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The chains haven’t loosened. The freedom never gets larger. Not from the womb to the wooden shack to the sterile white walls of a training room. After a while, freedom just became one of those unknown, lost dreams. Every wave of desire for escape he got was just a fleeting thought, gone like a feather in the wind. Like a feather torn from its perfect spot, freedom can be removed. Privacy can be taken away. Stray too far, the chains only tighten the collar around your neck.
Hawks is not privy to sharing secrets, he wasn’t taught to tell anything but the truth, or anything that they called the truth. He spat out well mannered and mass produced lies, and he smiled in the faces of fans he wished would just leave him alone. He goes back to HQ, and secrets spill from his mouth like pouring blood. There is no lie they can’t detect, even if his lies work on everyone else.
Hawks knows better than to question orders, he knows better than to disobey them.
This is the current conundrum he’s found himself in:
He’s in a villain's bed.
He’s clothed, from the waist down, and so is the villain. They’re not his hero pants, but borrowed sweatpants. He had just come over to the League’s base, just to check in, collect intel, and avoid Dabi’s burning gaze while doing it all. Now Hawks is here, and his cheeks are distinctly red and eyes feel heavy and puffy.
The villain, Dabi— he should acknowledge that, probably—is sitting up, holding Hawks against his side and trailing through his wings. He feels he was just placed back into his body, maybe for a second he was somewhere else, somewhere where he wasn’t flying but wasn’t grounded. He feels a heat, not burning, against his skin. Dabi’s touch is tantalizing. It could only be so long before Hawks leaned into it.
”You in there, Birdie?” The villain’s voice has its usual raspiness, but it doesn’t sound the same. It sounds quiet. It sounds…
”Huh?” Hawks blinks up at Dabi. Small wet beads escape his eyes, and he wonders how they got there.
Dabi breathes a sigh of relief, chest stuttering as he does so. This is the first time Hawks has noticed it. “You feelin’ better?”
”What do you mean?”
Hands thread through his wings. “Hawks, you just had,like, the biggest panic attack I’ve ever seen.” Dabi stops petting his wings, and for some reason, Hawks’s heart drops to his stomach. “You gotta tell me what happened.”
Hawks blinks again, trying to sit up as he rubs his eyes. Firm hands guide him up until he’s sitting up straight against the back of a bed. He thinks back to however long ago it was before he…zoned out.
Before coming to the League’s base, he was at the Commission, at a particularly annoying meeting with two of his handlers who weren’t pleased. Not that they ever were.
Hawks hates to admit it, hates to even suggest that he had a weakness, but he really hated yelling. Loud, awful yelling. He could handle it when he was out doing hero work, his headphones were enough to cancel the overwhelming noises of screams, but it was more than that. The bellowed words were targeted at him, meant to scare him, meant to put him in his place. It had been that way since he was a kid. He knows he should be used to it by now, that it should hurt less. Hawks is the number two fucking hero for crying out loud, he shouldn’t be shaking at the sound of someone yelling. Yelling at him.
He had run to the League’s base in a hurry, his handlers on his ass about getting more intel. They tell him he’s the fastest hero, so he should be faster. You can always do better. Perfection isn’t enough.
Hawks had remained as calm as possible while slinking his way into the League’s base, dodging Himiko’s knives and Twice’s curious or cynical questions. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, the typical cool-guy persona. Dabi squinted at him from across the room, before approaching. With Dabi, everything is intentional, everything is calculated; even the steps he was taking were decided upon as part of a plan.
Dabi stands next to him, gaze appraising.
“How’s it going, hotstuff?” Hawks smiles and lifts a hand for a small wave.
Eyes trail up and down, taking in Hawks’s posture. “I should be asking you that, number two.”
Hawks laughs. It's mechanical, even his vocal chords are puppeteered. “I assure you I’m happy as a bird in the spring, or whatever they say.” He eyes Dabi back. “Any news here?”
”Nothing new.” Dabi responds, and it’s nowhere near close to the response Hawks wants, or the response the Commission needs.
”C’mon, give me something?”
Dabi scoffs, as if it’s obvious that Hawks would get nothing. He doesn’t understand how desperate he is for information. The consequences of failure swim through his eyes in chains both real and imagined.
”Why, so you can run back to your little owners?” Dabi is teasing. Hawks knows this. He can hear the deep, sarcastic drawl, he can see the creases of a smirk on the edge of Dabi’s mouth, staples stretching his skin. He knows that Dabi is joking. Yet, that’s nearly all it takes for Hawks to break, because Dabi doesn’t know how right he is.
The crash is slow. It starts with wet desperation rising in Hawks’s eyes, and he swallows hard to hold it back, face going red. “You gotta give me something.” It doesn’t come across as a demand, too weak and too pitiful for a hero, let alone for a negotiator. It doesn’t come across as a question either, because he needs Dabi to give him something. He needs anything to tell his handlers so his wings don't get snapped or his talons don't get ripped off or anything else they could think of.
Hawks could tell them where the League’s base was, he could tell them that they’re vaguely comfortable around him. He could tell them, but he won’t. He hasn’t.
”Hawks—“ Dabi had raised an arm, maybe to make some snide and dramatic comment, maybe to push Hawks out or light him on fire.
Hawks has always been too quick. In an instant, he grabbed Dabi’s arm, and his stupid bird traits made the grip tighten like a knot. Everything is just getting worse. “I-I’m—Listen, I’m sorry, please, just give me something.” He’s trying to ask quietly, but there are tears in his eyes and he doesn’t know why he’s acting like this. In front of villains, no less.
There are a hundred eyes on him. He wants to curl up into a corner, he wants to hide beneath his wings. He wants to let go of Dabi’s arm.
