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As the League of Villains gears up to lead an attack on the UA student’s summer camp, Dabi sits back against the bar, secure in the knowledge that he’ll be invaluable to this particular assault. After all, the camp is being held in a forest, and Dabi’s quirk is fire. If the goal is sowing enough confusion that they can kidnap what’s-his-name, then Dabi’s the man for the job.
So when Shigaraki approaches, scratching his neck in agitation, Dabi’s fully expecting the weirdo to begrudgingly give him the leadership position for this shindig. He’s the logical choice since the next most competent adult in the group wears a mask and moonlights as an old-timey magician.
“Dabi,” Shigaraki grunts. “I’m subbing you out of the party. I have a side quest for you.”
Hold on, back up. What?
“Excuse me?” Dabi says in his most menacing growl. Shigaraki sneers at him, which is actually kind of intimidating with his scarred lip.
“Your ears too burnt to hear? A side quest. A mission of your own, or whatever. These bots are taking on the hero students while you handle something else for me.”
Dabi, who’d been looking forward to making Shouto marshmallows over a lovely blue campfire, scowls.
“What kind of mission?”
—--
“No fucking way this works,” Dabi states, looking up at the towering building in front of him. Already the Fukuoka heat is making him sweat, even in his new threads.
“It better work,” Shigaraki’s voice sounds from the alley right behind him. He’s already halfway through the portal, and Dabi glares at him. The crusty fucker just glares right back.
“Remember the strategy,” Shigaraki says. “And report back when you’re done for the day.”
Then he steps through the portal, easy as you please, and Dabi flips the empty space the bird. It’s not very satisfying, but it's all he's got at this point.
That done, Dabi turns back to face the gigantic hero agency, affectionately called The Aviary by the locals. With the number of flight quirks Dabi can see coming and going from the roof and various balconies, it seems the place has earned its name.
He grimaces, thinking of his own limited flight capabilities. He’s tried using his flames as jet boosters for his feet, but it only sort of works when he’s pissed off and has a laser focus on what he wants. Otherwise, he just ends up spinning out of control.
Speaking of out of control, he thinks bitterly as he opens up the backpack he’d been holding loosely by the handle. This mission is fucking nuts.
Inside the backpack are all of the ‘legal’ documents that Giran had put together for him, making him out to be an underground hero - gag - who wants to ‘fly to new heights at the Hawks agency!’
Why the Hawks agency? Because the Winged Hero had been snooping around All For One’s turf - specifically, his noumu labs. The hero hadn’t actually found any yet, but evidently, some lackey of the HPSC had a mind-reading quirk, and they’d been brought in to consult on the noumu that attacked All Might at the USJ.
That noumu had memories embedded in its exposed brain, and those memories included images of a lot of its brethren.
Hence Hawks’ investigation and Dabi’s mission to find out how much the Winged Hero had unearthed in his search. Frankly, Dabi had been in favor of simply kidnapping or offing the hero instead, but Shigaraki had scoffed at him when he suggested it, pointing out the fact that Hawks would have backups of his search - possibly even team members he was working with. The goal was to find out who knew about the noumu research, how much they knew, and then kill them.
Which, you know, fair enough. No scars off Dabi’s back. However, choosing him for this mission when they had a perfectly good cloner, who could make a copy of an actual underground hero, and a shapeshifter who could do the same thing, and not using them…?
Okay, so, that argument was rather weak. For the same reason he thought he’d be best suited to take on the camp job (which had gone tits up, no surprise), he was also best suited for a job that took a modicum of normal behavior.
So here he is, about to go in for his interview to be one of Hawks’ new sidekicks, with a resume full of very good fake references and qualifications. According to his file, his modus operandi was infiltrating villain organizations and gaining intelligence for various hero agencies - which was fucking ironic, considering his current mission was literally the opposite. Fuck, when had this become his life?
(A tiny voice in the back of his head hates that, in other circumstances, he’d probably already be a hero. Maybe even have his own agency. Fuck, if his father had supported him at all - had given a single flying fuck -)
Dabi grits his teeth, banishing those thoughts as he glares at the soaring figures overhead. Spotting one with distinctive red wings, he allows himself a grim smile.
