Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hunter pretended to be engrossed in combat drills, swinging his staff at imagined enemies over and over with impeccable form, barely glancing Hawks’s way when he disappeared for another night patrol.

He always returned agitated, frustrated, sometimes even sad.

And always with the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket. The same scent, every time. Cheap, unfiltered.

When Hawks closed the balcony door and took flight, Hunter let go of the staff, and Flapjack returned to his palisman form, resting uncertainly on Hunter’s shoulder, fidgeting with his little talons. Waves of worry washed over him, mingling with his own fears.

“I have to know,” Hunter said, switching out his casual workout clothes for his Golden Guard armor. The familiarity of it was a strange sort of comfort right now as he fell back into his training. “It’ll be okay, Flap. This isn’t my first stealth op.”

 

In the air, Hunter stayed well back from Hawks, just barely in his line of sight, thankful that the hero’s bright red wings stood out easily against the city lights.The frigid wind that cut through his jacket worked in his favor, masking the slight disturbance in the air caused by his flight.

Sometimes Hawks would slow and glance behind him. Each time, Hunter would stop, using an invisibility glyph or ducking behind a building until Hawks continued. He noticed that Hawks took a circuitous route, often doubling back in confusing loops. Did he suspect he was being tailed, or was he just being overly cautious? It certainly wasn’t an effective patrol route - he avoided populated areas and at one point blatantly ignored a drug deal happening in full view under a streetlight.

All was going well until the wind died down.

Suddenly, Hunter’s breathing and Flapjack’s wingbeats were too loud in the stillness, without even the sound of traffic to mask them as they flew over the industrial district. Hunter came to a stop midair. Hawks froze, but he didn’t look back. Hunter got the sense that he was relying on his feathers.

A faint red streak, like the taillight of a distant car, was all the warning Hunter got as a feather shot its way toward him. Instinctively, he channeled his magic into Flapjack, teleporting into a crouch behind a rooftop AC unit. He pressed himself into the shadow, holding his breath as he activated an invisibility glyph for good measure. He was running low. He’d have to draw more. If he got out of this without being spotted. His stone heart thudded in his chest loud enough that Hunter feared it would give him away. Hawks’s feathers hovered in a wide radius around the winged hero, glowing faintly as Hawks strained his senses.

They were close. Too close. Hunter’s lungs ached, his muscles cramping with the urge to breathe, to run, to come clean and simply ask Hawks what he was doing. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the nothingness behind his eyelids, willing himself into nonexistence.

A slight whistle signalled the withdrawal of Hawks’s feathers, but Hunter waited until spots swam in his vision before finally letting himself exhale, dispelling the glyph. He clutched at his chest, waiting impatiently for his heart and lungs to settle before following Hawks to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

 

The air smelled faintly of petrichor and the overflowing dumpster on the other end of the alleyway. Hunter pressed himself against the cool, rough brick of the abandoned warehouse, leaning just close enough to the window to peer inside. Flapjack hid on Hunter’s shoulder, concealed in the shadow cast by his head.

Hawks was inside, his back to Hunter, his wings bristled, giving him a somewhat feral silhouette that was at odds with his sleek appearance while on hero patrols or even his ruffled, slightly disheveled look while off the clock. He looked like the walking weapon that he was, and the man he faced looked no less dangerous.

The man, clad in a ragged trench coat, looked like he had already died and was pieced together and reanimated. His body was a patchwork of discolored purple burn scars stapled to otherwise-intact pale skin. A spiky mass of black hair shaded his eyes. Even standing in direct moonlight as he was, he gave off the appearance of being hidden in shadow.

“You missed the last meeting,” the stranger said in a raspy drawl. “Please tell me you at least brought the intel tonight.”

“Aw, you missed me? Didn’t know you were the sentimental type, Dabi.” With casual ease, Hawks tossed a thumb drive to the scarred man, who caught it.

“In your dreams, birdbrain,” Dabi said, but Hunter saw a slight upward twitch of one corner of his mouth.

Hunter’s breath froze in his chest. Everything he knew about Hawks, was it all a lie? What had he gotten himself into? Was it too late to leave? What would happen when Hawks saw he was gone?

Cold steel against his throat silenced his spiraling thoughts, sending his mind into blank static. A knife.

“Aw man, your heart’s not racing,” a female voice said, jarringly close to his ear. “I like it when their hearts race.”

Flapjack burst into action with a series of shrill alarm calls, only for them to be cut short when the handle of the knife connected with the bird’s head. Hunter, his head throbbing from the shared pain, threw a blind punch in the direction of his attacker, his knuckles just barely grazing hair that was pulled into a tight, swirling bun.

