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Chapter Text

A monstrous shriek, part caw and part hiss, echoed through the slopes. Half a day’s walk from Belhaven, a lone wyvern was locked in vicious combat with a rather peculiar man. Fighting for her life, the wyvern cried shrilly as she swooped over the man, trying to catch him in her razor-sharp talons. Powerful currents of air issuing from the wyvern’s crimson wings would have brought an average man to his knees. Dabi wasn’t an average man. In truth, he was far from ordinary. With ease, he dodged her airborne attacks, rolling and sliding across the torn earth.

Dancing under the draconid was without challenge, but Dabi couldn’t afford to spend his afternoon waltzing with the wyvern. On the horizon, he could see the sun beginning her descent from her midday throne. To get to Belhaven by nightfall, he needed to end this quick.

Night was of no threat to the man. The hurry in Dabi’s step was driven by his strict schedule. He’d had marked Belhaven as a mere stop along his path, a checkpoint in his journey. He needed supplies, and the promise of a warm bed for the night was acutely appealing. Dabi couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept on anything other than his worn, moth-eaten bedroll.

Engaging with the draconid had been an extemporaneous decision. While Dabi was a specialized monster hunter, more commonly referred to as a witcher, he hadn’t been contracted for this beast. Rather, he planned to hawk the head in Belhaven after he’d caught wind of her presence in the area.

In his experience, it wasn’t particularly challenging to squeeze a few coins out of local farmers or presiding troops. Preemptively slaying threats to people and their land benefited all involved parties, and most folks preferred to get the witcher out of their sights as soon as feasibly possible.

Money was the quickest way to buy a witcher’s cooperation. On Nilfgaardian soil, that meant florens and potentially a lot of them depending on whether imperial troops took residence in the area. Dabi doubted this though. Deep into the foothills of the slopes, a strong anti-Nilfgaardian resistance, so-called the Free Slopes, was growing, sprouting from tarnished soil and reborn from the ash of war. Nilfgaardian troops in the immediate area would be a sign of trouble.

Unwilling to become the witcher’s trophy, the wyvern had grown tired of playing. With feral intent in her eyes, she brought herself to the ground, landing before Dabi. She cawed a shrill warning, her powerful beak raised to the heavens.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” the witcher purred, “You know how it is. We’re fated enemies.” Expertly, he flicked the silver blade in his hand, flashing blinding light from the sun into her eyes. The wyvern hissed angrily, shaking her head and beating her wings. “I was made for this,” he mused. “I guess that makes you the unlucky one.”

Dabi crouched low and deftly positioned himself to powerfully slash her legs with his silver sword. The blade buried itself deeply in her ankle, nearly severing the bones supporting her. She shrieked and retaliated, using the taloned tips of her wings in an attempt to claw the witcher. Muscle memory pulled Dabi safely out of her reach. It wouldn’t be that easy to land a blow on the witcher.

“We aren’t so different though. Neither of us had a say in the matter,” he smiled sadly, “And neither of us can escape this path. It’s fated.” Perhaps frenzied by the sound of the man’s voice, the winged lizard reared to take to the air.

Crudely, Dabi drew a spell sign in the air, allowing sparks to fly from his fingertips. Flames burst from his free hand, using the wyvern’s feather as kindling for his deadly fire and preventing her from taking to the sky. Frantically, the draconid writhed and flailed in an attempt to smother the flames. Her wings only fanned them to greater proportions, and her leathery hide began to smolder and smoke. Pained cries issued from her cruel beak.

Despite the distraction, she hadn’t forgotten the witcher lithely moving underfoot. With what should have been a devastating force, the beast swung her tail around finally managing to find purchase on Dabi. The force nearly brought him to the ground as it knocked the air out of his lungs. Thanks to his extensive training, he was able to catch himself and turned the momentum into an attack of his own. His blade met a juncture between body and wing, cleaning cutting into her leathery hide. Blood sprayed from the draconid as her wing was cleaved from her body, falling crumpled to the earth.

Dabi drew another spell sign in the air, knocking the wyvern off of her feet with a strong blast. She hissed and her tail snaked around defensively, burying its venomous barb in the witcher’s chest. Dabi cursed his foolishness; wyvern venom could be deadly, especially when injected so close to the heart. His muscles spasmed as the searing venom chased through his blood.

Cursing and stumbling, his hand flew to a small bag on his belt. He withdrew a small vial and pulled the cork off with his teeth, spitting it aside. Knocking back his head, he downed a thick golden substance, tucking the empty vial back in his bag. Almost immediately, Dabi could feel the effects of the potion cleansing his blood. His muscles uncoiled from their grievous spasms.

Normally, he would have taken the golden oriole potion, granting himself immunity to venoms and poisons, before engaging with potential threats. However, he had not taken his usual precautions as he’d flown into the impromptu hunt with cocky haste. Luckily, he kept a few such potions at the ready on his person for times like this.

Withdrawing her tail from the wounded man, the wyvern poised to strike again. This time, Dabi evaded the blow and, with a swing of his own, severed the deadly tail from her now mangled body. It fell in a spray of blood and feathers to land beside her ruined wing.

Sensing her time, the draconid’s temperament grew frantic. Dabi’s last spell sign had put out most of the flames, but her body had been badly burned in the meantime. Tailless with a broken leg and one wing, the smoldering wyvern cried her defeat.

“Let me end it,” Dabi whispered, approaching cautiously. Grimly, he painted a mind-influencing spell sign in the air. In her weakened state, the magic easily took hold of her. Compliantly, the wyvern fell in on herself, crumpling to the ground. Calmly, she curled her remaining wing around her body and lay her horned head gently on the ground with a sad chirp. “Sorry, friend. Fate has been cruel to each of us.” Dabi didn’t waste time. She’d suffered enough.

After a steadying breath, the witcher swung his silver sword high before bringing it down sharply into the earth, severing her bloodied head from her ravaged body. Beneath his feet, blood pooled as it spilled from her twitching body. He’d have preferred to pierce her heart, ending it less brutally, but he hadn’t had a safe opening. With a sigh, Dabi wiped the blood from his blade on his pants and pushed hair matted with sweat from his forehead.

Whistling, Dabi signaled to his horse. The witcher had left his steed, a beautiful cremello mare named Himiko, just out of sight of the path he’d been traveling along before picking up traces of the wyvern. He had collected the horse in lieu of payment for a contract several years prior. At the time, she had seemed like fair compensation, that is, until he discovered she was far from docile. There was something not quite right about her, but he grew fond of the troublemaker over time. Dabi and Himiko had been through thick and thin; they’d seen the best of days and the worst of days together. He would never speak it aloud but if the occasion arose, he would slaughter anyone fool enough to hurt her without hesitation.

Happily, the horse knocked her head against the witcher’s chest, blissfully unaware that the action caused him excruciating pain as her muzzle pressed into the open wound left from the wyvern’s barbed attack.

“Fuck off, Freak,” Dabi tried to put force into his words as he swatted her head away, but he smiled and reached up to rub her neck fondly. She sniffed his face, smearing his cheek with his own blood. Himiko should have looked beautiful with her white caramel coloring, but the blood matted on her muzzle made her look hellish as if she’d been feasting on the dead. Dabi didn’t mind. She was his hellion.

Reaching into one of several worn leather saddlebags, the witcher pulled out a crude metal hook. Pacing back over to the slain draconid, he hefted the beast’s head in one hand and firmly spiked it on the hook. Expertly, he bound a thick piece of rope around the head, clasping the deadly beak shut and securing it tightly.

“Got a present for you, Princess,” Dabi mused darkly, fastening the trophy to the horse’s saddle. Himiko craned to look at the wyvern head now strapped to her flank. Her ears perked for a moment, but she quickly lost interest. This was far from the first trophy she’d been saddled with and it would be far from the last.

Dabi checked the sun and swore. They needed to get moving with haste, or they would reach Belhaven well after dark. With a last surveying look over the bloodied clearing, the witcher swung himself up onto his steed. He would have to tend to his wound later; there simply wasn’t time.

Feeling around in his belt bag, the witcher pulled out another vial, this one a regenerative solution - part Dwarven spirit, part extract of celandine, and part something that no ordinary man would dream of consuming even on a drunken dare. Dabi knocked back the foul concoction with practiced resolve. Immediately, he felt a warm rush under his skin as his mutated cells began to repair his damaged body.

“Let’s go, Hime,” the man sighed. “There’s nothing left for us here.” Gently, he tapped her sides with his bloodstained heals. She stomped a foot as if to dispute the matter, casting back a mischievous look.

Dabi glared at the horse and raised his fingers pointedly, threatening to persuade her with magic. Himiko snorted and took off along the path. The witcher rolled his eyes. He loved her but hell if she wasn’t more stubborn than an impudent child.

Deep in the Armell Mountains, Dabi had business to attend to. He needed to get through the slopes without further delay. Absentmindedly, he reached up to touch the silver bear’s head medallion resting on his chest. Running a thumb over the grooved surface, he sighed heavily.

From the clouds above, the sun watched over the witcher as she continued her descent from the heavens. He didn’t need her protection, but her warmth felt nice on his heavily scarred skin. Inhaling deeply, the witcher closed his eyes.

For a moment, he imagined what it might be like to have been on a different path - to live a life clean of bloodshed, absent of routine pain and violence, free of the fated dogma that bound him the witcher’s path. To Dabi, it was an impossible fairytale, a fantasy that kissed him warmly but left him cold and empty - a reality that could have been possible for him had it not been robbed from him on a fated night years ago. The witcher opened his eyes. That’s enough, Dabi. You’re starting to think like him again. Let it go.

Chapter Text

Mist swept gently over the slopes as lingering rays of sunlight slowly made their retreat from the foothills surrounding Belhaven. Night was falling. The dirt paths in the small city were growing vacant save for the occasional stray cat, the odd sleeping dog, and groups of men making their way to the local tavern.

Heads turned to follow Dabi as he rode by. He was used to the starring. Typically, he ignored it outright, unless he was bored. Witchers were never a welcome sight to the common folk. Rumors about the bloodthirsty mutant men circulated viciously and spread like a disease. If the stories were true, it was best not to interact with the monster hunters, best not to look at them funny, and best to hold your tongue lest a witcher cut it out just because he can. Despite knowing better, people did stare and they did talk.

The stories were true - some of them. Rumors had a tendency to sprout from grains of truth, but they had a way of growing wild and unruly. Distorted by exaggerated and dramatic retellings, the tales of witcher exploits often left folks believing lies over truths. To Dabi’s annoyance, there were more than the usual rumors when it came to him, and his shocking appearance heavily clued the casual observer in as to his identity. For better or worse, he’d made a name for himself.

Whispers. It was white noise to Dabi. He’d grown accustomed to tuning out the mindless babbling of humans. With his enhanced hearing, he could easily pick up on everything being said about him. The voices in his ear were tiresome and rarely well-intentioned. It was better to ignore them than to pay them any mind.

Pulling Himiko to a stop in front of the Bleeding Bear Inn, Dabi slid from the horse’s back whispering, “Stay here, Hime.” Without care, the cremello mare wandered off, finding a patch of untrodden grass to graze from. The witcher rolled his eyes at the familiarity of the sight. He knew she wouldn’t go anywhere. She didn’t listen, but she’d never run off. He’d tried to abandon her in the past only to find the freak hot on his tail. If she wanted to wander around Belhaven while he attended to business, he couldn’t be bothered to intervene.

Men milling around the entrance of the Bleeding Bear eyed Dabi fearfully. Good. The witcher preferred fearful men over fearless fools, especially when he wasn’t in the mood to bloody his hands again before the day was out.

With purpose, the witcher made his way inside. In truth, the establishment was more of a tavern than an inn. Aged tapestries hung on the walls, more for insulation than decoration. Bear motifs littered the walls, and dried herbs hung from low rafters. A thick alcoholic odor hung in the air. In a corner, men sat puffing clouds of smoke from their pipes and gambling away their florens in card games. At the bar, a young woman with long golden hair scrubbed the counter vigorously, steadfastly ignoring a pair of men attempting to make conversation with her.

As Dabi made his way to the counter, he could feel the tavern patrons eyeing him watchfully. A few young men drinking by the door tensed, hands falling to their weapons preemptively. A woman sweeping yelped and scurried away as the witcher crossed her immediate path. Others gawked in a mixture of worry, fascination, and vague confusion. Dabi knew they were fitting the puzzle pieces together, knew that sooner or later they’d remember why his distinctive features were familiar to them. Sooner or later, they’d remember which stories had been told about him.

Not one for pleasantries, Dabi saddled up to the bar and began speaking to the blonde who had until this moment been ignorant to his presence. “What do you have on offer?” His voice was gruff from disuse and the women startled at the sound. Looking up, she gasped, unable to hide her initial horror as her eyes took in his the burns on his face and neck, the scars haphazardly patterned on his hands, and bloodstained garb he’d yet to clean. Her eyes flicked quickly over the tiny pieces of metal embedded in his skin, suturing the painfully deep grooves, and paled before looking up to meet his icy gaze.

“We-” her voice faltered, “We’ve got beer mostly, some Dwarven spirits, and a bottle or two of Rumi’s homemade pepper vodka.” Her knuckles were white as they gripped the bar, and Dabi could see a slight tremor in her arms.

“Got any rooms?” He asked, casting a glare at the men who had previously been eyeing the blonde. Their hands rested on the swords at their belts, and they were whispering amongst themselves plotting how best they could take the witcher if he laid a hand on the woman who he gathered was called Yu.

A timid nod was all the innkeeper could muster. “Give me a room and Rumi’s vodka then.” It wasn’t a request, but that didn’t matter. Yu was too frightened to argue. She reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle, passing it over to the witcher. In return, he tossed her a few florens that she quickly pocketed before nervously smoothing out her frock.

“This way please, Sir.” Dabi hated how scared she sounded, but there was nothing he could do to reassure her that he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. Anything he said to her would sound like a threat or a trap, so he stayed silent as he followed her to his room.

After Yu left him, the witcher shrugged out of his jerkin and peeled his blood-soaked tunic off of his body. Most of the blood had dried, adhering the shirt to his open wound. Dabi winced as the fabric pulled painfully away from his skin, reopening the sore much to his annoyance.

Discarding the ruined tunic on the floor, the witcher found a small basin and a pitcher of water resting atop a dresser pushed under the sill of the room’s window. Scrubbing his hands of dirt and wyvern blood, Dabi felt familiar fatigue settling into his bones. Just get this done, and then you can rest. Focus, Dabi. He couldn’t afford to rest yet, but he could meditate and restore some strength to his aching muscles. However, he would need to attend to his injuries first.

Uncorking the vodka, Dabi took a swig straight from the bottle. As expected, it burned his throat, and he groaned internally. This is gonna be a real bitch. He sighed, gritting his teeth in preparation for what he was about to do. Pepper vodka, huh? My fucking luck.

Without further hesitation, he began to pour the contents of the bottle over his wound. This has got to be one of the worst things I have ever willing done to myself. Dabi tasted blood in his mouth as he bit the inside of his cheek. He needed to be more careful. A metal staple had worked itself loose from his cheek, and he spit it out with frustration. Goddammit. I don’t have time for this shit. Irritated, Dabi used his forearm to wipe blood from his jaw as it leaked from the split skin.

Dumping the filthy basin water out of his window, Dabi poured what was left of the vodka into the crude bowl. He rummaged through his belt bag and produced a small cloth that he dipped into the fiery liquid. Carefully, he dabbed at his wound, cleaning it of debris. He was pleased to find healthy pink skin under the crusted blood; the potion he’d taken earlier had been hard at work, stimulating his mutated cells into rapid regeneration. Satisfied with his findings, Dabi smeared a thick herbal paste over the wound. After the burn of the vodka, the paste was considerably soothing.

Ignoring the bed, Dabi made himself comfortable on the floor, sitting with his hands folded in his lap. Inhaling deeply, the witcher cleared his mind and slipped into a comfortable meditative state.

When his eyes fluttered open an hour later, the man felt reinvigorated, ready to deal with his business. He needed to find out who he could press into paying for the wyvern, and he wanted to find out what rumors were fresh in the area. He wasn’t one for politics, but he needed to know where things lay in the foothills of the Free Slopes. It would be invaluable information necessary to his journey deeper into the Armell Mountains.

In the last hour, the Bleeding Bear had gown rather lively as the sun had finally disappeared giving way to the moon now illuminating the city streets. After dressing his wound and pulling his ruined shirt back on along with his remaining gear, Dabi made his way back to the bar in search of the blonde woman.

When he didn’t find her behind the counter, he surveyed the room. Several new groups of men had gathered, and a handful of women were gossiping by the fire. Unlike before, people did not immediately register his presence. He moved like a cat, silent and aloof. Patrons who meet his eyes quickly turned away, pretending they hadn’t seen him.

Begrudgingly, Dabi approached the two men who had previously been fawning over Yu. “Hey,” the witcher called bluntly. The men, one short and one taller, eyed him suspiciously. “Where’s the blonde?” He gestured towards the counter.

“Ha! As if we’d tell you , you filthy dog,” crowed the shorter man in a foolish fit of bravado. His companion elbowed him in the side, but the man didn’t heed the warning. “You know, I think I’ve heard of you before. What is it they call you?” The taller man was now gripping the shorter man by the back of his collar, knuckles white as he attempted to interrupt his friend.

“Dammit, Denki,” the man coughed, choked by his own garb. “Get your hands off me.”

“Stop it,” the taller hissed. “Are you suicidal?” He shot a nervous glance between his colleague and Dabi who was now steadily approaching, a dangerous fire dancing in his eyes.

“Cinder?” The fool continued, “Or was it Cremator?” Dabi’s hand instinctually reached back to grab his steel sword, but he stopped himself, clenching his fist and bringing it down slowly to his side. “Right, that’s it,” the stout man laughed an ugly high pitched cackle. “You’re the Claywich Cremator.”

By now, most of the patrons in the tavern had dropped their voices low, all attempting to eavesdrop on the scene unfolding by the bar. Hushed whispers swelled in the air around the witcher.

