Chapter Text
When Dabi opens his eyes, the world around him is bright and loud. The sun beats down on him and it’s too warm in his dark coat.
He realizes he’s lying on the ground, feeling the stony street under him, and someone is leaning over him. Some kid, early teens maybe. He blinks. The boy blinks back, brows furrowed but not seeming scared.
“Hey, mister, you okay?”
Dabi blinks again. What is some random civilian doing worrying over him instead of running away at the sight of him? He’s been on the wanted list of every police precinct in the country for over two years now. Does this kid live under a rock?
“Yeah, I’m good,” Dabi says as he stands up, his body rebelling against the movement. He doesn’t feel good at all.
“You sure, mister?” the kid presses.
Dabi nods, brushing off the concern.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
He looks around, inspecting his surroundings, and immediately does a double take. He knows these streets, knows the buildings, knows the bus stop that’s only a few feet to his right. He’s in Musutafu. But…
But it’s all wrong. Because the city around him is clean and colorful and bright. People are going about their daily lives. Nothing lies in ruins. Nothing looks like the long-overdue revolution has finally started.
What the fuck is going on?
//
So, Dabi either went completely crazy, or he’s dreaming, or he might have time traveled somehow. Dimension-hopped?
Normally he would have just thought he’d lost the last bit of what remained of his sanity. God knows it hadn’t been all that much. If there weren’t still the scars of his fight against Hawks on his skin telling the story of his last weeks. The ones he sustained during the Paranormal Liberation War, carved into his skin, adding to his already ruined complexion.
Hawks… who, like Musutafu, seems to be in perfect condition, grinning down at him — skin unblemished and wings bright and red and unburned — from the closest billboard. His chest aches at the sight.
The newspaper he steals from the next konbini tells him the date is one year in the future from the date he remembers, and he would have almost thought he actually time traveled — if it weren’t for the front page headline saying:
Breaking news: Is it finally happening? Ring spotted on Pro-Hero Six-Eyes’ finger!
Which is already weird. A pro hero whose name Dabi doesn’t know? Unlikely. But then the text below:
Last week Pro-Hero Six-Eyes (otherwise known as villain Dabi, or legal name: Todoroki Touya) was spotted in the park with his daughter, a yet unknown piece of jewelry added to his outfit. Did Pro-Hero Hawks finally propose? For real this time?
What— what the everloving fuck.
Did Dabi fall into a coma? And is now living out his most pathetic fantasies?
He shakes his head. No. No, that can’t be it. He won’t accept being this pitiful. There has to be another explanation. His eyes wander back to the blinking billboard. And he knows just who to ask for answers.
//
Hawks has been having a good day. He had breakfast with Satoru and Eri, caught a pickpocket on his way to the agency, and is just off for lunch with Echo when he hears a scream from the street below.
Without another thought, he dives down, finding a group of people standing in a circle of fire, crying out as soon as they see him. Saving them isn’t the problem — his feathers fly them out of danger before he even lands — but then, before he can do something about the flames, someone attacks from behind.
He turns around to even more fire, too hot for the rotten overstructure above, and before he can even see his enemy, it’s crumbling down on him.
//
Frowning, Dabi stares at the hero bound to the chair in front of him. He brought Hawks to an empty warehouse he used to live in years ago. It looks just like he remembers.
Unlike Hawks, who looks both completely different and exactly the same. The hero looks good—well, he always looks good, objectively; he’s a model, for fuck’s sake—but he looks… healthier than Dabi remembers. There are no dark shadows under his eyes, and his tanned skin looks less ashen, less… tense. He looks younger somehow.
There are no scars on his face. As if their fight never happened.
Hawks groans softly as he blinks his eyes open, hair in disarray and wings drooping behind him. He looks like he did the few times Dabi actually woke up beside him instead of in an empty bed. The few times Dabi let himself imagine that there might be something out there for them. Something other than their inevitable deaths.
“Satoru?” Hawks mumbles, still half out of it. “What’s going on? My wings, what—”
From one moment to the next he sits up straight, eyes wide.