He threw back his elbow, catching his attacker’s nose. She gasped, then the handle of the knife struck the back of his head and he saw stars as darkness closed in.

Chapter Text

Hunter’s headache pulsed with his heartbeat. Unfamiliar voices reached his ears, then the smell of cigarette smoke - the same kind that had clung to Hawks’s jacket, he noted. He was in a chair, held down by a rope around his waist and something heavy around his hands.

“I didn’t know Hawks had a little brother,” a new voice rasped.

“He doesn’t,” Dabi said confidently. “I did my research. Checked birth records and everything. Maybe he’s a fanboy stalker. Nice catch, Toga, and decent job with the Quirk suppressors.”

Dabi was referring to the heavy cuffs around Hunter’s hands, he realized.

The girl from earlier giggled at the praise. “Wow, two compliments from Dabi! Twice, we’re breaking up, I’m marrying him instead!”

Another voice cut in. “Nooo! Don’t leave me!” He immediately contradicted himself with “Pfft, good riddance! You don’t deserve me!”

“Will you guys quit embarrassing yourselves?” a gruff voice interjected from some distance away. “He’s coming around.”

The chaos died down under a wave of aggressive shushing.

Hunter blinked hard, struggling to focus his vision, and slowly, carefully lifted his head, his stomach roiling as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The blurred figures resolved themselves into something legible.

He recognized Dabi from his rendezvous with Hawks. Flanking him were Toga, the blonde girl who had knocked him out, and a thin man with long white hair and a desiccated, disembodied hand covering his face. One hand was bandaged with several missing fingers. Hunter didn’t know much about the new world he had found himself in, but he’d have to be living under a rock to not recognize Tomura Shigaraki, leader of the League of Villains and the Paranormal Liberation Front.

His mind whirred to life, piecing together what he learned from his research about the new world he had found himself in. Anything Shigaraki touched with his five fingers turned to dust. Dabi could create blue-hot flames. Toga could transform into anyone she drank the blood of. The man in the orange coat had to be Mr. Compress, who could compress anything he touched into a marble. Next to him, in the black and white bodysuit, was Twice, who could create an army of clones. And standing against the wall was the green-scaled, lizardlike Spinner.

Hunter’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He was in deep, deep shit.

“Sleep well?” Shigaraki purred, leaning forward, disconcertingly close to Hunter’s face. “It’s about to be a lot more permanent.”

The death threat was not unexpected. Hunter was half-surprised he hadn’t been stabbed in the alleyway he had been found in. He met Shigaraki’s crimson gaze unflinchingly, his body and mind falling into the familiar script that always worked with Belos: I was foolish. It won’t happen again. Except… he had gone mute again. Of course. Always the worst possible times. Belos would punish him severely. He expected no less from these villains.

Shigaraki leaned back slightly, looking him up and down. “Ah, so you’re going for ‘stoic and silent.’ That won’t last long.”

“I don’t know,” Dabi said, grasping Hunter’s chin in his hand and forcing his head to the side, revealing the deep scar that marred his right cheek. His fingers were rough and calloused, his grip hard enough to bruise. “Seems like he’s used to pain. This might take a while.”

Hunter jerked his head out of Dabi’s grip and, in a surge of adrenaline, bit down hard. His teeth clicked together on nothing but air as Dabi recoiled.

“What the hell is your damage?” Dabi growled.

Flapjack snapped awake at the sudden commotion, emerging from his perch on Hunter’s shoulder, and rushed Dabi.

With disconcerting speed, Shigaraki plucked Flapjack out of the air.

“No!”

Shigaraki’s hand was wrapped tightly around Flapjack, his pinky finger raised just enough to prevent his Quirk from activating. Flapjack was in full berserker mode, pecking mercilessly at Shigaraki’s hand, his tiny beak drawing blood.

Shigaraki adjusted his grip, holding Flapjack by the neck to immobilize his head. Hunter’s heart lurched, but still Shigaraki’s Quirk did not activate.

“Talk. Now. What is your connection to Hawks?”

Hunter could barely breathe, let alone talk. The only things that existed were Flapjack’s trembling form and the deadly hand wrapped around him. Flapjack’s little chest heaved with panicked breaths, each inhale bringing his feathers dangerously close to Shigaraki’s remaining finger.

The finger was shaking.

The hand was shaking.

Maybe it was from pain? No, there was… something in Shigaraki’s eyes. Something almost… human.

“If you’re gonna threaten me,” Hunter said coolly, with immeasurably more confidence than he felt, “make sure it’s something you can follow through on.”

Shigaraki stared at him in silence for what seemed like centuries but was probably only a few seconds. “What makes you think I won’t?”

