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Hawks always said secrets were lighter with wings. Easy to claim when his entire existence floated above the world’s grime. Himiko Toga squinted at his face glowing on the television screen. Did he even realize how charmed his life was? Probably not. People like him didn’t question their luck.
His flawless grin, broadcast for millions, felt like both a taunt and a trap. A part of her hated it, but she couldn’t look away.
The common lounge was oddly subdued. Tomura had disappeared into some corner, mumbling about society’s rot. Spinner had buried himself in a pile of scavenged tech. Compress, predictably, had blown a chunk of their war funds on premium sushi—again. Himiko, left to her own devices, sprawled on the plush sofa, flipping channels until Hawks’ latest concert stopped her in her tracks.
On-screen, the winged hero spun through the air, surrounded by cascades of glitter and feathers, belting out some love song. As his honey-soaked vocals trailed off into applause, the crowd erupted. Himiko’s cheeks burned against her will.
“He’s butchering it,” Twice’s voice ping-ponged between admiration and outrage. “A masterpiece! A trainwreck! …Hey, isn’t this Dabi’s new ringtone?”
Of course it was. For all his grumbling, Dabi’s phone blasted Hawks’ hits nonstop. Everyone in the League knew. Even if he swore his late-night calls with his popstar bird were strictly “intel-related”, no one was buying it.
The villain himself was missing, likely picking fights in back-alleys to stave off his restlessness. Himiko rolled her eyes. Hawks’ “tour” had Dabi’s nerves frayed.
Himiko sighed and pulled a pillow over her head. The upbeat lyrics burrowed into her brain, igniting an itch she couldn’t scratch. Love songs weren’t her thing. They were all gushy nonsense, too saccharine to be real. She preferred her tunes drenched in blood and guts.
A door slammed. Dabi strutted in, trailing a whiff of brimstone and ashes, his smirk sharper than his words. “Guess who’s got news,” he drawled, leaning against the wall. Himiko perked up instantly, her boredom evaporating. Chaos was her lifeblood.
“What is it, Dabi? You get laid?” Twice asked.
Dabi snorted. “That too. But this?” He pointed at Hawks’ glowing face. “This is better.”
Himiko bounced to her feet. “Tell me! Tell me now! Or I’ll… I’ll stab you!”
Dabi bared his teeth. “You’ll love this.” He relished another moment of power, then finally dished. “The Commission’s been hiding stuff. Dirty laundry. Skeletons. All tied to our feathered friend here.” He tapped the screen for emphasis.
Twice gasped, his split-personality commentary kicking in. “No way! Hawks is squeaky clean! …rotten to the core!”
“Spill it already!” Himiko hissed, fidgeting.
Gossip about Hawks was her kryptonite. The interviews she’d binged, the articles she’d skimmed, the photos she’d clipped—none of it gave her the whole truth. Whatever Dabi knew, Himiko needed to know too.
“Patience, Toga. We’re taking a field trip… No stabby-happy, though. S’posed to be stealth.”
Her face fell into a pout. But followed eagerly when Dabi gestured for her to come along. Anything was better than sitting in this stuffy lair.
Dabi navigated the urban labyrinth like second nature. They darted through alleyways and climbed over rooftops, with the afternoon stretching lazily towards dusk. Himiko’s initial giddiness at playing spy faded as they ventured deeper into a neighborhood that felt uncomfortably familiar.
“Dabi…” Her voice wavered. “We’re here to dig up Hawks’ secrets, right? But this… this is my old house.”
The rusted gate, leaning precariously on its hinges, and the chipped “Toga” nameplate, left no room for doubt. They mocked her with memories she’d buried so far down. Her breath caught.
Dabi paused. “Didn’t know that.” His patchwork face tilted in mock thought, lips curved slyly. “Well, home sweet home. Small world.”
He shoved the gate open with a screech that echoed down the empty street. Gravel crunched under his boots as he strode up the path.
Himiko lingered, her fingers twitching toward her knives—not to stab, just to hold onto something solid and sharp. Her eyes skittered across the overgrown yard, landing on the dilapidated two-story house. Faded pastel walls were defaced with graffiti, and the windows were boarded up.
Climbing up the stairs to her past left her nauseated.
The spare key, hidden in a false rock near the porch, slid into the lock easily. Dabi turned the knob. The door creaked open into darkness.
Inside felt like an abandoned stage, the peeling wallpaper, the threadbare carpet, and the cobwebbed corners all just set pieces, a grim parody of what her prim family once pretended to be. The air was thick with stale booze and nicotine. It wasn’t home. Himiko wrinkled her nose, not sure if it was the smell or the memories choking her.