”Shit, Hawks—“
It breaks like a damn. He lets out an absolutely wretched, disgusting sob. He damns himself for it. He’ll have to tell the commission, he needs to be retrained. His handlers’ yells are fresh in his ears, replaying like slow motion film.
“Gotta—“ He pants, “Gotta get out, Dabi, gotta—“
”Okay, okay.”
He doesn’t know why Dabi agrees, or why he drags him to his room so fast, never once yelling about the stress grip, or the crying, or the being here at all. Dabi had closed the door behind them, and it devolved into the chaos of Hawks’s cries, half-human and half-bird but all disgusting. Dabi sat next to him on the bed, and whatever words he was saying lost meaning as they swam through Hawks’s sluggish brain.
And now he’s here. He’s in Dabi’s bed, and Dabi is looking at him like he’s a fragile doll and not a violent soldier. Now, he is reminded of his mission. He needs to get something, anything.
”Dabi, I need—”
”I know. I need you to tell me something first.”
Hawks nods. He’ll do anything. He knows better than to question orders. He knows better than to disobey them.
”What happened?”
He swallows, and the tips of his wings shake. He has to obey. “Uhm, just Commission stuff. Not doing my job well enough, yada yada. Gotta meet the quota!” He laughs, trying to put his hero mask back on, but the taste of salt on his swollen throat doesn't help. His voice is clogged and sniffly, and he feels like a sad disaster with a wet sponge for a brain.
”Hawks.” He almost sounds sad.
“I’m a spy.” He spits out. Dabi doesn’t react beyond the gesture to go on. “And I wasn’t giving them enough information, and they’re not happy, and if I mess up again—“ His voice shakes. He feels like an idiot, wiping fiercely at his face, so hard it hurts.
“Well, that clears some stuff up.”
”You’re not…like, gonna kill me or something?”
”Meh. I never trusted that you weren’t a spy. Why do you think you don't get any useful information?”
”Oh.”
“Yeah.” Dabi sighs, and runs a hand through his own black hair. “Didn’t know the Commission would… react like that.”
”…It’s fine.”
”It’s not.”
Keigo disagrees, feverently shaking his head.
”I should’ve known they suck. I mean, I knew they did, but I thought it was just coverups, infiltrations and assassinations. I didn’t know they’d..”
”Punish an asset?”
Dabi’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re not an asset.”
Hawks stays silent.
”What’ve they done to you?”
Hawks remembers his shirt is off, and he’s surprised Dabi didn’t look close enough at him to see anything. He doesn’t want to respond, so he just turns his back to Dabi and lets him look. A cold finger traces over a jagged scar.
”Are these—“
”Whips.” Hawks whispers. He holds up his hands, blunt, cut down talons displayed. Dabi looks down, and he looks back up. His face shifts from its warped features to its usual neutrality.
”Please, I just need something to give back to them—“ He pleads one more time, praying Dabi understands the stakes. “I know it’s selfish, but… but it’ll be a thousand times worse for me if I don’t bring anything in… I’m sorry I just don’t want to go through all that.. again.” He stares at his hands, picking at his talons as if he himself is tempted to tear them apart.
”You won’t give anything back to them.” Hawks’s eyes snap up to meet Dabi’s. “Because you won’t be going back.”
His feathers bristle. Was this really it? Dabi’s just going to burn him alive, after all of that? It feels like a sick joke, like he just spilled his already bleeding heart open and it’s about to get stomped on even more. Hawks backs away, moving towards the edge of the bed. He needs to get out. Maybe there was somewhere else, other than here, other than the commission. He knows there isn’t.
”Shit, Birdie.” Dabi grabs one of Hawks’s hands and pulls him closer. Hawks is pliant in his arms, a puppet gone limp. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not gonna kill you or anything.” Hawks chirps in confusion, too tired to recognize the sin he’s just committed. Dabi seems to be pleased, though. “You can stay here. That’s the best offer I’ve got, pretty bird.”
He can't speak, so he chitters quietly, guilt seeping through his bones as he does. Dabi grins and leers, face poised like he’s trained to smell secrets.
”Didn’t know you could do that,” Dabi chuckles, running a feather between two fingers. “The Commission train those out of you too?”
Hawks avoids Dabi’s eyes, and that’s answer enough.
”You can do that stuff here. We might be shitty villains, but no one’s gonna kill you if you chirp a couple times, or grow out your talons, or do whatever other secret birdie stuff I know you’re hiding from me.” Dabi’s eyes haven’t left Hawks’s. “You got it?”
He nods.
”Need words, birdie. You wanna stay here?”
For a moment, Hawks’s brain is nothing but a rush of wind past his ears, breeze in his feathers, head empty over the idea of peace. Of freedom. Of a body that isn’t held down by chains. For a very indulgent moment, he imagines the Commission going up in flames.
”Yeah. I’ll stay.”
Dabi smiles, and it’s the first time Hawks has seen one that wasn’t viscous or manic.
Hawks smiles, and it’s the first time Dabi has seen one that wasn’t a mask taped on for the sake of heroism.
Dabi gets Hawks to relax into the bed, tracing over his scars, over his feathers, and rewarding each chirp with another soft touch.
”Not how I imagined I’d get you in my bed, Birdie,” Dabi smirks.
Hawks squawks, and Dabi howls with laughter.
Hawks’s head is still foggy, still anxious, still guilty. He knows what will happen when the Commission realizes he is gone. He ignores it all for a second, taking in the feeling of breaking chains. He’s finally escaping from his cage, and he’s flown right into a villain’s arms. A villain who cared about him more than any hero ever did.