“You’re not the first tyrant I’ve dealt with,” Hunter said, barely managing to bring his voice above a whisper.

Slowly, Shigaraki uncurled his fingers, letting Flapjack dart away back to Hunter. He burrowed inside Hunter’s shirt and carefully peeked an eye out, still trembling.

Shigaraki's eyes drifted to Hunter's scar. "Tyrant, huh?" he said under his breath. "Then you know the consequences of pushing your luck."

Chapter Text

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Will you two stop with the verbal posturing? Just tell us why you’re following Hawks around. I’m running out of patience.”

Hunter was all out of bravado. He did not like his odds in a six-against-one fight, and even though the Quirk suppressors were not created for magic users, they still had a dampening effect. That was something to puzzle out later, when he wasn’t surrounded by villains.

He settled for a careful version of the truth.

“Hawks took me in,” Hunter admitted. “I was lost. He’s helping me find my way back.”

Mr. Compress tilted his head curiously as he fidgeted with a few teal marbles. “He took you in? Instead of taking you to a shelter?”

Dabi hummed thoughtfully. “Excellent point. Birdbrain isn’t the parental type. He wouldn’t just take in a random kid. What’s so special about you?”

How much should he say? If he revealed the existence of the Boiling Isles, would the PLF try to invade? Could they invade? How powerful were they? He knew there were more villains than Shigaraki and his lieutenants, but how many more?

“Maybe he has an avian Quirk,” Toga suggested. Her voice was somewhat nasally, Hunter realized, and he felt a sick satisfaction when he noticed the bloodstained tissue in her nostril.

“Maybe he really is Hawks’s brother, but his parents kept him a secret from the world,” Compress added.

“Definitely not,” Dabi retorted. “I still think he’s a fanboy.”

“What do you think, kid?” Shigaraki asked almost casually. He strode around behind Hunter, and the back of Hunter’s neck prickled when the dangerous villain disappeared from view. “Any of those theories sound compelling?”

Four fingers rested on his shoulder, Shigaraki’s thumb folded carefully over his index finger. He drummed an impatient rhythm on Hunter’s collarbone.

For a heart-stopping second, it wasn’t Shigaraki but Belos. Belos had done this exact thing when he was displeased with Hunter but maintaining an image in front of his followers. Until they were behind closed doors.

Hunter’s chest and throat constricted as if crushed by a vice. It was all he could do to keep his gorge from rising.

Shigaraki hummed thoughtfully. “You had no trouble talking when your bird was in danger. Shame you called my bluff on that. Now things will have to get messy.”

“Uh, Boss,” Spinner cut in. “Hate to kill the vibe, but I’m pretty sure he physically can’t talk.”

“Yeah, now that you mention it,” Toga said, “he’s shaking pretty bad.”

Dabi sighed and pulled out his burner phone. “Let’s just call the stupid bird. Either way, he has to know something about this.”

Shigaraki withdrew his hand. “Fine.”

Twice tilted his head, his mask wrinkling slightly as his brow furrowed with concern. “We could also give the kid a notebook and pencil so he can write what he wants to say.”

“No,” Shigaraki said immediately. “We’d have to take the cuffs off, and we don’t know what kind of Quirk this kid has. Remember what happened last time we let a feral blond loose in the hideout?”

Everyone shuddered.

Dabi dialed Hawks’s number - it was on speed dial, Hunter noted - and Hawks picked up immediately. His voice was too muffled to make out, but whatever he said made Dabi chuckle in amusement.

“Oh, no, the patrol schedules are exactly what we needed,” he said, as casually as if discussing the weather. “Still doesn’t make up for you slacking off last week, but it’s a start. I just thought you’d like to know that you had a little shadow during our rendezvous. But don’t worry, Toga took care of it.”

He pressed a button, held the phone away, and Hawks’s voice crackled over the cheap phone’s speakers. “What do you mean, ‘took care of it?’ Who was tailing me?”

Hawks’s voice sent a nauseating flood of relief and dread through Hunter. Hawks would help, right? But… he was clearly working with the League. The way he had acted with Dabi… would that Hawks help him, or would he just be furious that Hunter had tailed him?

“Just some brat. Blond hair, pointy ears, huge scar on his face. Has a little bird with him. A cardinal, I think.”

Silence.

“Answer my first question,” Hawks said, his voice strained.

Shigaraki tilted his head, looking between the phone and Hunter. “So you do know him. Interesting.”

Hunter struggled to gain control of his breathing, to ease the tightness in his throat enough to speak, or even to make any sound at all.

