Chapter Text
it’same @mario
so happy to finally hear from hawks, but I kinda hoped for more input…?
cammie @brat
@chickenwings so what’s the plan? Like instant revolution? Because count me in
billie @bemyfriendlunchrush
you think they’re forcing Hawks to be so vague? normally he’s not one to keep his thoughts to himself
iputthedindepression @melly
@bemyfriendlunchrush yeah, but this is also a lot more intimate than anything he talked about before, after all there was almost no personal information on pro hero Hawks before yesterday. which makes total sense now
I’mreallygoodatnotthinking @yali
I just finished the files and god, do I wish I hadn’t, think I’m gonna have nightmares forever now
I’mgod @light
@yali you finished them already?? Do you like not sleep?
countrymein @yee-haw
For Hawks to still be so sane… I really need the number of his therapist
let’sfuckinggooo @wano
@yee-haw you really think the commission allowes him to have therapist?
countrymein @yee-haw
@wano and there goes my good mood…
//
A sense of dread overcomes Hawks as he knocks on his best friend’s kitchen window, and it only deepens when she opens it with a glare that makes villains all across Japan run.
“Hi Rumi,” Hawks says in a high-pitched voice, extending his arms for a hug.
Mirko just glares at him and takes a sip from her cup. At least she doesn’t hit him with it, Hawks thinks—at least, not yet.
“Sit down,” she orders, pushing him onto her grass-green couch. He topples over and makes an undignified squeal as he lands face-first on an orange pillow.
Mirko ignores him as she sits down beside him, much more elegantly.
“What do you have to say in your defense?”
Hawks ignores her and shifts around on the couch until he finds a comfortable position, resting his head in Mirko’s lap. He’s relieved that she doesn’t push him away.
“Can I make myself some coffee before we talk?” he asks, giving her his best puppy-dog eyes.
“No.”
“You’re awful.”
Mirko hits him with a pillow. Hawks retaliates with one of his wings. He’s grateful, not for the first time, that his best friend is terrible with emotions. She wants him to talk about what happened and what she (and the rest of Japan) have found out about him, but she has no idea how to get him to open up. It’s one of the reasons they’re best friends—Hawks loves emotionally challenged people. Avoiding feelings is his jam.
“I was worried about you,” Mirko admits, glaring.
“Aww, you’re so cute,” Hawks grins, hoping to rile her up enough to make her forget why she wanted to see him.
But, of course, it’s today that Mirko decides to be the bigger person and don’t take the bait. She just hums and plays with his hair.
“I invited Jeanist. He’ll be here any second now,” Mirko says casually, as if it’s no big deal.
Hawks jumps up, staring at her with wide eyes. “What.”
Where Mirko struggles with emotions, Jeanist excels. He’s the unofficial therapist for every pro hero, which is why Hawks tries to avoid spending too much time with him outside of work. Before he can fully express his sense of betrayal, the doorbell rings.
“I hate you,” Hawks hisses as Mirko gets up to open the door.
“Love you too!”
With a groan, Hawks flops forward and presses his face into one of the fluffy pillows.
He hears footsteps, then Jeanist’s soft voice: “Hello, Hawks.”
Hawks mumbles a greeting into the pillow, half-hoping to suffocate. A kick to his legs tells him that Mirko is back too.
“Move. I want to sit down.”
“Don’t wanna.”
Mirko kicks him again, and Hawks sits up to avoid serious injuries.
“Hi, Jeanist,” he says again, this time without the muffling effect of home decor.
“How are you?” Jeanist asks, sitting down in the chair across from Hawks.
“Fine. You?”
“There’s been a lot of commotion about you these last few days.”
“Yup,” Hawks replies, poking Mirko repeatedly with a feather. She’s the worst friend ever for making him sit through this.
“Mirko and I are worried about you. And so are a lot of other heroes.”
Hawks waves it off. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to affect my hero work.”
Mirko growls and pokes him back.
“That’s not what we’re worried about, and I think you know that.”
“Sure.”
“I never liked the Hero Commission, you know? Never worked well with them,” Jeanist says, trying to make eye contact with Hawks, who looks anywhere but at him.
“Yeah, I know. They don’t like you either.” Hawks starts playing with a strand of hair that’s fallen into his eyes.
“Good,” Jeanist replies with a childish satisfaction that doesn’t match his usual composed persona.
It’s quiet for a few minutes, Jeanist watching Hawks with his annoyingly kind eyes and soft smile while Mirko keeps fighting off feathers.
“Hawks, I understand this must be hard for you,” he starts, “but I really think you should talk about what happened.”
