Chapter Text
In his dreams, the heat came first.
Not the pain, not the terror, but the all-consuming, inescapable heat of the flames.
Keigo still felt them scorching his body, burning his feathers one by one, stripping the skin of his back layer by layer until every nerve had been laid bare.
He hadn’t been able to move with Dabi keeping him down, the ghost of his foot still pressed against Keigo’s spine. Hadn’t been able to flee from the realisation that’d settled deep in his bones, the knowledge that nothing in his power would’ve been able to keep death at bay.
The heat came first; the agony was a damned close second.
‘Hawks. Hawks.’
Keigo sighed, opening one eye, then the other, the sheen of sweat left by his nightmares discarded as he pushed the memories aside. Fear didn’t fit his image, as he’d often been told, and speaking of the incident had, at best, been discouraged. Better for the public to forget that the number two hero had nearly been killed than linger on the jarring reality that he was by no means invincible.
As far as the Commission was concerned, he’d just gotten injured on a mission. Was just in recovery but would be back on patrol as soon as he was able. He should just get over it.
Keigo had absolutely no fucking idea how.
‘Ah, you’re awake.’ A woman he didn’t recognise stood beside his bed, her comment matter-of-factly, as if she hadn’t been yelling his name loud enough to wake the dead moments before. She wore a nondescript white lab coat, lacking a name or rank, a clipboard held firmly in her pale hands. She scribbled something on it after looking at the screens next to Keigo’s bed, the soft beeping of his heart monitor filling the silence.
Perhaps, in another life, this scene might’ve concerned him, but he was too desensitised to the ways of the Commission to care. He rarely knew his physicians by name, as the faces swapped out so often that he no longer bothered to commit them to memory. It was all brief contracts and nondisclosure agreements, ensuring no one knew too much of what their assets went through.
Keigo hadn’t looked at his medical file for a good while now, but he doubted it held much more than a bad case of ammonia and a few cuts and scrapes he’d received doing hero work. Too clean to be believable, especially given his line of work, but they’d said it was to ensure no potential weaknesses fell into the wrong hands.
He hadn’t argued that it was oddly convenient for their sake, considering that plenty of those injuries had not been caused by the hands of villains. Not by the common definition of one, anyway.
He suppressed a flinch and opened his mouth to break the silence, then realised he’d been advised to rest his throat as much as possible. Dabi—Touya—had done significant damage when burning him and, along with the smoke inhalation, had damn near fried his vocal cords. It’d been a pain to adhere to the medic’s advice, but he supposed it was best to listen for a change if he wished to recover fully.
Keigo glanced around until his eyes landed on the voice box he’d tossed onto the mattress and typed a quick message that was repeated by a robotic voice. ‘What time is it?’
The woman pointed at the clock above the door. ‘Nearly seven. You’ll be picked up in half an hour. I’m just noting down your current vitals for your records and will send them to the HPSC in a minute before I discharge you. They’ll take care of your next check-ups in-house to ensure Fierce Wings are recovering according to our estimates.’
Ah, yes. His wings.
For days, they’d been fussing over them, endless tests and experimental drugs from the best professionals, all to ensure his quirk would fully recover. He’d been lucky, everyone’d told him. It could’ve been much worse. And fuck, he was relieved, but any joy he felt at the prospect of flying again was darkened by his failure to do what he’d been ordered to.
Keigo couldn’t forget Madam President’s face when she’d scanned the charts a few days ago. How a fraction of weight had lifted from his chest when she’d nodded once and walked out of his room without another word—the best he could’ve hoped. She was pleased with his progress. He wasn’t a complete loss.
As long as his wings remained intact, he was still of use, despite his defeat at the raid and the loss of image he’d suffered by killing Twice. Difficult to sweep under the rug, but not impossible if it meant the HPSC remained in control of their weapon. The PR department would spin a story, focusing on the successes of other heroes, on the grand victory of the League’s capture, ensuring Keigo’s mistakes would be snowed under by praise for others.
They wouldn’t be happy about it, though.
Keigo swallowed, wincing as it strained his throat, and gingerly sat up in bed. In his direct line of sight was a mirror, a large thing that’d been the bane of his existence ever since he’d been placed in this room for observation. It showed him as he was in his current state: weak. Fragile. Too easy a target, and not at all befitting the title of number two hero.
He turned his face away from it, watching the woman as his fingers danced over the voice box. ‘What happens after I am discharged?’
She didn’t bother looking in his direction as she said, ‘You’ll be driven to the Commission’s headquarters, where a room has been prepared for you. A recovery plan has been put in place, with which you’ll start later today. You should be properly on your feet within a few days and back to full strength in a fortnight.’ What could’ve been a reassuring statement sounded more like a threat coming from her, the or else a silent addition.
Keigo merely nodded, typing, ‘And the League of Villains?’
‘What about them?’
‘What happened to them after the raid? Are they in Tartarus already?’ It’d been a week since the villa raid, but he’d been deprived of any social contact other than the doctors, his stay in the hospital one of solitude. There wasn’t even a TV in this room to keep him updated on the state of things, and he was fairly certain the HPSC was keeping information from him as part of his punishment.
He knew a kid named Deku from UA had managed to overpower Shigaraki, causing the battle to tilt in the heroes’ favour. He knew the rest of the League had been captured briefly after, utilising the quirk suppressers that’d recently gone to market. He knew Dabi had gone down facing his father and younger brother, though it’d been a close call.
He had no idea what happened after; everyone was tight-lipped and likely under strict orders to ice him out. Being as it was, Keigo was slowly losing his mind. Even leaving here today and facing the Commission’s anger was minor bliss compared to the tediousness of the previous days.