“Yeah” Hawks admitted, his casual facade back in place, but Hunter picked up on the heaviness beneath it. “Teenage runaway. Needed a place to hide, so I took him in. Didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to tail me.”

Teenage runaway. That was accurate. Not an entire lie. And it gave Hunter an idea. His mind raced, piecing together what he knew of the PLF and its members. He focused on Flapjack’s warmth, his soft feathers pressed against Hunter’s skin. I’ll keep you safe, he promised. Determination washed over him, not entirely chasing away the fear but thawing out his frozen state just enough for him to breathe.

Shigaraki’s hand twitched. “Then he’s a loose end.”

“He’s still alive, then.” Hawks audibly struggled to keep the relief out of his voice.

Dabi chuckled darkly. “You want to see your little fledgling? Fine.” He turned on the camera and pointed it at Hunter.

“Yeah, surprise,” Hunter sneered. His sudden return to speech made Shigaraki flinch, and Hunter couldn’t suppress a satisfied smirk.

Hunter slipped easily into his Golden Guard persona. Too easily? His mind cleared, his fear pushed to the edge of his consciousness. “I knew the almighty Hawks couldn’t possibly be as squeaky clean as he appears, but this is low, even for a Hero.”

The corner of Hawks's mouth turned upward slightly, barely visible on the tiny phone screen, though the concerned lines around his eyes remained. “Gotta admit, Hunter, I'm impressed you managed to tail me without being noticed.”

Hunter’s gaze darkened. “Yeah, well, it’s your fault for keeping me locked up in your apartment like some damsel. Birds weren’t meant to be caged, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

His gut twisted. Was he going too far? But as the words left his mouth, he realized that his resentment was real. Hawks had promised to be a safe person, then turned around and lied to him, making deals with villains while playing the noble hero. It didn’t particularly surprise Hunter, but it was deeply disappointing.

Shigaraki’s eyes lit up with predatory interest. “Damsel, huh? This kid almost bit Dabi’s fingers off.” He raised a bandaged, bloodstained hand. “And his little bird is a menace.”

Toga leaned into frame, grinning and gesturing to her bruised nose. “He got me good!”

Hawks blinked in surprise. A slow smile spread across his face. “Alright, point taken. You can clearly hold your own. We’ll figure something out, but next time you go out, you’re wearing a feather on your person at all times.”

“A feather with one of our tracking devices,” Shigaraki added, his tone brooking no argument.

Hunter snorted. “What, you think I’m gonna sell you out? Who would I even sell you out to? I’m not exactly a fan of the Hero Commission, either.” As much as he didn’t trust Hawks or his villainous colleagues, he trusted the Commission even less.

Shigaraki raised an eyebrow.

“I like him,” Toga declared, resting an elbow on Hunter’s shoulder. “Let’s keep him.”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. “Toga, we can’t just keep every stray who wanders in,” he said with a hint of amusement. “We should probably return Hunter to his mother hen.”

Dabi chuckled. “Yeah, looks like Hawks is about to lay an egg over there.”

“You guys and your bird metaphors, I swear,” Hawks said with an amused, if strained, smirk.

“We’ll drop him off at the warehouse,” Shigaraki said. “If he shows up again, he’d better make himself useful.”

“Understood,” Hawks said curtly.

With that, Dabi ended the call.

“Seriously,” Shigaraki said flatly, “Hunter, can you talk or not? You’re driving me up the wall.”

Hunter shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, it seems to happen when I least want it to.”

Twice chuckled sadly. “Oh, mood.” Then with a tic of his neck, he narrowed his eyes. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” With another tic, his eyes went wide. “Gah, nothing!”

Chapter Text

Hunter was thankfully untied and uncuffed, but he was blindfolded and Flapjack had a sock placed over his head. He bristled at the indignity, looking like a disheveled borb sulking on Hunter’s shoulder.

He was in the backseat of a car with Spinner behind the wheel. For a while, they drove in silence. For too long, Hunter thought. He couldn’t have been knocked out for more than a minute or two, so the hideout and the warehouse weren’t that far apart, and yet Spinner made turn after turn. Did he just make a third left?

“You don’t have to drive in circles to disorient me,” Hunter said drily. “I’m pretty much permanently disoriented.”

“Sorry,” Spinner said with a shrug. “Boss’s orders. And… sorry about him, by the way. He likes to make an impression, but he’s not so bad once you get to know him. Get him talking about video games and he’s, like, a completely different person.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Hunter deadpanned.

“Most of us aren’t nearly as… intense,” Spinner continued. “We’ve been hurt, badly, so we’re a suspicious bunch, but all we want is freedom.”

Hunter fell silent for the rest of the car ride.