Local cops had given this place all the care of a roadside carcass. They came, sniffed around for drama, but when none spilled over their coffee cups, they vanished. Just like her parents.
Dabi had passed on Giran’s info dump. “Your father? Prison. Layoff hit him after your little villain debut, so he hit bottles, then hit people—well, their identities anyway.” Mr. Toga’s quirk let him nick physical traits by munching on a little flesh. He tried to pull off telecom fraud using stolen faces and voices. Caught red-handed, right next to his half-eaten victims. “Nabbed by Endeavor himself. Guess that’s poetic or something.”
Endeavor, the hero Dabi despised more than life itself. For reasons he never shared.
Himiko didn’t automatically hate every hero. She liked Izuku and Ochaco, all kind and squishy like marshmallows ready to be dipped in blood. Hawks used to be her top pick. Nowadays better to stalk him from afar than up close, just in case.
“What? Your mother?” Dabi had waved off. “Beats me.” Then had muttered about the Commission paying Mrs. Toga’s living expanses. “That’s how we found this place.”
Dabi prowled the front hall, grunting at old stains. Himiko tiptoed after him. She peered into the living room. In the corner buzzed faint static from the television. On the couch Mrs. Toga sat slumped, feathery ash-blond hair dull and matted. Her glassy gaze fixed on the glowing screen; the extra pair of eyeballs that hovered beside her head—her quirk—also stared ahead, vacant, reflecting Hawks’ live performance. The broadcast that Himiko had caught a few snippets of earlier, before Dabi dragged her out. It was on replay now.
Hawks’ cheerful visage filled the frame, illuminating the dark living room, though acoustics were muted by stacked pizza boxes, liquor bottles, and trash bags.
Dabi cleared his throat at the entrance, but no reaction. He stepped in and snapped his fingers in Mrs. Toga’s face, which earned a weak flinch, yet no words.
Resigned to silence, Dabi started to rummage through cabinets and shelves. Some magazines lay scattered about. From years of Himiko sneaking off to buy teenybopper mags. Her mother must’ve finally found them under the mattress, after Himiko’s run. Some pages were dog-eared, featuring the winged hero’s as a triple-threat idol—model, singer, actor—each a snapshot of his rise to stardom.
Mrs. Toga’s eyes remained riveted on the television.
Himiko hung back in the doorway, too uneasy to cross the invisible line between here and there. The mother she knew had always kept the house in order. Not lived in squalor. Since when did this Hawks fanfare happen?
“Got a second?” Dabi called out, plucking a Hawks keychain from the junk drawer. “We have questions. Answer, or I’ll torch this shit.” He dangled the keychain, its plastic charm of the hero swaying, by a flame-flicked fingertip. “It’ll go nice and slow.”
Mrs. Toga blinked, the first sign of awareness. Her actual gaze never left Hawks on the screen, though the hovering eyeballs, slow and mechanical, swiveled back to find Dabi. Her lips parted, then clamped shut again.
Dabi squinted at the almost response. “Guess the tacky keychain’s not your speed.” He eyed the television screen, then the mother, then the daughter, perhaps trying to make out a resemblance. “Is she even gonna talk?”
Used to, for hours on end. An endless loop of “get grades up, befriend normal kids, leash your quirk” lectures. Not even a peep now.
Himiko wanted to leave. She wanted to yank Dabi out of the house. Yet her feet were glued to the decaying floorboards. By some desire to learn the truth, or some morbid need to expose herself to her old life.
Dabi sighed and pocketed the keychain. Answers from neither the mother nor the daughter, not even the tiniest bit. “Let’s see what else she’s been keeping.” More aimless searching ensued. His hands landed on a bomber jacket, khaki, fleece-lined, with faux red wings stitched on the back. Another merch. “Well, isn’t this cute?” He turned to Mrs. Toga. “Mind if I borrow it?”
The hovering eyeballs, mannequin-like stare intact, had watched Dabi paw through. Then Mrs. Toga finally mumbled under her breath, before both her attention and floating eyeballs drifted back to the performance.
Dabi took her silence as permission. “Catch.” He tossed the jacket towards Himiko.
Himiko caught it clumsily. Her cheeks warmed. Glancing at the screen revealed the winged hero onstage in the same garb. Her fingers traced the frayed stitching of the wings, fuzzy, downy, like Hawks’ feathers on her palms.
“Try it on. See if it still fits.” Dabi’s tone sounded casual but his smirk tugging at his staples. “Your mom said it was your favorite. Figures. Both get a thing for feathers.”
Himiko hugged the jacket to her chest. “Why did you drag me here? Steal this stuff?”
“Like I said, Giran found Mrs. Toga through the Commission’s hush money.” Dabi lit a cigarette with a snap of his fingers. “She’s got the lowdown on Hawks.” Smoke wisped around his words. “Never thought you and him had the same nest.” He nodded to the television.