“Speaking of flying fucks…” he mutters. Then he sighs, straightens his shoulders from his perpetual slouch, and strolls into the agency like he owns the place.
—--
This was a fucking mistake, Dabi thinks as he wheezes for breath on the treadmill. It’s barely going five miles an hour, but holy fuck has he not built up stamina over the years.
His examiner, a flying squirrel mutant called Squirrel Girl of all fucking things, chitters with her buck teeth, which Dabi has taken to mean she’s disappointed in him. Well, fuck her, she’ll just have to get in line.
“You said you did underground hero work?” she asks as she lowers the speed to a slow walk, Dabi forces himself to breathe, clinging to the treadmill with white knuckles.
“Did a lot of espionage and stakeouts,” he gets out, too breathless to voice how annoyed he is. “Didn’t require a lot of physical work.”
Squirrel Girl, who he decides then and there to nickname Nutso, purses her lips and raises her eyebrows as if to say 'clearly'. Dabi mentally flips her the bird.
It gets worse when the agency doctor stops by and reads over Dabi’s physical wellness results along with Nutso’s comments on said results. The doctor is some kind of penguin mutant, by the looks of him, and his yellow feathered eyebrows furrow as he skims over the papers.
“You’re severely undernourished,” he says, almost to himself. “Your height-to-weight ratio, particularly with your muscular structure… you should be carrying at least twenty more pounds, if not more.”
Dabi wrinkles his nose in annoyance. Years of living on the streets with a picky stomach will do that to you.
“I pull long shifts,” is what he says instead. “Not much time for eating or the gym.”
Nutso runs a hand down her face in apparent exasperation. “Oh no, not another Hawks.”
Dabi shoots her a look, but the doctor continues speaking, regaining his attention.
“It also shows here that you have some pretty nasty side effects from your quirk.”
“You don’t say.” Dabi’s tone could suck the moisture out of a stone.
Doctor Penguin looks up at him, squinting. “Ah, those are scars. I thought perhaps some kind of quirk… but no. Apologies, I left my glasses in my office and my vision is better suited for underwater environments. So - a fire quirk and burn scars?”
“We haven’t gone through the quirk assessment portion yet,” Nutso supplies when the doctor looks at the blank section of the chart questioningly. “Hawks said he wanted to be there and he’s been in a meeting with the Commission president all morning.”
Dabi perks up at the mention of Hawks communicating with the high and mighty of the hero world. Was he talking to her about noumu locations? Was he discussing attack plans?
Only one way to find out.
“If we’re done here,” he says, impatience crawling under his skin. “I can move on to the quirk assessment. I already know my health is shit.”
“Now hold on, young man,” Doctor Penguin - Dabi really needs a nickname for him - says. “We’ve got a couple more things to cover. I’d like to know your current scar treatment process and see if we can’t work out a meal plan for you while you’re in-agency.” He glances down at the paperwork and frowns. “In addition to that, I’d like to see if we can’t get one of our support specialists to evaluate you. If your quirk is causing you harm, there may be something we can do to help.”
“Ohh, excellent idea,” Nutso says brightly, bringing up her tablet. “I’ll ping Heli down in the lab. She’s usually free around this time.”
Dabi raises his eyebrows as high as his scars will allow. “You do realize I’m just a candidate, right? It’s not like I’ve got the job yet.”
He’s not sure what compels him to say it but - fuck, he doesn’t actually want to pay for shit if he doesn’t make the cut for some reason. No matter how much rigging Giran and - Dabi suspects - All For One had managed, there was always the chance for failure.
“We know you’re a candidate,” Nutso says slowly, her face transforming into something a bit softer than her earlier judginess. Oh god, that’d better not be pity. “Hawks always says people should leave here better off than when they came in. Whether that’s because they get a warm meal, or legal help, or support equipment, he leaves that up to us.”