 

The car rolled to a stop. Spinner opened the passenger door and helped Hunter and Flapjack out of their blindfolds. Flapjack, still pissed, bit down hard on Spinner's finger.

“Ow! Shit! I'm not the one who put it on, little guy! Save that for Dabi!”

Hunter smirked.

“I'm glad my pain amuses you,” Spinner said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It really does,” Hunter shot back, careful to keep his tone light.

Spinner walked Hunter into the warehouse, where Hawks was pacing. Hawks stopped and studied the pair, his face etched with concern that he didn’t bother trying to hide.

Spinner stepped back and held his hands up in a gesture of appeasement. “He’s unharmed. The bird too.”

“Not unharmed,” Hunter argued, rubbing the back of his head, where a sizeable bruise was forming. “I got knocked out.”

“Ah, right,” Spinner said sheepishly. “Forgot about that.” Quickly, he added, “But you can blame Toga for that one!”

Hawks smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “At ease, Spinner. I’m just glad Hunter’s safe.”

Spinner’s shoulders slumped with relief. His hands fell to his sides. “Alright, then I’d better head back. Be more careful next time, kid.”

“Noted,” Hunter said.

 

When Spinner left, the smile slipped from Hawks’s face. He stepped forward. Hunter froze, not daring to breathe.

Hawks’s voice was as sharp as his bristling wings as he grabbed Hunter’s shoulders, his grip tight enough to hurt. “What were you thinking? You don’t know this world, not really. You had no idea what you were walking into. You’re lucky it was Toga and not Dabi. Or Shigaraki.”

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut on instinct, muscles locking tight, bracing for a blow that never came. Hawks’s grip seared like fire. His breath was ragged, feathers rasping against each other with every shaky inhale.

Hunter shrugged out of Hawks’s grasp and staggered back, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but anger warred with the shame.

Hawks was angry. Hunter had never seen him this angry. He should just give Hawks what he wanted. Keep quiet. Apologize. Don’t give him a reason to get worse.

But Hawks had lied to him, had promised safety and refuge, a trustworthy guide to this new world.

“I… I’m sorry,” Hunter forced out, the words bitter on his tongue. “I was stupid.”

Hawks took a few deep breaths, forcing his feathers to lie flat. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” Hunter said automatically. “Of course not. I’m the one who disobeyed.”

“It’s okay to be mad,” he said, voice quiet now. “You have every right.”

It was a trap. It had to be.

He knew Hawks was too good to be true. He had let himself trust another adult, let himself fall for another villain disguised as a hero.

He wasn’t falling for it this time.

“Fine,” Hunter spat. “I am mad. You lied to me. You told me I was safe with you.” His voice cracked. He hated it. Hated his weakness. “I’ll find my own way,” he forced out before his voice was gone completely. He held out his hand and Flapjack took to the air, then… hovered, and Hunter was hit with a wave of doubt from his palisman.

Flapjack had never resisted him before.

Still, he reached for the staff, closed his fingers around it, and vanished through the wall.

Forcing the feeling - and his bile - down, he launched himself into the air, flying at top speed, narrowly avoiding Hawks’s attempt to grab him with hands and feathers.

In another flash of gold, he teleported inside an empty office building, losing himself inside the maze of cubicles. Hawks could not, would not follow him in here. For now, he was… safe? Alone, at least.

 

Hawks's shaking hand closed on nothing but air, his feathers ricocheting uselessly off the window of the office building. Hunter disappeared into the shadows inside.

He could probably break through the glass. No, he knew he could. But how would he explain that, to the property owner and to his handlers?

Hunter still had his phone. He’d cool off and call Hawks, right?

…Right?

Hawks saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His reflection.

The predatory intensity of his eyes, the streetlights glinting off his feathers, sharpened like so many knives. Every trace of the man hidden in shadow—only the raptor remained.

No wonder the kid had run.

 

“Hey, Boss,” Dabi said after Hunter had gone. He reached into his bag. Shigaraki watched him with a carefully neutral expression.

“This might be nothing,” Dabi continued, pulling out a white-and-gold cloak from the battered backpack. “But… the kid’s armor. It seemed to be missing something.” He turned the cloak around to show the Emperor’s Coven sigil emblazoned on the back.

Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed with predatory interest. “I’ve never seen that symbol before, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Me either,” Dabi admitted. “Thinking of asking Skeptic to look into it.”

Shigaraki nodded. “Good call.”

Dabi put away the cloak with a curt nod of his own. That was what he appreciated about his friend: Tomura could be cocky, but he was almost always cautious enough to balance it out. The League was at the top of their game, and some weird kid was not going to be their downfall.