Confusion creased Himiko’s brow. Dabi glanced back at her, incredulous, as if he expected her to piece it all together. Yet the clues floated beyond her grasp. When Himiko prodded for more, Dabi only shrugged and made his exit.
One last careful survey of the television screen. Himiko followed suit. Her mother’s head never turned back; instead, the pair of detached eyeballs, with golden irises reflecting Hawks’, somehow drifted towards Himiko, even following all the way to the door. Until Himiko gently nudged the pair of eyeballs back and clicked the latch into place. Locking out the ghost of her past once more.
Her parents weren’t ever proud of her. Nonetheless they cared. Nice home. Nice childhood. Her mother had kept the Hawks jacket in good shape, even while the house crumbled.
Outside, the graffiti on the house—“Freak”, “Killer”, “Not Wanted”—burned in the moonlight, searing into her skin like a brand. Every step had Himiko’s grip on the Hawks jacket tightened. She slid it on, the fleece lining comforting in its warmth.
For the first time in years, she imagined what it might feel like to be held.
Their footsteps echoed unevenly through back-alleys. The city’s hum loomed around them, distant and impersonal, while smoke curled lazily from Dabi’s lips. Himiko trailed a few steps behind, her gaze fixed on the cracked pavement, her fingers absently toying with the frayed sleeves of the stolen jacket.
The faux red wings stitched on the back fluttered as she quickened her pace, breaking the silence with an offhand remark. “You’re weird about Hawks. Like, really weird.”
Dabi didn’t miss a step or a smoke, just grunted noncommittally. “Bold of you to say, considering you’re wearing his fan merch.”
“You swiped it from my house!” Himiko spun on her heel, walking backward as if to challenge him. “Besides, I’m his only fan in the League. You’re his… his… his something. Admit it.”
Dabi took a deep drag. “What’s that supposed to mean? He’s a hero. I don’t play nice with heroes.”
“Lies,” Himiko sing-songed. The moonlight cast a pale gleam on her features, highlighting her large, inquiring eyes. “I’ve heard your ringtone.” She mimed a few notes from the latest earworm. “And I’ve seen your lockscreen.”
“Hawks’ just useful.” Dabi snorted, his deliberate exhale trailing smoke. “Look. If I wanted to screw him, I’d buy a calendar. Maybe a body pillow. Two-sided.”
Himiko’s cackle rang out, bright and unhinged. “I knew it! You’ve got the hots for him!” Her grin grew impossibly wider. “How many of those meet-ups are just hook-ups—”
Dabi’s gaze darkened. “Finish that, and I’ll burn that stupid jacket right off your back.”
“Touchy.” Himiko twirled once, the jacket flaring out, before settling back into an easy stride. “I just think it’s funny. You act all cool, but you’re just as obsessed as me.”
“I could say the same about you.” Dabi bit down the cigarette, grinding it between his teeth. “For all your lovey-dovey bullshit, I thought you’d stab him the first chance you get. But you’ve been avoiding the bird. Why?”
Her steps faltered, just for a moment. “He used to be my favorite hero.” Her voice dropped, the usual manic lilt replaced with something quieter, more vulnerable. “Back when I was… normal.”
“Normal? You? That’s rich.” Dabi flicked the ash from his cigarette.
Himiko puffed her cheeks. “He saved me when I was twelve. Some creep tried to grab me after school. Hawks—he was brand new back then—swooped in. Even took me out for yakitori after.”
“Huh, yakitori?” Dabi echoed, raising an eyebrow. “The dude’s got wings made of gold and couldn’t spring for anything fancier? Not even sushi?”
Himiko laughed despite herself. “I thought it was sweet.”
The memory unraveled in her mind, vivid and bittersweet. Hawks had been everything she’d imagined a hero should be—kind, brave, untouchable. That day, sitting at a shabby roadside stall, he’d ruffled her hair like they were family. His smile had been warm and easy, the weight of the world hadn’t yet settled on his shoulders.
But time had dulled that shine. The Hawks on the television now, with his perfect smile and rehearsed charm, felt like a stranger, just another cardboard cutout of a celebrity.
Too far removed to be real, yet everywhere at once—debut singles and platinum records, billboards, interviews and commercials, branded merch, movies and dramas. Always in front of Himiko’s face. Never beside her.
“Sometimes what’s inside must stay hidden forever,” Hawks had said, over greasy yakitori and fizzling soda, when Himiko had cried into his chest, confessing how she’d wanted to stab her assailant. Hawk’s voice had been low and soothing while holding Himiko close. “No one gets to know all of you. If you pretend hard enough, even you will forget what lies underneath. Safer that way, yeah?”