Hawks almost calls Jeanist out on his bullshit, because how would he be able to understand? How would anyone understand?
Instead, he shrugs. “Sure, let’s dive right into my emotional trauma. Sounds like a blast.” As he lets his wings droop, he also calls off the war Mirko has started with his feathers.
“Let’s maybe not do that,” Jeanist chuckles. “Let’s start with something easy… like how are the students? That must have been quite an experience for them.”
Hawks remembers Midoriya’s crying and the guilt he felt over the hero-worshipping thankful look in Todoroki’s eyes. If this is an easy topic, he’s screwed.
“I didn’t see them since yesterday, but they seemed all right, I guess. Or at least as all right as anyone could hope for them to be.”
“Good. That’s good to hear,” Jeanist muses. “I remember being their age, still so innocent and idealistic, almost ignorant to the horrors of humanity.”
“Yeah…” Hawks only says. While he remembers being a teenager, he definitely doesn’t remember being innocent or idealistic. That was beaten out of him the first time he disobeyed the commission’s orders. Or maybe the cracks started showing even earlier, when his mother refused to eat the sad excuse of a muffin he made for her birthday. Or when his father almost strangled him to death for leaving the house.
“I’m sure they admired your dedication to save them.”
“Sure,” Hawks snorts.
“Don’t you think so?”
“No?” Hawks raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I was the reason they even got kidnapped, and then I was too slow to help them before the whole situation escalated. If anything, they should despise me for that.”
“Did they tell you that?”
Hawks shakes his head; none of the kids said anything even remotely like that to him. They are far too nice for that. Even Bakugo.
“I, for my part, think you did better than anyone else would have done in your situation. Not only did you save everybody, but you kept your composure while Dabi exposed all those horrible things. If you remember hero Sensoji, he was a bumbling, crying mess after his interview.”
Jeanist spits out Dabi’s and Sensoji’s names as if they were especially disgusting spatters he found under the sole of his favorite shoes.
“Yeah,” Mirko chips in, and Hawks remembers that she’s still there. “And don’t say stuff like that. I’m the only one who’s allowed to talk shit about you.”
Hawks chuckles softly. “Thanks.”
“Is that what the commission tells you?” Jeanist asks.
“What?”
“That you’re too slow?”
Hawks’ first reaction is to disagree, but well… who’s he trying to deceive here?
“Sometimes. I guess.”
“They said a lot of worse stuff to you too, right?” Jeanist continues, and well, what’s the whole point of this.
Hawks rolls his eyes. “You know they did. Can’t you just ask me what you want to know? It’s all in the past anyway.”
Instantly after saying it, he feels bad at Jeanist’s troubled look. Not angry, just even more worried for him.
Mirko gives him a hard slap on the back of the head. “Don’t be such a dumbass. We know that’s not true. We just want to fucking help!”
Hawks rubs the back of his head and gives her an irritated glare. “Well, I didn’t fucking ask you to, did I? Also, it is true; it’s all in the past!”
“Hawks,” Jeanist says, still in his annoyingly understanding tone, “it really isn’t. I’m sorry I did this, as it is very invasive, but I read the files and the last entry is from nine days ago. While the commission might not physically hurt you anymore, they still hold you to impossible standards and overwork you to the point of passing out from exhaustion. That’s not normal or okay. Would you find it acceptable if Mirko or I were treated like that?”
The “No” rolls so easily off Hawks’ tongue it’s almost intuitive, before he can think of what it implies.
“Then why is it acceptable for you?”
And well, that’s the real question here, isn’t it? Because, yeah, objectively Hawks knows everything that was done to him throughout his life is plain wrong. He doesn’t deserve it, and if someone else lived his life, he’d be enraged. But he’s just different from others. He just…
“I’m not saying it is,” Hawks replies slowly, still not quite thinking about his words as much as he should. “I just… I don’t matter as much.”
As soon as he says the words out loud, he knows they are the wrong ones. Mirko looks as though she’s seeing him for the first time, her face etched with sorrow and Jeanist’s gaze is filled with sincere sadness but not entirely surprised. Hawks wonders how much he knew about the hero commission even before yesterday.
He laughs awkwardly and waves his hands frantically. “No, that came out wrong. It’s just, well, I’m more… uh, disposable? Because, you know, I was sort of made for this? And…” Never really felt like he had the same rights as everybody else? The same control over his own life? The freedom to make his own choices? And, yeah, that might be messed up—he knows that, he really does—but it’s how it’s always been. Why should it suddenly matter now?