In fact, Dabi mused, with Hunter’s stealth and apparent conditioning, he could even be an asset.

As he thought this over, he heard Shigaraki’s phone beep.

A second later, Shigaraki said in a low, dangerous voice, “He what?”

Chapter Text

Hawks leaned heavily against the wall, heart struggling to escape his ribcage. His fingers were numb from his white-knuckle grip on the phone. “I don't know. He refused to take my feather. If he still had the tracker in his pocket, he might have forgotten to take it out. Those things are small, y'know.” He let out a nervous chuckle, clinging to the small bit of hope. At least someone knew Hunter's whereabouts.

“I can hear you pacing,” Dabi said, his amused smile audible.

Hawks stopped, realizing he was now several meters away from the wall. His muscles vibrated with nervous energy. “Well, yeah, he's a kid alone on the streets. So I'm a little worried. Sue me.”

He must be cold out there, Hawks thought. When had Hunter last eaten? Drank water? Stranded in a strange place, every face must look hostile to him. Darting from place to place seeking shelter from the cold, a scrap of food…

Shigaraki's voice cut in, sharp as always, but there was something… different. Almost… softer?

“We care about his safety as well,” the villain said. “Because we all know what it's like.”

Dabi added, “We’ll let you know when we find him. But as for what he does next, that's his choice.”

Hunter wandered the mazelike cubicles of the deserted office building. Deserted, but not abandoned. Computers hummed on standby, a few still showing blue home screens, casting an eerie glow over the space.

He had to keep moving. If he stopped, he would break. He couldn’t break. He had to get back. Had to. Had to.

Somehow.

He summoned his scroll, paging through his messages and wondering what Darius would suggest, or Raine, or Eberwolf, or even Luz, Eda, or the Emerald Entrails.

His path became aimless as he thought.

---

darius_deamonne: I’ll be out late tonight. Meeting with some coven members to talk business. Behave.

hunter: Always.
(sent xxx days ago)

hunter: What in all hells were you thinking?

hunter: If you had

hunter: I don’t know

hunter: Warned me? Been less obvious?

hunter: I wouldn’t be stuck here with no way of getting home.

hunter: No, magic still works. There has to be a way.

hunter: Does time pass the same here as there? The timestamp is glitching. I’ve never seen it do that before.

hunter: Titan dammit

hunter: I wish you could actually read these messages.

hunter: You know more about this stuff than I do.

hunter: I’d even promise not to yell at you about your shitty opsec if you would just respond to me.

---

luz_the_human: just checking i got the right number

hunter: Yep.

luz_the_human: u doing ok?

hunter: The usual.

luz_the_human: so… bad

luz_the_human: leaving people on read is RUDE
(sent xxx days ago)

 

hunter: I’m alive.

hunter: I hope you’re not blaming yourself for what happened.

hunter: If you want to blame someone, blame those stupid rebels.

hunter: I’m stuck in this other world

hunter: The people here call themselves humans, but they have magic.

hunter: They call it Quirks.

hunter: It’s honestly super convoluted.

hunter: You would go nuts.

hunter: In a good way?

hunter: Not sure.

hunter: For example, I ran into a man who has huge bright red wings. Flapjack colored. And he can control every feather. He can even turn his feathers into knives and swords.

hunter: He calls himself a Pro Hero.

hunter: Professional Hero.

hunter: Hero is a job title here.

hunter: And villain is a title, too. A legal definition, I guess.

hunter: Also, my own magic works here.

hunter: I have theories, but nothing definite as to why.

hunter: Theory 1: The barrier between worlds is permeable enough here to allow magic to pass through. This would also mean that it would take less effort for me to open a portal.

hunter: Theory 2: The island nation I found myself on, Japan, is built atop another dead Titan. The geological layers suggest that this planet is older than the Daemon Realm, or at least our part of it, which would explain why the remains are less visible.

hunter: Theory 3: Quirk magic is similar enough to Boiling Isles magic that I am able to channel it without issue. I imagine it would be similar to a transfusion between compatible blood types.

hunter: Have I ever had a transfusion?

hunter: What would happen if I needed one?

hunter: What if I wanted to donate?

hunter: Do I even have blood?

hunter: Titan, it’s a good thing these messages will never send.

hunter: Seriously, you and Eda both, don’t worry about me. Belos needs to be stopped. That takes priority. Whether or not I get back, don’t wait up.