Those words were an echo of what her parents used to tell her, but his tone carried none of the scolding weight of theirs. Instead, an unspoken camaraderie.
Hawks had also handed over one of his crimson feathers and told her to keep it safe for luck. Told her to believe. Told her to wait for him. And Hawks had held up his end, often appearing like her own guardian angel. To Himiko, young and broken, every encounter had felt like magic.
Himiko’s ramble faded into a nostalgic lilt. “He’d find me after school sometimes, ask about my days. Then he’d bring me to his gigs. Front row seats. Backstage access.” A wistful sigh. “Almost like I mattered.”
“And then?” Dabi asked.
Keeping her promise to hide what was within, Himiko had tried to push down her urges, but they’d fester like open wounds. Every day at school had felt like walking on knives.
“I broke.” Himiko twirled a strand of side bangs around her finger. “I tried so hard to be good. To pretend. But it didn’t work.” Her voice tight. “At graduation, I… hurt someone. A boy I liked. I couldn’t stop myself. Stabbing him. Crying. Sucking his blood.” Her grin returning, brittle around the edges. “Hawks would hate me now.”
“So that’s the reason you’ve been avoiding him? Some soppy teenage crush?”
Himiko went back to Dabi’s side, and linked her arm through his, hanging off him. “It’s not just a crush,” she insisted. “He saw the real me. The part everyone else wanted to hide. He promised it’d get better if I endured. …But it didn’t.”
Dabi clicked his tongue, gravelly and mean. “No use crying over spilled blood, Toga. You should know that by now.” His voice turned low. “You want payback? Stab him in the gut. That’s what normal girls do to their crushes, right? I’ve read shojos.”
Himiko’s laugh was light. Hard to tell if it was the streetlights reflecting in her eyes or the shimmer of tears.
“Tell me…” Dabi’s smirk held the promise of conspiracy. “The bird’s still snooping around, even after gathering enough intel to bury us. Why’s that?”
“Ugh, he’s bad at his job?”
Dabi shook his head. “Or he’s looking for a way out. Think about it, Toga. How’d you feel if someone kept you locked up? The whole hero-idol routine reeks of exploitation. A gilded cage is still cage. He’s trapped, just like us.” The cigarette had smoldered down to the filter, sizzling against his lips.
They reached the end of the narrow street, the hum of traffic and people growing louder. Himiko kicked a stray can, watching it clatter down the asphalt. She fell into sync steps beside Dabi, pressing her face into Dabi’s shoulder, ignoring Dabi’s half-hearted attempt to pry her off.
Cold radiated from Dabi, as did warmth. Her thoughts spiraled back to Hawks’ touch. Long ago, but fresh enough in her mind to ache.
She wondered if Hawks had done that for all his fans. A lot of girls dreamed of being rescued by the winged hero. Perhaps he found a new stray to feed. How many of them did he catch, treat to food, hand over pretty feathers, then send on their way?
“You should’ve told the League,” Dabi said, as they emerged from the alleys into the wider boulevard. He dislodged the last of his cigarette butt onto the pavement and stamped it out, his expression unreadable.
“Thanks,” Himiko chirped, skipping ahead again, then looked back and bared her wicked little fangs. “I kinda like it when you pretend to care.”
Dabi’s eyes flared, blue as gas flames. “Don’t get used to it.” Something shifted in his usual sneer. He petted one of the faux wings of her jacket. “I suck at pretending anyway.”
Back at Gunga Mountain Villa, the air hung heavy with an odd, restless energy. Himiko trudged inside, the Hawks jacket still draped around her shoulders, then froze in her tracks.
Across the common hall, Hawks perched on the armrest of a sagging couch, wings folded tight, flicking through a deck of cards as though he had all the time in the world. Tomura looked seconds away from flipping the table. Compress leaned back like a dapper spectator. Twice bounced in his seat between manic excitement and nervous breakdown.
Himiko could avoid Hawks no longer. Dabi pushed her forwards and she stumbled into the room.
Hawks’ golden eyes landed on Himiko, sharp and warm in the same breath. His sly smile tilted upward. “Nice jacket.” He paused mid-shuffle. The cards slipped neatly back into his palm. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
Himiko squeaked, heat prickling up cheeks, and ducked behind Compress.
She’d been under the impression that Hawks had been infiltrating their ranks, but not quite joined them. Seeing him so at home in their midst was jarring. Hawks’ perfectly casual stance betrayed nothing, as though this was another scripted routine, ready to turn on the charm at any second.
Compress chuckled. “I take it you’ve been avoiding him? Can’t blame you. That celebrity shine can blind.” His mask didn’t hide the sparkle of mischief in his tone.
