Chapter Text
Dabi knows the exact moment it all fell apart.
To be clear, there have been many moments leading up to this, moments he honestly thought he had hit rock bottom. Moments where he believed that his life could not possibly get any worse. He always thought, every time, that this time, this was the moment it all fell apart.
He has, unfortunately, been proven wrong every single time.
The first time was when Shouto was born, and his father tossed Touya aside like a broken toy. Weak. Useless. He was a naive child, and at the time, he didn't think it could get any worse.
The second time was when he burned on Sekoto Peak. It was agony, sheer and utter agony, as all his flesh blackened and burned away, consumed by wild blue flames.
The third time was when he woke up three years later in a creepy building made to look like a children’s classroom, filled with other kids with powerful quirks and a voice from a computer who told him that his body would be broken forever.
The fourth time was when he tried to come home and found the shrine in his bedroom. His family had moved on, buried an empty urn, given up on him. And when he snuck through the house, he saw his father ‘training’ Shouto the same way he trained Touya. Because apparently, the death of his oldest son was not enough to make him stop.
The fifth time was when he realized that the voice from the computer was right, that his body was broken. His skin grafts were burning, crumbling, and he was splitting apart at the seams. He remembers his blue eyes going empty and dull, the last little light inside of him dying when he looked in the gas station mirror and stapled his face back together.
The sixth time was when his father became the number one hero. He got everything he ever wanted, and that abusive piece of shit got away with it. He got away with EVERYTHING. He got the fame, the respect, and the public adoration. And now he was trying to ‘reconcile’ with his broken family? Apologize and act all sad, as if that erased two decades of abuse and neglect? As if that erased the fact that his actions led to the death of one son, the scarring of another, and the permanent hospitalization of his wife?
Dabi truly, truly did not think it could get any worse. He was thrown away, forgotten, burned. He was homeless for years, stapling himself together with back-alley surgical staplers he bought off sketchy men with missing teeth. He stole everything he needed: food, clothing, and medicine to keep his broken body from dying. He slept in abandoned buildings and alleys, shivering from fever whenever his seams got infected. He frequently went days without food, and once got stabbed over a cup of instant ramen. He suffered and survived out of sheer fucking spite, living only on the idea of revenge against the man who ruined his life.
And then Dabi had to go and make it worse.
Dabi. Stupid, touch-starved, pathetic, useless Dabi, fell in love.
He didn’t mean for it to happen.
When he first met Hawks, all fake smiles and pompous attitude, he knew the hero was nothing but a fucking spy. Dabi figured he would jerk the pretty little hero around for a while, watch him desperately jump through hoops to buy his way into the League, and then Dabi would laugh when he finally got bored and set those stupid pretty wings on fire.
But then Hawks… listened to him. Hawks talked to him on rooftops for hours, listened to what Dabi had to say, and accepted him. He didn’t flinch away from Dabi’s anger or resentment. He didn’t stare with horror and disgust at the staples and scars and bleeding seams. Hawks looked at him with those pretty gold eyes and saw… a person. A person worth talking to. A person worth something, anything (even if it was all just for information). Hawks brought him food, more food than Dabi had seen in years, and then they started sharing meals in abandoned warehouses and on the roofs of derelict apartment buildings. Hawks had started flirting with him and… nobody had ever done that before. It was almost addicting, having someone pay attention to him, even though deep down Dabi knew it was all fake.
The little voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that the hero was a liar and a spy, got quieter the first time Hawks offered his own apartment as their next meeting spot. It got even quieter when he had his first kiss at the age of twenty-four, under the cover of red feathers with Hawks’ warm hands around his waist.
The little voice finally stopped whispering in his ear the first time Hawks took him to bed. Dabi was terrified; he almost set himself on fire in pure humiliation when Hawks had gently taken his tattered clothes off and became the first person to see just how far the scars and staples went. But the pretty bird was patient and kind, and soon enough Hawks’ voice became the one whispering in his ear. Telling Dabi how pretty he was, how strong he was, how good he felt. Sweet, sweet little lies that Dabi was too weak to ignore.