“Minoru, shut up. You’re going to get us killed.” Wringing his hands nervously, the shaken man searched for an exit, but it was too late. Dabi had them cornered at the end of the bar.

Behind him, the witcher could hear an older man saying, “They said ‘ere was ash in the air for days after the massacre. Somes thought it was an omen,” and another responding in kind, “How many?” The first sighed darkly, “Said thirty something, but I say more like fifty.” A collective gasp rippled through the evesdroppers. “Some say the Cremator is cursed to burn others how ‘e was burned. Can’t rest or nothin’ til’ ‘e’s settled the score against him. Others think e’s just angry ‘bout the whole thing.” More whispers. A young woman interjected to ask about the burns, giving the elder pause before he whispered, “Don’t know. Some say that freak school did it to ‘em.”

Idiots. If they know so much about me, they should know better than to whisper behind my back thinking I can’t hear it. Dabi scoffed loudly, and the room quieted again, fearful that the witcher had heard them.

Tuning the voices out, the witcher crossed his arms and sized up the foolhardy man before him. “Look, you little fuck,” he purred dangerously. “Tell me where Yu is, or I’ll cut your fingers off and feed them to my deranged horse. She’s got a bit of a particular palate, but I’m sure she could stomach you.” The witcher laughed darkly as Minoru shifted uncomfortably, beginning to show signs of fear and regret.

“No reply,” the witcher hissed, stepping in closer and towering over the man. Denki had managed to squirm his way around the bar and didn’t appear to be interested in backing his colleague up. “Let’s see if this loosens your tongue.” Dabi raised his hand, and the man flinched sharply expecting to be hit. Discreetly, the witcher drew a small mind-influencing sign in the air above Minoru’s forehead.

“Where is Yu?” Dabi asked again. The man’s eyes had grown vacant and his jaw slightly slack. He shivered at the sound of the witcher’s voice but answered compliantly.

“She’s… uh… she went out back. Said something about checking on her ma.” Dabi’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“Will she be back?” He hissed. The man nodded like a puppet jerked around by its strings. “Perfect, now leave me the fuck alone. If you speak to me again, I will kill you for the fun of it.”

“Y-yes, Sir,” Minoru whimpered.

Dabi considered the stout man for a moment. He turned to walk away but temptation got the better of him. The witcher whirled around and delivered a savage blow to the man’s head with his fist. Minoru crumpled to the ground. From behind the bar, Denki was visibly shaking. Dabi cast him a glance, but the man looked away fearfully rather than return the witcher’s gaze.

“Find better friends,” the witcher spit. “This one is going to get you killed someday.” He kicked the prone man on the ground with the tip his boot. Minoru groaned weakly.

The tavern was impossibly silent as the witcher made his way over to a barstool to wait for Yu. After a few moments had passed, conversations began to pick up again. Soon the typical din of tavern noises returned as if nothing had happened, as if the patrons had forgotten that a supposed mass murder sat feet from them. They hadn’t forgotten though. They were all petrified, fearing that they’d anger the man further if they remained silent. No one wanted to see him draw his sword, so they acted as if he wasn’t there in hopes he wouldn’t take offense.

Focussing himself, Dabi closed his eyes and tuned his hearing to pick up conversations. The witcher wasn’t usually one to take an interest in local news and rumor, but this was different. Mostly, he just wanted to know if there had been any disturbances in the area and whether Nilfgaardian troops had been around recently. His business in the mountains had been uneventful thus far, and he hoped to keep it that way.

The sooner he finished his trip, the sooner he could return to satiating his boredom with cheap thrills and bloody kills. Dabi hadn’t been able to take many contracts as he made his way through the slopes, and his coin purse was starting to reflect that fact sadly.

Across the room, a small group of men, farmers by the looks of them, were furtively discussing a winged monstrosity that had been attacking with increased aggression. Attention piqued at the mention of monster troubles, the witcher shifted subtly in his seat, cold eyes finding the farmers with intense scrutiny.

The shortest of the men was leaning in as he whispered, “Marlena said she saw it swoopin back low over the fields last night,” as he thumbed through a deck of cards.

“You best bolt everything tight,” a ruddy-cheeked man replied, worrying his beard between two fingers. “My Anna still hasn’t come home, gods be damned.” The farmer’s jaw clenched tightly.

“Aye, Ignacy,” a silver-haired man, appearing to be the oldest of the bunch, clapped the sullen man on the shoulder, “Stop fretting. She’ll be back. That broad won’t make a good meal. She’s bound to have been dumped.” Laughter spilled from the farmers’ cracked lips.

“Curse the lot of you,” Ignacy wailed. “Don’t say shite like that.” He pushed an angry tear from his cheek before brandishing a calloused finger at the others. “She’s my pride and joy that woman. No one, not even a damn whoreson of a beast, is going to take her from me.”

The short man dealt a hand of cards to the silver-haired farmer before placing several down on the table before them. “Listen, things are getting damn serious. I hate to say it, but someone has to do something.” Worried glances were shared between the men, none eager to claim responsibility. “First, ‘twas Donat’s girls, those pretty wee things. Then was Oskar’s new bride. What was ‘er name, the one with the nice skin and big eyes?”

“Anastazja?” Ignacy offered, arms crossed as he continued to pull at his beard.

“That’s the one,” the short farmer nodded, “So ‘ere we’ve got Donat’s girls, Oskar’s bride, and I heard rumors that Wislaw, you know Dura, the big fellow, his girl disappeared too. Same circumstances, but no one saw nothin,” he heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples. “You know what this means?”

“What’s it mean Teo? Spit it out for fuck's sake,” the older farmer groused. Teo glared at the silver-haired man but didn’t retort.

“What it means is that our fucking women and children are getting snatched by some bloodthirsty monster. Sheep ain’t enough for the cursed thing, so now it’s gone after our most valuable property.” Teo had worked himself up to the point of spitting, and the silver-haired man subtly slid the playing cards away from the rattled farmer before he could ruin them.

“That’s it,” Ignacy’s eyes grew wide. “That fucking whoreson. We need to kill it before it can take any more of our women. My Anna isn’t beast food, and I’ll be damned for eternity if I let the fucking cunt that snatched her live to pilfer again.” The farmer’s veins were pronounced in his forehead as he spoke, voice growing louder.

“That fuck is probably a pervert, big one at that,” growled the silver-haired farmer.

“Why’s that?” Theo asked, brow furrowed.

“Cause it’s only goin’ after women and girls,” the man spat in reply. Ignacy choked, spluttering something about Anna as his face reached new levels of redness.

Huh. Could be another wyvern. They aren’t discriminate. Cow here, sheep there, but sure they’ll grab a human from time to time. Why women and children though? Maybe it thinks they’re easy targets. Something wrong with the livestock? I saw sheep riding up. Can’t be that simple. Then again, there’s wyverns in the area. Could be a territory issue. Maybe it's a mean bastard. Got a taste for human blood. The women part could be coincidence. Unlucky maybe. Could be…

Dabi ran through theories in his mind. It could easily be another wyvern, or it could be some other monstrosity. Either way, he needed the coin. Pulling a tattered travel log from his pocket, the witcher thumbed through pages. After a moment of contemplation, he concluded that the risk of wasting time was overshadowed by his need for money. Dabi made plans to lay claim on the job. If the farmers thought they could handle the beast on their own, he would find a way to persuade them into contracting him instead.

Noise behind the bar indicated Yu’s return. Turning back to the young woman, Dabi tucked his log into his jerkin.

“Excuse me, Miss,” the witcher called, forcing himself to speak pleasantly. Unintentionally scaring the girl wouldn’t do the man any favors. Despite his effort, Yu jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Yes, Sir?” she asked sweetly, lips pulled into a forced smile.

“Who do I talk to around here about monster contracts? I’ve got a wyvern that I’m owed for.” Dabi gestured towards the door of the tavern as if the girl knew his horse was wandering around with a wyvern head strapped to her flank.

“Well,” the young woman started, “Normally, we don’t have much monster trouble.” Her face scrunched unreadable for a moment before she added, “You could try talking to Andrzej. He’s been on about some winged monster lately. Big red wings. Stealing sheep but then-” She trailed off, face going blank. Her hands were shaking, and the girl looked dangerously faint.

“Yu?” Dabi leaned forward, wishing he could read her mind to know what had made her react in such a way.

“Huh?” She blinked slowly before shaking her head sharply and snapping out of her daze. “How do you know my name?” Her voice was fearful, “Is that one of… one of your powers ?” Eyes wide, Yu steadied herself on the counter.

“No,” the witcher reassured her, “One of your fans gave it to me.” Dabi gestured over to the end of the bar where Denki sat slumped over a tankard, his shorter companion taking a nap on the earthen floor where Dabi had left him.

“Oh, Minoru,” the blonde sighed. “Sorry, what were you asking about again?”

“Monsters. Where can I find Andrzej?”

“Right. He’s over there if you want to see him now,” Yu gestured across the room. Dabi turned glanced over his shoulder to see that she was pointing at the silver-haired farmer he’d been eavesdropping on.

“Thanks,” Dabi offered the young woman a half smile. Surprise painted her face for a moment before she returned it, genuine and warm.

“Best of luck, witcher.” She seemed more at ease, knowing now that the man was of no threat to her. “Let me know if you need anything else.” Dabi nodded and made to get up.

“One last thing,” he paused.

“Yes?” Yu’s eyes followed him as his gaze flitted around the room before returning to hers.

“You know anything about the winged beast?” He asked her quietly.

“I-” Fear returned to her eyes as she clenched her hands together in the folds of her dress. “All I can tell you is that it’s best to leave things be sometimes.” Dabi frowned.

“Are you telling me not to get involved with the winged monster hunt?” The witcher’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. The girl swallowed thickly.

“Sir, I won’t try to tell you what to do.” She paused, looking him over. “You seem like the kind of man that doesn’t take orders, and I’m in no position to make demands. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with your hunt. I have no information on the beast.” She bowed her head apologetically. “If you talk to Andrzej, please forget my name. I do not wish to be associated with this matter.” She looked back up at Dabi, eyes pleading.

Dabi touched his medallion absentmindedly as he nodded, “Consider it forgotten.”

She’s clearly lying. No one is that scared without knowing a thing or two. No point in pressing her though. It’s not worth it. All this trouble over a wyvern, huh? Might not be a wyvern. Yeah, but it probably is…

Yu resumed her tidying of the bar, checking in on Denki when she caught him sighing dramatically in the hopes of garnering her attention. Dabi rolled his eyes at the sight.

Finished at the bar, the witcher advanced on the group of farmers now studiously playing cards. He loomed over them from where he stood, his frame casting a shadow over their game. The men stopped playing, looking up at the grizzly man standing before them. Teo shuddered but couldn’t look away from Dabi’s scars. Ignacy’s eyes narrowed, sizing up the witcher. Opposite of them, the silver-haired farmer laughed.

“School of the Bear, aye?” Andrzej sneered, eyeing the witcher’s medallion. Dabi inhaled slowly through his nose. He’d had enough idiots for one night, and he didn’t feel like being tested further. His hand itched to reach for his steel blade.

“What’s it to you?” Dabi drawled, cracking a wicked smile. The witcher hadn't replaced the staple that had pulled loose out of his cheek, and its absence allowed his smile to widen unnaturally as blood slowly gathered at the corner. It hurt, but Dabi didn’t care. Teo and Ignacy looked ill at the sight, but Andrzej seemed unfazed.

“Your school’s around these parts, or should I say, your school was round these parts.” The man crossed his arms imperiously. “Isn’t now, is it Burnt Bear?” He laughed again, clearly unconcerned by the growing fire in Dabi’s eyes. “That why you’re round here stirring up trouble?”

“I’d be careful if I was you,” the witcher purred. “I’m not above shutting you up with my blade.”

“What is it you want, witcher?” Andrzej spat. “Unless you’re ‘ere to play Gwent, fuck off.”

“Got an offer,” Dabi growled, trying to contain his irritation with the farmer. Teo and Ignacy gaped stupidly at him as Andrzej fixed him with a calculated stare.

“Heard you have trouble. Some kind of beast.” The farmers shared a look amongst themselves.

Incredulous, Teo spoke, “You’d help us?” His eyes were wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

“Don’t be daft, Teo,” the silver-haired farmer snapped. “There’s always a catch with witchers. They want coin, an’ if you ain’t got coin, they’ll take your horse or your first born or whatever the fuck else.” Andrzej scowled in disgust.

Now it was Dabi’s turn to laugh. “Not exactly, old man,” he breathed coldly. “You’re right though, I do expect to be paid, and I don’t care how you split it.” The witcher gestured to the other men. Andrezj opened his mouth, undoubtedly to call Dabi a whoreson and tell him off, but Ignacy cut in before the older man could.

“Can you bring back our girls?” Something strange flitted through Ignacy’s gaze. It made Dabi uncomfortable, but he couldn’t put a finger on why.

“I can kill the beast,” he replied. The ruddy-cheeked man frowned. With a sigh, Dabi added, “I can see about the girls, but I can’t promise you that they’ll be alive when I find them.” The witcher felt rather than saw Ignacy’s knuckles turn white as the farmer balled them tightly on the table. Teo whispered to Andrzej, no doubt assuming that Dabi couldn’t hear it.

“I saw we let the freak kill it. Saves us the trouble, an’ we just won’t pay ‘im when he comes round.” Clearly, Andrzej held some sort of authority over the group of me if Teo was willing to plead with him.

“You will pay me. That’s not negotiable,” Dabi asserted, fixing Teo with a burning glare. The man went white, clearly embarrassed.

“How ‘bout this, bear,” Andrzej mused, “Tomorrow, after sun up, come by the farm, just past the trees on the North side of the city. We’ll discuss payment then. Consider the job yours.” Dabi nodded and left the farmers to their game.

→

Back in his rented room, Dabi kicked off his boots and fell onto the bed. His hands itched; irritation and boredom mingled in a dangerous combination under his skin. At least, I have a job now. I can burn some of this off working the contract.

With his swords at his side, the witcher fell asleep under the watchful eye of the moon. In a spell of generosity, she leaned through Dabi’s cracked window, kissing him delicately on the brow. As he slipped deeper into sleep, her shadow painted fleeting images on the backs of his eyes.

He could smell smoke as flames licked at his fingers painfully. Jarring heat washed over the witcher’s body. Something was burning. Red. Red. Red all around him, only it wasn’t fire. It was something else, something soft. Painful heat died, melting into pleasurable warmth. Under his fingers, Dabi felt what could only have been feathers, impossibly soft and begging to be touched. He ran his fingers carefully over them, surprised when he found their source - a body, warm and firm but faceless. How strange.

Chapter Text

In the sky above Belhaven, gentle rays of discolored light danced through the windows of the Bleeding Bear Inn as the sun rose slowly. In Dabi’s rented room, light swept playfully across his skin, planting gentle warming kisses on each of his scars. He hadn’t been awake long, but the arrival of light indicated it was time to get moving.

Fastening his swords to his back, Dabi made his way out onto the streets of the city, now stirring with morning life. With a sharp whistle, the witcher called for his horse. To the man’s annoyance, Himiko was nowhere to be seen. Fucking idiot horse.

Turning a trained eye to the ground, the witcher began to walk through the city, following the tracks of his mare. With his sharpened tracking abilities, he quickly found her amid an unsuspecting gardner’s livelihood, happily pulling beets up by the bunch and loudly crunching them with her powerful jaw. Ruby juice dripped from her muzzle as she chewed, wetting the wyvern blood still matted in her coat. Dabi couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sight, the corners of his mouth pulling up ever so slightly. Silly freak.

“Get your ass over here, Hime,” the witcher called, snapping his fingers and beckoning to the grazing horse. At the sound of Dabi’s voice, her head whipped around, ears perking up at the sight of her witcher. A gentle whinny burbled out of the cremello mare’s chest as she trotted over to the man, offering her neck up for scratches. Obliging her, Dabi ran a hand lovingly over her dirty coat.

“You’re nasty, you know that,” he laughed, patting her shoulder. “Common, we’ve got places to be. Got a job for us.” With practiced ease, Dabi swung himself up onto her back. Just past the trees on the North side of the city. That’s what the old man said.

As the witcher and his horse made their way to the Northernmost part of the city, Dabi took in Belhaven with indifference. It was much like any other city in the Slopes. The men looked rough, their hands cracked and their faces red from toiling under the sun. The women looked tired, hair falling loose from their braids and dresses wrinkled. Some rose to hurry out of their doors, tending to livestock and crops. Others kissed their spouses goodbye as they made their way to the shops. Mothers chased after their rowdy children, failing to prevent knees from getting scraped and clothes from being torn. It was all so ordinary. Dabi sighed. Ordinary for them maybe.

Making his way down the dirt paths of the city, the witcher caught many eyes just as he had when he entered Belhaven. From the corner of his eye, Dabi saw a young mother grab her child by the wrist, pulling him back from the road as the witcher rode past. He saw men drop their hands to their swords and children watching him with morbid curiosity.

“Mommy, why’s his face like that?” A small boy asked loudly, tugging at his mother’s skirts.

“Lukasz,” the mother’s voice was fearful as she put a finger to her lips, shushing the child. “Don’t draw attention. Don’t look at him.” The woman glanced back at Dabi, face white. Her eyes widened in shock when she caught the witcher returning the gaze with disinterest.

“But Mommy, how come-” the boy started in frustration, but his mother had already scooped him up, quickly stepping back into her home and slamming the door.

Typical. Dabi might have found people’s reactions to him laughable if he wasn’t so entirely bored by it all. At least, fear kept noisy people at bay. Folks preferred to whisper and sneak glances at the witcher when they thought he wasn’t looking, and he let them. As long as they stayed out of his path, he had no quarrel with them and couldn’t be bothered to correct the fallacies they spread about witchers.

“I’ve ‘eard stories ‘bout that one.” He heard an elder whisper to his neighbor. “Careful round ‘em, he’ll torch ya skin right off and laugh as ye scream.” The elder nodded sagely.

“Thas nonsense,” his neighbor replied incredulously. Waving off the old man’s warning.

