Chapter Text
Heroes die in the field daily. Growing up, Hawks was constantly reminded that his job as a hero was to die for the greater good, so he was ready to die in the line of action, expected it even. So the day the commission assigned the infiltration of the League of Villains, Hawks saw it for what it was. This was his death certificate. He just couldn’t understand why this was the death the commission had chosen for him. He tried to refuse the mission, and was punished for it: Flight feathers clipped so he had to pull them out if he wanted to fly, followed by weeks of retraining while the new feathers grew in. Speeches about the good the Commission was doing for society, the HPSC oath blaring on repeat. During retraining there was no sleep, and no food. It was a reminder that the only goal in life was to live for what the Commission ordered. This time though, the retraining backfired, because all Hawks could think about, for hours and hours was that he wasn't ready to die. He wasn't ready to throw away all the sacrifices he made to become a hero. No. If he was being sent to die, then he was going to get his freedom. Hawks couldn’t live if he was just Hawks. He needed to be Keigo again, because Hawks wasn't a real person. He was a puppet, an empty doll that could smile but felt nothing inside except an ache so deep it was lodged in his bones. Hawks was a tool and he needed to separate himself from the training, from being a hero, he needed to learn how to live again. So now, Keigo wants to get out. He needs to get out, before he slips up, or worse, before he is no longer of any use, because if they’ve given him a suicide mission, it means he’s outliving his usefulness. If he becomes useless, then he’ll “disappear”, like the others.
After the renewal of his survival instincts, he saw this assignment for what it was. An opportunity. He’s been going around in circles in his head trying to find a way to escape, and everything leads to the same thing: recalibration training at best, and a slow death at the hands of the commission at worst. They are not expecting him to survive, he just needs to play that to his favor. Golden eyes dart around the dark alley as he searches for the recruiter. He has never given the Commision a reason to doubt his loyalties, he can’t afford to unless he knows he’ll come out on the other side. So until then, he'll keep pretending everything is fine, that the food he eats doesn't taste like saw dust, that everything is dull around him and that he isn't so achingly lonely that he would do just about anything to feel like he belonged.
Even if this is the stupidest idea he’s ever had, if he can actually join the League, get these villains to help him, trust him, dare he hope, dare he dream, get them to like him– Keigo scoffs at the idea, that’s wishful thinking. Hawks is stupid, a nuisance, unwanted, unlovable– Keigo shakes his head hard and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as his footsteps falter. His nose picks up a new scent over the smell of the overflowing dumpsters he’s passing. Cigarette smoke, and the smell of a bonfire and something else that he can’t quite figure out. He pauses taking a deep breath, feeling his lungs fill and fill and fill, accustomed to higher efficiency breathing than those without his avian quirk. If he can win any modicum of trust then maybe they can save him. If not, and this recruiter doesn’t believe a word he says… at least the end will be mercifully quick. A strange sense of peace settles over him at the thought.
Keigo puts on his poker face. He can do this, he can charm his way through anything. With his pep talk still playing through his head, Keigo rounds the corner into a new alley in the maze he’s been following. He’s been walking instead of flying. As a show of faith, he left all the feathers he could back at the penthouse. His little fledgeling sized wings can tuck tight enough to his back that most don’t even notice them as he walks briskly down the street. Without the iconic red wings, and the hoody he’s unrecognizable to most.
Keigo adopts a lazy smile and gives a wave to the dark silhouette ahead. He can see the red glow of their cigarette, his vision is sharp even in the dark. “Hey, you the league recruiter?” he calls as he tucks his arms behind his head walking closer. Head turning, the silhouette steps out of the shadows and Keigo’s heart starts jack rabbiting. Dabi. Dabi’s the recruiter. Golden eyes sharpen, pupils narrowing to slits instinctively. He’s tall and lanky, and the scars lining his face look more shadowed in the dimness of the alley. If it wasn’t for the shockingly blue eyes, he might not have recognized him immediately with his hood pulled up the way it is. Beautiful, Keigo hardly blinks as he stares into the blue eyes.
“Get lost,” he sneers, a blue flame lighting up his palm as he takes a deep drag of nicotine. Keigo’s pupils dilate at the beauty of the blue flames. He wants to touch them, as stupid as that thought is. They're just so pretty, dancing in Dabi's palm.