Twice pointed at Himiko’s scandalous outfit. “Repping a hero’s merch in this crowd?! Bad strategy! Great choice!”
“What’s with the hero getup though?” Compress asked.
Himiko stammered. “It’s—It’s nothing!” She tugged at the jacket’s hem as if to shrink inside it. “I used to like Hawksy before Stainy.”
“Oh yeah? Been a fan?” Hawks teased, leaning forwards with a grin. “Guess I owe you an autograph.”
Dabi, lounging near the door, decided he had enough. He grabbed Hawks by the collar and hauled him upright, sending the cards tumbling to the floor. “Playtime’s over, Chicken,” he said, dragging Hawks towards a side room. “You too, Boss. Let’s talk business.”
Tomura glanced between Dabi, Hawks, and Himiko. Then shoved back from the table, game abandoned in favor of whatever drama was about to unfold.
Compress sighed, rising to collect the fallen cards.
“Hey there, Hotstuff.” Hawks stumbled along. His wings twitched but didn’t fight the pull. “A little warning before whisking away would be nice. What happened to consent?”
Twice called after the pair. “Shady! Bet Dabi’s got dirt!” His tone shifted abruptly to horror. “Maybe they’re into that!”
“Either way, Dabi seems unusually riled up.” Compress adjusted his mask.
“Quiet, you clowns,” Dabi growled, sparing the table an irritable glare, before yanking Hawks into the side room. Tomura slunk in behind.
Himiko exhaled, still hunkered behind the couch. Compress tapped on her shoulder with his cane. She peeked over. The door they disappeared into remained closed, but not soundproof. Muffled voices seeped through, tense, but too distant for clarity.
“You okay, doll?” Twice sidled up to Himiko with exaggerated concern. “Do you need a hug? I need a hug! Let’s hug it out!”
Himiko hummed, retreating to the couch proper. She curled up in the cushions like it was some kind of nest. “I don’t get Hawks.”
Not hatred. Nor pity. His voice had carried only gentle amusement. Perhaps that was all there was to it, her old hero being nice. That glint of hope in Hawks’ stare—it couldn’t have been for Himiko.
Compress settled back in his chair, cards shuffling with crisp flicks. “People rarely make sense.” His voice turned thoughtful. “Hawks plays his cards close to the chest. That’s all. A bit more than most”
Twice crouched in front of Himiko. “Talk to him! Rip the band-aid off! Unless it’s one of those super-sticky band-aids. Peel it, like, super slow then—”
“She gets the point,” Compress said, tipping his hat.
“Do you think…” Himiko hesitated. “If I talked to him, he’d still wanna be friends?”
Twice flailed. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re a total sweetheart!”
Himiko smiled and sank deeper into the couch, her fingers picking at the stitching on the jacket. Compress regarded her with quiet contemplation. He doled out cards for solitaire, and the game began.
Dabi’s grip stayed firm until they were deep enough into the hideout that no prying eyes or ears could follow. He dumped Hawks into a battered chair with all the grace of trashing a garbage can, then leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the hero. Tomura lingered nearby, one hand absently scratching at his neck, more bored than invested.
Hawks straightened his jacket, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “The rut really brings out the brute in you. I could’ve done without the manhandling, just ask nicely next time.” His gaze slid to Tomura. “Though I didn’t peg you for a voyeur. Unseemly.”
Tomura’s fingers twitched in irritation, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Can you idiots get on with it? Some of us have more important shit to do. Like anything else.”
Dabi ignored that, his blue eyes boring into the hero like a blowtorch. His voice was a low, dangerous purr. “Enough messing around. You’re way too comfortable playing house.”
“This? This is work.” Hawks leaned back in the chair. “I’m a professional.”
Dabi’s lip curled into a snarl. “That what you call getting cozy with the local schoolgirl?”
The ensuing silence was thick enough to choke on. Tomura coughed, covering his mouth, as if holding something in. “You’re both exhausting. Figure it out without breaking anything. Especially the walls.” He waved a dismissive hand and left.
Standing face to face. Hawks, ever casual in his posture; Dabi, seething and barely restrained. None left but the raw, jagged edges.
Blue flames rippled along Dabi’s arms, licking up to his elbows. He kept them contained, controlled, though the heat he emitted was tangible. His gaze never left Hawks, weighing every shift and breath the hero took.
For Hawks, this was just another Dabi’s game. Still, standing here, wings itching to spring into motion, Hawks couldn’t help but feel that Dabi was dialing things up to eleven today. He wondered if the guy ever got tired of carrying that much heat—both literally and metaphorically.
He didn’t even break a sweat, despite the scorched wall behind him. The air in the room grew stifling, acrid with the stench of burnt plaster.