“Be my guest then,” the elder crowed. “Go on. Talk to ‘em. See if he bites.” His neighbor frowned, clearly not moved to action by the challenge.

Dabi ignored them, ignored all of them. The witcher carried on riding out of the city and along a dirt path that wove through an orchard bordering the Northernmost fringe of Belhaven. Himiko carried Dabi through the grove until the trees thinned and they found themselves at Andrzej’s gate.

Leaning against a fence post, the silver-haired farmer waited with Teo and Ignacy at his side. Together, the three men whispered but Andrzej called for silence as the witcher approached. Dabi didn’t appreciate the vexing feeling the trio gave him, but he needed the job. Coin was coin - or in this case floren. Pulling Himiko to a stop, Dabi jumped from the horse’s back, landing lithely in front of the three men.

“So, the Burnt Bear showed up after all,” Andrzej sneered, spitting at Dabi’s feet. Ignacy exchanged a wary look with Teo and crossed his arms, eyeing the witcher.

“Make me an offer, old man,” Dabi purred, flames sparking in his icy eyes. “Before I decided this job isn’t worth my time.” He grinned widely, staples pulling at his skin grotesquely. At the sight, Teo swallowed thickly. A soft swear could be heard from Ignacy. Andrzej, seemingly unimpressed, narrowed his eyes.

“200 florens, Witcher.” The farmer pushed himself off of the fence post and folded his arms over his chest.

“200? You’re not getting the friends and family discount, old man,” Dabi laughed darkly, hiding his annoyance. Being woefully underpaid was a peril of taking contract jobs from common folks. In fact, being unpaid altogether wasn’t uncommon in cases where the witcher carried out his work before any form of a contract had been formed; it was half the reason that witchers invoked the Law of Surprise - a law demanding whatsoever comes first to great a man upon his arrival home is owed to that of the witcher with no exceptions be it a dog, horse, or child.

Dabi was well familiar with the law. It was how he had come to own Himiko, and it was also how he had come to be trained as a witcher. The Law of Surprise was occasionally used in attempts to recruit young boys into becoming the next generation of witchers. Naturally, the practice was what had spawned the rumors of witcher’s stealing children from their parents. More often than not, Dabi would enact the law simply to toy with folks he found unpleasant or boorish when they refused to pay up. He rarely collected on it though.

Ignacy whispered something to the silver-haired man. Andrzej sighed before replying, “400 if you bring the girls back.” The witcher cast a piercing glare at Ignacy.

“800 florens,” Dabi growled. “200 from each of you fucks, and 200 more for the wyvern I killed on my way into Belhaven. Consider the job half done.” Teo’s eyes grew wide, and Ignacy choked. “Oh, and I already told you I can’t promise you the girls, but I’ll see what I can find of them.”

With a scalding look, Andrzej considered the witcher. “600. Take it or leave it, Witcher.”

“600 if you pay me half up front,” Dabi settled. The farmers exchanged another look.

Andrzej turned back towards him, face set in a mask of disgust. “600 when the job’s done. Final offer, Bear.”

“I’m sick of haggling with you, so you’ve got yourself a deal, old man” Dabi scowled at the trio, angered by having to settle but unwilling to risk forcing Andrzej’s hand. The silver-haired farmer smiled wryly.

“Alright then, off with ya,” Andrzej waved his hand at Dabi, dismissing the witcher flippantly.

Through gritted teeth, the witcher hissed back, “Not so fast.” Plunging his fists into his pockets, Dabi started towards the man. Teo coward back, ducking behind Ignacy for cover. “First, you’re going to tell me everything you know about the beast.” The witcher kicked open the farmer’s gate, pushing past the trio and leaving his horse in the road. “And then you’re going to show me where the victims were taken from so that I can track the damn thing.” Without waiting for a reply, Dabi continued towards Andrzej’s home, forcing the farmers to trail after him.

A large, aged barn sat adjacent to the silver-haired man’s small house. Dabi walked over to the open doors of the building, whistling sharply to Himiko. She trotted through the gate and over to her witcher, jostling Ignacy as she passed him. Dabi smiled discreetly. He could always count on Hime to be rude when he couldn’t.

“Fucking whoreson,” Andrzej spat, face red with anger. “You might be on the job but that doesn’t mean you get the run of the place.” He eyed the cremello mare with suspicion, wrinkling his nose when a pungent odor enveloped him.

“Your horse smells like a rotting corpse, Witcher,” the farmer coughed roughly, bringing his arm up to cover his nose.

“Nah,” Dabi smiled wickedly. “That would be this.” Reaching around to Himiko’s furthest side, the witcher unfastened the wyvern head. Disturbed by the movement, a handful of flies buzzed around the draconid’s head before resettling amidst her dull scales.

“Catch.” There was barely warning for Ignacy as the witcher tossed him the head. Reflexively, the ruddy-cheeked man caught the trophy before gagging and tossing it at Teo who leaped back, letting the head fall to the ground where it rolled to a stop at Andrzej’s feet.

“You’ll want to burn that,” Dabi purred sweetly. “Unless you’re looking to attract scavengers.” He smiled again, eyes sparkling as icy embers smoldered in their depths.

Angrily, the silver-haired farmer clenched his jaw, fists balling at his sides. “What is it you want to know exactly?” He spat.

“Well,” Dabi sighed. “Let’s start with what the thing looks like. Any of you seen the fucking thing?”

“Aye,” Teo chimed in. “I’ve seen it a few times round town after dusk. Marlena saw it recent, venturing out over the fields between Andrzej’s and ours.”

Ignacy cut in hotly, “That damn whoreson took my Anna.” His jaw quivered and his fists turned white as he clenched them tightly. “Took ‘er right out from me. Hellish thing. Big red wings.” The farmer spread his arms, indicating the beast’s wings span.

“Took her from you?” Dabi’s brow pinched. “You saw it take her?” The witcher turned to face the farmer. “So, you’ve seen it clearly?”

“Well er…” Ignacy paused flustered, “Not fully. I saw it, but I was… indisposed.” His cheeks flushed darkly.

“Indisposed?” The witcher pressed, an inkling of what the man was implying plain in his mind.

“Drunk,” Andrzej supplied, ignoring Ignacy’s indignant expression. “Oh get off it, Ignacy,” the silver-haired farmer waved his companion off. “Everyone round ‘ere knows plenty ‘bout your tendencies.”

“What do you remember?” Dabi asked, groaning internally. A drunk’s word was better than nothing, but it was bound to be exaggerated and warped.

“So ‘ere’s the thing,” Ignacy spoke, embarrassment painting his voice. “It had arms and legs… and big red wings.”

“Yeah, we’ve covered that. Its wings are red,” the witcher commented snidely. “Tell me more about the arms and legs. How many?”

“Uh, four,” the farmer’s brow scrunched as he tapped a calloused finger to the side of his temple.

“Four total or four of each?” Dabi sighed.

“Total. Like a man.” A nod from Teo backed Ignacy’s account.

“Did it have scales? Could be a wyvern. They’re in the area.”

The ruddy-cheeked farmer frowned and pulled at his beard. “Can’t say, Witcher. Can’t say. The rest is fuzzy.”

“That cunt is no wyvern,” Andrzej broke in. “I know a wyvern when I see one.”

“Let’s say it’s not a wyvern then,” Dabi mused. “Could be a harpy.” He chewed his lip in thought before turning back to Ignacy. “Take me to where Anna was taken from.” The man nodded and made toward the gate.

“Just this way,” he gestured. “My lot is across the path. Us three border the orchard.”

Crossing through Andrzej’s gate, the group walked up a slight slope to Ignacy’s fields. The farmer led them around to the back of his home, pointing out towards his pasture. To Dabi’s surprise, the field was home to several grazing cows and a handful of sheep.

“You’ve got livestock then?” The witcher asked dryly. This doesn’t add up. Wyvern or not. Harpy or not. What beast attacks and leaves the animals untouched?

The farmer nodded in response. Leading the witcher out into the grass, Ignacy gestured, “Was ‘ere.”

Dabi nodded, “I’ll need to look around the place.” He wasn’t requesting permission. “Anything else I should know before I get to work?” The witcher crouched down, pushing grass aside with his scarred hands. He glanced back at the farmers when they remained silent.

“Witcher,” Andrzej folded his arms. “Find the monster and slay it. Whatever the cursed thing is, show it no mercy.” Teo and Ignacy nodded in support of the silver-haired farmer, a dark look settling over their features.

Dabi laughed, dropping a hand to the earth to steady himself. “And here I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor, old man,” the witcher chuckled. “ Mercy. ” Cracking a wide grin, he looked up at the farmers. “You haven’t met many witchers have you.” Teo shuddered, and Ignacy looked worriedly over at the eldest farmer. Andrzej’s face was an unwavering mask of cold disgust.

“And yet I find myself ‘aving met far too many,” the man replied coldly. Dabi shrugged.

After a moment, the silver-haired man broke his gaze from the witcher’s icy stare, jerking his head at his colleges and leading them off. Alone finally. Dabi could breathe again, irritation fading from his tense muscles. He hadn’t realized how tight his shoulders had gotten in the farmers’ presence.

Something about the three men incensed the witcher; their energy made him uneasy, faintly reminding him of a face he’d tried desperately to erase and of a name he never spoke. Fucking silver-haired bastard. He has the same look in his eyes as- Dabi’s blood boiled at the thought, unable to finish it.

Shaking the nagging unpleasant thoughts from his head, the witcher got to work. He steadied his breath, centering himself in the field and tuning in to his surroundings. He could hear the soft beating of the animal’s hearts in his ears as well as the soft cry of birds perched in the orchard. With a sharp eye, he surveyed the field, noting the worn fences, the patches of wildflowers, and- There. Red.

Dabi rose from his crouch and paced softly over to the edge of the pasture. He brushed grass aside, pulling free a red feather from the wire binding the fence to a splintered wooden post. He examined it closely, turning it in his fingers gently. The crimson plumage was soft and silky. A strange feeling of deja vu settled over Dabi. The feather had an innate familiarity that he couldn’t pinpoint.

Pocketing the feather, the witcher surveyed the fence, looking beyond the pasture out into the orchard. Further out, the cultivated orchard began to thin, eventually giving way to a dense wall of imposing trees. The forest it is then. Dabi sighed.

Making his way to the edge of the trees, the witcher stopped, spotting another feather amidst the organic matter loosely carpeting the forest. I’m on the right track at least. The witcher carried on, venturing deeper into the dark shelter of the trees.

Dabi had little to aid his tracking. Clearly, the beast had flown through the trees or perhaps above them. Deep in the thicket, Dabi’s only reassurance was the occasional crimson feather, indicating he was on the right path.

If it’s here, it’s likely got a nest of some sorts. I bet-

Quietly, the witcher closed his eyes. Pressing on, he focused on moving without sight, relying on auditory clues to lead him. After a fair bit of wandering, Dabi stumbled upon a section of forest that was strangely quiet. Birds weren’t nesting in the trees above, and there was far less rustling in the brush. This is it.

Dabi opened his eyes, crouching down for a moment to survey his surroundings. The witcher found himself in a barren clearing, boarded by fallen trees. A gap in the forest canopy allowed midday light to stream through the trees, touching the cracked earth warmly. Preemptively, the witcher drew his silver blade. He hoped to avoid fighting unprepared, but it would be foolish to wander carelessly into the heart of the beast's territory unarmed.

His plan was simple: get in, gather details that would give him an edge, get out, and return at night after preparing the appropriate potions necessary to slay the beast quickly.

Slowing his breath, Dabi stepped lightly, carefully moving to avoid making a sound. The forest floor was littered with crimson feathers, trampled and dirty. Dust particles floated in the rays of light reaching down through the trees, illuminating the clearing with soft golden light.

Spilling over one of the fallen trees, a large mound of earth sprouting odd branches and covered in brown and green moss lay conspicuously. Inspecting the mound with the tip of his blade, the witcher found that the moss-covered mass wasn’t an earthen lump at all. Dabi paced around the fallen tree, finding an opening in the odd shelter.

Propped against the fallen tree, the shelter fanned out generously, thick branches strung together with coarse fibrous material. Leaves and moss-coated the roof to keep out moisture and hold in heat. Stooping he crouched to peer inside. The interior was larger than the exterior implied.

Inside the refuge, a circle of smooth river stones encircled broken chunks of charcoal. Pushed up against the fallen tree, a tattered bedroll lay rumpled, covered in crimson feathers. A weathered rucksack lay on its side; its contents spilled out onto a carpet of fern branches that were loosely woven together.

Huh. An abandoned hunting shelter? The beast wouldn’t have made this. A strange feeling bubbled under the witcher’s skin. Dabi paused in thought. Some kind of opportunistic beast? Took cover here, and now is- The witcher huffed in frustration. The more he learned about the job, the less it made sense.

A winged-beast, taking women and children. No clear eye witness description, but Andrzej says it’s not a wyvern. It’s living deep in the forest in what is clearly not a naturally existing structure. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the damn thing was a man.

Dabi groaned. He’d hoped to gather enough information on the beast to adequately prepare for a fight. Well, I’ve worked with less before. What makes this any different? The witcher resheathed his blade. Ultimately, it wouldn’t matter. A couple of faithful potions would be enough to give Dabi deadly command over his mutated body. Not that he needed the edge. He just didn’t feel like trying his luck. After all, he was already wasting precious time by taking the job, a fact that weighed annoyingly on Dabi’s mind.

→

Back at the Bleeding Bear Inn, Dabi procured several bottles of Dwarven spirits from Yu who was busily taking inventory of the tavern’s stock. Minoru, who was seated beside his blond companion at the counter, recoiled at the sight of the witcher but kept his mouth shut, shuddering visibly when the man walked past him.

In the privacy of his rented room, the witcher began his preparations to face to the winged-beast. He’d retrieved a small sack from one of Himiko’s saddlebags and was in the process of studiously laying out the contents on the floor.

Several thin vials of a pearlescent turquoise liquid, water essence obtained from a slain barghest, lay neatly in front of Dabi. Beside the glass tubes, the witcher had set several sprigs from a berbercane plant that he’d harvested in the orchard by the farmers’ fields. Carefully, he plucked the ruby red fruit from the pruned branches.

In a small mortar, Dabi ground the fruit into a fine pulp, adding the contents into a larger flask. With a steady hand, the witcher poured the iridescent contents of a vial in with the fruit, filling the remaining space with Dwarven spirit. Swirling the concoction in one hand, Dabi drew a small fire sign in the air. Emitting sparks from his fingertips, the witcher brought the contents of the flask to a low simmer. Once satisfied, he placed the flask aside and began work on a second potion.

As the sun made her way through the cloudless sky, Dabi continued his preparations well into the evening. Pleased with the sufficient number of potions he’d prepared, the witcher had slipped into a comfortable meditative rest, cultivating raw energy in his mutated cells.

At dusk, the witcher opened his eyes. He gathered his potions, tucking them carefully into his bag and tidying the room before setting out for the forest. Luckily, Himiko was waiting at the entrance of the tavern, bored of Belhaven and waiting patiently for her witcher. Dabi’s lips curled into a half smile.

“Hey, Princess,” he murmured, patting her side. “Miss me.” In reply, the horse snickered, tossing her head playfully. Swinging up to sit on her back, the witcher tapped her sides gently with his heels. “We’ve got a job to do, Hime,” the witcher whispered absentmindedly, his consciousness already focussed on the details of the contract.

There was no sign of the victims. Nothing, not even blood. Maybe it kills them elsewhere. Drags them off? No, there would have been evidence of that. Hmm. Could try to track them once the beast is out of the picture. Yeah, but it’s not like I’m getting paid for that. Just cus’ Ignacy keeps sniveling on doesn’t mean those idiots are paying me for the extra work. They’re probably dead already… realistically. What if they aren’t? Not my problem. You wouldn’t save them? That’s not…

Dabi sighed tiredly. He never wanted to get involved when pressed. He existed to kill monsters, not to save people. He wasn’t a hero - never had been. That didn’t mean the witcher hadn’t gotten involved in issues when the occasion called for it, rather it meant that he always felt a nagging sense of doubt that he had made the right choice or backed the right people. Dabi hated it. He’d rather not choose at all, rather not get involved at all.

It occurred to the witcher that he hadn’t inquired as to whether the farmers had made any efforts to find the beast or the girls themselves. They’ve probably just been sitting around bitching. Useless sacks of shit. If they cared enough, they’d have gone after the girls by now. Dabi rolled his eyes.

Nearing Ignacy’s farm, the witcher slid from his horse’s back. Tying Himiko’s reins to a fence post, Dabi stole quietly over to the edge of the forest. Behind him, the sun was sinking low beneath the curve of the earth, winking goodbye as the moon rose to replace her.

In the growing darkness, Dabi’s eyes were forced to readjust as he stepped between the trees. Before leaving his cremello mare, the witcher had collected three potions from her saddlebags: a potion that would grant him vision in total darkness, an elixir that would push his mutated cells to their limit while boosting his stamina and regenerative abilities, and a highly toxic philter that would increase the strength and intensity of his sign magic.

Even for a witcher, it was ill-advised to consume so many toxins at once, each mixture more poison than not and each more toxic than the last. Had Dabi been human, the act of drinking even one would certainly kill him slowly and painfully, his last breath coming in labored anguish. He wasn’t human though, not anymore.

With little care for his well-being, the witcher knocked back each potion with steadfast resolve. Faster than he could swallow, the poisons began to take effect. It was never pleasant, but Dabi was used to it, the pain a familiar friend. Overloaded with stimulants, his mutated cells seized and restricted before the effects took over, washing painfully through Dabi’s body like a forest on fire.

Tossing the empty flasks aside, he made his way silently into the forest, silver blade at the ready. Under the hoods of his eyes, Dabi’s pupils turned to slits, catlike and inhuman. He could see everything as if the sun had never set: every branch, every rock, and every animal hidden in the brush. He carried on, feeling as the blood in his veins became polluted with the toxins he’d ingested.

In a morbid way, he liked the feeling - liked feeling something under his damaged skin - even if it could technically kill him. As a witcher, Dabi often walked the line between life and death. He wasn’t afraid; perhaps that was part of what made him such a devastating monster hunter.