“—I can’t feel my wings!”
Dabi’s frown deepens. Who’s Satoru? Isn’t Hawks engaged to him? Or at least some version of him?
Hawks’ eyes finally focus on him.
“What’s going on? Who are you, and what’s with my wings?”
Dabi leans forward, arms crossed over the back of the chair he’s sitting on backwards. Now that he’s awake, the difference between this Hawks and his Hawks is even more obvious. There’s no underlying edge of hopelessness about him, and the constant hurt that used to linger in his eyes whenever their gazes meet is missing.
“Chill out, birdie,” Dabi hums. “Your wings are fine. I just gave you some quirk suppressants. You’ll be able to get up and fly again in a few hours.”
Dabi could have burned the hero’s wings again. It would have been easy with the unconscious man cradled in his arms, but… he didn’t want to.
He missed them. They make the hero look complete.
Hawks stops struggling against his bonds, blinking in surprise.
“Birdie?”
So his possible other self doesn’t call the hero that? Dabi isn’t quite sure what to make of that.
“Who the hell are you?”
Dabi raises an eyebrow as Hawks’ confusion fades into anger. He snaps his fingers, letting a blue flame dance over his hand.
“I’m Dabi.”
For a moment Hawks just stares, lips parting slightly in disbelief before he bursts out laughing.
“No, the fuck you’re not. Don’t you think I’d recognize my own fiancé?” he snorts. “What are you, a copycat?”
Dabi should probably be annoyed by how unfazed the other man is, but he’s too busy processing what Hawks just said.
So Hawks and him really are together in this world.
Well, he already suspected that much, but hearing the hero say it makes it feel more real somehow.
“Who’s Satoru?”
Hawks’ expression shifts from mocking to puzzled again.
“Uh… my fiancé?”
That answer takes Dabi aback.
“Isn’t your fiancé Todoroki Touya?”
Hawks tilts his head and leans back, stretching as far as his bonds allow.
“I guess,” he shrugs. “He doesn’t really go by that name.” He grimaces. “My head is killing me. Did you really have to drop a building on me? Eri’s going to worry again if I get another concussion.”
The hero doesn’t seem particularly worried about the situation—at least not since learning his wings will be fine. Sure, his eyes flick around the room, looking for a vantage point or a possible escape route, but overall he seems surprisingly unconcerned.
“Who’s Eri?” Dabi asks.
Hawks gives him another bewildered look.
“Do you live under a rock? Or did you recently move here from another planet? How do you not know who Satoru is? Or Eri? Do you even know who I am?”
He doesn’t sound like he’s bragging about his fame—more genuinely concerned.
“Please don’t tell me you’re another villain who doesn’t keep up with heroes at all. That kind of arrogance only fits one person in this world.”
Dabi clicks his tongue. Hawks’ words don’t really clear anything up for him. If anything, he gets the feeling the hero is making fun of him.
“You’re Takami Keigo, Pro Hero Hawks, and you should be a little more aware of the situation you’re in.”
Dabi leans forward, grabbing the hero’s chin and letting small flames lick at his skin. Hawks winces and hisses at the burn.
“I’m the one in control here.”
Hawks’ golden eyes widen just slightly, but he doesn’t cower—honestly, Dabi would be disappointed if he did.
Instead, he chuckles softly.
“Maybe back up a bit, dude? I’m happily engaged to the love of my life, and I don’t think you want to make him angry.”
Dabi scoffs, unimpressed, but lets go anyway.
“What? You pulling the scary dog privilege card?”
For some reason that only makes Hawks laugh harder.
“The scariest, actually,” he says, tilting his head. “Well… when he’s not running away from his responsibilities, that is."
He still seems amused by a joke Dabi can't grasp. He opens his mouth to respond-
When, from one moment to the next, a tall white-haired man suddenly blinks into existence between them. Dabi gasps. Even Kurogiri wasn’t that smooth with his teleportation.
The man’s eyes are fixed on a pamphlet he’s flipping through.