Dabi was expecting Hawks to kick him out of bed once he got what he wanted, the post-nut clarity setting in and making the hero realize what a disgusting, burned-up little freak he had just debased himself with. But Hawks let Dabi spend the night, and gave him a warm bed to sleep in for the first time in years.
Dabi thinks that is when he officially fell in love.
(In hindsight, it’s sad, really, that that's all it took. A smile, some whispered praise, a pity fuck, and a warm place to sleep. Just a scrap of kindness and attention, and Dabi was in love.)
It went on for months. They started spending more and more time together, laughing and having dinner and watching television on Hawks’ couch. Dabi spent the night at Hawks’ apartment as often as he could, hungry and desperate for every single moment he could get with the pretty bird. And then one day, Hawks said it.
“I love you.”
Nobody, not even Dabi’s parents, had ever said those words to him. Nobody had ever, ever loved him.
And even though, deep down, there was still the voice screaming at him that it was all fake, that Hawks was a liar and a spy and a fucking honeytrap, Dabi believed it. He believed it because the alternative was too painful to think about, and because he wanted Hawks to love him back more than anything in the entire world.
(These days, he wanted love with Hawks even more than he wanted revenge on Enji. Enough that part of him was starting to consider a different life, one where he and Hawks could run away and leave everything behind, and just… be happy together. Something he wanted more than the spite and anger that kept him alive for so many years.)
And then the League of Villains became the Paranormal Liberation Front, and suddenly Dabi lived in a mountain villa rather than yet another abandoned warehouse or a damp, filthy alleyway. He had a room, and a bed, and the thought of having all that space to himself suddenly seemed… intolerable.
Dabi offered to share his room.
Hawks all but moved in with him. Their twice-weekly trysts became sharing a bed every night, became breakfast and showering together and lazy morning sex. It became parting with a kiss and an ‘I love you’ every morning when they both went to work. It became a kiss hello and ‘how was your day’ every night over dinner. It wasn’t long before Dabi couldn’t envision a world where he fell asleep without the blanket of a warm wing over him and soft chirping snores in his ear. He couldn’t envision a world without his pretty bird, without the love and acceptance he convinced himself he saw shining out of those pretty gold eyes.
He started developing an exit plan.
When Hawks went out on patrol, or spent time with Bubaigawara, or did whatever inane tasks the PLF leadership would send him on, Dabi snuck away to try and scrape together as much money as he could. He accepted dodgy arson jobs from PLF members or from the dark web; he begged Giran for more contacts, peddling the only skill he had. Sure, Hawks was wealthy, but all his money was in accounts owned by the Hero Public Safety Commission. The corrupt, predatory fuckers had locked an eight-year-old into an indefinite conservatorship contract, and Hawks didn’t actually have agency over any of his own finances. They couldn’t rely on Hawks’ money, so Dabi had to do it for them. Giran got him set up with two new fake identities, falsified employment and rental histories, and even his very own inkan, backdated so it looked like Dabi had gotten it registered with the government when he was eighteen. He worked as much as he could, trying to cut back his spending to the bare necessities. Dabi’s biggest expense has always been staples, antibiotics, and other black-market medical supplies that were astronomically expensive. He managed to reduce his medical expenditures by half, relying on cheaper and dodgier medications, reusing staples and bandages, taking bigger and bigger risks with infections and torn seams and melted staples. The sheer number of arson jobs he was working meant that he was pushing past his limits, his scars were spreading and his fevers kept spiking and it hurt, but it was worth it.
Within a few months, he accumulated enough money to make an offer on a small house in Kamoenai in Hokkaido. It was a small town, ideal for dropping off the grid, and the quaint farmhouse was just on the outskirts of the little fishing village. It was near the ocean, with a decent amount of property where Hawks could really stretch his wings, and the opportunity to build whatever they wanted. Nothing was finalized; he wouldn’t officially purchase the property until he had a chance to talk to Hawks and make sure he would be happy with the location and the house, but all that was needed was his inkan on the documents and transferring the money. After months and months of scraping and saving and doing countless favors for Giran and other sketchy people, everything was almost ready.
There was just one final piece missing.