Beneath the light of the rising moon, anyone with the misfortune of laying eyes on the witcher would have run in horror, fear in their hearts and adrenaline coursing through their veins. The toxicity levels in Dabi’s blood had risen to an alarming level; his veins were blackening as they protruded disturbingly through what remained of his unburned skin, patterning his face and hands. Terrifying and imposing, the witcher looked as if he had stepped from the pages of a storybook; the kind of book where otherworldy nightmares ruled hungry for blood with merciless, piercing eyes.

Nearing the beast’s clearing, Dabi crept low to the ground. Getting the drop on the creature would give him a clear advantage. Narrowing his eyes, the witcher assessed his surroundings. Where is it? It’s gotta be here. Unless- Dabi swore internally. That fucker is probably out causing trouble. The witcher sighed. Now to wait. Settling into the brush, the man kept watch, patiently waiting for the winged-beast of Belhaven to make an appearance.

→

Filtered moonlight spilled through the gap in the canopy above Dabi. A soft beating sound reverberated above him. Looking up to find the source, the witcher saw it. Gently descending from the sky above the forest, the winged-beast came to land softly amid the leaves carpeting the earthen floor with its back turned to the witcher. Relaxed and unaware of Dabi’s presence, the beast stretched its magnificent wings, a disarming shade of red even in the darkness.

For a moment, Dabi paused in thought, noticing the familiar shape of its form. It’s humanoid? Have I seen one of these before? The witcher’s brow furrowed, and he shook the thought from his head. He had questions but they could wait. There was still a job to do.

Sword in hand, the witcher charged silently at the crimson winged-beast. Dabi cursed himself for unduly poisoning his blood with potions when one would have done the job. There wouldn’t be a fight. He’d tainted his blood for nothing. Swinging his silver blade back, the witcher prepared to make a fatal blow, air whistling hotly around him as he moved with inhuman speed.

Sensing motion from behind, the beast froze. For a fragment of time, shorter than an inhalation of breath, time stood still. Then the beast turned, facing Dabi in full glory.

Hesitation had been trained out of the witcher early on. Witchers couldn’t afford to let faulty human judgment interfere with their work, and Dabi, studiously devoted to numbing his humanity, was no exception. To hesitate was to open one’s self dangerously, rendering a man vulnerable to counter-attack. Dabi knew this well. He lived by it.

And yet.

In that moment, Dabi froze.

Faced with the most beautifully arresting monster he’d ever faced, the witcher hesitated - a mistake that cost him an easy victory.

Bathed in moonlight, an ash blond man stood before him, brown eyes illuminated by the twinkling midnight sky. Messy locks framed his angular features as they twisted into a mask of shock, deep brown eyes taking in Dabi’s startling appearance.

Time picked herself back up, moving swiftly forward.

Glinting with bluish light, the witcher’s silver blade arched through the air, descending on the crimson winged-man. Slack in Dabi’s arms brought the sword down at a slanted angle, subconsciously unable to commit to a killing blow.

His opponent gasped sharply as the blunt side of the blade crushed powerfully into one of his wings. The sickening sound of bones breaking echoed through the clearing. While the blow may have been weakened, it was still driven by the hands of a mutated, professionally-trained killer.

Disoriented and confused by his uncharacteristic failings, Dabi’s mind raced as he tried to regain control of his situation. Before he could level his head, the witcher felt a powerful blow connect with his side, knocking him away from the winged-man. With staggering force, the witcher’s opponent had driven his attacker back, using his uninjured wing. Rolling into a defensive crouch, Dabi’s free hand found his tender side, appraising the damage.

“So,” the winged-man spat angrily, “Another fucking trophy hunter, huh?”

Chapter Text

Another fucking trophy hunter.

“Trophy hunter?” Dabi laughed darkly, “You’d be so lucky.” The winged-man narrowed his eyes, his uninjured wing flaring out. A soft wave rippled through his crimson feathers, raising them in a warning.

As the witcher considered his opponent, his mind raced with questions. The creature before him was striking in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend. A tightly bound swatch of ivory linen crisscrossed around the man’s chest, exposing his abdomen. Dabi’s eyes wandered lower, taking in how the man’s trousers cinched distractingly low on his hips. He noted how the fabric fell loosely around his thighs, bunching tightly around his calves. Focus.

Dabi knew he’d need to act soon before his opponent could retaliate or worse - flee. He’ll try to make an escape once he sees that he can’t beat me. If I don’t end this quickly, I’ll have wasted all my fucking time for nothing.

A honeyed laugh burbled from the winged-man’s lips. “Fancy yourself a special kind of hunter then? Not in it for the bragging rights?” His voice was sweet but it held a bitterness that sliced delicately through Dabi’s defenses, filling the witcher’s subconscious with whispering voices. “No,” he contemplated, thinking aloud. “I can see right through you,” he murmured resentfully. “You’re the type that kills for the fun of it. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Icy flames flashed in the witcher’s eyes, fire under his skin coiled in knots of building energy. Dabi laughed sharply, springing forward ready to strike. His silver blade whistled angrily as he launched himself at his winged-opponent. “Oh, I don’t kill for fun,” the witcher hissed, “But I will have fun killing a twisted freak like you.” Focussed on his attack, the witcher missed the look of pain that flashed on the winged-man’s face before it was replaced by hot anger.

Closing the gap between them, Dabi thrust his blade powerfully toward the man’s heart. The winged-man surprised the witcher by evading the worst of the blow, moving with unanticipated speed. For a moment, Dabi thought he hadn’t hit the man at all, thwarted by his opponent’s agility.

Blood blossomed from the man’s chest, seeping through his linen wrap like spilled ink. Eyes wide, the man’s hand flew to his sternum, his gaze unwavering from its hold on Dabi’s.

“Twisted freak,” he laughed dryly. “Original.” His eyes darkened. “I guess you really aren’t a trophy hunter then. You really do just slaughter people for fun.” The man reached back, pulling an especially long feather free from his broken wing.

Mildly perturbed, Dabi prepared to attack again. His blade plunged towards the man but was caught in a parry, much to his surprise, by the feather in the winged-man’s grip.

“So, they aren’t just for show, huh?” Dabi grunted between blows as the pair grappled with each other, attacking and counter-attacking beneath the light of the midnight moon.

“I’ve gotta have some kind of trick up my sleeve,” the man laughed, a playful tone coloring his words. “I’m not gonna lie down and die for every bastard hunter that takes a fancy to me.”

Dancing around the clearing, Dabi sized up his opponent. The winged-man was fast and maneuvered deftly across the forest floor. He’s not leaving me any openings. His speed and agility rivaled that of the witcher, but Dabi could tell from the pressure of the feather against his silver blade that the man’s energy and abilities had limits. If their exchange carried on much longer, the witcher, with his enhanced stamina and strength, would surely win.

Catching an opening in Dabi’s defense, the winged-man knocked the silver blade from the witcher’s hands, sending it flying. Swearing hotly, Dabi drew back defensively, reaching back to pull out his steel blade. His opponent was quicker, lunging in to take advantage of the momentarily unarmed witcher.

Forgoing his sword, the witcher reflexively drew a quick sign in the air, reacting with enough time to knock his attacker back with powerful force and preventing the crimson feather from making contact. Landing painfully on his back, the winged-man gasped sharply, feather blade falling from his hand.

Heart pounding, Dabi advanced on the man not bothering to unsheathe his steel blade. The poison in his veins burned as he watched the winged-man struggled to lift himself, his broken wing twisted beneath him. Painting a fire spell in the air, Dabi called forth a wall of flames behind the prone man, feeling the tips of his scarred fingers burn as heat spilled from them.

“Fuck,” the man rasped, caught between Dabi and the flames. “You might actually kill me,” he laughed. It was a strange warbling sound that carried notes of tired frustration, unenthused acceptance, and a sliver of amusement. Laughing in the face of death? Maybe we aren’t so different. I’m still going to kill you. With a snap of his fingers, the witcher released a shower of sparks over the man’s wings, turning his opponent’s laugh into a strangled scream.

The wall of flames died down, leaving a scorched crescent smoldering on the earthen floor beneath the winged-man as he struggled to extinguish the fire devouring his feathers. Dabi’s flames burned hot and fast, consuming the crimson feathers in greedy haste.

“You just gonna play with me, or are you gonna end this?” The man spat, arms shaking in pain as he tried again to lift himself from the ground. He’d smothered the worst of the flames with his body, leaving the skin on his arms and back raw - kissed faintly by Dabi’s sparks.

The witcher considered the man, approaching him and unsheathing his steel blade. “Actually,” Dabi started, pressing the tip of the blade into the soft skin of the winged-man’s neck. “This isn’t over yet,” he hissed as he planted a boot firmly on the man’s chest, forcing him down into the earth.

Dabi’s breath caught in his throat as he studied his opponent. It was if he had trapped an angel beneath his blade - the sight of the other man both terrifying and beautiful. He lay twitching softly in pain, covered in blood, ash, and dirt. Dabi leaned in, locking eyes with his opponent. Up close, he could see that the skin on the man’s once beautiful wings was angry and blistered in several areas. The remaining crimson feathers smoldered dangerously, still holding heat and embers from the witcher’s attack.

To another man, the heavy scent of burning feathers and flesh would have been overwhelmingly suffocating, thick and pungent. Dabi was impassive, entirely too familiar with the smell. It was the smell of his nightmares.

Panting roughly against the steel blade, tears of anger and frustration formed at the corners of the winged-man’s eyes. Under the oppressive threat of the witcher’s blade, he dared not move.

“Start talking,” Dabi growled, pushing past an uneasy feeling as it rose in his chest.

The man narrowed his eyes and huffed, allowing Dabi’s blade to bite deeper into the soft skin of his neck. A delicate ribbon of blood unfurled from the deepening cut, spilling down onto his defined collar bone.

“You planning to document my last words for posterity?” His voice floated up to the witcher in a mocking laugh. Turning his gaze to the sky, the winged-man found the opening in the canopy of trees above them. Dabi could see stars reflected in his deep brown eyes. His eyes are… they’re so…

“How’s this for my last words,” the man rasped, “My only regret is that I can’t save you from making the terrible mistake of killing me.” His lips pulled into a smirk. “Oh, and fuck you.” Dabi couldn’t tell if the man had forgotten the blade at his throat or if he simply didn’t care.

“I don’t want your shitty last words,” Dabi purred. Below him, the man feigned a pouted. “Tell me about the women. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill your demented ass right now.” The winged-man’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Demented?” He retorted haughtily. “You broke my wing and then burned my fucking feathers. I’m demented? Fuck off.” Glaring into the witcher’s eyes, he spat blood on the boot holding him in place.

Sparking a soft flame in the palm of his hand, Dabi chuckled. “You’ve got a few feathers left, Bird. I’d talk if you want to keep them.”

Frowning, the man returned his gaze. He sighed deeply before speaking in a resigned voice, “You might as well save your time and kill me.” His lips tightened. “I guess I was wrong, huh?” he mused. “It’s all falling into place now. You’re some kind of bounty hunter. You’re here for the girls, right?” Curiosity flickered in his honest eyes.

“I’m a witcher,” Dabi corrected, noting a shift in the other man’s expression as he spoke. “I’m not here for the girls, but I do want to know what you’ve done with them.”

“A monster hunter?” The man chewed his lower lip. “I thought witchers didn’t exist anymore.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Dabi replied, cold and monotone.

“Either way, all the more reason I won’t speak. I don’t have the coin to buy you off.”

“Buy me off?” Disgust washed over the witcher. “You couldn’t pay me not to kill you. You’ve been kidnapping women and children. There is a line between what is admissible and what is not in this miserable world - and you’ve crossed it.” A strange look wavered on the winged-man’s face as he met Dabi’s eyes.

“Okay, Witcher. I’ve got a deal for you. I’ll tell you some information, and you kill me quickly. I don’t want to be tortured. I’ve had enough pain in this lifetime, and I’d like, as a final mercy, a quick death.”

When Dabi didn’t respond, the man continued, “I didn’t kidnap anyone. I-” He paused, eyes closing for a moment as a slight tremor twinged his lips. “I helped them.” He opened his mouth to speak again, but he couldn’t seem to find his words.

Dabi eyed the man dubiously. “Helped them how exactly?” Tightening his grip on the steel blade, he watched the man pinned under his boot swallow.

“It’s safe to say you’re being paid by someone’s husband or father, right?” The man searched Dabi’s expression, but the witcher’s face was unreadable. “Well, how much do you know about them?”

“I know they’re paying me to kill you.”

“Right. So, you wouldn’t know that the women and children I’ve helped are…” The winged-man’s voice sounded strained. “That they are victims, just not mine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dabi growled. Dread knotted his stomach. “What are you implying?”

You know.

“Witcher, would you entrust someone you loved in the care of the men who contracted you?” A grim cast tinted the winged-man’s eyes as he spoke.

Anger welled inside the witcher, the earlier tension from the farmers’ presence returning to his shoulders. He remembered the similarities he’d seen in them that had reminded him of-

No.

“You’re saying they abused those women?” Dabi chewed the inside of his cheek, tongue running across his staples. “And you helped them escape. That’s what you’re claiming?”

“I’m not claiming anything. It’s the truth,” the winged-man replied. “Believe me or don’t. Either way, I won’t tell you where the girls are. I promised them-”

This job is turning into a bigger mess by the minute. Fucking shit.

“You got a name, Bird?” Dabi sighed.

The man’s eyes widened, his lips parting momentarily. “You want something to remember me by?” He smirked. “Knowing won’t make your job any easier.” He had a point, but the witcher didn’t care. “You can call me Hawks,” the winged-man added after a pause.

Hawks.

“Alright, Birdie,” Dabi purred. “Think you can move?”

Glaring up at the witcher, Hawks frowned, “Why did you ask for my name if you aren’t going to use it?” Dabi’s eyebrow quirked up in amusement, but he didn’t justify the question with an answer.

“Can you move, yes or no?” With the tip of his steel blade, the witcher tilted Hawks’ head back, elongating his bloodied neck.

“Yes,” Hawks glowered. “You fucked any and all chances of me flying any time soon, but I have legs, ya know.”

“Hmm,” Dabi murmured in thought. “I need to sort some things out before I decide if I’m killing you, and I need you where I can find you.” Dropping his sword from Hawks’ throat, the witcher signed a trapping spell above the man. Purple streams of energy twisted around the winged-man, gathering beneath his bruised body to form a trapping sigil.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Dabi purred, a laugh bubbling in the current of his voice. “I’ll be back for you - one way or another.”

Ignoring the shock on Hawks’ face, the witcher recovered his silver blade and slunk back into the darkness of the trees. He’d almost reached the fields when the night air carried a muffled whisper to his ears.

“You better not fucking forget about me out here.”

Dabi laughed.

→

Waking to the dull pounding of a rather persistent headache, the witcher rubbed his temples and rolled out of his rented bed. He’d returned to the inn, not wishing to confront the farmers in the dead of the night. Retiring to his room, Dabi had collapsed on his bed not bothering to change out of his witcher gear, save for his boots that he’d kicked off unceremoniously.

Light streaming through the window reminded the witcher that he’d officially been in Belhaven longer than he’d intended to be. A night, maybe two, that had been the plan. Three fucking nights. Dabi groaned. I’m practically a fucking local now.

The witcher stretched, checking his hands. Across his skin, the spiderwebs of black blood had faded, his veins relaxed and their color returned to their bluish hue. With a sigh, Dabi pulled his gear off, stripping down to examine his bruised flesh.

A violet welt patterned his side, and he traced the edges of the mark with a finger, remembering the blow that had dealt it. He’s strong. In a fair fight, he probably would have been able to fuck me up a bit before I ended it. Dabi lost himself in thought, playing out alternate fights in his head. Picturing Hawks in his mind was dangerous - a poison that tasted sweet. A chill ran through the witcher, raising bumps across his bare skin.

I need to get to the bottom of this. I need the truth.

The truth? You already know.

I need to be certain.

Shoving thoughts of the mysterious winged-man aside, Dabi redressed and made to leave the inn. Busily sweeping the hearth, Yu didn’t see the witcher as he stepped out from the hall behind the bar.

Dabi watched the woman for a moment, mulling over her fearful words.

“All I can tell you is that it’s best to leave things be sometimes. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with your hunt. I have no information on the beast. I do not wish to be associated with this matter.”

“Huh,” Dabi muttered under his breath. I might have to trouble her after all. Sorry, Yu. Lives are at stake. The witcher started toward the woman. Her back was turned, her long golden hair falling loosely around her face as she worked. He paused.

You know… If what the bird said was true, the women and children are already gone. You could just… you do need the coin. It was an ugly thought that brought an uncomfortable heat bubbling up under his skin.

Yes, but-

You’re okay with wasting more time figuring this out? End the job.

Dabi felt strangely ill at the thought. The practicality of it made sense, but the lump in his throat reminded him painfully that there was more humanity left in him than he’d like to think. Fuck. I have to talk to her. I need to get this story straight. For all I know, the stupid bird could be a lying ass. Yeah, those prick farmers are shits, but they could be innocent. I need answers.

→

Kicking the door of the Bleeding Bear Inn open, Dabi marched down the street still dewy with morning light. He whistled for Himiko who came trotting, and the pair made their way to the fields north of Belhaven.

Pulling to a stop between Andrzej and Ignacy’s fences, the witcher contemplated his approach. As far as he could recall, the silver-haired prick hadn’t lost anyone to Hawks. Teo had seen him, but Ignacy was the only one in the trio that had personally lost a loved one to the supposed vigilante.

Well, there’s the answer then.

With growing disgust in his chest, Dabi made his way up the slope to Ignacy’s home. The farmer’s dwelling was unassuming. Bundles of herbs hung in the open windows, weeds sprouted in a bed of flowers that boarded the front of the house, and a tawny cat with patchy fur guarded the door. As the witcher approached, the cat hissed, bolting around to the back of the house.