“How long have you known?”
Hawks’ easy smile turned lopsided. He didn’t bother with denials. That would’ve been insulting. “You mean Himiko?” He fanned himself lazily with one of his feather-blades.
His stomach churned at the mention of her name. The words burned in the back of his throat, unspoken truths buried so deep even his nightmares couldn’t unearth them. She deserved better than this. Better than them. But the world didn’t deal in fairness, and Hawks wasn’t naive enough to think he could rewrite the rules. He was the Commission’s favorite pawn.
“Don’t stall me.” Dabi took a step forward, closing the gap between them with slow menace. His eyes burned with an intensity that matched the fire in his palms. “You’ve been stringing everyone along, but this isn’t part of our game. So talk.”
Then what was their game supposed to be? Hawks mentally filled in a point on the imaginary bingo card in his head that read “emotional manipulation” in-between “gaslighting” and “bad parenting”. Hadn’t expected anything better. Dabi had never met a boundary he couldn’t cross or a bridge he wouldn’t torch for good measure. It was a miracle that the arsonist hadn’t taken to murder monologues.
Hawks had long accepted this state of affairs, even reveled in it. Still, the weariness ran bone-deep, and the corners of his usual sly smirk had been starting to chafe.
His fingers tightened about his blade. The tension stretched until his wings gave a slight, restless twitch. He loosened his grip and exhaled, the blade hovering mid-air, then settling back into formation in the plumage of his wings. “From day one,” he admitted. “Long enough to wish I didn’t.”
Dabi’s patience was fraying. “You didn’t tell her. What’s the deal here, Birdbrain? Keep the old flame burning? Playing the long con so she’s under your wing?”
“I didn’t tell her because it wouldn’t change a damn thing. You think she’d care if she knew? Himiko…she’s happy the way she is.”
“Happy? With us? You’ve got a warped definition here.”
“What’s your plan then?” Hawks snapped back, his tone bitter and defeated. “Turn her in? Send her to therapy, hoping they’ll fix her? Lock her up in some padded cell? You know how that’ll go.”
Hawks could already see the headlines: “Former Hawks’ Fan Arrested On Multiple Charges”. They’d paint her as just another psychotic villain. There’d be talk of reforms and due processes, but in the end, Tartarus awaited, like it did for any poor bastard who bucked the system. Himiko would smile through the trial and hearing. Her chaos wasn’t something that could be straightened out. Hawks had learned that trying to save people who didn’t want saving was a great way to lose them forever.
“Don’t act like you’re the hero here. You’re in this mess as deep as the rest of us. You’re no savior.”
“Never claimed to be,” Hawks replied, softer now. “I’m just trying to make sure she doesn’t lose the little light she’s got left. I can’t ruin whatever illusion she’s clinging to.” He looked down, his wings folding tighter, like they were trying to shield him from the truth he already knew. “But if she wants out someday, I’ll make sure she gets it.”
The flames guttered out in a huff of smoke, heavy and tired. Dabi ran a hand over his face, the charred skin stretching and pulling around the staples. He dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention. Or maybe just a break from this conversation.
Dabi thought himself a paragon of pragmatism, a hollow burn kept alive out of habit, rather than passion or purpose. As if. How could either of them keep up lies? So much anger. So much regret.
Hawks unfolded his wings again, stretching them out, letting the feathers relax into a more natural position.
Their fluttering stirred the smog in the room. Dabi watched the shifting patterns wearily. He took a step forwards, right into Hawks’ personal space, and gripped Hawks’ chin roughly, heated fingers searing into flesh, forcing them to lock gazes. Dabi’s breath came out in a soft hiss. “You’re a fool. Between heroes and villains and everyone else caught in between, did you honestly believe a happily-ever-after? Grow up. Pick a side before you get her killed.”
Hawks didn’t jerk away from the burning touch. He leaned into it. His golden eyes bore into the icy abyss of Dabi’s glare, unwavering. Breaths mingling, intimate yet antagonistic.
Picking a side? Like it was that simple. Hawks had been walking a tightrope so thin he couldn’t tell which thread was a lifeline and which was a noose. One wrong move, and he’d hang himself. He wasn’t even sure if he cared anymore. Maybe falling would be easier. Maybe it would hurt less.
Dabi examined the hero with cold calculation. Let go of the handsome face, shoving the toned body back dismissively, turning sharply on his heel. His coat flared behind him like the swirling smoke.
Hawks flexed his jaw once he was released. The imprint of Dabi’s grip left an angry welt on his jawline. He watched the villain storm out, his usual self-control slipping. “Here I thought we were having a moment. Guess not, huh, Toya?”