Twice kept a notebook of the body measurements of everybody in the League, right down to the length of their toes. He needed precise measurements to make copies of living people, and once Hawks became an official member of the League, he earned his own page in the notebook. And there, on page 32, scribbled in Twice’s messy handwriting, was the circumference of the ring finger of Hawks’ left hand.
Dabi probably could have stolen something better, but it felt… wrong, to steal an engagement ring. Perhaps an unlucky start to an already risky proposal.
The band was simple gold. Dabi couldn’t afford diamonds or rubies or any of the other brilliantly shiny and expensive things he knew Hawks would absolutely love, but he could afford a custom engraving. It was an odd request, but the jeweler was happy to oblige his little design idea. A curling, elegant murmuration of starlings wrapped around the exterior of the band, and a single little feather was engraved along the inside.
It wasn’t a lot. The ring was probably worth less than Hawks’ expensive gold watch, the one he’s contractually obligated to wear for at least three years for some stupid fucking marketing contract that his pretty bird will never see a cent from. No, the ring was not much, but Dabi hoped that with the additional offer of a traditional farmhouse and a chance to start over with a new life, it would be enough. Please, just let it be enough.
He never even got to plan the proposal.
It was a crisp day at the end of February, only a few puffy little clouds in the sky. Hawks and Dabi woke up like any other day, with soft smiles and a kiss good morning, reluctant to leave the warmth of their bed. Hawks brought him Earl Grey in bed (black with just a spoonful of sugar, just the way he likes) while Dabi grumbled and rubbed at his eyes, yawning and bitching about the hero being an early bird. Hawks had laughed, giving him a quick little peck on his cheek and whispering ‘love you, Dabs’, before chirping his goodbye and flying out the window to spend the day tutoring Bubaigawara again.
Dabi had taken his time, sitting by the window and drinking his tea, stapled cheek resting on his hand as he looked up at the February morning sky, watching the dawn fade from pink to blue. He listened to the chirping of the birds first thing in the morning, smiled a little when he recognized some of the chirrups and whistles and trills, and reflected on the fact that this was the happiest he had ever been. He finally finished his tea, took a quick shower to wake himself up, and got dressed for the day. He locked up their bedroom (he doesn’t trust any of these crazy fanatics to not sneak in while he’s gone to steal their shit) and started the walk down to Giran’s small office on the first floor, to pick up another arson contract for the day. He only makes it down the second flight of stairs when the entire building rumbles.
A slow, slithering dread uncoils in his gut, seeping through his bones and sitting on his chest like a mythological nightmare. His ears ring and he can’t breathe, because he knows.
(He knows, but he doesn’t want to believe it.)
That's why he runs up the stairs, in the exact opposite direction of everyone else who is running outside to confront the horde of heroes at their door. He ignores the calls to action and the announcements blaring over the speakers. He keeps running up the stairs when another massive tremor shakes the building, the walls starting to crack and threatening to come down around him. He keeps running up the stairs when the building gets torn in half by walls of ice and cement, electricity crackling across the sky. He ignores the screaming, and the panicked throngs of people, and the sounds of a battle breaking out in the courtyard.
He has to see Hawks fighting on their side, or at the very least choosing to remain neutral and staying out of it. He has to see it, because he knows, but he doesn’t believe. His pretty bird wouldn’t, he would never… Hawks loves him, he loves him, and that has to be enough.
(Please, just let it be enough.)
When he reaches the top of the stairs, he sees Hawks with a feather blade up to Twice’s throat, pinning him to the ground and getting ready to murder him execution style.
And so, the seventh time Dabi thought that this was the moment it all fell apart, that his life truly couldn’t get any worse, was not the betrayal. It wasn’t watching the man he loved more than life itself murder Twice. It wasn’t screaming and sobbing dryly while the seams under his eyes bled in lieu of tears while Hawks looked at him with cold, golden eyes. It wasn’t when Hawks tried to run him through with a feather blade, like he had done to Twice, like he had done to countless other villains before him. It wasn’t even the cold, horrible realization that Hawks had never loved him.
No, the moment it all fell apart was when Dabi made the worst mistake of his entire life.
His life fell apart the exact moment he gave in to the rage and heartbreak and betrayal, and burned his pretty bird’s wings.