“Fuck you too,” Dabi called after it. After undergoing the rigorous trials and mutations to become a witcher, domestic and wild animals alike ran at the sight of him, fearing his predatory energy. In another life, he’d liked cats, and they had liked him. In another life, he hadn’t been a wandering beacon of death.

Knocking on Ignacy’s door, the witcher waited with crossed arms. He had intended to hear the man out, but he couldn’t deny that he’d already made up his mind. In truth, he was looking for a reason to be provoked. His fingers prickled, tense with wanton energy.

“Who’s ‘ere?” Ignacy called. Dabi could hear the man making his way to the door, and his hand itched to reach for his steel blade.

“I’m here about the beast,” Dabi spoke cooly, keeping his tone even.

“Oh, Witcher,” the farmer unbolted his door, opening it wide to reveal his unkempt home. Guessing Anna did all the work around here. The place looks like shit.

“Well,” Dabi purred. “You letting me in or what?” His eyes flashed dangerously, daring Ignacy to refuse him.

I… er,” discomfort settled over the farmer. “Come in then.” Dabi followed the man inside and made himself comfortable on a wooden chair, kicking his dirty boots up to rest on Ignacy’s dining table. Frowning, the farmer worried his hands together, the desire to object clear on his face.

“So, about this whole beast situation,” Dabi smiled, eyes crinkling in mock pleasantry. Ignacy swallowed, his face shiny and red. “It’s come to my attention,” the witcher murmured, delivering the words musically in the air between them. “That I may have been misled.”

“Misled?” Ignacy’s brow creased, his eyes confused. “What are ye sayin’, Witcher?”

“This winged-beast,” Dabi paused, pulling a hunting knife free from his belt and turning it in his hands. “Wasn’t quite as beastly as I thought he’d be.” Light glinted off of the knife as the witcher began to carve notches in Ignacy’s table. “In fact,” he returned his gaze to the farmer, the pleasant timbre of his voice shifting dangerously, “I suspect he isn’t the monster responsible for this mess.”

“But, what! You-” Ignacy spluttered, indignation bypassing his fear of Dabi. “Thas nonsense! Not responsible? I saw the whoreson with me own two eyes.” Spit was flying from the ruddy-cheeked man, and the veins in his forehead stood out alarmingly as he swore. “My Anna was taken, dammit. Does this mean you’ve been fuckin’ about? You ‘aven’t killed the cursed thing?”

Dabi swept his feet off of the table, standing to his full height. “I spoke with the beast.” The witcher’s eyes flashed, hot blue flames dancing in his irises.

“Spoke with it?” Ignacy spat. “You weren’t supposed to speak with it. You’re supposed to ‘ave been killin’ it!”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Dabi considered the farmer, running his thumb against the blade of his knife. “But the pretty bird had some interesting stories.” Ignacy balked, fists clenched at his sides. “Stories about you.”

The farmer’s face went white. He may have been a simple man, stupid even, but he could feel the implication in Dabi’s words as if they were a noose around his neck.

→

Yu jumped, startled by Dabi’s presence as he appeared silently beside her.

“Oh my, you walk like a cat. You really ought to announce yourself, Sir.” Yu’s face was red with embarrassment as she pushed her hair back behind her ear, smudging soot on her cheek.

“Apologies, Yu,” the witcher murmured.

“What can I help ya with? More spirits?” The golden-haired woman set her broom aside, wiping her hands against her skirt.

“Can we speak privately?” Dabi’s icy eyes flickered. He needed her cooperation.

Yu paled, her expression souring despite her efforts to conceal her discomfort. Her eyes were trained on the floor as she knotted her dress nervously. “Sir, if this is about the beast, I-”

“I talked to him.” The woman’s eyes snapped up to Dabi. “I didn’t kill him.” Yu’s hand flew to her heart, a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief slipping past her pink lips.

“Not here,” she spoke, her voice hushed as she looked around. The inn was quiet, but a few stray patrons lingered, sleeping on tables or taking their breakfasts in the solitude of the morning. “Follow me, please.” Yu led Dabi back down the hall behind the bar, past his room and down to the end. Pressing open a narrow wooden door, the woman ushered the witcher into what felt like a closet but appeared to be a bedroom of sorts.

Yu reached for the witcher, grabbing his hand in hers and cupping it tightly. “Did Anna make it?” her eyes brimmed with hopefulness. “Tell me she made it out safe.” She squeezed his trapped hand and he fought the urge to shake her off. He could feel her heart beating erratically through her palms. “You must know. Please, what did he say?”

So, it’s true.

“He wouldn’t tell me anything about the women?” Dabi sighed, an uncomfortable weight settling in his chest. Yu’s face fell.

“Do you think that means…” Her lips quivered, beautiful eyes watering. Dabi groaned internally. Despite the unnaturalness of the act, he brought his free hand up to rest on top of hers.

“Yu, I am a professionally trained killer.” He kept his tone even, trying his best not to sound threatening. “I think,” he paused, feeling out the words. “That your bird didn’t think it wise to confide in me.” Yu nodded in understanding, head dropping down as quiet tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Thank you for not killing, Hawks,” Yu whispered. “I feared-” Her words stuck in her throat. Dabi waited patiently. “I feared the worst when I saw you in town. You’re a witcher. You must know what they say about you. I thought…” She trailed off softly.

“You thought I’d take care of him without asking questions,” Dabi finished for her. She nodded again, releasing his hand and wiping her tear-streaked face.

→

“I’d be careful of what yer accusin’ me of, Witcher.” Ignacy blubbered, waving a calloused finger at Dabi. “You could ruin a man’s name with talk like that.”

“You should be less concerned with your name and more concerned with the fact that I kill monsters for a living.” Dabi watched the man freeze, arm still suspended in the air, before he continued. “Did you know,” he purred, savoring the fear swatched across the ruddy-cheeked man’s face. “That not all monsters are beasts. Some of them… are human.” Sweat perspired on the farmer’s forehead, but the man didn’t bother to wipe it. His hands were shaking at his sides, balled into tight, white-knuckled fists.

“I’m sure you see where this is going,” Dabi smiled again, staples pulling at the corners of his mouth. He tightened his fist on the hilt of the hunting knife, moving towards Ignacy.

Panicked, Ignacy stumbled back, looking frantically for an escape. To the farmer’s horror, there was nowhere to run.

“You look scared,” Dabi whispered, closing in on the man. “Are you worried that I’m going to hurt you?” Flames coiled under the witcher’s scarred skin.

Ignacy didn’t reply, shaking as he defensively folded his arms across his chest in a vain attempt to shield himself. Dabi laughed, licking his lips

“Good, you should be.”

→

Three firm knocks on Andrzej’s door ring loudly through the unusually quiet air. Dabi gets no response. After lingering a moment longer, the witcher made his way around the house to the barn, droplets of blood marking his trail like breadcrumbs.

Entering the lofty barn, he finds the silver-haired farmer, rusty pitchfork in hand, cleaning out a small pen. Not bothering to announce his presence, Dabi approached the working man.

“Witcher,” the man grunted, continuing to work. “The job done, or you just here for a chat?”

“I’m here for my money.” The witcher paused before adding, “Already got Ignacy’s share.” Dabi pulled a small pouch from his belt, shaking it for effect. As the florens clinked together, his lips curled in a feral smirk.

“Not so fast,” Andrzej eyed the witcher. “Ignacy is a stupid whoreson. Bet he didn’t ask ya for any kind of proof.” The silver-haired man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Well, you got some kinda evidence?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Dabi grinned, tossing a bloody sack at the farmer’s feet. Dark red fluid leaked from the bag. Andrzej wrinkled his nose in disgust as he bent to retrieve it.

Peering inside, the farmer swore. “What is the meaning of this, Witcher?” Two callused hands, coated in blood, fell from the bag to the earth. “This some kind of joke to you,” Andrzej spat. “These could be any cunt’s hands.” Dabi shrugged, unbothered.

“Would you prefer I hauled that winged-asshole’s rotting body all the way over to your farm? You want that on your doorstep? Looking for wraiths? Wolves? Don’t make me laugh.” Dabi crossed his arms. “It put up more of a fight than I thought it would. I’ve got some feathers if you want those.” Through hooded eyes, the witcher watched Andrzej’s gears turning.

Unable to debate with Dabi, the man gave in, grousing as he led the witcher to his house. “You’ll keep your filthy ass right here, Witcher,” he spat, indicating for Dabi to wait at the door. He returned moments later, flinging a pouch of florens at the witcher’s feet.

“It’s been anything but a pleasure. Unsafe travels to ya, Burnt Bear,” he hissed, voice seeped in venom. “May our paths never cross again.” With a last glare, the silver-haired farmer slammed the door in Dabi’s face.

→

Teo, by far the timidest of the farmers, had given Dabi no resistance. Eager to get the witcher off of his porch, the man had dipped back into his home, quickly returning with the payment.

“Witcher?” The man started, his voice shaking nervously. Dabi raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Did you find the girls?”

For a moment, the witcher stared blankly at the man. “No.”

Turning from the farmer, Dabi made his way across the field, heading back for the orchard where he’d left his troublesome mare. Finding her grazing amid apple trees, he climbed up and directed her towards the northern path out of Belhaven.

He took his time, letting Himiko pace comfortably under the midday sun. Passing the furthest edge of Ignacy’s land, Dabi pulled his mare off of the worn dirt path, straying into the tall grass that bordered the property. He led her to the edge of the forest, hopping off and guiding her through the trees. Once the witcher was certain they couldn’t be seen by prying eyes, he secured Himiko to a tree, patting her shoulder.

“I’ll be back, Princess. Got some business to attend to before we ditch this sorry town.” The mare snorted, nuzzling his cheek with her warm muzzle. He smiled and stroked her neck.

“I know, but I gotta do this first. Got some loose ends to tie up.”

Rummaging through several saddle bags, Dabi gathered a handful of supplies into a leather rucksack. Slinging the bag onto his back, he made his way deeper into the trees.

Approaching Hawks’ camp, Dabi readied his silver sword. He had left the man trapped, but he had no idea if his magic had held. Stepping quietly, the witcher paused, hidden behind the trees bordering the clearing.

Dabi closed his eyes and listening carefully to the surrounding noises. In a distant part of the forest, birds chirped, blissfully unaware of the witcher’s presence. The clearing, however, was as silent as it had been when he’d first stumbled upon it.

Emerging from the trees, Dabi affirmed that Hawks had, in fact, not left. He hadn’t escaped, and he wasn’t lying in wait to attack. The winged-man’s body lay crumpled amidst fallen leaves and crimson feathers, the earth beneath him soaked with blood and marred with ash.

Shit.

He didn’t look that bad when I left him.

Yeah, but you took your sweet time getting back here.

In frustration, Dabi shook the pestering thoughts from his mind, approaching Hawks’ still form. The man was curled onto his side, his broken wing hanging loosely. Dabi was surprised to see small down feathers had sprouted across the man’s damaged wings. Fighting back the sudden desire to reach out and stroke them, the witcher considered the man before him. The purple sigil trapping Hawks had faded, and he felt a twinge of guilt at having left the man in such poor condition.

Kneeling, Dabi brought a hesitant hand to Hawks’ shoulder. He gave the man a gentle shake and sighed in relief when the other groaned softly. Rising to his feet, he rolled the winged-man over with the tip of his boot, keeping his silver blade at the ready. It felt silly, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Hey, Asshole,” Dabi hissed, nudging the man with the blunt end of his sword. “I’m not finished with you. Wake up.” Slow but sure movement rippled through the man as he stirred. Heat rose under Dabi’s skin as he watched the way Hawks’ muscles bunched as he stretched.

Opening his brown eyes, Hawks looked up, tracing up the blade in his face to the bloodstained hands holding it with his gaze before meeting Dabi’s icy eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d come back for me, Hot Stuff,” he laughed, voice hoarse from disuse. “So, you here to finish the job?”

Chapter Text

Tucked away in the Nilfgaardian Slopes, a witcher, haunted by a past wrought with darkness and pain, made an unexpected turn on his destined path that would change its course indefinitely. He would never sleep again without being haunted by beautiful visages of a crimson winged lover he could only dream of obtaining, and he would spend a lifetime chasing fleeting moments that tasted sweeter than any honey the earth had to offer.

On sleepless nights, beneath twinkling stars, the man would feel the ghost of a body warming his side, reminding him of a fated night in the outskirts of Belhaven. When rain fell in sheets, slicking his hair into his eyes, he’d feel an indescribable ache in his heart and an emptiness in his soul that no amount of rainfall could wash away. When thunder cracked, raising the hairs on his neck, he’d feel the electric pulse of him. Prim poppies playing in fields of wavering grass would paint crimson desire on the backs of his eyelids, the color so vivid he could taste it.

As such, his serendipitous shift in destiny would inexplicitly bind him to another, weaving the strings of their fates together in a crisscrossed symphony of exquisite pain and vicious pleasure.

→

Tracing a path up Hawks’ jaw with the tip of his silver blade, Dabi considered the winged-man. Battered and bloodied, the man looked as breathtaking as when the witcher had first seen him with his crimson wings full and his expressive eyes shining, painted by moonlight and freckled by stars.

“Don’t leave me in suspense,” Hawks rasped, breathing carefully against the biting tip of the blade pressed to his throat. “I’m dying to know what you’ve decided.”

Dabi exhaled sharply through his nose, closing his eyes. When he reopened them, Hawks was staring up into his icy irises, unabashed by the intensity of his open gaze.

“You’re going to need to leave,” the witcher started, eliciting a surprised, open-mouthed look from Hawks. “Get as far away from Belhaven as you can. You won’t be followed, but if you stay, someone will realize I didn’t kill you. Sooner or later, you’ll be hunted down.”

“Why are you letting me go?” Hawks balked, pushing himself up onto his elbows as Dabi withdrew his blade.

“I’m a monster hunter.”

“Yeah, but why...” Trailing off, the winged-man’s brow creased in confusion, eyes scanning the witcher’s expression.

“Look, Bird,” Dabi muttered dryly. “I kill monsters, and I do it for coin. I’ve already been paid for slaying the Beast of Belhaven. Or one of them anyway.”

A mixture of understanding and disbelief washed over Hawks’ face.

“You didn’t-” His brown eyes grew wide, his lips parting under the weight of his disbelief.

“What I did or didn’t do doesn’t matter.” Dabi resheathed his blade, dropping a knee to kneel over Hawks. “You need to leave if you value your life.”

The winged-man was silent; his expression, open and unguarded, shifted rapidly from one emotion to the next, thinking aloud without speaking a word. Dabi watched him in silence.

“So, uh,” Hawks’ voice sounded oddly broken, a noticeable change from his earlier pitch. “Thanks for the heads up, but…” He swallowed, pushing himself up into a seated position a mere breath away from Dabi’s face. A slight blush crept into his cheeks, and he let his head fall into his hands. “I have no way to leave.” The resignation in Hawks’ voice pricked Dabi heart as if it was composed entirely of metallic shards, pressing painfully into his soft tissue.

“What?” Dabi was unable to hide the bewilderment in his voice, thrown off by the man’s closeness.

“Well,” Hawks muttered. “I don’t have a horse, and I can’t fly in my current condition.” He bit his lip. “If I tried to walk, I-” He sighed. “Let’s just say, I’d rather risk my chances in the forest than risk my chances in the open. Even in this state,” Hawks tried to open his wings for emphasis but groaned when the movement jostled his broken bones. “I stick out.”

Oh.

A wave of guilt washed over the witcher, tightening his airways and chilling his blood.

This is my fault.

“If I can fix your wing,” Dabi started, earning a surprised look from Hawks. “What’s the soonest you’d be able to leave?”

“You trying to invite me along with ya?” The man laughed at the thought.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m not offering to take you with me,” Dabi retorted.

Hawks chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. “Mmm, a couple of days. Week maybe. My feathers grow fast,” the man shrugged. “But I don’t have anything to offer you, so I doubt you’ll fix my wing.”

The witcher closed his eyes, sighing and bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. “Look, Bird,” he growled. “I’m not looking for anything in return.” Eyes blowing wide, the winged-man coughed, choking on his surprise.

“I thought witchers didn’t help anyone for free,” he tested, pushing in search of a hidden motive.

Dabi scowled. “Maybe you inspired me to be more virtuous,” he paused before purring, “If you wanna compensate me for fixing the mess I made, be my guest, Birdie.” A twinge of annoyance tinted his voice. “Push me, and I’m more than happy to leave you to the wolves and whatever else prowls around these parts.”

He was bluffing, but he took satisfaction in watching Hawks’ lips pull into a pout.

“You’re serious?” The winged-man persisted, still unable to accept Dabi’s offer at face value. “You’d help me?” Expression nearing a glower, the witcher said nothing, eyes narrowing as he debated taking the offer back.

“How?” Hawks asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Ignoring the question, Dabi eyed the broken wing. The witcher sighed, returning his gaze to the winged-man. “I’m going to need your trust if you want me to fix it, which I realize you have no reason to give, but-”

“But I’ve got nothing to lose,” Hawks shrugged. “At this point, I don’t have better options.”

“Alright,” Dabi sighed, “Then first thing is splinting it.” The witcher wasted no time, retrieving the necessary supplies from his rucksack and getting to work carefully examining the broken wing. Hawks sat still, allowing Dabi to touch his wings.

While it was true that the winged-man had few options, the witcher marveled at Hawks’ resolve. He had tensed when Dabi began tenderly running his fingers over his broken wing but hadn’t moved to stop the witcher. Permitting the very man who’d injured him to tend to his injuries was surreal - a paradoxical situation both confusing and thrilling.

“This might hurt,” Dabi whispered, his voice low and reserved. Hawks nodded stiffly in reply but allowed the witcher to continue his work. Cautiously, the witcher tightened a stip of cloth around the impromptu splint. Hawks gasped as the cloth pressed into his wounded flesh, lips pressed into an indifferent pout, displeased with revealing signs of weakness to his companion.

Appraising his work, Dabi leaned back, eyes taking in Hawks with clinical consideration. Absentmindedly, the witcher’s fingers wandered across the man’s wing, feeling the ridges beneath his soft feathers. Dabi’s professional curiosity was getting the better of him, and his fingers itched to continue exploring Hawks.

