week 6, post trial

[robitussin]

[Their numbers keep falling. Three people have died already this week, with two more on the way tomorrow. With the outburst the townspeople gave them once the results came through... If anyone were feeling downhearted, it's to be expected at this point. Things continuing at their current pace is a frightening thought, after all. Like last week, the offer to spend time together or meet in a central location doesn't come.

Hawks and Dabi wait for the morning in their cells, but the rest of the tourists are free to wander about the town as they please; free to rest, to talk with each other, and to try to gather strength wherever they can. So, where does the evening find you, Cartesio?]

Comments

[amburere]

[ Slow on the bird jokes one time cause he's too busy with his head in the clouds about said bird, and this is what Dabi gets? The sudden contact almost surprises him as much as the wall being gone. ]

How 'bout birdie outta of the cage and into the frying pan instead? [ It's telling that there's no heat to go along with his snark, and that he forces Hawk's face upward with his hand so he can leer at him properly . That tension leaving his body is entirely coincidental, too. ]

[icariot]

[More reason for Dabi not to miss a bird joke opportunity.

Dabi's joke gets a huff of a laugh, but Hawks' heart isn't really in it. He meets Dabi's gaze, one side of his mouth ticking up, but to someone that knows him so well, it's rather obviously not his usual put together look. His hands slide down from their places, but snag and stay hooked in Dabi's jacket pockets.]

That's probably a more accurate description, yeah.

[amburere]

[ Dabi honestly wants to roll his eyes. That's an even worse reply than he gave just moments ago, and he's not going to stand for it. A heavy sigh later finds him lifting Hawks up—no explanation but straddling both the lighter man's legs around his waist and supporting him isn't an uncommon position—and moving them over to the cot. The space is tight, so he rolls Hawks on top of him (somehow they always end up like this), letting his arms stay wrapped around him when he's done. A regular hug is too much, but essentially a laying down one is more than okay—mutually wanted, actually. ]

Heard a pretty birdie say they liked this better.

[icariot]

[Hawks gives a short strangled sound at the sudden lift, his feathers puffing out in surprise, but instinct has him automatically wrapping around Dabi to help support himself. Relocating doesn't take long, and he soon finds himself laying across Dabi. The position is as familiar at this point as it is comforting, and he can feel any remaining tension drain out of his body. What's left of his wings drape to the side, just resting over the villains hands, while his arms lay across Dabi's chest for Hawks to rest his chin on.

Part of him was still reeling from his 'conversation' with Natalie earlier. It's rather plain that Dabi would have heard too, and either that or Hawks' state of distraction is affecting him too. Perhaps both, he muses as he settles further into the embrace and focuses on the breathing beneath him, the hands on his sides, the gentle tug of staples.]

You heard right, it's pretty bird's favorite place to be.

[Even a jailhouse cot pushing it to be long enough for Dabi, let alone big enough for two adults, is a decent prospect if they can lay here together one last time.]

[amburere]

[ The conversation he overhead just a few hours ago weighs heavy in his mind, coloring his actions. Playing with bright red feathers isn't new, but effectively preening them is. There's too many other things he's trying to resist right now to fight this impulse, and it gives his hands something to do. Something that doesn't involve fire, that is.

He can let the flames in his chest smoulder for a little while, until the execution. The last thing Dabi wants to do is emulate his father in the final hours of his life—as angry as he was, he wasn't about to take it on just anyone. Particulary the person who somehow understood him the most. ]

What a lucky bird. Even if they have awful taste. 

[icariot]

[Telekinetic feathers mean actual preening isn't strictly necessary, it's usually just habit to keep stock of which are getting weaker, but that doesn't change that the rhythmic brushing and vibrations aren't appreciated and soothing. His feathers have been getting a bit ragged since he can't regrow them here.

He frees one arm from his weight to brush along the side of Dabi's head, stopping when he can toy with Dabi's earring.]

...Maybe it seems like awful taste, but you know, sometimes this feels like the first real choice I've had.

[Birdie's first real rebellion and he's managed to jump straight into the worst of things. No wonder he's always been kept on a short leash.

...He still can't say he regrets it.]

[amburere]

[ It'll go unsaid, but Dabi kinda likes that worn look better in some way. Most of the time, Hawks looked immaculate, all too put together and perfect. For someone like him who spent his life in the grime and shadows, the radiance could be searing. But like this? They blend together perfectly, pulling the other to polar ends.

Dabi shivers at the touch, a tired sigh escaping his lips. Despite himself, his lips turn upward into what may be an earnest smile. ]

Ha, sounds familiar. My first go at freedom went something like this.