It’s all a blur, really. He was so hurt, and angry, and heartbroken, drowning in rage and pain, screaming and lashing out. He vaguely remembers the feeling of Hawks’ visor cracking under his boot, the smell of burning feathers filling the air, the overwhelming feeling of burning. He didn’t even realize what he was doing until Hawks started screaming.
(It’s all he can hear now, every time he’s alone. The sounds of Hawks screaming as his wings burned. He can still smell the feathers burning.)
By the time Dabi’s vision fully clears, he’s kneeling on the half-shattered balcony, his whole body shaking. The sun burns red through the haze of smoke. Hawks’ intern, the little raven kid he was always gushing about, has managed to whisk Hawks away, flying to the hospital tents the heroes no doubt have set up somewhere on the periphery of the fight. Hawks wasn’t screaming anymore. Wasn't even moving.
Dabi stares at his hands, the trembling getting worse. He… He…
He doesn’t even know if Hawks is dead or alive. And he… he’s the one who…
He empties his stomach over the side of the railing, trails of blood leaking from the seams under his eyes, as he lets out a horrible, strangled sob.
Dabi’s last thread of sanity finally, finally, snaps.
Everything else is a blur after that.
“Are you sure about this, Hawks?” Best Jeanist asks, pulling the car into what is left of the driveway to the Gunga Mountain Villa. There is still a large amount of debris, the partially demolished mansion decorated with yellow police tape marking it as an active crime scene. The car’s wheels crunch on gravel as the car slows to a stop. Jeanist kills the engine. “You are still recovering, and this could be… difficult for you.”
Hawks sighs into his respirator, tired eyes looking out the car window at the ruined estate where he has spent the last several months. The once impressive mansion looks like it has been torn in half, chunks of walls and furniture littering the surroundings. He ignores the destruction, however, focusing on the eastern wing of the estate that is still somewhat intact, at a window on the fourth floor that he finds almost instinctively at this point. They had the corner suite, because Hawks liked the sun and the extra windows.
He pulls out his phone, tapping out a text-to-speech response as he coughs dryly into his respirator.
‘I’m sure. I need closure, just need to settle a few lingering thoughts,’ his phone reads out in its tinny, almost cartoony voice. It does not match the somber air. Best Jeanist furrows his eyebrows, mouth hidden behind the collar of his hero outfit.
“Do you want me to come with you, Hawks? I can support you through whatever you need, like a reliable pair of Levis.” Hawks snorts a laugh, which quickly turns into a rather painful coughing fit. Jeanist is sweet, but the jean references always seem so out of place. He waves a taloned hand, typing a response into his phone again.
‘I’m fine, just stay here. Keep the car warm for your favorite bird!’
Hawks puts his phone into his jacket pocket, opens the car door, and steps out into the dusty, cold air. He shuts the car door behind him, wincing when he accidentally slams it a little too forcefully. He looks up at the fractured villa, trying to swallow down the growing pit in his stomach that makes him want to run away and hide. He slowly makes his way through all the debris, carefully stepping around blown-off chunks of wall, shattered windows, the aftermath of an all-out war. It's slow, tiring, and frustrating having to slowly walk and climb and navigate on his own two feet when he always used to just fly in and out of the fourth-story window.
He flexes the tiny wings re-growing under the bandages on his back, wincing as they itch to flap and launch him back into the sky. The lack of sensation from the hundreds of feathers makes him feel deaf and blind, and once again, he is overcome by the wave of frustration and sorrow at their loss, even if the doctors have assured him that his wings will grow back.
It takes him fifteen minutes to climb up to one of the last intact staircases, panting slightly at the exertion. His lungs burn and he has to stop to rest, hand grabbing at his respirator as he has another fit of hacking coughs. The irritation to his airways due to smoke inhalation is also temporary, but equally as frustrating. He gasps for air, head swimming for a moment. Once the dizziness abates, he slowly continues up the stairs, taking another ten minutes just to climb up to the fourth-story hallway.
The east wing has been spared any extensive damage, although some of the walls are still cracked, and a few paintings have fallen off the walls. Hawks walks down to the end of the hallway, his anxiety growing with every step. By the time he is standing at the very last door at the end of the hall, his ears are ringing and his hands are shaking, and he feels like he is on the verge of a panic attack. He stares at the door, fighting the urge to cry as he stares at the brass nameplate mounted on the polished wooden door. Two names are etched in bold, neat script.