---

captain_willow_park: you wouldn’t happen to have any free time tomorrow evening?

hunter: I think you already know the answer.

captain_willow_park: ok just making sure. don’t want to leave anyone out but i understand the emperor’s coven keeps you busy.

hunter: Thanks for thinking of me.

hunter: Really.

hunter: I appreciate it.

hunter: Shit. Sorry about the spam.

hunter: Sorry about cursing.

captain_willow_park: hunter

captain_willow_park: we do not apologize for being people

captain_willow_park: you’re fine.

captain_willow_park: and watch your titan damned language :)
(sent xxx days ago)

 

hunter: I’m coming back.

hunter: I promise.

hunter: I

hunter: I’m sorry I’m such a coward.

hunter: I’m scared of Belos.

hunter: I’m scared of this world I’ve found myself in.

hunter: But I’m not running and hiding, and I’m definitely not going back to him. You showed me that there are things in this world worth fighting for. People, too.

hunter: Belos was wrong.

hunter: About a lot of things.

hunter: He

hunter: I

hunter: I’m not really a witch, Willow. I’m a Grimwalker. I was made. From human remains. Other ingredients too. I wasn’t the first and unless we stop Belos I won’t be the last.

hunter: You’d probably want nothing to do with me after reading that. Maybe it’s better that i left when I did.

hunter: I never got the chance to tell you how beautiful you are. How your eyes light up everything around you and your hair shines like crow feathers in the sun and your laugh makes me feel lighter than air and

hunter: But I guess I’ll also never have to see the look on your face when you learn what I am.

hunter: So there’s good and bad here.

hunter: I hope you’re safe.

hunter: I have to know you’re safe.

hunter: I have to make sure you’re safe.

hunter: Even if you never want to see me again afterward.

hunter: I’m coming back. Don’t count me out.

Chapter Text

The sun was unusually bright for a winter day. Too bright, Dabi thought, as he pulled his coat tighter around himself, his breath misting in the frigid air. His blue eyes squinted in the brightness, blinking hard as the wind dried them.

At least the sunlight cast dark shadows, concealing him from the view of the small crowd at the bus stop. About a dozen people, all milling and blending together in a sea of puffy coats and fuzzy hats. Although a few were about the right height, it was hard to tell from this distance whether any of them had blond hair. A cardinal could easily be hidden in a coat.

Dabi surreptitiously pulled out his phone and checked the location of the tracking device. It was right here, at this bus stop, which meant Hunter was here, somewhere.

Hawks had reluctantly admitted that Hunter had the ability to turn invisible, among other abilities, though the exact nature of his Quirk was still a mystery. At least, it was something Hawks didn’t want to tell them, and Shigaraki did not want to risk losing their inside man by pressing the issue.

Would there be an air disturbance, in that case? A slight ripple? He strained his eyes until they stung unbearably, then slid his gaze to the shadowed brick wall in front of him, suppressing a frustrated huff. If Hunter’s invisibility was good enough to fool Hawks, the chances of him seeing through it were slim.

A hiss and a squeal signalled the arrival of the bus. Dabi watched a few people leave, scattering in various directions. Then, the waiting crowd entered hurriedly with muttered complaints about the “cold snap.”

Cold snap? You mean “winter?” Dabi couldn’t help but think.

The bus departed, leaving the bus stop empty.

Dabi checked his phone.

The tracker’s location hadn’t changed.

“Son of a…” Dabi groaned, slipping out of the shadows to examine every corner of the bus stop.

Under the bench, stuck to a piece of gum, was the tracker.

Dabi was surprised to find a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. Chaos had been his daily routine since joining the League. A magical teleporting child soldier couldn’t be that much harder to keep up with than a shapeshifting teenager, an illusionist, or a one-man army, right?

Famous last words, he thought wryly.

He called Shigaraki, not even bothering to hide his amused smirk.

“So. Update,” Dabi said. “He juked the tracker. Could be anywhere.”

“He wh- you know what, I’m not even surprised anymore. The kid must be a tactical genius.”

 

“Shit shit shit!” Hunter muttered under his breath, tumbling off his staff and into a pallet of cardboard boxes, nearly toppling the tower. He blinked hard and looked around, Flapjack reverting from staff form to palisman form to rest on his shoulder, staring at him skeptically. He’d meant to teleport through an outside wall to evade the hardware store manager. Clearly he’d misjudged the distance.

And the store’s security measures.

And the enthusiasm of the manager for apprehending shoplifters.

“Uh… do you mind?”

Hunter jumped and spun around to face a rat/human hybrid. They gestured with their snout at the floor, which glistened with soapy water. “Just mopped.”

Hunter stepped back, feeling the tips of his ears burn. He mouthed an apology, his words catching in his throat.

With a heavy sigh, the rat person leaned against the wall, pressing a switch that opened a metal hatch. They deliberately glanced in the other direction, looking intently at their phone.