Before he can talk himself into a complete frenzy, Mirko takes his hand. “Hawks, you know I love you, BUT if you say one more word, I swear to whoever is up there in heaven, I’m going to bash your head into my coffee table until you come to your senses again.”
Hawks gives the glass table in front of him a contemplative look. It doesn’t look very firm; it would probably break before his head does. Still, he’d rather not find out.
“While I don’t have the same fondness for violence as Mirko does, I’m inclined to agree that I’d really like for you to stop talking about yourself like this,” Jeanist adds.
Hawks doesn’t say anything and only nods obediently because when Jeanist, the personification of politeness, practically tells you to shut up, you know you really should do just that.
“Well.” Jeanist claps his hands. “I think this calls for hot chocolate. Mirko, do you have marshmallows?”
“W-what?” Hawks asks, confused, and is completely ignored.
“Obviously I have marshmallows! Who do you think I am?”
“Very well,” Jeanist says and stands up. “Give me a few minutes. Mirko, put on any kind of show or movie that you young people are into at the moment.”
“Yes, sir,” the woman says with a smug grin, and Hawks knows that he’ll have to watch The Angry Birds Movie for the thousandth time with Mirko pointing at every ugly bird and saying, “That’s you.”
After Jeanist comes back from the kitchen, he’s carrying three cups overflowing with cream and marshmallows. He sets them down on the table and wraps a fluffy blanket around Hawks before sitting himself down beside him.
Hawks doesn’t really understand what’s going on. He thought they’d keep grilling him about his past and the commission. He’s extremely relieved they don’t.
He’d lie if he said this isn’t the best lunch break, he’s had in months.
Still, he can't help but think about what the president said. If he thinks Mirko would be happy as a clerc.
Make the right choice Hawks.
//
It’s already noon, and Hawks feels nauseous from all the cocoa he drank when it suddenly hits him that he has a modeling gig right about now. He practically flees from Mirko’s apartment with a shouted promise to call later and flies off as fast as it’s possible without risking crashing into a wall.
When Hawks lands in the workroom of his favorite stylists, a squealing girl with bubblegum-pink hair instantly jumps into his arms.
“Hawks! I missed you! How are you? I heard all this horrible stuff about you in the news! Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
“Heyo, Ai,” Hawks grins down at the small woman.
“Let the poor boy breathe,” says a dark-skinned man with glittery eyeliner from behind Ai.
“I’m not a boy; I’m a man,” Hawks pouts as Ai finally lets him go. He is relieved to dodge all her questions.
“You’re only just old enough to drink, and without that pathetic excuse for a beard, you’d look like a middle schooler,” the man grins.
Hawks places a dramatic hand over his heart. “How could you say something like that, Benjirou? I thought we were friends!”
The stylist steps forward and lays a hand on Hawks’ shoulder. “Normally we are, but not when you’re over half an hour late for our shoot.”
“Half an hour!” Hawks whines. “Ajiro will kill me!”
Ajiro is the manager for today’s commercial shoot, and he despises Hawks. He isn’t sure what he has done to offend the man, but Ajiro always acts as if Hawks has slept with the love of his life.
“He’ll not only kill you but us too if we don’t start getting you ready right now,” Benjirou says, pushing Hawks into an uncomfortable plastic chair in front of a mirror.
As soon as Hawks sits down, Ai takes his sunglasses from him, and Benjirou gives a longsuffering sigh at the dark circles under his eyes.
“Why do you always do this to the merchandise?” Benjirou asks.
“Crime never sleeps,” Hawks jokes, making finger guns at the stylist.
Ai giggles. “Don’t worry. With the right makeup, it’s easy to cover up, and our little hero will look all pretty again!”
“Are you saying I’m not pretty without makeup?” Hawks pouts.
Ai just giggles again before walking off, probably to get some beauty products for pale skin or something.
Benjirou starts brushing Hawks’ hair, giving him an accusatory look. “You’re not using the conditioner I gave you, are you?”
“Uhm,” Hawks says, trying to recall which conditioner Benjirou means, “I’m not sure…?”
“You’re a lost cause,” Benjirou says, hitting him lightly on the back of the head with a brush.
“And you’re mean!”
Benjirou merely sighs again.
//
When Hawks steps out of the styling room, he’s missing his glasses, his eyelids sparkle, and he’s wearing a black dress shirt instead of his flight jacket. He’s also been briefed on the products he’s advertising today— the latest collection of his own jewelry brand.
“Hawks! You’re late!” Ajiro greets him, looking as though he’s about to have a heart attack, his pulse visibly throbbing.