Suite 409
-
Dabi
Hawks
Hawks screws his eyes shut, fighting back tears. He clutches his hands into fists, trembling and trying to breathe through the overwhelming swell of emotion.
This is his own fault. Hawks had one job, one. Infiltrate the League of Villains. It was not supposed to turn into the happiest, most confusing six months of his entire life. He was not supposed to get emotionally involved. He was not supposed to start sleeping with his contact. He was not supposed to move in with him. He was not supposed to look forward to the time they spent together. He was not supposed to feel more at home in the arms of a villain than anywhere else.
He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Dabi.
His head is a mess, his chest a complicated swirl of heartbreak and sorrow and regret.
Hawks pulls the key to their suite out of his pocket. It’s a miracle it didn’t get melted in the fight. He puts the key in the lock, anxiety in his chest swallowing him whole as the key thunks in the lock. The door slowly opens with a long, eerie creak.
It still takes him another five minutes to walk inside.
Hawks stands in the center of the only place he’s ever really felt at home, struggling not to cry.
It isn’t much, a studio apartment layout with an attached bathroom. The bed is pushed up against the wall to the left, shoved into the corner in order to allow room for a modest dresser under the window. There is a small kitchenette to the right, next to the door that leads to the bathroom, a small two-person table with chairs tucked under a bookshelf. Dabi had started collecting books, a luxury he hadn't been able to afford before, having been homeless for so long. The bed is still unmade, and Dabi’s mostly empty teacup is still on the table. There is a mix of both their laundry piled in the corner, and one of Dabi’s shirts is still tossed lazily over the headboard from their last night together. The paintings have been knocked off the walls, the windows are shattered, and there is a single chunk of ceiling in the middle of the floor.
The tiny re-growing wings tremble under the bandages.
His eyes comb over every detail, all the memories in this room flooding through his mind all at once, stealing the breath from his weak lungs. Dabi laughing softly and giving Hawks a gentle kiss on the nose, setting a plate of karaage on the table. Dabi grumbling in annoyance when he was woken up by feathers tickling at his nose. Dabi’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he sewed up the ripped edge of one of Hawks’s shirts, admonishing him for not taking better care of his things. Dabi getting excited to try the newest tea Hawks brought him from the tea shop by his apartment in Fukuoka, yammering on about brewing temperatures and leaf quality and proper tea bowls. Dabi splayed out on the bed, blush high on his cheeks and spilling across his chest as he trembles and moans, head thrown back and gorgeous blue eyes fluttering shut as Hawks slowly took him apart.
Hawks blinks away the tears in his eyes, rubbing at his face with his sleeve and starting to cough into his respirator.
Maybe coming here was a mistake. He doesn’t know what he–
Hawks’ wings still from their constant fluttering as he stares at the wall near the bed.
There was always a painting of a generic nature scene hung up on the wall, right above the headboard. Neither of them chose it, or ever particularly cared about the painting, but it had come with the pre-furnished room and it wasn’t hideous, so they had just left it on the wall.
Hawks had no idea the painting had been hiding a small safe, built into the wall.
He walks over to the bed, gently kicking off his shoes out of habit before climbing onto the unmade bed. He detaches a few of his small, regrowing baby feathers and immediately slips them into the cracks of the safe. He closes his eyes, listening to the tumblers inside the safe with his feathers as he moves the dial, feeling for the distinctive thunk of the mechanism. It takes him less than five minutes to crack. When the little door opens, he finds a small briefcase inside, thankfully unlocked. He pulls the case out and sets it on the bed, hesitating for only a moment before opening it.
He doesn’t really know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t…. This.
The majority of the suitcase is filled with stacks of cash, which isn’t really the surprising part. Dabi was a villain, of course, he had a stash of cash, he would be stupid not to. Hawks pulls out two passports, chirruping a little and tilting his head in slight confusion. Fake IDs also make sense, even though he never saw Dabi use one. He flips open the first passport, and as expected, it contains a picture of Dabi, although his scars have been photoshopped out (which looks…), and an alias Hawks has never even heard of. He idly flips open the next passport, expecting just another picture of Dabi, when he freezes.