Stop touching him.

Pulling back from the man, Dabi sighed and began putting his supplies back into his rucksack. Out of the corner of his eye, the witcher could see Hawks returning the clinical curiosity, eyes sweeping up his arms and across his shoulders, careful to look away when he thought Dabi was watching him.

“The splint isn’t going to fix your wing, just help it heal properly,” Dabi spoke, breaking the silence between them. “I’ve got something that will speed up the regeneration process in your damaged tissue, but-” He paused, eyes dark. “There’s a chance it could kill you.”

To Dabi’s surprise, the winged-man laughed.

“Am I more likely to die from that or some bastard hunter taking advantage of my weakened state?” Hawks chuckled. “Got a feeling one of those is certain death and the other… only possible death.”

A wry smile pulled at Dabi’s lips. “Very well,” he smirked, retrieving a small vial from his belt bag. “Fair warning, this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.” The witcher offered the potion to the winged-man.

“Just how I like it,” Hawks quipped in return, taking the vial from Dabi and uncorking it with a flick of his thumb. He gagged at the smell of it but raised it in a toast to the witcher before bringing it to his lips.

“Wait,” Dabi’s hand shot out, grabbing Hawks’ wrist tightly. The winged-man’s eyes widened and his arm tensed, but he let the witcher pull his arm down. “I don’t know what it’s going to do to you, and-”

“You worried about me?” Hawks winked, masking the fear in his heart. Ignoring the inquiry, Dabi took the vial from Hawks and recorked it, tucking it back into his belt bag.

“Here,” the witcher offered, extending an arm to pull Hawks from the ground. The winged-man’s brown eyes flitted across Dabi’s face for a moment before he grabbed the offered arm, letting the witcher lift him from the ground.

Hawks’ legs wobbled, stiff from disuse. Snaking an arm around the man’s waist, Dabi supported his weight. The witcher escorted the injured man into the earthen shelter, hidden by moss and broken boughs.

“You might want to lay down for this,” Dabi suggested, gesturing towards Hawks’ tattered bedroll still strewn with crimson feathers.

With an unenthused grunt, the winged-man acquiesced, situating himself before looking at the witcher expectantly. “Hey,” Hawks murmured, reaching out towards Dabi, who had seated himself beside the winged-man. “Before you kill me, will you tell me your name, at least?”

Dabi snorted, amused by the theatrics of his companion. “People call me Dabi.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Hawks stifled a laugh. “You go by Cremation?”

Dabi’s brow furrowed, lips pulling into a frown. “What should I go by?”

“I don’t know. Your name, maybe?” Hawks grinned, a teasing tint painting his voice.

“Oh, so you’re telling me your real name is Hawks?” Dabi glowered, narrowing his eyes at the prone man who rolled his eyes in response.“Should I confess to you before I die?” replied Hawks, thoroughly unamused despite the jesting nature of his quips. The witcher sat silently, unwilling to join the winged-man’s game.

“I don’t remember my name,” Hawks shared quietly, his playful expression fading.

It wasn’t a response Dabi had expected. The honesty of Hawks’ words crushed his heart. An average man might have replied hastily, challenging the assertion with claims of incredulity.

“Forgotten your own name? Impossible!” They would remark, calling the man’s bluff.

Dabi considered the winged-man, his hand reaching to brush a lock of blond hair from the man’s forehead. An unintentional action that tightened his chest as he considered the injured angel before him.

“I wish I could forget mine.”

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

“Here,” Dabi tossed Hawks the vial. “Cheers.”

“Thanks,” the man chuckled, uncorking the vial and ingesting the contents. He gagged, choking at the vile taste and dropping the vial as the poison spread through his veins. Hawks’ brown eyes blew wide before rolling back in his head, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Fuck,” he gasped, veins bulging under his skin as his pulse hastened erratically.

Dabi’s stomach twisted into a sour knot. Fuck. What the hell am I doing? Goddammit. I-

The witcher chewed the inside of his cheek, teeth pulling at the staples that held his scarred and burned skin together. He could taste blood in his mouth as he watched Hawks writhe on the floor of his forest refuge. Shit. I should have at least diluted it. What the fuck was I thinking?

Fearing that Hawks would further injure his freshly splinted wing, Dabi painted a quick mind-influencing sign in the air. “Relax for me, Birdie,” the witcher hummed softly, bringing his scarred hands to Hawks’ shoulders and holding them still. Through his palms, he could feel the man’s blood racing. His skin was hot and slick with sweat.

Too weak to fight the spell, Hawks melted under Dabi’s hands. “I’m sorry,” the witcher murmured. “Focus on my voice. Can you talk?”

Hawks grunted in reply, and Dabi nodded. He softened his grip on the man’s shoulders as he knelt at his side. “I won’t leave you. I can’t, not when it’s my fault you’re like this.” Dabi’s own heart raced at his unexpected honesty. There was something about seeing the beautiful winged-man’s features twisted in pain that made him want to be honest as if it was his only chance to be genuinely open.

“Don’t,” Hawks choked roughly. “Get soft on me,” his voice was a harsh rasp, barely louder than a whisper. “Can’t have,” he panted, breath weakening with each word, “You getting all sentimental.” With great effort, Hawks managed a half smile, the sight of which raised the hair on Dabi’s arms.

Even like this, he’s beautiful.

“Can I ask for a favor?” Hawks grunted, sweat beading on his forehead and dampening his blond tresses.

“Anything,” Dabi breathed, wholly captivated by the man.

“If things get worse and it doesn’t seem like I’m gonna make it,” Hawks’ breath was labored as his warm eyes met Dabi’s. “End it.”

Veins filled with an impregnable frost, the witcher’s heart froze. The thought had crossed Dabi’s mind, ebbing in the back of his subconsciousness, but to be asked so openly, by the man before him, was heart-wrenchingly painful. He opened his lips to speak, but his words stayed lodged deep in his throat.

No. I can’t kill you, not like this.

Dabi nodded.

“Thanks, Dabi,” Hawks closed his eyes, hand falling to his side to find Dabi’s. Their fingers twined together, the winged-man’s nails digging into the back of the witcher’s scarred hand.

Above the clearing, the sun began to descend, sending amber rays of evening light through the cracks in the canopy of woven boughs sheltering the witcher and the winged-man. She painted aurum flecks across Hawks’ pale cheeks, her gentle touch soothing his aching body. Dabi’s eyes traced over the golden flecks as he squeezed the man’s hand tightly in his own.

With dedicated reserve, the witcher stood guard over the man as he slipped in and out of consciousness, keeping a close eye on the fallen angel. As the evening sky turned dark, the witcher wandered out to find wood, returning to light a small fire amidst the circle of stones at the center of the mossy shelter. It hadn’t been his intention to stay by Hawks’ side, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the man.

Embers smoldered in his heart as he watched Hawks: his body now limp, his chest rising slowly, and his pulse weak. He felt surprisingly drawn to the man as if he possessed an innate kismet desire to protect him - the hands of fate pushing them closer together in the growing darkness, illuminated by the fires in their hearts.

Finally stirring from his fevered nightmare, Hawks opened his eyes, finding Dabi tending to the small fire, his back turned to the winged-man.

“Made yourself at home, eh?” He chuckled hoarsely. Dabi’s head snapped around, finding Hawks’ gaze in an instant.

“You’re awake.” The words a simple breath, falling from scarred lips dry with worry.

“You were supposed to mercy kill me,” Hawks groaned, eyes twinkling playfully in spite of his dark remark.

“Didn’t want to dirty my hands,” Dabi shrugged, his lips turning up in a smarting smirk.

“Don’t make messes if you’re not willing to clean them up,” the winged-man grinned, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

“I don’t know about that,” Dabi purred, returning to Hawks’ side, “I think I cleaned you up nicely.” The winged-man rolled his eyes, his lips taught, concealing a smile. “See for yourself,” Dabi drawled, quirking an eyebrow smugly.

Heading the witcher, Hawks struggled into a seated position, stretching his wings carefully. While he’d slept, Dabi had monitored the broken wing, tending to the wound as necessary and removing the splint when the bones appeared to have reconnected solidly.

“Shit, wait,” Hawks crowed. “You weren’t bullshitting?” He flapped the wing happily, stirring up dirt and loose feathers in the air around them. “It’s actually fixed.”

“Well, you almost died, but yeah, it’s fixed now.” Dabi’s eyes softened in amusement.

“I’m getting the fuck out of here tonight!” Hawks preened, attempting to stand but crumpling back to the ground when his legs refused to cooperate.

“Don’t think that’s the best idea,” Dabi noted dryly, “Your body is still weak from the potion, and didn’t you say you needed a few days to grow your feathers back properly?”

“Oh,” Hawks muttered, coming down from his high, “Right.” Grumbling under his breath, he slumped back onto his bedroll.

“So, you leaving now?” He asked softly, eyes seeking Dabi’s almost shyly. “Or can I interest you in some sort of repayment?”

The witcher laughed, steadying himself before chuckling, “Some sort of repayment? You realize how that sounds, right?” Hawks flushed a deep shade of crimson.

“That’s not what I meant,” he spluttered, embarrassment washing over his handsome features.

“Besides,” Dabi interjected, “I thought you said you didn’t have anything.”

“Well,” Hawks regained his composure, “I don’t have much, but I do have booze. Care for a drink? It’s on me.” His cheeks retained a pinkish hue, but his eyes twinkled playfully, enticing the witcher to accept.

“Why not,” Dabi shrugged, “But fair warning if you’re trying to get me drunk, it won’t work unless you’ve got something wickedly strong. Mutated cells and all that. Most of those potions I have would kill you if you drank them. You’d die in agony, burning up from the inside out. My body can handle it, but it makes drinking an expensive pastime.” Hawks squinted at the remark, pointedly choosing not to comment on the fact that mere moments ago he had been laboring under the effects of such a potion.

“You might be in luck,” the man laughed, “Got a friend who makes vodka. She made me something special for a favor I did her.”

Dabi watched with finely veiled curiosity as Hawks pulled a bottle out of the weathered rucksack that lay at the foot of his bedroll. He uncorked it, taking a swig of the clear liquid swirling within before passing it over to the witcher with a wink. Lips curling in a smirk, Dabi took the bottle, lifting it to his lips and letting the fiery spirit burn a path down his throat.

“So, Bird, answer me something?” Dabi purred, setting the bottle between them. Hawks’ lips pinched in feigned annoyance, but his expression remained open and unguarded. “What are you?”

“What?” Hawks choked back a laugh, surprised by the bluntness of the question.

“Call it professional curiosity,” the witcher mused, running his thumb absently over the staples in his cheek. “You’re clearly not a monster. You’re too human.”

“Thanks?” Hawks frowned, grabbing the liquor and taking another draft.

Swallowing a hot flash of regret, Dabi held a hand out for the bottle, which Hawks blessedly passed back. Knocking it back, he could feel heat spreading under his skin, heat that he couldn’t fully attribute to the toxicity of the liquid. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t be,” Hawks interrupted. “You’re not wrong. I may be seen as a monster, but I’m not one. Not really.” A drifting current of melancholy washed over the man’s face, twinging Dabi’s heart - his guilt burrowing deeper.

“I’m human in the way you are and inhuman similarly so, torn between worlds. Accepted by few. Feared by most.” The winged-man sighed, resting his chin in his hands.

“Mutant?”

“No, it was a curse.” Gently, Hawks slipped the bottle from Dabi’s fingers, reclaiming the poison for himself.

“Who cursed you?” The witcher’s mind filled with questions.

“Not me, my mother,” the winged-man sighed. “She was cursed. I’m the product of it.”

Oh.

Tormented by the pain in the Hawks’ eyes, Dabi’s stomach knotted tightly, nauseating apprehension creeping under his skin. The witcher nodded in understanding, shaking the steeping dread in his heart. “Can it be lifted? Have you tried?”

Hawks laughed dryly. “If it’s even possible, the cost wouldn’t be worth it.” He paused before continuing, “Dabi, I know a thing or two about sacrifice and pain, and it’s never served me, never helped.” The witcher frowned, unsure of the implied meaning of the winged-man’s words.

Seemingly lost in a cavalcade of unpleasant memories, the man continued his musings. “She tried to get rid of them.” Hawks’ wings tensed, pulling tighter against his back. “Tried everything, even took me to the butcher once. Tried to have him cleave them off - everyone’s got a price. His wasn’t high. Wings like mine are a fine trophy.” A sheet of ice burned through Dabi’s veins with impassioned fervor, reminding him of his own memories that were better left unspoken.

Flames. The cruel eyes of his father. His mother’s screams. Agony. Consuming agony. His skin searing away as his breaths grew shorter, lungs filled with smoke.

“Nothing worked though,” Hawks’ bitter voice broke through Dabi’s dizzying spiral. “They always grew back.” Brown eyes sought asylum in the witcher’s icy irises. “Always.” His breath catching in his throat, Dabi watched as the man’s eyes glazed over, losing their sharp focus.

“Hey,” he breathed, reaching to grab the bottle from Hawks’ grasp and setting it aside. A rosy flush colored the man’s cheeks. Eyes refocussing, Hawks released the breath he’d been holding.

“Sorry, I try not to think about it too much. It’s too easy to get lost in,” the blond smiled meekly at the witcher.

“Don’t apologize,” Dabi murmured, fingers finding Hawks’. “We all fight battles against the demons in our hearts.”

“Why do I have to fight alone?” The question wasn’t for Dabi. “Sometimes, I think that’s the real curse, not the wings but being outcast. So utterly fucking alone,” Hawks spat the last words angrily, and the witcher could feel a tremor in the man’s fingers. “Sure, I’ve been hunted because of them, but they’re all I’ve ever known. I’ve had them for as long as I can remember. Being an outcast? That’s not something I’ll ever be at peace with.” He reached for the bottle beside Dabi, but the witcher caught his hand, bringing it to rest with their intertwined fingers.

“I’m an outcast myself,” Dabi reflected, studying the differences in their hands.

“What’s your story?” Hawks whispered, eyes searching the witcher’s face.

“My story?” Dabi looked up at the winged-man, meeting his inquisitive gaze.

“You weren’t always a witcher, right? Witchers are- they’re made. Who were you before all of that?” A crease formed above Hawks’ handsome brow as he worried his lower lip, the flush in his cheeks still plainly present.

Who was I before?

Rosy sun-kissed cheeks, soft lips, hands beginning to form their first callouses from hard work. A mother’s voice calling across the fields, strong and warm. A sister cutting apples, smiling as she carved patterns in the side. Brothers playing in the forest, collecting sticks to use as swords. A bed, worn but warm. A roof, tattered but sheltering. An abundance of love, joy, and hope. Dreams of a future, bright and glowing with wonder. Kisses placed sweetly on his temple. A name that smelt of peaches and tasted like sugar.

A name that later curdled like sour milk, bringing reminders of fear and pain. Sharp eyes that could whittle a soul down with a single glance. A cruel voice, unbending and unrelenting. Harsh hands belonging to a figure that ought to have been fatherly. Father - a foreign word with a distant face. Memories that wouldn’t fade despite the constant passing of time, playing like painted pictures in his mind. A nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

Who was I before?

→

“Touya, fetch your siblings, would you?” The boy’s mother smiled, eyes crinkling with love and warmth. “Supper is ready.” Ruffling the child’s hair, Rei planted a kiss on her son’s forehead. “And call your father while you’re at it. Go on now. Shoo,” her lips were soft as she watched the boy run out into the tall grass of the fields bordering their family farm. On her hip, she held her youngest, an infant with wide eyes and a shocking mop of red and white hair. As Touya disappeared into the thick grass, Rei turned her gaze to the little one, marveling at his beautiful face, unmarred by the horrors of the world, protected by her motherly love.

In the fields, Touya was running. He knew where his siblings liked to play and where they were meant to have been working. Pushing grass aside and stepping carefully to avoid hidden burrows, the child scurried with haste, calling out for his siblings as he went.

“Fuyumi! Natsuo! Mom’s calling. Let’s go,” his voice cracked as he shouted, cheeks flushed from running. A root snaked around his boot, tripping and bringing him down hard into the earth. His knee glanced off of a rock, and he cursed at the stinging pain.

Ignoring the slight trail of blood trickling down his leg, the boy pushed on. Worry began to constrict his chest. He’d passed their secret play spots, checked for them doing their chores, and even doubled back around to their favorite tree, the one they’d sit beneath whittling little flutes, eating apples, and watching clouds float through the open sky. Fuyumi and Natsuo were nowhere to be seen.

Heart racing, Touya made his way to the edge of the fields. He’d check the forest entrance before running to his mother, frustrated tears threatening to spill from his eyes. It was odd to be so worried. Often he and his siblings would venture out without telling a soul, but there was a growing stench in the air that burned his lungs, infusing his blood with fear.

It was when he reached the farthest corner of his family’s fields that he saw them. His brother and sister sat in the dirt, their backs to him, clinging to each other’s arms. A wave of relief crashed over the boy; his siblings were safe. He approached them, heart dropping as he drew near enough to see that their faces were streaked with dirt and wet with tears.

“What’s going on?” Touya’s head was pounding, the rancid smell in the air stronger than before. “Fuyumi? Sis?” The boy reached down, pulling his sister up. He inspected her face, she seemed unharmed, but her eyes said otherwise. Glassy and vacant, the small girl’s turquoise irises rippled with fear. Turning to his brother, Touya grabbed Natsuo’s hand. “What-”

“Father,” the smaller boy spoke. Touya felt his throat closing.

“Did he hurt you?” he whispered, searching his younger siblings’ faces.

“No,” Natsuo breathed, his eyes almost as vacant as Fuyumi’s. “A monster. Some beast. It attacked. Father chased it into the forest, but…” He didn’t finish speaking.

Touya turned his gaze to the forest, eyes sweeping over the signs of a struggle, marked by dark patches in the earth still slick with blood. His stomach churned.

“We need to get to the house,” he whispered, grabbing his siblings’ hands.