The next thing Hawks knew, Dabi’s hand was around his throat. The heat radiating from those fingers was unbearable, choking the air from his lungs. His back was slammed against the blackened wall.
Hawks’ wings fluttered in panic, shedding charred plumage like a molting bird.
Dabi snarled, more beast than man, one hand pinning the bird’s neck down, one hand pressed hard on one side of the wings, along with the plaster underneath. The wall and feathers popped as the blue flames bubbled, boiled and melted through.
His face inches from Hawks’ own. His voice was barely a rasp, like the smolder of dying embers. “Don’t fucking call me that. Or I’ll make sure you can’t say anything else, Keigo.”
“You’re hurting me,” Hawks wheezed past the grip on his neck. His vision swam, but his eyes stayed locked. He tilted his head, exposing more of his throat, in a gesture of rare submission. “Touchy. Got it.” His hands raised in mock surrender.
Searing fingertips pressed down, tighter, more intense, like a lover’s caress gone horribly, horribly wrong. Not until the pain brought tears to the hero’s eyes did his assailant relent.
“Do you get off on playing with fire?” Dabi scoffed as he loomed over the downed hero.
Without another word, Dabi stepped back, taking the suffocating heat with him. His shoes crunched on the scattered, scorched feathers. The door slammed shut, the whole room echoing with the force, sporadic soot and cinder snowing down.
Hawks slid down the wall, one wing burnt and limp, twitching. He coughed, rubbing at his tender, blistering throat. “Yeah,” he muttered to the empty room. “Definitely bonding.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he’d be able to swallow dinner tonight. Probably not. His appetite wasn’t great these days anyway.
Later that night, Himiko had drifted off in the common area, curled up like a cat beneath the Hawks jacket that smelled faintly of wind. Dreams tugged her under, the flash of crimson wings, the smoky tang of yakitori, and the comfort of family, something unplaceably warm.
A hand tousling her hair roused her. She blinked, groggy and half-lucid, to see Hawks crouched beside the couch. His wings, usually a magnificent cape of crimson, were missing half of their feathers, ragged, singed black tips, still glowing beautifully in the moonlight slanting through the curtains.
“Evening, Vampire Princess,” he murmured, his voice teasing but quiet enough not to shatter the moment. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Himiko squinted up at him, her brain lagging several seconds behind her eyes. “Vampire awake at night,” she muttered drowsily, the words slurring into contented purrs. The warmth of his touch dispelled the lingering dreams.
She noticed the blister across Hawks’ throat, peeking from his collar, the shape too deliberate to be accidental. Her fingers instinctively reaching out.
“There’s no hiding that, is there?” Hawks’ lips curved, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand gently catching her wrist before her fingers could brush his skin. “It’s not as bad as it looks, just some rough play.”
“Dabi’s mean,” Himiko whispered. The words were muddled, but her mind slowly caught up. The memory of their conversation in the backalley surfaced. Dabi had told Himiko to get her revenge, to get even, to get mad, but all Himiko felt was an old, familiar sorrow.
Hawks’ grip on her wrist tightened slightly. Himiko sensed his pulse quicken against her skin. Her tongue tingled at the prospect of fresh blood. So tantalizing.
Flushing rosy, Himiko licked her fangs, sat up, and scooted closer, then clambered onto Hawks’ lap. His wings bristled at the sudden weight. Himiko wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled against his jaw, breathing in his scent. A tiny bite. Her teeth grazed against the soft flesh of his neck. A droplet on her tongue, tasting copper and smoke.
Hawks’ muscles tensed. “I’m not your midnight snack,” he admonished. But his chin rested atop her head, with her own in the crook of his shoulder, and his wings arched to shield them both from view.
Red trickles staining the burn around his neck. Himiko bit down harder, lapping up the blood, chasing that fleeting connection. Hawks hissed in pain as she sucked.
Himiko’s eyelids drooped shut. A hand continued to thread through her hair, lulling her into sleep. “Missed this,” Himiko mumbled into Hawks’ collarbone. “Why didn’t you…” Her voice wavered. “Why didn’t you look for me?”
A crimson streak blazed across the sky, and Himiko waited, expecting him to descend and whisk her away. But the wings soared onward, abandoning the serial killer to her crime.
The hand in her hair faltered for a brief second before resuming its rhythm. “I should’ve. It wasn’t because I didn’t care. I—” He exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I had no choice.”
Her chest tightened, long-buried fears bubbling to the surface, tears threatening to spill. “I thought you’d hate me.”
Hawks let out a soft, rueful chuckle, and pulled back enough to brush a stray tear from her face. “Never.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. “Birds of a feather, right?”
Himiko blinked, trying to shake the fog. “So… we’re still friends?”