“I’ve missed you too, Ajiro,” Hawks replies, waving at the filming crew.
His smile falters slightly when he sees her. He knew she would be here; she always is. Still, he can’t help but flinch when she gives him an indifferent nod.
“So, how do we start?” Hawks asks as he’s led to a wall covered with various placards featuring either him or the jewelry.
He frowns. “Doesn’t a photo shoot in front of this seem a bit narcissistic?”
Mako, one of his favorite production designers, shrugs. “The boss thought it would highlight your latest achievements and existing jewelry lines.” He hands Hawks several necklaces, bracelets, wristwatches, and rings. “Put these on.”
Mako then arranges the jewelry and directs Hawks on how to pose with the professional precision of someone who’s been in the business for years. When he’s finally satisfied, he steps back and grins. “Well, if you don’t look like the most dazzling Christmas tree ever, I don’t know what does.”
Hawks chuckles. “Yeah, this might be a bit much.”
His forearms are almost completely covered with wristwatches, and he has multiple chokers and chains around his neck. But Ajiro only scoffs. “Nonsense. Since when do you have any sense of style?”
Hawks rolls his eyes, and Mako laughs behind his hand.
“Do you think you’ll manage to stay still this time, or are you going to need Yoko from the beginning?”
There’s a mean glint in Ajiro’s eyes as Hawks freezes for a moment. The rest of the crew, aside from her, looks deeply uncomfortable.
“Ah, no. I think I’ll manage,” Hawks says.
Ajiro doesn’t look convinced but nods anyway.
Hawks sighs with relief and glances briefly at Yoko. It’s not that he dislikes her exactly; it’s her quirk that he finds unbearable.
When he was younger, he struggled to keep his wings still for extended periods of time, and no matter what punishment the commission devised, he just couldn’t manage photo shoots. Then they found Yoko, who can freeze people in place with her touch. They were thrilled.
Since then, Yoko has been present at every shoot, even as Hawks improved his ability to stay still. The commission kept insisting she come. He hated it. Hates it.
It takes almost an hour before Ajiro orders Yoko to use her quirk, setting a new record. Maybe Ajiro feels sorry for Hawks after yesterday. Hawks isn’t sure if he likes the thought of the man pitying him.
From then on, the shoot continues with Hawks being frozen and unfrozen repeatedly. When he’s moved to a bed for the next set of photos, Hawks is on high alert, his hands trembling slightly. Being immobilized, unable to move, isn’t pleasant for anyone, but Hawks, has the instincts of a bird of prey, not being able to move, to fly away, means certain death.
“Maybe we should finish for today?” Mako suggests, but Ajiro is already pushing Hawks onto the bed.
“Nonsense, we’re only halfway through,” Ajiro says. “Unbutton his shirt.”
“Are you okay with continuing?” Mako asks Hawks.
“Sure,” Hawks replies, hoping his smile is at least somewhat convincing.
“Just say the word, and we’ll stop,” Mako offers, even though they both know he doesn’t really call the shots. Not that Hawks does either.
The next pose is a bit awkward, with Hawks’s head hanging over the edge of the bed, his wings spread out beneath him. Lying like this makes his eyes water and his wings ache when his weight isn’t lifted off them for over half an hour. He feels like a doll as his arms and hair are adjusted while he lies motionless.
When he’s finally unfrozen and hopes the shoot is over, Marla, a model he’s worked with for years, arrives. He likes Marla; she’s a wonderful woman, and if he were even slightly interested in, well, anyone, he might have asked her out years ago.
There have been rumors about the two of them for almost as long as there have been about him and Mirko. Marla appears in nearly every promo with sensual or seductive elements that he does. Some of their perfume ads were actually fun, with them laughing at the increasingly awkward and impractical poses—until Yoko’s quirk came into play.
Today, he can only manage a weak wave and a halfhearted smile as she sits down beside him. She gives him a puzzled look when he doesn’t stand up to hug her, followed by a ‘we’re-talking-about-this-later’ expression. Great, more feelings talk. Just what he needs.
“So, now lie down on him, Marla,” Ajiro directs after a few mostly harmless poses. “Put your right hand on his cheek. Hawks, place your hand on her waist and lift your right wing. Marla, turn your face to the right and look into the camera.”
Normally, Hawks wouldn’t mind this relatively innocent position—he’s done ads that felt like the beginning of really bad porn—but he’s already on edge. They’re almost naked, except for the absurd amount of jewelry, and his face must show it because, as soon as Yoko’s quirk takes effect, Marla pushes herself away from him.