Keigo pouts reeling his dumb bird brain back in, “Aw come on, is that anyway to treat someone who wants to change the world?” delicate downy feathers twitch in agitation. If he survives this meeting he’ll need to preen. Hawks grimaces internally at the thought of his sensitive down being plucked.
“Hawks!” Dabi sneers and with reflexes faster than Keigo expects, Dabi has his collar in his fist and his back hits the dirty wall. “I’m here in peace!” he laughs, smiling like he’s being interviewed by Heroes Weekly. “I’m even unarmed. As unarmed as I can be at least.” he murmurs. His wings ruffle, trying to make him look bigger, more threatening than he is at the moment.
Dabi studies his fledgling sized wings with calculating eyes. They’re made up of mostly downy feathers that just barely cover the main bone structure of his wings. They can’t be controlled or hardened like the rest. He also can’t fly like this. I’m defenseless, I’m at your mercy, this is my first show of good faith. Keigo prays Dabi can see all this. His confidence feels shaky the longer the blue flames radiate heat onto him. Slowly the grip on his collar loosens, the flame goes out and Dabi gives him a quick pat down. Electric blue eyes narrow as he takes a step back. God those eyes are gorgeous.
“Why the fuck should I believe the number two hero wants to join the league.” he growls.
“Things need to change,” Keigo’s tone is airy, carefree as a bird should be, “I agree with you, that heroes shouldn’t be placed on the pedestals they’re on.”
Dabi snorts, “Pot meets kettle.” he sneers.
“Heroes are meant to serve, not be idols,” Keigo pushes, “and I have my own reasons for wanting to take down hero society.”
Dabi sneer doesn’t falter, “you gonna to enlighten me?”
Golden eyes study him critically, "No, not yet, but soon. For now, I have this instead." He pulls out the Commision mission briefing from the inside of his hoodie. It’s now or never, he decides, staring at the embossed HPSC logo and the angry red CLASSIFIED stamped neatly across the top. His eyes flick back up to Dabi, he schools his features into the carefully blank mask he has mastered over the last ten years.
This is the biggest risk he could take. Handing this over is an admittance that the Hero Public Safety Commission sent him here to spy. Keigo’s heart pounds as he holds the report out. His hand is steady, he’s been trained not to show fear, not to show doubts, but his wings twitch with his anxiety. He feels terribly vulnerable with only the soft fluffy down. He wants to wrap himself in his wings so he doesn’t have to see what happens next.
Blue eyes narrow and study his face, flicking to his twitching feathers before finally he snatches the report, stepping back. He flips it open and Keigo watches his expression carefully, noting the hard line his mouth has pressed into. The moon peeks out from behind the clouds, and the dull light reflects off the row of staples beside his mouth and the piercings in his ears. Hawks eyes dilate at the shine, momentarily caught off guard before he pointedly looks away. Only good boys get shiny things, and you Hawks, are not a good boy, his handlers voice whispers in his mind. Good boys do as they’re told, good boys follow orders. Keigo’s face remains smooth, unbothered. The commission conditioned part of him wants to snatch the folder back and beg for forgiveness from his handler for his betrayal. Dabi’s eyes are calculating when he looks up through his eyelashes. They’re longer than Keigo thought would be possible for a pyromaniac.
“You got a death wish, birdy?”
Birdy. A trill bubbles in his throat, but his vocal chords lock tight, reflexively trying to protect him from the punishment that would surely follow. Keigo smiles widely, sharp canines glinting.
“It’s a grand gesture, hot stuff.”
“You want to play double agent for us.” Dabi is rightfully skeptical. Small bursts of blue flames twist around his fingers, they're strangely nonthreatening. Keigo has the urge again to try and touch them. The gears are turning in Dabi’s head.
“Something needs to change, there are bad heroes, but going after them won’t change anything. You have to go for the throat. The Commision is the one in control of everything, they’re the ones who handle the cover ups, who rig the rankings, who make good heroes and innocent people disappear.” Keigo’s voice catches and he pauses. Dabi stares at him for a long moment before he fishes out a burner phone and passes it over.
“I’ll be in touch.” He strides off into the darkness of the alley, taking the file with him.