Chapter Text
Shigaraki returned with a towel and almost immediately felt like he wasn't supposed to be there. The moment he'd stumbled upon was too tender. Hawks was touching Dabi in ways he envied, and the worst part was he wasn’t sure who he envied more.
“Can you lift him out of the bath?” He asked, crudely announcing his presence.
“I flew here with him,” Hawks said at the same time Dabi protested, “I don't need to be lifted.”
“Alright, alright, whatever.”
Dabi’s exit from the bathtub was a slow one, given he wouldn't accept Shigaraki or Hawks’ hand to get a lift up. His whole body trembled. Naked like this, the true extent of Dabi’s scars was on full display. And he was so thin. Shigaraki was hardly muscular (although those months on the mountain and his subsequent level-up had done a lot for his physique), but next to Dabi it wasn't even comparable. Dabi looked… breakable.
“Here,” he said, severing his own train of thought and holding out the towel for Dabi to step into.
He hated how quiet Dabi was. It wasn't like the guy usually had a lot to say, but there tended to be more arguing between them. Little remarks, crass jokes.
Nothing silenced someone more than shame, and Shigaraki didn't have the words or the grace to make it better. But at least he had a few crumbs of experience, unlike Hawks.
Dabi took the towel and drew it around himself, then reached down to clumsily pull off his wet boxer shorts now that he could preserve some modesty with the towel. But after that he just stood there, dripping wet, making no move to dry his body.
“Dabi?” Hawks’ hand was back on Dabi’s shoulder. Shigaraki curled his fingers into his palms, his long nails pressing crescents into his skin.
“I, uh.” Dabi paled and reached out to brace himself on the wall. “‘M dizzy…”
Then he hiccupped and lurched with a gag. Without thinking, Shigaraki moved his hands underneath Dabi’s chin to catch the dribble of bile that spilled from his mouth.
“Oh.” Hawks’ jaw might as well have clattered onto the floor. His comforting touch had turned into a vice-grip around Dabi’s bicep to keep him upright. “Fuck, okay. Oh my god.”
Dabi coughed and drew his wrist over his mouth, using his other hand to secure the towel around his body as he continued to lurch slightly with aborted heaves. “Boss, what the fuck—”
“I panicked!” Shigaraki protested, turning to wash his hands in the sink. “Easier than cleaning you all over again, anyway.”
He avoided looking at himself in the mirror, knowing his pale complexion and white hair only emphasized any color that rose to his cheeks. It was horrifically intimate, what he’d just done. You didn’t catch someone’s vomit in your hands unless you cared about them.
“That doesn’t leave this room,” he announced once he’d shaken his hands dry. Hawks was still staring at him like he’d lifted a car, or perhaps sprouted a third arm.
The three of them shuffled out of the bathroom and down the hall. All of Dabi’s focus was dedicated to walking, each step deliberate and conscious. Hawks’ feathers were stiff, as if ready to detach and swoop in to catch Dabi if his legs gave out.
“We could get there quicker if you let us carry you,” Shigaraki commented.
“I’ll melt the flesh off your body,” Dabi growled. Colorful threats were certainly an improvement.
But when they made it to Dabi’s room, Dabi sank into his mattress and curled into a tight ball without bothering to get dressed. Even with the towel, the rapid rise-and-fall of his chest was obvious.
“Hey…” Hawks touched Dabi’s arm, five-fingered and unthinking, and Shigaraki shoved his own hands into his pockets. “Do you want to get dressed?”
“No.” Dabi’s voice was muffled by the pillow.
“Full moon is out, ashtray,” Shigaraki observed. With the towel bunched up, Dabi was almost completely exposed.
“I won't be able to dress myself,” Dabi ground out. “So I'm not gonna do it at all.”
Hawks looked like he wasn't even there. His face held an awful blankness to it, nothing like the tortured grief Shigaraki had seen in the bathroom. Even so, Hawks reached out and drew up the blanket at the foot of the bed and laid it over Dabi’s body. Dabi burrowed deeper under the blanket, tucking his nose beneath the hem.
Then Dabi’s arm went rigid as a particularly determined set of nerves in his hand lit up. His face pinched with pain and he swore under his breath. Shigaraki caught the tension in Hawks’ shoulders without even fully looking at him.
“It’s just a spasm,” he said to Hawks quietly. “It's normal.”
“Nothing about this is normal,” Hawks replied. He had his hands up by his chest, as if keeping himself from reaching out to touch. “I've never…”
“Yeah.” He absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck, comforted by the old familiar sting.
“I wish there was more, you know?” Hawks switched to folding his arms over his chest, talons digging into the sleeves of his flight suit. “I wish there was more to be done.”
It was odd, standing next to someone who had so much hope and fire left inside of them. Shigaraki witnessed suffering and wanted to raze the whole world. Hawks still thought there was something left to rebuild with. Sometimes Hawks’ hope shone so bright it was hard to look at him.
“He needs fluids,” Shigaraki said. “That’s another thing we can do.”
Hawks perked up at the sense of direction. “You got anything with electrolytes?”
“There's Pedialyte in the fridge.”
“Don't make me fucking drink Pedialyte,” Dabi interrupted.
“He’s being combative,” Shigaraki insisted. “He doesn't mind it. And, Hawks—” he stopped him halfway out the door— “do yourself a favor and get changed, too.”
“Oh.” Hawks glanced down at his soiled flight suit. “Yeah, good call.”
That left him alone with Dabi. He rounded the foot of the bed and sat down on the edge.