“And who pays for all this… generosity,” Dabi asks, fighting not to make a face. Ugh, this Hawks guy sounds unbearably noble. Gross.
The two look at each other again, but this time the doctor answers.
“Hawks does. It comes from his salary and sponsorships, for the most part. The finance department handles the requests, but as long as it’s nothing exorbitant, they usually approve all the support we give.”
Dabi doesn’t fucking believe it.
“And a meal plan and support equipment aren’t considered exorbitant?” he pushes. The doctor has the gall to laugh.
“Most of the revenue comes from the ads he does. Apparently, models are almost as well-paid as heroes, so no - I’ve never had an issue getting these kinds of costs covered. Now, about your current regimen for your scars…?”
Modeling? Dabi thinks, unimpressed. Sure, Hawks is good looking - maybe even handsome when he’s not cracking stupid jokes, but a model? And to do it often enough to pay for every sad case that walked through the door? What the fuck.
Dabi stews on this as the doctor asks him questions, mostly answering care questions with “I don’t” until the doctor agrees to walk with them up to the quirk assessment. He gets the suspicious feeling that the penguin man is worried about him.
Penguin man… pen-man? Pen… pen… penis. Dickhead. Yep, nailed it.
Nickname decided, Dabi enters an enormous vaulted room, where various sidekicks seem to be flitting around through rafters, obstacle courses, and training simulations. Off in one corner is a grid of mats, and Dabi can see three sets of people squared off in fighting stances against each other.
The sight sends a chill up his sweaty back, taking him back to tatami floors and skin-searing fire.
Jaw clenched, he drags his eyes away from that corner, assessing the bright costumes, the shape of the room, the exits. There are no windows, likely to prevent villains and criminals from spying on the training taking place. If he truly needed to escape, Dabi would have to burn his way to one of the exits, and with the size of the room, he’d be watching his back from all sides, including overhead.
What a pain, he thinks, grimacing at the flyers above him. Red wings catch his gaze, and his grimace deepens. Speaking of pains…
Hawks spots him staring and checks himself mid-air, twisting into a graceful dive whilst dodging other flyers with ease. Dabi kind of hates the guy. More than he already did, at any rate, especially as Hawks lands, light as a feather, not five feet in front of him.
The number three is dressed down in a long-sleeve compression shirt, his tacky khakis, and his gloves. The visor, jacket, and earphones he usually sports are nowhere to be seen. In fact, as Dabi takes another glance around the room, the compression shirts and baggy pants seem to be some kind of base uniform. Like the blues the UA kids wear.
His own outfit isn’t too different. All black, with cargo pants tucked into his combat boots and a sleeveless turtleneck that clings to his skin and scars.
“Hey there! You must be the new applicant. Ember, right?” Hawks greets jauntily. Dabi frowns.
The topic of his ‘hero’ name had been a surprisingly sensitive one. Because once upon a time, he’d had dozens of them that he’d lobbed at his dad as soon as Endeavor walked in the door, from Supernova to Inferno, to stupid shit like ‘Endeavor Jr.’ and ‘Endeavor Boy’.
Granted, the name Giran had come up with wasn’t much better.
“So you hate Endeavor, right?” the information broker had said, beaming around his fifth cigarette as he laid out the details of Dabi's infiltration mission. Apparently, he’d saved the name for last. “This is like a play on his name or some shit. Had my neighbor kid think it up - like a… whaddya call it, an opposite of a word?”
“An antonym,” Dabi provided without thinking. Of all the fucking times for his grammar lessons to come back to him. Giran slapped the desk and pointed at him excitedly.
“That’s the shit! So to 'Endeavor' means to move forward toward a goal, right?”
“Right,” Dabi said, not liking where this was going.
“But his problem is he’s always trying, never finishing! He’s still number two, lame bastard.”
Dabi nodded, enjoying himself marginally more. Giran grinned at his apparent assent.
“So my neighbor kid, he says to me - what about someone who finishes shit? What about that as a hero name? And I told him to go ape. So he comes up with this name that’s a nod at ‘Endeavor’ but also pisses on the fact he can’t see shit to the end.”