He sees his own face staring back.
Why… why did Dabi have a fake passport made for Hawks?
There is a slight ringing in his ears.
He starts digging through the files in the case. Fake transcripts, employment histories, banking statements, rental histories, everything someone would need to fake a new identity, for both of them. There are two inkans, clearly brand new and never used, carved with the aliases from the two passports, and fake documents backdating them to look like they were registered years ago.
Hawks feels a lump in his throat.
Was… was Dabi planning an out for them?
His hands are shaking as he combs through the documents, eyes widening when he turns the page and finds a draft of a mortgage agreement. Under both their names. Dabi has already signed under his own (fake) name, but the signature line under the alias he gave Hawks is still blank. Waiting.
Hawks’ hands start to tremble so badly the papers fall from his grip, and he has another coughing fit into his respirator. He feels like he’s hacking up a lung, tiny wings flaring and trembling as he coughs and screws his eyes shut against the pain in his chest that he can only partially blame on smoke inhalation. He slowly catches his breath, arms curled over his belly, when he notices a small box nestled in between two stacks of 10,000 yen notes.
The ringing in his ears gets louder when his trembling talons pick up the box. He starts hyperventilating when he recognizes that it's a small jewelry box. When he opens it, his eyes swim with tears.
The band is gold with a slightly hammered finish, shining softly in the sunlight streaming in through the shattered window. Hawks traces a finger over the surface, talon clinking against the little carvings of birds wrapping around the exterior of the band. A murmuration of starlings. He carefully takes the ring out of the box, growing dizzy when he sees the carving along the interior of the band, the image of a single feather, along with the tiny inscription, 啓悟. ‘Keigo’.
Hawks clutches the engagement ring to his chest, curling in on himself and finally letting out a deep, strangled sob.
Everything else is a blur after that.
It's months later when they finally see each other again. They aren't even close enough to speak to one another.
Hawks is tearing through the air, struggling to keep himself airborne on his scraggly, ugly wings. Most of his feathers grew back, enough to fly with, but he now has to rely on actual swords instead of using his primaries to fight. His wings are patchy and uneven, and will likely never be as full as they once were. He is flipping through the air, yelling himself hoarse as he slices through copies and copies of Toga/Twices. It’s like reliving all his nightmares, fighting the specters of the man he stabbed in the back.
The battlefield is utter chaos. Endeavor lost an arm fighting All For One, the kids from UA and Shiketsu are throwing themselves into the fight, Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow is spreading across the sky, and Hawks is getting exhausted. He slashes through another few copies of Twice, all while the clones screech at him about how he murdered Jin-kun.
The hysterical, cackling laugh from down below makes all of Hawks’ feathers stand on end.
He looks down, and his stomach crawls into his throat with what can only be described with sheer horror.
Dabi is stumbling out of a portal, and he is borderline unrecognizable. The blue flames billow around him, pouring out of his mouth as he screams. There's hardly any of him left; his flesh is black and crumbling, moving forward in halting steps as he throws himself across the battlefield at his father.
The gold ring, hanging from a silver chain around his neck and hidden under his shirt, suddenly feels like it’s burning his skin.
“No…” he whispers, gold eyes growing wide.
Dabi stumbles, another enormous column of blue fire billowing out as he screams again, blackened flesh crumbling off his face to reveal the jawbone underneath. Endeavor is just staring at his dying son, doing nothing.
Hawks starts to dive, desperate to do something, anything, when another Twice clone tackles him out of the air. One of his swords tumbles to the ground, and he has to turn around to eviscerate the clone with his talons. The clone explodes into gray goo, but three more just take his place. He screeches in frustration, clawing and slashing as the clones pile on, desperate to get free.
Dabi is still screaming and laughing; he can hear the hysterical sound of him choking on his own flames.
“Get, OFF!” he screeches, slashing through another Twice that is crying about how Hawksie betrayed them all, before throwing himself back into a dive. His gold eyes lock on the figure at the center of the flickering blue, trying to will gravity to throw him across the sky faster.