“Hey, Kei, quick question: do you think red velvet cake is too extravagant for a parent-teacher meeting? I don’t want the other parents to think we’re conceited or anything—especially with us already being who we are, you know? But Eri really likes it. Though she also really likes cheesecake brownies, and those feel a bit more down-to-earth—”
When Hawks interrupts him, his voice is disgustingly fond and his eyes mirror the same helpless devotion.
“I’m sure both will be fine, Satoru. And if they’re not, we’ll just charm them anyway… And, uh, could you maybe help me out here for a second?”
That’s when the other man—Satoru—finally lifts his head from the pamphlet and takes in his surroundings.
Seeing the man is like looking into a distorted mirror: familiar, and yet completely wrong. They share the same face, the same coloring, and still they couldn’t be more different.
Satoru is taller than Dabi by maybe an inch or so. He’s also a lot leaner than him, all length and not much else. His face is softer than Dabi’s, his features more delicate, his white hair fluffier.
And his skin…
Where Dabi’s skin is burned, scarred over and stitched back together again and again, Satoru’s is immaculate, perfect, as if untouched by life itself.
When Satoru turns to him, eyes meeting his over the rim of his sunglasses, Dabi can’t help but flinch back. Satoru’s eyes are nothing like his—wide and blue and swirling with what looks like the whole universe, framed by long white lashes as if that would somehow make them appear less otherworldly.
For the first time since staring down his own father, Dabi feels like prey in front of a predator.
Satoru tilts his head, studying him with open curiosity.
“Huh. You’re wrong. You’re not supposed to be here.”
Dabi huffs. He had already figured that out for himself, thank you very much. Satoru ignores him as he frees Hawks with a few quick motions, fingers ghosting over the light burns on his chin.
“Are you okay?”
Hawks immediately leans into the other man’s touch. “Uh-huh, I’m fine. Though I might have to sit out Monopoly night today.”
Satoru raises an eyebrow. “You’re only saying that because you’re a sore loser.”
“Yui and Makoto always single me out!” Hawks whines. “It’s unfair!”
Satoru chuckles, his eyes glinting. “Okay, but then you’ll have to explain to Eri why you’re not supporting her young capitalistic efforts on her way to world domination.”
Dabi feels… wrong. The situation is so intimate he wouldn’t be surprised if the two men had forgotten he was even there. It hurts. The warmth in Hawks’ eyes, the easy banter.
It’s not as if his Hawks and he never had moments of understanding between them, but those moments were always born from a shared loathing for the world. Not built on game nights and baking.
When sharp golden eyes turn away from Satoru and back to him, Dabi flinches again. This time not out of fear, but because of a sudden wave of nausea.
“So, who’s he?” Hawks asks Satoru.
When Satoru’s attention settles on Dabi once more, it doesn’t feel quite as overwhelming anymore. The infinite depth in his eyes still seems to see straight into Dabi’s soul, into his very core, but somehow it feels warmer than before. More understanding.
“Todoroki Touya,” Satoru answers.
Hawks frowns. “But…”
“He’s what Todoroki Touya would have been without Gojo Satoru.”
Dabi has officially lost the plot. Who the hell is Gojo Satoru?
He had thought Satoru might just be an alias—a way for the other Touya to distance himself from his past, from the parents who gave him that name. Then again, this Touya is so… untouched. He couldn’t possibly have had the same childhood as Dabi.
Across from him, Hawks seems to shatter, as if all the warmth and hope Dabi has seen in him so far suddenly drain away, leaving only pity behind. It’s somehow worse than the hatred he gets from his Hawks.
Because his Hawks at least knows he doesn’t deserve pity. His Hawks shares the same hatred for the world—born from different circumstances, maybe, but still the same.
“What the fuck are you staring at, birdie?” Dabi scoffs, lifting his chin as he tries to ooze as much disgust as possible.
“Birdie?” Satoru repeats with a gasp, eyes glinting. “Did you flirt with him, Hawks? You know it’s still infidelity even if it’s like… my evil other self from another dimension, right?”
The tension breaks when Hawks chuckles weakly. “I would never!” He gives Dabi a considering look before smirking. “Although, not gonna lie, two of you would be kind of hot.”