“This is a lotta build-up for a stupid throwaway name,” Dabi said flatly. “What is it, old man?”
Giran cackled. “Alright, alright, don’t get your staples in a twist. The name’s -”
“Ender, actually,” Dabi says without inflection. A tendril of smoke seeps from his wrist seam and he casually tucks his hand into his pocket.
“Not Ember? With your fire quirk?” Hawks asks, bushy eyebrows arching. “Ah, my bad then. How… Emberrassing.”
The hero’s wings perk up as if hoping Dabi will laugh at his dumb joke. With effort, and the threat of Shigaraki’s death fingers hanging over his head, he forces a smirk.
“So, you’re going to be assessing my quirk?” he asks, getting the idiot back on task. “What’s that entail?”
Again with the bushy eyebrows shooting up, only to fall back down into a relaxed expression. Dabi doesn’t miss how the hero’s eyes sharpen, though.
“Not anything too crazy,” Hawks says easily, gesturing for Nutso and Dickhead to hand over Dabi’s medical charts. “My understanding is you’re applying to be my night-shift sidekick, which is excellent since I’m trying to take it a bit easier.” He smiles brightly, though his eyes look grim. “Lots of other things vying for my attention, ya know?”
“What, like more modeling gigs?” Dabi asks before he can stop himself. He wants to curse, but Hawks surprises him by tossing his head back with a laugh.
“Yeah, something like that,” the hero says, a crinkle forming at the corner of his eye. Dabi can’t tell if it’s amusement or annoyance. “I gotta keep the lights on around here, and some jobs are harder to turn down than others. So, Ender…” he glances down at the medical chart. “Says here your quirk causes you damage. You sure you’re up to putting it on display?”
Dabi shrugs. “Wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t stand to use it.” He glances up at the myriad sidekicks and heroes flitting about overhead. “Might wanna clear the air, though.”
Hawks looks at him unblinkingly for a moment, golden eyes a bit unnerving in their intensity. Then he brings two fingers to his lips and blows out a whistle so sharp and piercing, Dabi represses a blanch.
Immediately, the air overhead empties, with flyers dropping down onto balconies and other platforms along the walls. As one, they turn inward, looking down at where Hawks stands, nonchalant and undeniably challenging.
“Air’s yours, hot shot,” he says merrily, as if he hadn’t just turned Dabi’s application into a spectator sport. If Dabi didn’t know better, he’d say the hero was getting back at him for the modeling jab.
His eyes narrow and Hawks meets his gaze without batting an eye.
That little shit, he is getting back at me, Dabi thinks incredulously. Oddly enough, the pettiness simultaneously raises and lowers his estimation of the so-called number three hero.
He’s not rolling over like some of those assholes do, he thinks as he strides into the middle of the room, popping his neck and shaking out his hands. But he also has no fucking dignity if he's this damned petty.
“Whenever you’re ready, Ender!” Hawks calls as he flies himself, Dickhead, and Nutso up to some kind of observation deck nearly thirty feet off the floor. The hero has the gall to wave down at him too, like Dabi’s one of his airheaded fans.
Whatever, Dabi fumes to himself. I don’t need to get along with him. Just impress him enough to hire me.
Which is something of a tall ask, all things considered. Especially since Dabi’s never truly succeeded at this move before. Still… if Hawks wants a show of what his quirk can do, Dabi will give him a fucking show.
Pointing his palms down at the floor, Dabi furrows his brows in concentration as he pulls his quirk to the surface without unleashing it, knowing that it takes an incredible amount of force to get even one underfed human off the ground.
In another life, when he’d been maybe four, and had dreamed of flying like his dad, he used to take his little star-covered blanket and jump off of furniture, trying to use the blanket like wings. He’d fallen, of course, but he was nothing if not determined, and he’d picked taller and taller furniture until he’d finally gotten on top of his parent’s dresser. He’d jumped, and only Endeavor entering the room had saved him from breaking something. His dad had thrown himself across the space to catch him, barely scooping him up inches from the floor. He’d gotten a fucking earful for his stunt before Endeavor eventually sat him down and explained how flight actually worked.