“Try best friends.” Hawks tapped her nose with his forefinger. “You’re stuck with me. Just gotta keep you out of Dabi’s fire range—a burnt vampire isn’t on my diet.”
Soon exhaustion had Himiko’s head lolling back. Hawks shifted to accommodate the deadweight of sleep, adjusting her to lean on his shoulder. His wings curled around them protectively as her breathing slowed, evening out. The world went still.
“Really? Keep running this act forever?” Dabi’s voice slithered into the room. He leaned against the doorframe, shadow stretching long and angular under the corridor’s dim light.
Hawks didn’t flinch, still sitting cross-legged on the couch, beside the dozing girl. “Didn’t realize you were taking attendance.”
Curled in on herself, face half-buried in the fluffy jacket, Himiko exuded innocence. Faint smudges of color lingered under her eyes where makeup hid the dark circles. She stirred but didn’t wake, rolling over with a drowsy whine. Hawks reached out reflexively, hand hovering, then gently adjusting the jacket, covering her. The ministration eased her back into slumber.
How cruel. The world had stolen her from the nest, bashed her against the ground, and left her to die. Himiko should be fretting over exams or crushes, not blood spatter.
Dabi stepped into the room, and closed the door with a quiet, ominous click. “She deserves the truth.”
“Half-truth,” Hawks corrected without missing a beat. “Half-sister, technically. Same neglectful mom. Different screw-ups for dads. I couldn’t save her, with my handler breathing down my neck. Heroes can’t claim family.”
The words tasted wrong. Heroes didn’t leave little girls behind. Heroes didn’t sell their souls for missions with no happy endings.
“Tragic,” Dabi’s voice turned venomous, eyes burned with something even darker. “You wouldn’t have ditched her if you cared. You came crawling back only if you were ordered to. Everything’s a script to you.” He stalked over to the couch, towering down. “Playing the big brother now means nothing.”
“Better than you. Burning the whole world down isn’t a solution.” Hawks’ smile was sharper now. “It’s a tantrum.”
They were both products of broken homes and broken systems, caught in the machinery of forces far bigger than themselves. Only Dabi chose to rebel instead of tolerance.
“Secrets don’t stay buried, Nugget. They will explode.”
Hawks finally rose, his wings unfurling slightly as though to assert some semblance of dominance. “You wanna talk about secrets?” His hushed hiss was laced with fury. “Oh yeah, how’s the family reunion going? You’ve got a chance to fix things. Don’t blow it.”
“Think Fuyumi’s dying to see me like this?” Dabi laughed, the sound harsh and hollow. “Natsuo or Mom will recognize me? And Endeavor—” His voice broke off, cracking, with unspent fury. “He doesn’t get that chance.”
Hawks held his ground. “You’re wrong. They’d take you back in a heartbeat. Even him. And don’t tell me he hasn’t been trying. You’ve seen it. You know.”
Dabi’s hand twitched, on the verge of ignition. Then clenched. “Trying doesn’t undo what’s been done, Hawks. You can’t unburn bridges.”
“No,” Hawks agreed. “But you can rebuild them. If you’re that worried, Shigaraki still has Quirk-Erasing Bullets, even if temporary. Use one. Make your father listen.”
Their staring match ended in a stalemate, the weight of too much unsaid pressing down between them. Dabi turned on his heel and strode for the window, pulling the curtain back and peering out, his reflection oddly distorted in the glass. Hawks stood there like a statue carved out of indecision.
A moment later, Hawks sighed and retreated, his wings stirring faintly as he disappeared into the hallway.
The next time Himiko awoke, the room was bathed in the soft light of predawn. She yawned, tugging the Hawks-styled jacket closer, its warmth comforting against the cold air.
Dabi stood by the window, the orange glow of his cigarette casting flickering shadows on his patched face. He didn’t turn to look at her. “Up at last, Toga.”
Himiko rubbed her eyes, swinging her legs over the edge of the couch. Her golden hair was mussed and sticking up every which way. “Where’s Hawksy?”
“Gone,” Dabi answered simply. “Business calls. Not all of us get to be sleepyheads.”
Himiko’s shoulders sagged. She had hoped to talk more, about old times, or new stories. Prying herself off the couch, the jacket bunching up at the elbows as Himiko raised her hands in a stretch.
Then Himiko realized belatedly this Hawks jacket was no merch. Instead of faux wings stitched on the back, it had two slits, for real wings to slip through. She stared down at the oversized garment. Hawks must have traded his hero costume with her merch when she was sleeping. “You and Hawksy made up then?”
Dabi’s eyes flicked to her in the window glass. The sun peeked over the horizon, its first rays setting his turquoise irises ablaze. “Either we play house, or we play war.”