From deep within the darkness of the forest, a horrifying hissing sound echoed out. Yelling grew out of the trees, their father’s voice strangled and angry.

With a last look back at the forest, Touya began to sprint, calling to his siblings in fear.

“Run!”

Years later, Touya would remain haunted by the fear he felt that night, chased through his dreams by faceless monsters, his siblings panting to keep close at his heels. He remembered the feeling of their hearts pounding as they slammed through their front door, collapsing before their worried mother.

In the depths of his subconscious, the bitter scenes that followed were etched in deep grooves to the essence of his being. Rei tended to the children: washing their faces, filling their stomachs with foods, and singing them lullabies until they came to rest. She was a master of masking her own pain. If she feared for her husband, she didn’t show it. If her heart felt as if it was being squeezed to a fine pulp, her soothing words didn’t betray it. Her hands didn’t shake, and her voice never wavered as she tucked her babies in to rest.

Touya was stubborn, insisting on sleeping by the door to keep guard. To an outsider, it may have appeared that the young boy was waiting in hopes of his father’s safe return. In truth, he was dedicated to being the last line of defense should the foul monster prevail against his father and attempt to threaten his mother and siblings. Scratching marks in the earthen floor, the child vowed he’d fight, to the death if necessary, to protect those he loved.

Beneath the light of the watchful moon, the boy eventually succumbed to sleep, dreaming fitfully and turning in unrest. In the early light of morning, he was awoken not by the sun but by the sound of two pairs of heavy boots making their way up to the door he lay behind. Scurrying to his feet, he crouched beneath a window, doing his best to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place outside.

“Listen, old man,” a rough voice filtered through the open window. “I didn’t have to save your ass. I think I saved a lot more than your life. You’ve got a pretty nice farm here, good land by the look of it. I’d say I deserve more than your sorry thanks for saving your livelihood.” Touya craned his neck, attempting to peer out the window.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking help, you goddamn whoreson,” his father’s voice spat back, anger and pride unmistakable in his tone. The boy could barely make out the back of the stranger engaged in the heated conversation with his father. The man was broad and tall with two swords strapped to his back. His boots were speckled in blood and ichor.

“I’d be careful who call a whoreson,” the man hissed. “Pay me while I’m being nice. Don’t make me invoke the Law of Surprise.”

“Ha!” Touya’s father laughed brazenly. “What do you think that will accomplish? I’ve got nothing of value for you to steal.”

“Alright then, since you want to play with fire. I’m invoking the law. Whatever comes first to greet you when you step through that door, it’s mine,” the strangers smirked, tossing a glance at the open window.

Touya froze, petrified by the amber eyes burning into his. The pupils were inhuman, slit like a cat’s, and they were looking right at him. Had the stranger known he was there the whole time? He swallowed, ducking down beneath the sill.

“Prepare to be disappointed,” his father growled.

In the end, it was Enji who was disappointed, shock chasing the blood from his face as his eldest son ran to him, frightened and shaking. The stranger seemed to pity the child as the enraged farmer scolded his son for acting so foolishly, for running into his arms, playing into the stranger’s trap.

Touya never got to say goodbye to his mother or siblings. The strange man, his new guardian, and a witcher as it were, placed him on the back of a horse, and together they rode across the farmland into the hills. Several times, the boy looked back at his family’s farm, hoping to see his father chasing after them. Hoping this was all a nightmare that he’d wake from, face pressed into the dirt at the foot of the door, awaiting his father’s return.

All that met him was the sound of a heartbroken cry of a mother waking to find that she’d lost a child, inconsolable and heartbroken by the man who ought to have protected his son. It was a chilling sound that rang loudly through the morning air, shaking birds from trees. A sound that would never leave Touya, forever reverberating in his heart.

→

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Hawks murmured, squeezing Dabi’s hand. The witcher blinked, the haze in his mind faltering at the sound of the winged-man’s soothing voice.

“I wasn’t anyone. Just the son of a farmer.” He tried to laugh, but the sound wasn’t more than an exhalation of breath. “Funny, isn’t it? How a nobody can become infamous all without trying, all without asking, merely by fate.” Dabi released Hawks’ hands reaching for the liquor again, downing a considerable measure before handing it back to the winged-man.

“You believe in fate, then?” Hawks’ asked, tucking a lock of blond hair behind his ear.

“Gotta have something to blame for all my good fortune,” the witcher chuckled, bitterness tainting the words. He caught Hawks’ eyes sweep up his arms, examining the witcher’s heavily patterned flesh.

“So, here’s another question for ya,” Hawks’ words came slightly slurred as he continued to eye Dabi. “Are all of those scars from hunting monsters? There’s so many.” Bemused, the witcher repossessed the bottle, finishing off the contents before tossing the empty glass aside.

“No.”

“That’s dark.” Hawks muttered, leaning in concernedly towards Dabi.

The witcher shrugged. “Suppose so, but it’s not all bad. Some have funny stories.” The winged-man’s eyes widened like saucers, hovering ever closer to Dabi.

“I don’t believe you,” he challenged, a drunken air of mischief settling across his rosy features.

“Oh yeah?” Dabi smirked. “I can prove it.” With practiced ease, the witcher pulled the tunic he’d been wearing off over his head, discarding it on the earthen floor. Hawks’ flush deepened from dewy pink to outright crimson.

“This,” the witcher pointed to a particularly dark set of marks on his collar bone, almost entirely masked by the purplish burns overlaying his skin. “Care to guess?”

“Fuck that,” Hawks laughed. “I’m not guessing. It looks like teeth, though. Not human?”

“Incubus,” Dabi supplied, devilish vanity barely veiled in his turquoise eyes.

“How is that funny? Sounds like a witcher related injury.” Hawks squinted at the witcher suspiciously.

“What’s funny is that it wasn’t from a contract job,” Dabi smirked. “Call it a scorned lover kind of situation.”

“Seriously?” The winged-man whistled. “Damn, okay.”

“I’d say perils of the job,” Dabi started, “But that’d be a fucking lie.” The pair snickered at the thought before falling silent, quietly appraising each other by the dim light of the low burning fire.

Outside of the shelter, the clearing had grown quiet, save for the rustling of sleepy birds and the chirping of crickets. Night had fallen, the moon now keeping a watchful eye over the witcher and the winged-man from her perch in the sky.

“Can I?” Hawks breathed, his hands coming to hover a breath above Dabi’s exposed shoulders.

The witcher nodded, inhaling as the winged-man slide his hands up his scarred neck. For a moment, Hawks’ fingers played in the man’s hair, thumbs tracing circles over his scarred flesh. Dabi shivered under Hawks’ touch, unable to suppress the involuntary reaction.

Slowly and carefully, the winged-man dropped his hands, tenderly feeling the plains of Dabi’s chest. His fingers trailed over each scar, lingering longer over particularly nasty gashes. At a glance, the witcher’s extensive burns hide the extent of his scarring. Patterned in angry reminders of the night he’d gone up in flames, his lesser scars were far less conspicuous in comparison.

“Wow,” Hawks murmured, eyes examining every inch of Dabi, his fingers following close behind. “They’re all so-” he whispered.

A small laugh slipped from the witcher’s lips, “I’m a walking storybook,” he remarked wryly. “Which one do you want to know about?”

Hawks inhaled deeply, eyes wavering with concentrated intensity. “Tell me about these,” he murmured, gently gliding his hands over the rough burns on Dabi’s arms. The witcher shivered at the intimacy of the touch, heart racing as Hawks’ fingers continued across his bare skin.

“That’s a long story.” The whisper hung between the pair, creating a growing expanse between them. Dabi’s eyes darkened, and his shoulders tightened. His fists curled, pulling at the stapled seams on the backs of his hands, but the only pain he felt was in his chest as unwelcome memories flooded his mind.

→

Skin tanned by the harsh sun, calloused hands, his arms and chest sporting their first scars from slaying monsters, overlapping with countless smaller scars from years of brutal training. A heart hardened by grueling discipline and dehumanizing mutations. His drawling voice rougher than it ought to have been for a man his age. Eyes icy and cold that longed for a warmth they hadn’t known in years. A secret desire he’d never share, never disclose. Haunted by nightmares of a stolen childhood. A witcher with nothing left to burn and nothing left to prove, or so he thought.

Over the past eight years, Touya had been groomed to become a witcher by the secretive School of the Bear deep in the Amell Mountains. He wasn’t a prisoner, but he wasn’t free either. It was a life that had been chosen for him, perhaps by fate herself.

He watched his new found brothers, other children like himself, die around him, young bodies unable to bear the brunt of the training and fading slowly into the next life, tortured by mutagens unfit for human consumption during the harrowing Trial of the Grasses - the last rite of passage all witchers must face. Three out of ten. Those were the odds of survival.

Touya was one of two. With his remaining brother, the young witcher suffered another significant loss, eight of his peers, swept from the unforgiving earth, lost to those that grew to know them and the few that remembered them.

The witcher set out on his path, making a name for himself locally. Monsters fought hard, but he fought harder. Killing became his release. He poured his rage and his grief into his path, becoming an exemplary witcher.

The spoils that came along with being a young, dashing monster slayer were enthralling in the beginning. Touya had dreamed of being an adventurer as a boy, but his father had always set him straight. Farming was the only life he’d ever know. As a witcher, he had it all. Freedom. Money. Drink. A taste of fame. Women and men, human and inhuman alike. He’d found himself in situations he never could have imagined.

As time passed, the frivolities and cheap thrills of his path grew stale, turning to ash in his mouth. In pursuit of fresh highs, he heightened the stakes of everything he did: he took bigger, more dangerous jobs, drank more, partied with rowdier crowds. He had affairs with elves, nymphs, succubuses and incubuses, and at one point, ventured as far as to fool around with a higher vampire. It was never enough.

Ghosts lived in his heart, spirits that demanded attention, and no amount of debauchery would erase their cries. Touya needed to hear them out. He needed to set things straight.

So, he planned his return, and set a course for home, hoping beyond hope that his family would welcome him with open arms. Praying he could finally silence the cry of his mother that never wholly left his heart.

It was a fair autumn afternoon when he rode down the hills and into the fields of his childhood. For a fleeting moment, as he approached the small farmhouse, it seemed as though nothing had changed. His heart swelled, nervous but ready.

When he knocked at the door, there was a long silence before he heard shuffling feet inside his former home. A woman with long white hair opened the door, she looked old, her face gaunt and wrinkled, eyes empty and mouth slack. Her lips pinched at the sight of the witcher, and her eyes widened in understanding and recognition.

“A witcher?” she whispered. “But we haven’t a need for one.”

Touya’s heart sank.

“Mother?” His voice shook, and he felt like a child again.

Rei searched his face, scanning him with confusion. “Do I know you?”

He reached for her hand, hoping his touch would bring her back to him. Fearing the stranger in her doorway, the woman pulled back, stress flashing in her glassy eyes. Ice filled the witcher’s heart.

Mom.

“Is Enji here?” he asked, disappointment heavy in his voice.

“Oh, you came for my husband?” The ghost of his mother tutted softly. “He’s out back in the barn. Go to him if you like.”

Heart aching, Touya made his way around the farmhouse, entering the familiar barn he once played in as a child. His father was busily working, bundling bunches of kindling with twine. Back turned to the witcher, the farmer didn’t look up from his work as he called, “Shoto, is that you? Done in the fields already?”

Shoto. Fleetingly, Touya wondered what his brother looked like and who he’d become, bitter over having missed the child grow from infancy.

“Touya actually.”

Enji froze, muscles tensing across his shoulders, his cold eyes snapping to meet the witcher’s.

“Impossible,” he spat, fear and anger bubbling behind his turquoise irises. “You’re dead.”

“What?” Touya choked in surprise. “Why did you think I was dead?”

His father rose, scattering the kindling as he stalked towards the witcher. “Your kind isn’t welcome here. Leave, freak.”

“Father, I-” Touya’s voice broke, his words catching in his throat as it tightened.

“You’re not my son. Not anymore. My son is dead,” the venomous words dripped from Enji’s lips scalding Touya’s skin.

In the years following Touya’s disappearance, the farmer had cultivated an intense hatred for witchers, viewing the loss of his son not as his failure to protect the boy but rather as an act of theft committed against him. Seeing his eldest son before him, marked by the mutations of witcher mutagens and clothed in the telltale garb of the trade, sickened him, boiling his blood.

“There’s nothing that you could say,” Enji spat, “That would bring my son back.” Shouldering the witcher out of his way, the farmer left the barn.

Shocked and hurt, Touya fell to his knees, head dizzy. His skin prickled, the fine hairs on his arms raising sharply. It felt as though he couldn’t breathe, his deflated lungs unwilling to aid him.

In his devastation, Touya fell victim to his father’s hatred. Behind him, the loud slamming of the barn doors echoed distinctly. Leaping to his feet, the witcher sprinted to the doors, pounding on the worn wooden planks. They didn’t budge, latched from the outside by a heavy bolt.

“What the fuck,” he screamed, dispair morphing into rage. “Let me out of here, you deranged bastard.” His father didn’t reply.

A bright, flickering object flew through a high window in the barn’s side, landing amidst dry hay and loose kindling. It was a torch, and it set the remains of Touya’s childhood alight in a deadly blaze.

Frantically, the witcher searched for a means of escape, using his sword in an attempt to pry wooden planks apart from the barn. Hungry flames danced up the walls, burning hot in the dry air, embers showering over Touya.

Pulling a vial from his belt bag, the witcher downed a potion of strength, and as the fire consumed him, ripping his humanity from him further than it already had been, he poured all of his rage into breaking through the burning walls imprisoning him.

→

A dark look had settled on the witcher’s face, and his voice was rough when he finally spoke, “There was a fire. I was lucky, though. Someone cared enough to put me back together.” After a pause, he added, “A mage found me half dead in a creek. Pieced me together with these little fuckers,” the witcher trailed a finger across the staples at his neckline. “Between his magic and my mutated genes, I survived.” He didn’t elaborate, not wishing to share that the mage had been far from altruistic, using the injured witcher as an opportunity to experiment with taboo magic he wouldn’t have been able to test otherwise. If the man had failed, no one would miss a witcher - one less freak in the world.

Hawks' hands found Dabi’s, unfurling the witcher’s clenched fists and rubbing the tension out them. Quietly, the winged-man continued exploring Dabi’s skin, his fingers coming to rest over the freshest scar, still pink and tender. “This one is recent, right?” He looked up, finding Dabi’s turquoise eyes already trained on his.

“Yeah,” the witcher looked down, trailing a fingertip across the disfigured patch. “On my way here actually.” His lips pulled slowly into a half smile as he returned his gaze to Hawks. “Wyvern. Woulda killed me actually. Venomous fucker. Luckily, I had an antidote,” he smirked.

Hawks’ brow furrowed in concern. “You seem so unbothered by it all.”

“Should it bother me?” Dabi asked, eyes falling to the winged-man’s lips before flitting away abashed.

“I mean,” Hawks pulled back, folding his hands in his lap, “Maybe not bothered, but you seem so cavalier about it. Makes it seem like you throw yourself into dangerous situations headfirst.”

“Is that wrong?” the witcher murmured, his voice low, masking the feeling of vulnerability that was building in his chest.

“What if you got into something too deep and couldn’t make it home? Doesn’t that worry people?”

Home.

Dabi’s throat tightened. Some part of him wanted Hawks to understand the reality of his situation, but fear ebbed in his blood, chilling his skin and heart. Tired of being alone, tired of being a freak witcher who felt nothing, tired of being a soulless mutant, Dabi breathed quietly into the air between them, “I don’t have anyone to worry about me, and the only home I have is my horse.” He forced himself not to break away from Hawks’ gaze and was surprised to see distress reflected in the man’s brown irises.

“We’ve got more in common than I thought,” Hawks chuckled sadly, “Only difference is I don’t have a horse.” Harrowing pain pierced Dabi’s heart, rending it to pieces like broken glass.

Tentatively, the witcher lifted Hawks’ chin, drawing his thumb across the other man’s jaw. “Don’t just run, start over. Find your home,” the witcher’s whisper ghosted over Hawks.

“You don’t wanna be my home?” Hawks jested, the humor in his eyes flickering weakly. “Sounds idyllic.”

The witcher released the winged-man, frowning. “What I want doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “The witcher’s path is,” he paused, looking down at his hands, “Solitary.”

“What if,” Hawks murmured, reaching for Dabi’s hands and pulling them into his lap. He inhaled, holding the breath for a beat, “What if tonight we were each other’s homes?”

Dabi eyed the man, mulling over the wanton proposal. “You want that? It’ll hurt tomorrow.”

Hawks smiled, eyes twinkling like the evening stars, distant but bright. “Tomorrow was gonna hurt anyway. What’s a little extra heartbreak?” A hot blush colored his cheeks as he chewed his lip, waiting for the witcher’s reply.

Breath catching in his throat, Dabi leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the winged-man’s waist and hoisting him onto his lap. “Fair enough,” he whispered roughly, lips finding Hawks’ neck. “Be my home tonight.”

“I want that more than anything,” Hawks breathed, melting under the fiery kisses Dabi was burning into his skin. The witcher rooted a hand to the back of the Hawks’ head, fingers twisting in golden locks. His other hand dug into the back of Hawks’ neck, trapping him in Dabi’s arms. Hot and thick, the winged-man’s breaths grew shorter as he trembled in the embrace, his own hands tracing the scars on Dabi’s back.

The witcher broke away to find the man’s face, his piercing eyes softer than they’d been in years. “If you really want this, want all of me, you can call me Touya.”

You’ll regret that.

I don’t care.

“Touya,” the winged-man hummed, gripping the witcher tightly. Waves of delicious pain crashed over Dabi, threatening to undo him.

“Say it again,” he whispered, moving his hands to cup Hawks’ face.

“I want you more than anything, Touya,” the blond murmured, his eyes hazy and cheeks flushed.

“Fuck,” the witcher moaned, pulling Hawks’ lips into a burning kiss.

Needy fingers found their way down Hawks’ torso, untwining the linen swathed around his lean chest. Hawks inhaled softly as Dabi’s rough hands moved hotly across his skin, the tips of the witcher’s fingers lingering over the ridges of his ribs. Hawks was everything Dabi needed but hadn’t been able to find in his years of wandering.