Twenty years later, Dabi was finally putting that knowledge to use.
“C’mon,” he growls to himself, furling the power inside back in on itself, building up the intensity. Sweat drips down his forehead, stinging the staples across his cheeks. “C’mon.”
He can feel the ground beneath his feet heating and the air in front of him starts to take on a distinct shimmer. Dabi bites his lip, knowing that Hawks, the fastest man around, won’t want a quirk with a long build-up. It’s now or fucking never.
Screaming through his teeth, he blasts fire from his hands and feet, feeling himself leave the ground, going up, up, too high, shit!
Dabi cuts the flames from his right side, and redirects the power to his left, forcing himself to veer before he hits the ceiling. From there, it’s a battle for control as he spirals through the air, alternating between flying and falling without much grace.
Still, he's fucking doing it. He’s flying - he’s up in the air, and he’s fucking flying! Dabi grins with clenched teeth, ignoring the searing skin and the cries from the audience as he blazes past them like a comet, speed building as his control sharpens.
And suddenly, in front of him is the observation deck, where Hawks stands, wings spread wide as if in preparation to take flight, a serious expression pulling his features tight. Dabi likes the look of it - of Hawks taking him seriously. It makes him decide to do something a bit reckless.
So he aims for the platform, fire billowing out behind him in a massive wave, and he guns it, literally boiling the air in his wake until he’s barely ten feet away. He can see the hero’s wide eyes and the way his feathers have slipped around Nutso and Dickhead, ready to fling them away if need be. But it’s unnecessary.
Dabi cuts his quirk off with a gasp, and he just gets his shoulder under him as his momentum carries him forward, letting him roll a couple of times until he plants a flaming fist into the tile, stopping in a crouch not a foot from where Hawks stands. Smoke curls off of Dabi as he pants, but he’s grinning hard despite himself when he looks up at the hero.
Hawks’ eyes are narrowed and wary, and he still has his wings spread wide. But then something in his expression changes as he meets Dabi’s gaze.
“That…” he says. “That was your first time doing that move, wasn’t it?”
Dabi blinks, sweat still stinging his eyes. “Yeah.”
He wants to ask how Hawks guessed, but that’d be giving too much away.
Looking over Dabi’s shoulder, Hawks lifts one hand to his mouth while the other cups his elbow, like he’s thinking hard about something. Dabi rises slowly to his feet, turning to see what Hawks sees.
Blackened streaks mar the walls of the room and most of the people who’d been observing appear to have scattered in his wake. The floor directly below is a melted mess from his take-off, and Dabi privately thinks it’s quite impressive. Like a rocket launch or something.
“An important part of being a hero,” Hawks says slowly, coming to stand at Dabi’s shoulder. “Is awareness. Of the people around you, of your own limits, and of the damage you can cause.”
Dabi looks at the wreckage below. So much for getting hired then.
“Being a hero is also about rising to a challenge, though,” Hawks continues, sounding thoughtful. “Your bio said you were underground - infiltration and espionage. Not a fighter type.” He looks over the railing, eyebrows raised. “I’m assuming it’s because your quirk isn’t subtle at all?”
“Something like that,” Dabi says. Hawks nods, still looking thoughtful. His finger taps his chin.
“Ender,” a new voice interrupts. Dabi looks around to see the doctor approaching, a concerned expression on his face. “Your hands.”
Glancing down, Dabi sees that the scars on his hands have indeed expanded, with new shiny burns glistening between each of his staples. He frowns in annoyance - he’s been trying not to let his hand scars progress for years.
“I can page Netra,” Nutso offers quietly. Her eyes are also fixed on Dabi’s hands. “She should be able to heal that right up.”
“Do that,” Hawks says, reentering the conversation. “Have you guys talked about support equipment?”
“We have,” Dickhead assures. “Squirrel Girl has already informed Heli that Ender will need an evaluation. We have also touched on burn treatment and a general health plan.”