Dabi can’t do anything but stare while Satoru just hums in agreement.
“Huh. True that.”
Well, Dabi thinks, at least those two are just as crazy as he and his Hawks. Though maybe in a less fucked-up way, because they were able to help each other instead of destroying one another more with every decision, every touch.
“You know you can’t stay, right?” Satoru says, pulling Dabi out of his thoughts, sunglasses now pushed up into his hair. “This world is wrong for you… you’re already falling apart.”
Dabi isn’t surprised. The deep pain he woke up with hasn’t faded in the slightest and has only grown worse with time. He shrugs.
“I guess. But not much I can do about it, is there?”
Satoru tilts his head, worrying his lip for a moment. “I can send you back. Shouldn’t be that hard, just a bit of—”
He makes a vague hand gesture. Hawks nods as if that makes perfect sense.
Dabi isn’t sure he wants to go back. What’s really waiting for him there? Hatred and revenge?
Maybe dying here, where no one knows him, would be better.
“Okay,” he agrees easily.
Satoru nods, taking a step toward him and closing the distance between them.
“That’s probably going to feel really weird,” he says as he lays a hand on Dabi’s torso.
Dabi gasps. It feels as if something is pulling him apart while assembling him again at the same time—pain and relief all at once.
Dabi’s eyes search for Hawks over Satoru’s shoulder. So golden and steady — the immovable object his Hawks always tried to be.
“Why did you get him? What did you do to deserve him?” he rasps.
Why didn’t I?
Satoru’s expression stays frozen in concentration as he gives the slightest hint of a shrug.
“I ask myself that every day.” A faint smile tugs at his lips. “Probably because he has really bad taste in men.”
He gives Dabi a knowing look, and then there’s another pull, another snap, and everything goes dark.
Dabi feels as if he’s nowhere and everywhere at the same time before he drifts into unconsciousness.
//
It’s silent for a few moments after Dabi is gone, touched by Satoru in one moment and gone the next.
It almost reminds Hawks of cremation, even though he knows it isn’t the same. He coughs.
“So that was…”
He doesn’t actually know how to finish that sentence.
“Really depressing?” Satoru suggests.
Hawks hums.
“Yup.”
When Satoru turns around to face him, he has that ageless look on his face that makes him seem infinite and so, so young at the same time.
“Did he kill me?” Hawks asks cautiously. “The other me, I mean?”
Satoru blinks once, twice, before shaking his head vehemently.
“No, god, no. Otherwise I don’t think I could have let him…”
Leave? Live?
Hawks isn’t sure.
“Do you think we could have ever ended up like that?”
Their eyes meet, and the distance between them breaks—physically and emotionally—when Satoru steps forward and takes Hawks’ hands in his.
“No,” he says with complete certainty, as if it were an immutable fact. And maybe it is. “Do you?”
Hawks looks down at their joined hands, fingers warm and entwined. He shakes his head.
“No.”
//
“By the way, I can’t believe you got yourself kidnapped again,” Satoru teases as they walk out of the warehouse, hands still joined. “That’s what? The third time this month?”
Hawks scowls. “Don’t remind me.”
It’s really unfair. And it’s not even as if it’s ever for a reason! Mostly it just seems like Hawks happens to be there when the opportunity arises.
“Aw,” Gojo snickers, “don’t pout. You make a dashing damsel in distress!”
Hawks squints against the sun, considers being the bigger person and ignoring the teasing, before promptly deciding against it.
In one fluid motion, which Satoru definitely saw coming but lets him have, he trips his fiancé and catches him in his arms, dipping him slightly.
“I think it’s time to switch it up. You’re the pretty one. You should be the damsel for once.”
Satoru’s eyes sparkle, and there’s the faintest blush on his cheeks.
“Oh? Would you like that? Do you want to be my knight in shining armor?”
Hawks’ eyes wander over the face of the man in his arms, lingering on his shiny lips.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I want that.”
Satoru is still chuckling when their lips meet.
Hawks wonders if he knows he’s only half joking.