The woman lifted her gaze at last, contemplative, then shrugged. ‘They remain in secure holding. Izuku Midoriya is yet to regain consciousness, and to restore the public image of heroes and provide a united front, he must be present once the League’s public sentence is televised. A new symbol of peace—as opposed to the defamation of heroes caused by Endeavor and… Well.’ Her voice trailed off.
Point taken.
Keigo’s jaw clenched, but he nodded, placing the voice box back on the bed. As biting as her words had been, at least it was something. He chose not to focus on the tightening of his chest at the knowledge that Dabi had yet to enter Tartarus. Decided not to think of everything that could still go wrong before he was securely locked in one of the deep, underground cells, far enough out of Keigo’s sight that he might be able to breathe again.
They were in holding. Dabi would be put away soon enough. Keigo’s mind would settle, his sleep would improve, and any wrinkles left by his failure at the raid would be smoothed over. It’d be fine. Back to normal in no time—back to life in the Commission’s service. It was what he’d been trained to do. What he was made for.
Don’t you want to be a hero?
Keigo folded his arms over each other, ignoring the trembling of his hands.
The woman, clearly done with her notes, tucked the clipboard under her arm and pointed at a chair in the corner of the room. ‘Get dressed before the car arrives. You’ll also find a respiratory mask in lieu of your cannula. Remember that it’s best not to talk at all.’ Again, the undercurrent of a threat, Madam President’s words seeping through.
Tell anyone anything they’re not supposed to know, and you’ll regret it.
He didn’t say a word as the woman left his room.
Keigo fiddled with the respiratory mask, twisting the wires around his fingers while he tried to get lost in the pop songs blasting over the radio. The car, an unremarkable SUV, smelled like leather and antiseptic, and the windows were tinted, so no one could venture a guess as to who it was driving around.
For his safety. For their convenience. He didn’t know.
The person behind the wheel, a middle-aged man he’d occasionally seen at headquarters, had merely nodded at him when Keigo slipped out of the hospital through a back door. He’d not spoken since either, though his knuckles had turned white from how tight he gripped the wheel, which said more than words could.
Keigo stared at the road passing by outside, breathing deeply to slow the speeding of his heart. He should’ve never gone on that assignment, should’ve tried harder to convince the HPSC that it was an insane plan to infiltrate the League, but they wouldn’t listen. They’d claimed it was necessary to gather information about the Nomu’s, about Shigaraki’s plans and numbers, about the power structure within the PLF. The soldiers. The lieutenants. Necessary enough that they didn’t care if Keigo greyed his morals, so long as he ensured the truth never saw the light of day.
He’d fucked up on that part—the only one that counted, really.
‘There’s footage,’ Madam President had stated during that single time she’d come to visit him. She’d appeared calm, standing straight-backed in front of his hospital bed. Keigo knew she’d been anything but. ‘Your fight with the villains Twice and Dabi has made it onto the internet. We’ll discuss it once you’re discharged.’
Yeah, they were going to be furious.
‘How have things been at the Commission?’ he typed at the driver, spinning the voice box between his thumb and index finger—a harmless enough question.
The driver’s shoulders tensed, and without taking his eyes off the road, he said, ‘We’ll arrive at the headquarters soon, Hawks. You’ll learn everything you need to know there.’
It took effort not to scoff. ‘How bad is it? Scale from one to ten?’
Briefly, their eyes met in the rearview mirror. Concern flickered in the man’s, his lips thinning before he averted his gaze again. Again, no words were needed, and Keigo fought the urge to jump out of the car and get away from the scolding inching closer, a childish instinct he should’ve suppressed by now.
He was by no means afraid of confrontation—hell, he likely opened his mouth more often than was wise, though one could argue it was part of his charm and persona. The brash, cocky winged hero, swaying public opinion with witty comments as sharp and fast as his feathers.
But this was different. This was… personal.
The HPSC had every means to ruin his life, as they were the ones who gave it to him.
When Keigo was younger, he’d learned soon enough that failure was a word to be erased from his vocabulary. When a skill was explained to him, he was expected to master it as soon as possible. Physics, computer science, toxicology, espionage, and drill after drill of quirk practice; no money or effort was spared to ensure he became the perfect agent.
Perhaps for the first year he spent at the Commission, he’d been granted a fraction of lenience due to his age, but as soon as he’d turned seven, his flaws were smoothed over with a hard hand, his refusal to participate in certain things snuffed out—no matter the means.
They couldn’t waste his potential, they’d said.
He’d learn to obey, they’d said.
He shouldn’t be afraid; it didn’t fit the image of the hero he was to become.
Keigo had thought that being recruited by the HPSC would mean he’d finally be free of the life of oppression he’d lived under the strict rule of his father, but all it had done was expand the size of his cage. And once he’d realised that, once he’d felt the boundaries closing in around him, locking him solidly in place, there’d been no escape anymore. This was the life he’d been given; all he could do was make the best of it.
Besides, if even someone with wings couldn’t find freedom, it had to be an illusion.
The car turned into the driveway of the HPSC headquarters, a rural building a few miles outside of Musutafu. He’d grown, since, but Keigo suddenly felt as small as the first time he’d laid eyes on it all those years ago.
Once they entered the underground garage, the driver turned off the engine and got out to open the door. ‘Madam President and the board are waiting for you in the meeting room on the ground floor. She has been made aware of your arrival and expects you within five minutes.’ Then, as Keigo stepped past him, he added a whispered, ‘Good luck.’
Reassuring indeed.
Keigo stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingers curling around the voice box like it could be of any help in the meeting to come. The metal had warmed in the palm of his hand, and he absently ran his thumb over the number pad when he walked up the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
Best to get this over with.