“Excellent,” Hawks says, clapping his hands together. His eyes are back on Dabi, who doesn’t quite understand what just happened. Did he get the job?
“You don’t have the job just yet,” the hero tells him, eyes glittering as if he’d just read Dabi’s mind. “I’m gonna be putting you through a trial run, in which you’ll be running a couple of undercover missions with me. I wanna see how you work in your element.” He blinks. “Well, not element, element, if you know what I mean. But -”
Dabi snorts against his will and Hawks smiles widely.
“So you’re gonna be spying on my spying, and then you’ll decide?” Dabi asks, just to make sure he’s understood correctly. Hawks points a pair of finger guns at him in a ‘you got it’ move.
“Yeah, that’s the gist.” He grins. “But if you’re as committed to infiltration as you are to taking on a move you’ve never done before, I wouldn’t worry too much about your odds.” The hero steps forward, into Dabi’s space. His expression is once more serious. “But if you cause this level of destruction again, I’m afraid you’ll be out. Clear?”
Again, Dabi feels his estimation of the hero rising, even as it grates at his villain sensibilities.
He means fucking business, he thinks, taking in the flexing wings and the flinty look in Hawks’ eyes. It makes something stir inside his chest - a kind of glee at another gauntlet being thrown, but also… something else. He can’t quite put his finger on it.
“Fair enough,” Dabi says, raising his hands. “No more burning, and you can have a trained little villain impersonator.”
Hawks’ eyebrows pinch for a moment in confusion. “Is that your usual MO?”
This time, Dabi lets his confusion show as he drops his hands. “Have you seen my face?”
“What about it?” Hawks asks, his golden gaze traveling over the planes of Dabi’s face as if he truly doesn’t get it. As if he doesn’t see what literally everyone else does the second they set eyes on him.
Well, whatever. If Hawks wants to play dumb for nobility points, that’s not Dabi’s problem.
“Never mind,” he says, waving his hand. “So, when do we start?”
The hero brightens again, his smile returning full force as he turns to both Nutso and Dickhead. “How soon do you think treatment and support equipment evaluations can be done?”
“Uhh, within a couple of hours?” Nutso says. “Already have both Netra and Heli on standby.”
“Great,” Hawks says, turning back to Dabi, hand extended. “I’ll see you in two hours then.”
Dabi takes the hero’s hand as a reflex, too surprised to do anything but shake it. Then Hawks is letting him go and vaulting into the air, diving down to the ground at breakneck speed. Dabi steps forward without thinking, one hand extended, but then Hawks’ wings unfurl and he’s snapped to a stop, mere inches from the ground. He settles down, wings folded against his back, before looking back up at Dabi, still frozen in a half-warning pose.
“Oh, and Ender?” the hero calls, still sounding playful as fuck. “The new flooring is coming out of your first paycheck!”
And then he’s off, practically disappearing in a swirl of red feathers.
Dabi blinks, then looks at Dickhead, the only other human he can tolerate.
“I thought I was on a trial period?” he says dumbly. Dickhead smiles gently at him.
“Everyone gets a trial period, but very few are ever turned away. Hawks is very much a believer in ‘skills can be learned, but passion can’t be taught’. He can see your drive to work here. Anything else, you can pick up along the way.”
That… that was such a different approach than Endeavor had taken. For his father, it had only been about skill and talent. Dabi… Dabi had wanted nothing more than to be a hero. He’d bled, burned, and begged for the chance. If Endeavor had been more like Hawks… had seen the potential and the passion, rather than just the limitations of Dabi’s quirk…
Fuck, don’t think shit like that, Dabi fumes, grudgingly following Nutso as she gestures toward the stairs back to the ground floor. Heroes are all the same. They all end up failing the people around them. They all pretend to care, when they really only care about themselves.
Still, as Dabi is fixed up in the hospital, then taken to the support labs for evaluation and fittings for prototype gloves that cool his aggravated skin as soon as he slips them on, he can’t help but wonder.
Maybe Hawks is different.