[icariot]

[There’s a story there— one Hawks is sure isn’t known by anyone. Dabi is too secretive, too distrusting of anyone. Even, especially, his villainous allies. Too easy to use any kind of history as blackmail, Hawks figures. He can almost feel a disbelief that he’s the one being trusted with this out of all others but then didn’t Hawks come down from his gilded branch, voluntarily choosing to join Dabi on the ground, to trust that the villain would watch his back if he watched his? Maybe it’s no wonder, when Hawks considers how much they’ve relied on each other since they’ve been here.

Hawks’ eyes remain focused on Dabi’s as he thought. The rest of him stilled for barely a moment before continuing its motions: fingers running over earrings, wings rocking on every expansion of his chest. ]

Really? You’ve always given off a ‘wild and free’ vibe to me.

[amburere]

In this life, yeah. [ The words run over his tongue, unbidden, but Dabi has no strength left to stop them even if he wanted. The jailhouse wall wasn't the only barrier that had crumbled tonight.

Another sigh as he tries to figure out what exactly to say and how to even start. In the end he decides to wing it (no pun intended as he resumes the rhythmic preening). ]

Villains don't get a nice cozy school and curriculum, y'know. Not that hero courses aren't stuffed full of bullshit either. [ He shifts on the cot, and let's his hands fall to the side as the staples start to buckle from the heat trapped beneath his skin. ]

Got tired of the expectations, got tired of havin' my life dictated for me, got tired of being the only one who gave a shit, got tired of pretending every twelve year old knew how to stitch a cut in the dark. Pick one. Or maybe I just got tired of all the bullshit that he put me through for fucking daring to exist.

So I ended it. That life and name were useless—the old man wasn't wrong about that. Touya was doomed for failure from birth. Guess I was too, but least I got to call all the shots. Dabi? I'm a disaster of my own making.

[icariot]

[Hawks stays quiet once Dabi starts to talk. First, by biting his tongue against any remark he could make about schooling. If he interrupted, Dabi would probably clam up and never bring it up again. So he waits and watches the emotions in Dabi’s face and feels the heat building where their bodies touched.

...Oh.

Any will to interrupt vanishes then, along with the moisture in his mouth. Twelve year olds shouldn't know how to stitch a wound, let alone in the dark. And parents-- parents aren't all that cracked up in his experience, but 'failure from birth'?

Hawks takes another moment to let Dabi finish speaking and to center himself. His hand leaves from its spot at Dabi’s ear to slowly card through dark hair, the other following. His wings lifted, letting some heat dissipate, before firmly settling between Dabi’s arms and sides. The best comfort he could offer without outright trapping Dabi.]

Touya, huh? I can see how it fits. [Staying on a straight path, burning the whole way through—it’s an image that fits with Dabi’s goal orientation easily.] I can’t agree that you’re a failure, though. A little too competent for that, I’m afraid.

[It had made his job a bit too hard at times, but Dabi should already know that.

An idle whisper in the back of his head made Hawks wonder though. If Dabi was a monster of his own making, did that mean Hawks was a monster from someone else’s making?]

[amburere]

[ Funnily enough, the physical comfort he's keen to allow despite how heavy it is. The verbal however, is a different story. Just hearing his old name makes him tense (even with the primer of saying it first), and the assurance that follows sends his emotions into a roil. Maybe it was coming all along, given everything that happened tonight.

His eyes flash and for a brief second, his entire body is one giant flashfire. He can't do this, he doesn't want to do this—this was a mistake, just another failure to add to the pile. The echo of his mother's voice rings clear in his mind: "You're not a failure. Oh my precious Touya, you've done nothing wrong. " But what a failure he was, for why else would her assurances have grown less and less frequent until they stopped entirely? Sitting up Dabi grips the sheet, feathers, his own mottled skin, whatever he can to anchor himself to the present. After a moment he grinds out a shaky word. ]

Don't. [ Pity was for the weak. Touya was weak but Dabi wasn't. Dabi couldn't be. A beat followed by words grounded in anger that doesn't manage to last. ]

None of that shit'll ever fit me again, I made sure of it. Had to get rid of everything he gave me, 'specially the scars.

[icariot]

[The flash of heat was all the warning Hawks got before nearly being dumped off of his favorite perch. Sweat beads along his neckline, and it takes all of his control not accidentally shred either of them in alarm. Unlike any other times he’s been startled—playfully or otherwise—while in Cartesio, this time he’s deathly silent. He has half a mind to believe Dabi can feel and hear how fast his heart is jackrabbiting, and it’s still too loud while the rest of him winds down in conjunction with Dabi.

He hadn’t even noticed his own arms had returned to his sides in the commotion until he has to stop them from rising to ghost over Dabi’s staple-lined neck. He’s already been set off once, even if it seems to have drained from him already. ]

A new you. A you of your own making.

[The words are soft, but not hesitant. He’s already said he’s made himself. Made himself and was proud of that. It was Hawks’ mistake to claim a name had any impact on him now, with no actual knowledge of that boy, and it would be a mistake to act hesitant now. It’s never been in his vocabulary before.]