Dabi falls to his hands and knees, flesh crumbling and falling away. Hawks can see all the bones in his arms, watching as he crumples down. His screaming starts to fade.
“Dabi, no no no-” he yells, eyes tearing up against the smoke and wind as he pumps his wings faster. Why isn’t he faster?
The blackened figure falls to the side, flames roaring higher, enough to cause an enormous column of blistering heat that pushes Hawks’ wings up and away. He tries to get closer, reaching out his hand, desperate.
“TOUYA!” he screams, tears flowing freely, desperately trying to fly through the heat and smoke and flames. The blackened figure finally looks up, tearing his gaze away from his father, the object of his rage and obsession, to gaze one last time at the image of red wings.
His eyes are brilliantly, brilliantly blue, glowing in his flames. His eyes look wide, scared and in pain, and his jaw opens as if to say something.
Hawks is thrown backwards by the eruption of azure flames, the hot air bowling him backwards and crashing into the side of a ruined building. He is momentarily stunned, all the breath forced out of his lungs as his back slams into concrete. He slumps to the ground, gasping for breath, and it takes him a few moments before the ringing in his ears clears, and he can see again. He slowly pulls himself up, wings half-burned yet again. Endeavor is kneeling only a few feet away, clutching at the stump of his missing arm and staring wordlessly at the blue funeral pyre in front of them.
“No, no…” Hawks gasps, voice cracking. He watches in frozen horror as the blue flames burn unbearably hot and bright, flickering and writhing, until they slowly start to fade. The tongues of fire shrink, cooling from cyan all the way down to a dark, flickering, azure, before finally going out with a gentle hiss.
Together, Hawks and Endeavor stare at a pile of glowing ashes.
Enji is silent when he cries, blue eyes staring vacantly at his son’s ashes. Even now, he still can’t find anything to say.
Keigo lurches forward.
“Touya,” he gasps, falling to his hands and knees into the pile of gray and black ashes. They are still unbearably hot, and the ashes cling to his skin and burn, but he doesn’t back away. “Touya, Touya please, you can’t–”
Keigo sobs, hand fisting into the ashes. His other hand grabs at the golden ring hidden under his shirt, clutching the metal so tightly that his hand aches. His half-burned wings tremble, tears falling to mix with powdery gray. The early spring wind blows through his feathers, a few falling like dying autumn leaves to rest in the pile of ashes.
In the early May breeze, surrounded by ashes and charred, falling feathers, Hawks quietly falls to pieces, leaving Keigo behind to grieve.
The ashes shift, and Keigo thinks it's just the wind.
He struggles to breathe, eyes blurry.
The ashes shift again.
Keigo’s eyes widen, scraggly wings flaring open as he throws himself forward, breathless. He vaguely hears Enji’s weak protests behind him, telling him that it’s over, that it’s too late. Keigo tunes him out, heart pounding in his ears as he starts digging into the pile of ashes.
He saw something move; he knows he did.
He digs and digs, ignoring the blistering heat as the ashes burn his hands, struggling not to hyperventilate when his talons finally hit something soft.
Something moving.
Something breathing.
He latches on, pulling the groaning body out of the pile of ashes, heart roaring in his ears.
Touya is filthy, covered head to toe in a thick layer of ash. The gray clings to him, hiding his skin and hair, a few tufts of fluffy white peeking out. He gives a few little coughs, shaking off some of the ashes clinging to his face. His eyes slowly flutter open.
Keigo cradles the living, breathing body to his chest, choking on a relieved sob, staring down into wide blue eyes that are wonderfully, miraculously, alive. The blue eyes blink a few times in apparent confusion before his gaze goes soft. He lifts an intact hand, whole and warm and soft, bringing it up to rest along Keigo’s cheek. His thumb smears a line of ash along the trail of tears pouring down Keigo’s cheek, ever so gently.
“Hey there, pretty bird,” he rasps. Keigo sobs and clutches him to his chest, rocking him back and forth as the blue eyes slide closed and back into unconsciousness.
On a cool May afternoon, Dabi burns himself to death, and Touya wakes up in the ashes.
Regressive Reincarnations (Invisible Walls Closing In) by Teagan White