Shifting the man on his lap, the witcher’s hands spread across Hawks’ back, caressing his wings and burying his fingers in the other’s soft skin. The winged-man hummed, pressing himself closer to Dabi, a hungry moan building on his lips.

Hawks’ lips tasted sweeter than any Dabi had ever kissed, his skin more intoxicating than any he’d ever felt, his muscles firm and defined in ways that didn’t seem possible.

Dabi didn’t believe in angels. He believed in fate because he couldn’t explain his fortune otherwise, and he believed in what he could see. To have ensnared an angel in his arms was beyond reasonable explanation, and the witcher couldn’t rationalize why such a being would have any interest in a mutant witcher such as himself. He didn’t question it long, though.

Hawks had begun grinding into the witcher’s lap, rolling his hips slowly as soft whimpers fell from his bruised lips. Heat pooled in Dabi’s groin, and he felt his own breath, hot against Hawks’ skin. The sound of the pretty bird chirping for him was stirring a fire deep within his core.

In rabid anticipation, the pair soon found themselves in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs with their remaining garments strewn about the earthen floor, the heat between them building like wildfire. Dabi ran his hands over the curve of Hawks’ ass, purring appreciatively when the winged-man quivered at the feeling of the witcher’s slick fingers pressing against his entrance. The bird was hovering over the witcher, splayed on all fours and panting heavily as Dabi began to feel him out from the inside.

“You’re so warm,” the witcher breathed, staring up into the hazy brown eyes above him. Hawks’ legs shook, threatening to collapse.

“I want you so fucking bad, Touya.” Hawks’ whisper was strained, broken by little moans as the witcher continued stretching him out.

“Soon,” Dabi purred. His cock throbbed at the thought of filling Hawks. He pulled his fingers free, eliciting a pouting whine from the man. Fisting the blond’s hair in a scarred hand, Dabi pulled his angel down into an open-mouthed kiss. Frenzied with need, the winged-man sucked the witcher’s lip between his teeth, running his burning tongue across the scarred skin.

“Hawks,” the witcher murmured, head swimming, clouded by desire. Situating the blond above his hardened shaft, Dabi pulled the man’s hips down. “Show me how much you want this,” he whispered, allowing the other to slide onto his cock, enveloping him in heavenly heat. As Hawks set a building rhythm, Dabi reached for the winged-man’s erection, teasing the tip with his thumb.

“Fuck, Touya,” the blond moaned loudly, continuing to curse quietly under his breath.

“You look so needy like this,” Dabi murmured, releasing Hawks’ cock in favor of brushing stray hair out of the blond’s eyes. The crimson winged-angel whined as the scarred fingers left his shaft, and he hummed happily when the witcher’s hand returned, pumping him slowly.

Hawks’ chest glistened with sweat, and his pace slowed as his legs burned, exhausted and sore, still weak from recovery. “Should I take pity on you and fuck you myself?” Dabi purred, running his hands over Hawks’ trembling thighs.

“Please,” the blond whimpered, nodding softly and collapsing against the witcher’s chest.

Wrapping Hawks tightly in his arms, Dabi rolled the man over, pressing him into the earth. Hawks looked up at Dabi, brown eyes hooded and rosy lips swollen, gasping slightly as the cock buried in him shifted.

“An angel,” Dabi breathed, stroking the side of Hawks’ face. His thumb lingered over the blond’s lips, pulling the lower down.

“What?” Hawks panted, frustration at the lack of stimulation painting his needy features.

“You,” the witcher swallowed. “You look like an angel.” The blond blushed but didn’t break his hold on Dabi’s eyes.

“That’s original,” Hawks snorted.

“Don’t talk back,” Dabi purred, rolling his hips into the winged-man, turning the blond’s laugh into a moan. The witcher wrapped a hand carefully around Hawks’ throat, feeling the blood pulsing under his slick skin and the vibrations born of his intoxicating cries.

“Should I be gentle with you, Birdie?” The witcher’s expression softened, his tone genuine. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the angel pinned beneath him.

Hawks shook his head, reaching up to hold Dabi’s biceps. “Undo me.”

The witcher’s lips curled into a feral grin as he surveyed the blond’s face. Without further hesitation, Dabi leaned into the man, setting a punishing pace.

Rain fell from the sky - tears from the moon - washing the broken earth they lay upon, cleansing the forest clearing of blood and ash, healing the hurt inflicted by their misfortunes, and softening their hearts as they moved together, resurrecting their humanity. A mutant and a cursed man, existing for a fragment of time as common men, no longer outcasts. Two flames flickering, becoming one, composed of many wanton desires, devouring one another with a passion that rivaled that of a love built on a lifetime of gentle touches, tender kisses, and soft words. They branded each other, binding their hearts together.

Silently weeping above the boughs of the forest, the silver moon watched over the lovers as they fought to find home in each other’s arms.

Chapter Text

And so, the witcher spared the man, and in the dewiness of morning, he watched his companion sleep, eyelids fluttering and lips parted. Dabi lay on his back with Hawks tucked against his side. Cheek gently pressed into the witcher’s collar, the sleeping man’s chest rose and fell in even rhythm.

There was an unexpected warmth dwelling in Dabi's being. It bloomed in his soul, reawakening desires he’d long forgotten. Feelings that didn’t serve his witcher’s path, belonging to Touya - what remained of him.

To wake like this. If only. 

Fanciful images danced in Dabi’s mind, tempting him to indulge in a daydream where he lay down his swords. It was foolish of him to engage in wishful thinking, and in a dark corner of his mind, he knew that walking away now would be painful - more painful than he’d care to admit. The beauty of the morning soured in his mouth, but he couldn’t help but continue to marvel at the angel sleeping in his arms. 

For a minute longer, I can be- We can be-

Belaying the inevitable, Dabi readjusted, reaching an arm around Hawks and pulling the man tighter into his side. Hawks didn’t stir, but he shifted, unconsciously moving to bury his face deeper into Dabi’s shoulder. 

The pair, entwined beneath the mossy boughs, lay in silence, their shared warmth abating the morning chill. One slept soundly, dreaming of icy eyes and rough lips that whispered pretty words. The other, lay pretending - pretending that he truly believed he could have a life that was different than the dark and lonesome path stretching before him. 

Unrest in Dabi’s mind belittled the longing of his heart, telling him it was childish to fantasize. Childish to dream. Chasing an unattainable fantasy was painful, but to abandon any pretense of a chase was devastating. Dabi, conflicted by his purpose and driven by the witchers’ dogma, had given up chasing his dreams long ago, relinquishing his last genuine spark of optimism. 

By the light of fresh morning with Hawks at his side, Dabi felt the ghost of Touya settle over him. For the first time in sixteen years, the familiar presence was comforting rather than haunting. His heart, bound by the cruel shackles of time and imprisoned by the nightmares of his past, felt fuller. 

Hawks’ breath tickled Dabi’s neck, breathing warmth and life into his core. Hungry for the love he’d forged in the arms of an angel to continue, Dabi’s heart ached, beating trepidly with sorrow and temporary fulfillment that he knew would wane as soon as he returned to his path. Throat tight, Dabi let a scarred hand travel across Hawks’ wings, feeling the man’s crimson feathers like silk beneath his fingers. A gentle ripple pulsed through the feathers, and Hawks shivered under Dabi’s touch.

Stirring from sleep, Hawks coiled in Dabi’s arms. His arms and legs bunched as he pulled in on himself before releasing the tension and melting into Dabi’s chest. Soft sounds slipped from his lips as he ruffled his feathers, shaking the last of sleep’s hold from his body.

For a moment, Dabi questioned if Hawks would feel the same as they’d felt the night previous, so he held his breath, watching as Hawks' eyes fluttered open. When Hawks spoke, breathing comfort into the space between them, the tightness in Dabi’s throat dissolved, replaced by smoldering heat that brought a flush to his cheeks.

“Touya.”

It was just his name, but it was enough. Dabi bent his head, kissing Hawks' forehead, eyes flickering softly over his handsome features.

“Yeah?” he breathed back, enraptured by the sound of his name tumbling from Hawks’ pink lips.

“You stayed.” The words were a beautiful hum, lighting a foreign fire in Dabi’s chest.

His heart soared, but a dark weight quickly replaced the sensation, constricting his lungs. He didn’t respond, opting to brush a lock of hair from Hawks’ brow and trailing his finger across the smooth skin of the man’s cheek. Hawks' breath hitched in his throat, brown eyes softening in wonder. Hawks pushed himself up to lean over Dabi. As before, his expression was open and vulnerable as he considered Dabi.

“Have you,” Hawks started, a light blush creeping up his neck. “Been with many people?” Hawks' lips pinched, and his shoulders tightened. 

“No one like you.”

It was all Hawks needed to hear.

Dropping his head, he bought his lips to Dabi’s. Unlike the previous night, the kiss was unassuming and sweet, fleeting as Hawks pulled back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What now?” he hummed, settling back beside Dabi, their faces inches apart.

Frost formed over Dabi’s heart, spreading out through his limbs until it reached his fingers and toes, numbing them. Before his lips could succumb to the ice in his veins, Dabi spoke, sighing words that tasted like heartbreak. 

“I can’t stay.”

Hawks nodded in understanding, but his eyes lost their shine.

“I know,” he murmured, releasing a deep sigh. He seemed smaller, deflated by the truth he’d know but willfully ignored. “Don’t go yet.” Hawks’ voice was a whisper, his plea fading in the air.

Dabi sat up, crossing his legs before him. “Come ‘ere,” he murmured, gathering Hawks onto his lap. With a gentle hum, Hawks wrapped his legs around the witcher, laying his arms over Dabi’s shoulders, fingers coming up to twine in dark locks.

“If I asked,” Hawks bit his lip, breath slow and deep. “Would you tell me where you’re going?”

A half-smile twinged Dabi’s lips, contrasting with the bleakness in his icy irises.

“Trade secret.”

Hawks frowned. “Are you just saying that so I won’t try to tag along?” His crestfallen expression pained Dabi.

“No,” Dabi breathed, planting a slight kiss on Hawks’ nose. “Belhaven was supposed to be a quick stop. I have business in the mountains.”

“Let me come.” Hawks pressed his forehead to Dabi’s, hands coming down to cup the witcher’s face. “Once my feathers are fully back, I can-”

Dabi cut Hawks off with a burning kiss. 

“Hawks,” he murmured against the blond’s mouth as their lips parted, deepening the kiss. Dabi wasn’t one to cry, but his eyes prickled when he pulled back, wishing he could capture the beauty of the angel in his lap permanently on the backs of his eyelids.

“You know that can’t happen. I-” His words caught in his throat. “I’m sorry.” Dabi’s fingers trembled as he brushed a strand of hair out of Hawks’ eyes.

“It was stupid of me to ask. I knew…” Hawks sighed, not finishing.

“It’s not stupid.” Dabi’s chest had grown numb, and he was finding each breath more painful than the last. “If things were different,” he swallowed, “Maybe we could have been something, but-”

“You’ve got your path, and I’ve got mine,” Hawks finished for him. Dabi nodded. 

Birds chirped outside their mossy shelter. Hawks turned towards the sound, cocking his head.

“Can you understand them?” 

“What?” Hawks choked, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. “I’ve got wings,” he giggled. “I’m not actually part bird.” A glimmer of amusement lingered in his brown eyes as he looked at Dabi, affection warming his features.

Dabi snorted, hugging Hawks tighter in his arms. “I know. I just wanted to see you smile.”

As quickly as it came, the humor in Hawks’ face faded. 

This was all such a mistake. We never should have… I never should have… 

Dabi felt sick. He couldn’t meet Hawks' eyes, choosing instead to fixate on the man’s collarbone.

“Hey,” Hawks murmured, reaching to tilt Dabi’s chin up, reclaiming his gaze. “Humor me for a second.” Dabi’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. “Even if it’s only for a few minutes longer, I want to exist in a moment where,” his voice shook. “We keep being each other’s homes. So, before you go, indulge me this.”

“Will it make you happy?”

Hawks laughed.

“Of course not, but I want to anyway.”

“Okay. Tell me about us then.”

“We’re happy,” Hawks smiled, kissing Dabi’s forehead. The witcher’s heart stuttered at the contact, wishing the warmth of his angel’s lips would never leave his skin. “And we live somewhere in the countryside, far away from people. We don’t need them. You know how to farm, so we can provide for ourselves. If we need anything, I’ll fly to town.”

“How do we pass time?” Dabi’s eyes crinkled as he lost himself in the picture Hawks was painting.

“Honestly,” Hawks started, mouth twinging as he fought back a grin. “I just want the kind of life where I can take things easy.” He bit his lip in thought. “So, we’ll spend our days enjoying each other. By that time, we’re madly in love, so nothing really matters as long as we’re together.”

What if I’m already-

“What do you think?” Hawks asked, nuzzling his head into Dabi’s neck.

“I think it sounds good, but let’s travel first. I want to take you to the Isles of Skellige. I think you’d like it there.”

“What’s it like?” Hawks pulled back to study Dabi’s face.

“Beautiful,” Dabi murmured, “Like you.” A fierce blush painted Hawks' face. “One of the jarls owes me a favor. We can probably stay in a castle if you like.”

Hawks jaw dropped, mouth forming a small o. “You have to tell me that story later.” Dabi chuckled, the corners of his mouth softening into a smile.

“We’ll have to go to Toussaint. You’d love it. Everything is bright and colorful, you’d fit right in,” Dabi sighed, wistful visions continuing to form in his mind. 

Hawks gripped Dabi’s shoulders in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to see Toussaint.” Hawks' eyes grew wide like a child’s. “Is it true what they say? Is it really the land of wine?”

With a chuckle, Dabi rolled his eyes. “It’s not just wine. It’s any form of debauchery you could imagine, and no one gives a damn.”

Whistling under his breath, Hawks rocked back in Dabi's lap. “I want to see it. Promise we’ll get drunk on a hill and count stars.” Dabi’s heart quickened in pace as the earnest joy on Hawks' face played dirty tricks on his resolve.

“Promise.”

The pair sat tangled together, staring intensely into each other’s eyes. If time could stop, preserving the moment indefinitely, they’d have been able to achieve that which alluded them. They’d find utter contentment, joy spilling from their hearts and filling each other with warmth, melting the hurt that followed them. They’d be free, unfettered by clouded judgment. Undisturbed by the troubles of the world. But time didn’t stop. She never did. 

Dabi broke the silence first.

“How do we die?”

Hawks chewed his lip in thought, the bridge of his nose pinching.

“In each other’s arms. Old.” Hawks chest heaved, sighing as the weight of their pasts and the pain of their future compressed his lungs.

“I’ve got something for you,” Dabi breathed. The witcher reached back and pulled his bear’s head medallion over his head, hanging it around Hawks’ neck. “Don’t forget about me,” he whispered, putting an end to their game of make-believe. 

Hawks had gone white, and his fingers shook as he reached to touch the engraved surface of the medallion, feeling the grooves in the metal under his thumb.

“I don’t think I could ever forget you, Touya.” Leaning forward, Hawks drew Dabi into a gentle kiss, thanking him for the trinket.

“Here,” Hawks hummed, reaching back to pluck a short feather that he handed to Dabi. “It’s not much, but it’s what I’ve got.” Dabi accepted the offering, examining the crimson token. 

“You know,” he started, looking back up at Hawks. “You really should go to Toussaint. It might be your best bet.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Hawks winked. Beneath the bravado, Dabi saw disappointment flicker in Hawks' brown eyes.

Unable to take the pain buried under Hawks' expression, Dabi ducked his head, bringing his lips to the other’s collarbone, trailing kisses along Hawks’ shoulder. Hands trailed down Dabi’s chest as Hawks leaned into him. Under Hawks' weight, Dabi laid back, bringing the other with him.

Dabi’s breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Hawks. Brown eyes warmer than summer stared back, melting the ice in Dabi’s irises.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Dabi breathed, voice husky and twisted by hidden emotions.

“That’s 'cause I’m one of a kind, babe,” Hawks winked, fighting back a cheeky half-smile.

With an amused snort, Dabi pushed Hawks off of him, untangling himself and standing. Silently, Dabi grabbed his pants, shirking them on. From the ground, Hawks watched, the blush coloring his face unable to conceal the anguish in his eyes. Dabi turned away, unable to stomach seeing Hawks hurting because of him.

Fuck. This is so much worse than I thought it would be.

A wave of nausea rippled through Dabi, knotting his stomach as he pulled his tunic on and forced his boots onto his feet. 

“Touya?” A whisper softer than a sigh burned his ears.

Dabi turned back to Hawks, his heart shattering as he saw the silent tears smudged on the blond’s cheeks.

“Yeah, Birdie?” Dabi's throat seized, and he felt his lungs deflate, held captive by the unyielding hands of heartbreak. 

“Thank you.” Hawks’ voice quivered, sending tiny slivers of piercing ice into Dabi’s blood. “For sparing me, giving me a chance, and seeing me as someone worth living.” 

“I’m a witcher, not a monster,” Dabi managed in spite of the tightness in his throat. “Don’t thank me. You shouldn’t have to, not for that.” 

Hawks nodded, wiping away tears. 

Once Dabi had gathered the last of his possessions from Hawks' refuge, he knelt before the captor of his heart, planting a lingering kiss on his forehead. 

“I’ve got to check on my horse,” Dabi whispered.

“You’ll come right back, right?” Hawks looked up at Dabi, jaw trembling, already knowing the answer.

“Of course,” Dabi lied.

The witcher left, walking slowly at first before picking up his pace. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He might have changed his mind if he did.

Shimmering above the Slopes, the sun tutted in dissatisfaction. Didn’t Dabi know that his actions had woven his and Hawks' paths together? Didn’t he know their fates were bound?

Sighing, she climbed higher to her midday throne, sweeping heat across Dabi’s back as he rode his horse away from Belhaven and deeper into the Amell Mountains. Someday, he’d come to realize. Eventually, he wouldn’t be able to run from the truth.