[amburere]

Yeah, surgical staples and all. [ His voices pitches higher, that special lilt he has when he's being derisive towards himself. He knows that Hawks means this less literally, but really it fits all the same. A new him held together by scars, surgical staples, and a fire that not even years of abuse could stamp out.

Everything is kinda funny now. How his mood is bouncing all over the place, that he has a hero, a pro hero on his chest, that he's spending his last hours alive not burning everything he can touch but laying obediently on his back. His rib cage rises, the beginning of a laugh that stretches his staples tight and then— ]

Don't forget it, Hawks. But even if you did— [ Nine times out of ten, there's no matching the number two's speed. But one jackrabbit heartbeat later, a scarred hand is wrapped around an ivory throat. It's all very instinctual in a twisted way, for as much as he isn't thinking about the way Hawks is acting, he can't ignore that frenzied heartbeat. ]

I won't let you, and I won't let him either. It's been kinda rough, y'know? Waiting all this damn time for him to get his shit together, least enough for the cameras. I could have destroyed him before, but now that he's risen as far as he has...least he'll do one thing better than All Might!

Ah, I never said thanks did I? But we both weren't really in a giving mood then and it cost me Hood. So I'm sayin it now, 'kay? Thanks for giving my old man a PR opportunity even he couldn't fuck up. [ Pressing their lips together his grip tightens and then he lets go. And then he laughs and laughs and laughs. ]

[icariot]

[His throat, the threat, they seem almost business as usual. The laughing and mood swings and easy to categorize as stress responses a distant clinical part of his brain whispers.

It’s the All Might reference that throws Hawks that last iota off balance. One too many primaries lost to keep himself stable. He swallows against the pressure on his throat, eyes glassy but focused, pupils narrowed in on Dabi’s face.

His “old man.” The ages fit, the quirks fit (no input from the mother’s? Different mothers?), the eyes he loves looking at— but no. Stop. Another swallow harder than the first, and Hawks considers every other part of the statement. Implications and omissions are just as important as outright statements.


A good hero doesn’t make a good person.


The kiss is returned on reflex, and Hawks morbidly wonders if the iron tang is from his throat or Dabi’s.]

[amburere]

[ Eventually he stops, catches his breath, and lets the silence of the jailhouse wash over them. Actual water would be better, an ocean would be ideal, but even that might just get boiled away by his fire. That was a mistake he knows, but all of it really is so funny, the first soul he tells his identity to is a pro hero and one who's destined for death in a few hours, just like he is. ]

That all it takes to shut you up? Shit, could've saved myself a lot of headaches if I'd have known. [ If only he liked silence, and if only the glint in his eyes wasn't the sharpest its ever been. ]

[icariot]

[The rolling heat has Hawks feel like he's baking on a cement roof, one part of him wants to go boneless and soak it in, the other has his wings start fluttering the barest bit to disperse the air.

He licks his lips before speaking, not really sure if he's managed to process even half of this properly, but diving in full tilt has always been (for better or worse) his modus operandi.]

...As if, Hotshot. I've been told my very presence is too loud. [His voice still comes out creakier than he would have liked. He winces internally, before swallowing again and making his new attempt in better form.] My parents used to say so, anyway. Dunno if they ever said it after the Commission took me in, or if they just enjoyed being able to do whatever again. I never confirmed it or anything, but I always figured that they were checked in on. Keep their names out of records, keep my name cleaner if it ever came out. Maybe spin me a sad but not too tragic backstory to inspire more kids into heroes if necessary.

[His words choice seems lackadaisical--careless and lazy and inconsequential. It's been his life for so long, part of him finds it normal to have been left alone as he had. It's not like he really wanted for anything after that either. If it takes actual effort to reel back the weight of those words, to make them insignificant and flimsy, no one has to know. He's had enough practice that he can almost convince himself they mean nothing to him too.

Still, his voice creaks.]

[amburere]

[ In some way the creaks in the usual timbre are music to his ears. He's not a good enough person, not even remotely, to feel worry or concern at this point (particularly given his flashfire mood), but they do make him feel something. They remind him of something.

He's not alone. Misery loves company and fire seeks kindling.

There will be no words of comfort given, but there is a shifting of his legs to wrap arounds Hawks own, even with his current positioning affording little movement. It means that they're more hopelessly tangled that they've ever been, and that's saying something. ]

I feel 'nother headline being written. "Two boys thrust into tragedy and abandoned at a young age, one destined to be a Hero and the other a Villain, and destined to fall in love!?" [ He can't say that word seriously, and he snickers, his ribcage rattling its own discordant melody. ]

And what shall I call my prince, my hero, to whom my arrow has pierced his heart?

[ As much as he hates his own name, like everything else he's found a use for it, satirical romantic soliloquies and all. ]