“We have the same philosophy about decorating, I guess,” he said. The walls were bare; nothing about the room indicated its inhabitant other than the medical supplies on top of the dresser. At least Shigaraki had a gaming set-up, and a nice keyboard. Dabi had… nothing. No photos, no sentimental items.
“How's your pain?” He asked when Dabi left his comment unaddressed.
“Stayin’ the same,” Dabi’s voice floated up from beneath the blanket. “Maybe a little better, I dunno.”
“Okay.” A plateau was usually a good sign. Once Dabi hit a steady rhythm, his body rarely spiked again. The worst of it, the crescendo, was over.
Dabi rolled onto his other side with a pained grunt, and locked eyes with him. “Did you… really catch my puke in your hands?”
“That isn't ‘not talking about it.’”
Dabi scoffed. Then he got quiet again. “I scared the shit outta Hawks, huh.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “I’d say his concern is a good sign, wouldn't you?”
“I dunno if I trust him, Boss.”
“You don't trust anybody.”
Dabi didn't reply. Just watched him with those icy eyes, breathing hard through the pain. The unspoken message was too loud for Shigaraki to ignore.
I trust you.
Before either of them could say more, Hawks returned in a new outfit with a bottle of Pedialyte and a cup of ice chips. The white tee and pair of joggers hung a little loose— they must have come from Twice.
“I got the, uh.” Hawks glanced down at the bottle. “Peach Mango? It was the last one, so I figured you liked it the best.”
“If you make me drink anything , I'll throw up on you again,” Dabi warned. “And this time it'll be on purpose.”
He was a lot less intimidating when he was curled up into a ball like that, Shigaraki thought. Which wasn’t to say he was ever intimidated by Dabi, he simply knew power when he saw it.
This problem Dabi had, his pain, it wasn't a matter of him being weak. He had more power than his body knew what to do with. Shigaraki was familiar with the concept; his dry, cracked skin and snowy hair was proof of that. Sometimes quirks bled out into the bodies of their owners and changed them, made them hard to look at.
“You’re not gonna throw up on me again,” Hawks replied easily, sitting down on the other side of the bed opposite Shigaraki and twisting off the bottle cap. A feather carried the cup of ice chips to the bedside table.
Hawks didn't seem to have that problem— finding Dabi (or him, for that matter) hard to look at. The discomfort and emptiness he'd seen in Hawks before hadn't stemmed out of disgust, or fear. Hawks was just sad.
He found himself staring as Hawks tucked another pillow behind Dabi’s head to prop him upright, before offering the drink. And Dabi drank it— with a healthy serving of lethal glaring at Hawks, sure, but he took several substantial sips without any more objection than that.
“Did you drug him when I wasn't looking?” Shigaraki was only half-joking.
“Huh? Oh.” Hawks exhaled a laugh. “No, why?”
Shigaraki gestured to Dabi. “He’s not usually this obedient.”
“I’m not a dog,” Dabi snapped.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Hawks was laughing again, quietly and to himself as he twisted the cap back onto the Pedialyte.
“What's so funny?” Shigaraki demanded.
Hawks’ head shot up. “Nothing! Just—” He shrugged a little and set the bottle on the bedside table. “You’re like an old married couple. I think it’s sweet.”
Dabi turned about as red as Shigaraki felt.
“We’re not—”
“I would never—”
“Come on,” Hawks cut them both off with a sort of knowing grin, one that was probably far too gentle given the people he was looking at. “You wouldn’t know what to do without each other.”
Embarrassment flooded his chest so fast that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. And for a moment longer he was overcome with hatred for Hawks. He despised him for his natural charisma and empathy that enabled him to see straight through anyone’s bullshit.
It wasn’t just about Dabi; the whole League had his heart, and his attachment to them had only grown stronger when they’d lost Magne and Kurogiri. Hawks was right. He did care, cared so much, and it was the worst thing in the world because he thought he’d finally conditioned himself not to.
He couldn’t even think about losing Dabi. What sort of carnage he’d have to wreak in order to settle that score.
“Well, anyway,” Shigaraki shattered the silence with all the grace and finesse of a sledgehammer, and rose from his spot on the bed. “Dabi, you should get some sleep. We’ll head out—”
He motioned to Hawks, who leapt to his feet way too quickly.
“Right, yeah, of course.” Hawks’ wings fluttered, shaking themselves out. “We should let you get some rest. I should really be going, actually—”
“Both of you shut up,” Dabi said, with more force than he’d been able to muster all day. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Sorry?” Hawks said.
Dabi groaned in pain and frustration alike. “You don’t have to leave.”
It was then that Shigaraki experienced an odd feeling of kinship with Hawks, in that they were both utterly speechless.
“I already threw up on both of you, and myself,” Dabi muttered. “It can’t possibly get more embarrassing than that. And I… I don’t like waking up alone, after I have a flare-up. So stay.”
Shigaraki locked eyes with Hawks, and they both slowly sat back down on opposite sides of the bed. The urge to scratch was almost unbearable. This was new and confusing and he hated being confused. It made him feel young.
“Are you sure?” Hawks asked.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Dabi replied. “You’re both really fucking stupid sometimes, you know that?”
“You talk to me like that again and I’ll dust that ugly trench coat,” Shigaraki said, but there wasn’t any real bite in it.
“It’s not ugly,” Dabi said as he shifted under the blanket, trying to get more comfortable. “It’s camp.”
Hawks snorted, and Shigaraki allowed himself the luxury of a smile.