“I think we’re done here,” she states.
“What? No, you’re not,” Ajiro says, sounding more confused than angry. “There are at least two more hours to go.”
“Well, I am,” Marla insists. “Undo your quirk.”
“What do you mean you’re done?” Ajiro asks. “You’re not. You have a contract with us. Stop this and go back to work.”
While Hawks appreciates what Marla is doing for him, he wishes she would just comply with Ajiro so they could wrap this up.
Marla crosses her arms. “I’m not doing a photo shoot with someone who’s so clearly uncomfortable.”
If he weren’t still frozen, Hawks would groan. This does not help him feel less uncomfortable.
“Why is it only him that Yoko uses her quirk on anyway? I’m sure I twitch sometimes too,” Marla continues. “Is it because it’s illegal quirk use? I’ve always wondered.”
“It’s not illegal!” Ajiro protests. “It’s in his contract!”
“Oh, is it?” Marla asks sharply. “And who, pray tell, holds that contract?”
Ajiro opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Hawks was fourteen when he made his first promo shot, so he’s not the one holding his contract, and everyone in the room knows that. After yesterday, it’s pretty clear who does.
For the first time, Hawks is actually grateful to Yoko, when she steps forward and releases her quirk.
Hawks sits up and, unsure of what else to do, stretches his wings before noticing that no one is looking anyway. They feel guilty, he realizes.
“Well,” he says with a lopsided smile, “this is very awkward.”
Marla is the only one who reacts; she snorts and pulls him up. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
“We are?”
“We are.”
No one stops them, not even Ajiro, as they walk out of the room. Mako gives him a remorseful look, but Hawks just shakes his head and grins, hoping to convey ‘Don’t be dumb.’
//
“You didn’t have to do that,” Hawks says, as he sets Marla down in front of her flat.
“I really did, birdbrain.” She frowns. “I should have done that years ago.”
He shrugs. “You didn’t know. No one did.”
“I knew you were uncomfortable. That should have been enough.”
“I mean, I could’ve said something,” Hawks replies.
Marla raises an eyebrow. “Could you, though?”
Hawks shrugs again. “Who knows.”
Marla nods. “Thanks for the flight, Hawks. And don’t think you’re off the hook yet! We’re going to talk… just not now. I think neither of us needs that today.”
When she hugs him, it’s longer than usual, and a part of Hawks wants to ask her to talk now, because it’s past six in the evening and he still doesn’t know what to do.
He wants someone to tell him what to do. Should he do what the commission told him? Go along with their ridiculous ‘disciplinary actions'?
Instead of asking, he ruffles her hair and flies off.
//
Once more, Hawks finds himself on a rooftop high up, only this time it’s on a vacant house in the countryside, far from civilization.
Make the right choice, Hawks.
If he flies off now, he’ll reach the commission at a time that still counts as evening. They’ll send him somewhere and help him become the pro hero Hawks they want him to be again. When he returns, they’ll have done something to appease the public, and maybe, if they’re lucky, it will all blow over.
No one would be hurt because of him, because the commission wouldn't have a reason to turn on him.
But does the commission actually have the power they say? Maybe if he just had another opinion...? If he had someone to help him, he could...
//
“Dark Shadow and I will stay by your side through whatever sorrow follows.”
“In case you decide to accept my help or need anything—and I mean anything—I texted you my address, okay, kid?”
“We’re your friends, Hawks. We know this is hard, but we want to help you. Please let us help.”
“You look sad like my mother. But you saved her and me. And you said I can be a hero too, so if you need me, I’ll help you!”
“Just… if I can do anything, I’d really like to help you.”
“But before that, you’re my friend, Hawks. And I don’t care what you tell me as my boss. I’m not going to defend some assholes who hurt my friend. For that, you’ll have to fire me and employ someone else.”
“Hawks, you know I love you BUT if you say one more word, I swear to whoever is up there in heaven, I’m going to bash your head into my coffee table until you come to your senses again.”
“Don’t let them burn you out, yeah?”
//
Hawks pulls out his phone and stares at his handler’s contact. It would be so easy to just call her, tell her he’d be a bit late but that he’ll come. He could just hope they wouldn’t accidentally kill him in the next week. Or intentionally? Now that they know he planned their takedown, he might not be valuable to them anymore.
//
Make the right choice Hawks.
//
Hawks presses the call button. It is answered after two rings.
“Hey, Eraser, you remember when you told me to call if I need anything? Well, funnily enough, I might actually need some, ya know, help.”