed the patchy skin, he shivered. How the others did it without even thinking was beyond him.
This whole place made his stomach turn, its dirty walls reaching out to him, coating him in their stench. laughter ricochets off the corridor, assaulting his ears. God he can't wait to get out of this forsaken place, he just needs to find Dabi and then he can leave.
The villain has been weird lately, avoiding him like the plague and speaking in one-word sentences when he does show up. The commission told Hawks in no uncertain terms that if he shows up tomorrow without something on the fiery man, then he'll have to get his wings professionally groomed.
Luckily, they gave him a small file of information on Endeavor, someone who fascinates Dabi to no end, so he at least has something to bargain with.
Rowdy noises come from behind a wooden door at the end of the hall. He pauses, staring at the door for a moment before catching a glimpse of himself in the chipped glass that decorates the edges of it. The hero's hair is fluffed up beyond recognition, so he pauses to quickly fix it.
He can hear what his old trainer would say if she could see him right now and it almost makes him laugh to picture it, "Hawks sit still, how am I going to be able to do your hair if you keep squirming, brat" The hero smiles to himself, she had always been so picky about how he sat for his hair and makeup. Even now, years after she'd resigned, he still heard her voice every time he put concealer on in the mornings and when he fixed his hair for the cameras.
Dabi didn't like his makeup, the villain had grabbed Hawks's face one night and it covered his hand in a powdery white film. He had, understandably, grimaced and poked fun at the hero for the rest of the evening, much to Hawks's chagrin.
Cool stale air is traded for the hot sticky warmth of a room that’s too crowded for Hawks. The LOV members are celebrating a battle won with drinks and yelling that is quite frankly, unnecessary. So the hero slips past them all, content to find a corner to haunt for a bit until he can find Dabi and return home without arousing suspicion.
The fight wasn’t bad, maybe a few bruises but Hawks has had worse on his way to work. Laughter echoes off the walls of the small kitchen and some random villain shoves a drink in his hand as they stumble around what could generously be called a living room. The glass is dirty and overflowing with bitter liquor. Hard going down and sharp coming back up, not the ideal choice right now.
As more people filter into the room, Hawks tightens his wings to his back until they ache with a pain that makes his vision briefly go black. Usually, he’d have dropped off his feathers at the door by now but he can’t seem to get them to detach with the constant stimulation that’s firing through them.
Noise fills the air and the hero chokes on the stale stench of alcohol and sweat. God he just wants to get out of here. He longs for his bed, with its cool sheets and soft blankets. A pulsing ache has taken up residence in his skull and he realizes with a jolt that he has a PR event tomorrow that he definitely cannot be hungover for.
Someone with a mutant quirk comes up to him, purring seductively as they run their nails across his feathers. The sensation alone makes Hawks shake, though he smiles at the woman, lying with an open-mouthed grin that must come off flat because she simply saunters away. Thank fuck, he'll beat himself up about being unappealing later but for now, he appreciates the space he’s been given.
Unfortunately, that space doesn’t last long as another villain falls into him, laughing, completely oblivious to the sticky liquor that now coats them both. Tears spring to Hawks’s eyes before he can even think, panic taking over for once. The hero cowers on the floor, hands shaking as he tries to pick himself back up.
Suddenly a strong rough hand is touching his and sharp nails are digging into his palms. Hawks gags, choking on his own distress while he squirms in the grip of someone else. Fresh air hits his face in a wave and he collapses onto his knees in the alleyway, dry heaving harshly. A voice yells vague insults at him as he chokes and the metal door to the hideout slams behind him with a repulsive thud.
When he’s finally done coughing and has enough strength to curl up away from the puddle that he fell into, he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.
Hawks flinches, accidentally of course, he doesn’t mean to recoil and gasp for air in terror at the simple touch. Unfortunately, he still flinches, and there's a soft voice soothing him, though they sound impossibly far away.
And then he is looking up, face cupped in those rough hands, and Dabi is gazing into his eyes.
“Got yourself into quite the mess here, huh birdie?” He asks, not unkindly.
“Uh,” yeah great way to start, I’m sure he thinks you’re really fucking sane over here, “yeah?”
Holy shit what has come over him, it’s like he can't speak for anything. God one soft touch shouldn’t make him melt but it’s been years since anyone looked at him like that.
Dabi scoffs, that fire in his eyes brighter than ever, “Some dude in there is pissed that you spilled beer on his new jacket”
The hero blushes crimson red, squirming to try and relieve some of the pressure on his wings without alerting Dabi to anything.
“Uh, I’ll pay for a new one just give me his name.”
Dabi raises an eyebrow, “Chill out, he probably bumped into you, I’d say that he should pay for a new hero suit for you”
Cigarette smoke wafts down the alleyway, twisting and rippling as it squirms out into the street.
Hawks freezes at this, eyes blinking rapidly before choking out “I’m still sorry, I should go clean up the spill”
Dabi bends down to offer the hero a hand, which he has no choice but to take. Hawks hates it when the other does this, he just decides he's done talking about whatever they were having a conversation about. It is infuriating, to say the least. The villain just stares at him with those striking blue eyes, occasionally allowing them to drift down to his lips and back up again.
Hawks stubbornly resists the urge to comment on the self-control of the other, choosing instead to pull a flash drive out of his pocket. No matter how tempting it may be to get under Dabi's skin by letting their faces drift closer and closer in the cool moonlight, he simply hands over the USB to the villain.
Dabi drifts a hand around his waist, tempting the hero to take the easy route tonight, while he grabs the flash drive with his other hand.
They’ve been meeting in this alleyway for months, sometimes to talk, and sometimes to let their lips brush ever so slightly in the cool air of privacy. Accidental kisses don’t count though, so for now these meetings are strictly business-related. They aren’t even friends, just associates who are forced to meet. However, every once in a while, Hawks wakes up covered in sweat and gasping from a dream where Dabi has done more than simply flirt and tilt his head.
The villain smirks as he gets closer, hands inviting the other to proceed. There's something so incredibly comforting about these moments. No comforting isn’t the right word. Familiar. So strikingly familiar that it hurts.
Dabi leans forward to meet him, rough hands immediately reaching for his neck to pull him in. And like every time before it, Hawks leans in before he can even think about it, letting their lips meet in the cool light of a street lamp.
The villain tastes sweet, like fruit stuck between your teeth.
It’s over too soon and the hero jerks back when the other shies away, as if he’s been burned, which in some ways he has. Heavy-lidded golden eyes stare at the villain, drinking in his beauty as his mind whirls with the thrill of whatever just happened.
Hawks scoffs, “I thought I told you to stop doing that shit.”
The villain smirks lightheartedly, “But you’ve got such a pretty mouth”
And that’s it, no conversations about it, no insults, just light flirting and kisses they'll never discuss. Sometimes, when he’s trying to sleep at night, he wonders if they happened at all. Once Dabi left a bruise on his neck, it was purple and swollen for days, a constant reminder that he couldn’t pass off as misremembering.
As he stares at the other in the moonlight, he allows himself a moment to wish it would happen again. And then the moment is gone and Dabi is looking at him through hooded eyes discussing the contents of the USB stick.