Hunter said a quick thank you as he flew out the hatch, careful to avoid the mopped floor.

“Maintenance, why is the truck bay door open?” a voice crackled over the janitor’s walkie.

“Go for maintenance. Just letting out a lost bird.”

 

Hunter ducked into an abandoned factory in the industrial sector, adding the various nails and scraps of metal to his stash of alchemical substances. Flapjack hovered anxiously, peering into the bowls and flasks as Hunter prepared and mixed the ingredients with careful hands.

Iron filings, sulfur, salt, red wine, rose oil for good measure. The mixture smelled cloyingly sweet and metallic as he mixed it, the scent curdling his stomach.

He turned away, striding over to the adjacent concrete wall. He used the tip of his finger to smooth out a line of chalk and stepped back to study the teleportation glyph. He blinked his stinging eyes and rubbed them briskly. Chalk dust and eye strain had done a number.

Finally, he plucked a golden hair from his head and dropped it into the flask of blood substitute, adding the innate magic of his palistrom wood hair to the tincture. It sizzled and sparked, then dissolved into glittering golden light. The tincture turned reddish-purple. Almost, but not quite, the blue of Titan’s blood.

But at this point, he didn’t need perfect. He just needed something that worked.

He laughed to himself at the idea. All his life he had been chasing perfection. There was something liberating in the desperation he was feeling now. Was that… a good thing? Or another sign of how monumentally fucked his mind was?

Flapjack tilted his head, sending a wave of concern washing over Hunter. He stroked Flapjack’s crest feathers reassuringly. “It’s perfectly safe,” he whispered. “The control did nothing, remember? But… stand back, just in case.”

Flapjack narrowed his eyes suspiciously and found a spot behind a pillar a few feet away, his eyes never leaving Hunter as he approached the wall.

“Moment of truth,” he said under his breath, pouring the blood substitute onto the glyph.

The lines flickered, glowing a faint white. Wisps of smoke or mist floated up from the chalk lines.

Then, nothing.

Hunter let the flask fall from his hands with a dull thud, the remainder of the liquid spilling out in a viscous puddle. He hung his head in resigned exhaustion. He had enough materials for a few more attempts, but he had to be careful. Supply runs were risky. He paced, his footsteps measured and precise, an ingrained habit from years of military drills.

He had followed the alchemical recipe precisely, but maybe the recipe was wrong. It’s not like there were any reviews written about a centuries-old forbidden book. Did he need to adjust the iron filings, or use dragon’s blood resin instead of red wine? Where would he even find resin?

Was his blood - or whatever passed for blood in his case - more magical than his hair? Or magical in a different way? Would it make a difference?

Hunter stopped his pacing and braced his hands against the long table that held his makeshift lab, the movement jostling the various flasks and beakers and making a rattling sound that echoed loudly in the empty space. Hunter held his breath, ears straining for any sign that he had drawn the attention of a passerby.

Nothing but the distant drip of water from the partially-rotted ceiling.

Hunter blew a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, huffing with frustration when it fell right back in place. Focus. He had to focus. It had almost worked. What was missing?

Potency. It had to be potency. Or at least, that was the only variable he could think to adjust right now.

“Right,” Hunter decided. “We need something with more magic than just a few strands of hair.”

Flapjack shrank back, shaking his head rapidly.

“What?” Hunter’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach churning at the thought. “No, of course not you!” His mood must be feeding Flapjack’s own anxiety, Hunter realized. The bond went both ways. So he lowered his head, taking deep breaths. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four, repeat.

Unbidden, a flash of red feathers and golden eyes emerged in his mind.

Would Hawks be able to help? Would one of his feathers contain enough magic? Or would he know about a helpful Quirk?

Even if he couldn’t, he would try.

Hunter reached for his human-world phone.

Cold, raptor eyes. A face shrouded in the shadow of bristled wings. Fury radiating off every feather.

Hunter let his hand fall to his side, digging his nails into his palm. His nails were getting long, he realized. Almost clawlike.

How could that have been the same Hawks who had taken him in, given him safety when the world seemed to be breaking apart under his feet?

Did Hunter’s own fear blind him to the warning signs?

Flapjack’s talons dug into his scalp as the bird settled onto his unruly hair. Automatically, he reached up a hand and ran his fingers through his soft feathers. “You’re right, Flap,” he said, his voice ragged at the edges with his weariness. “I’m spiraling again. Once I get back to my own world, things will be… better?” He sighed. “I don’t know. All I know is we can’t stay here.”

He needed to somehow amplify the magic in the tincture to accomplish this.

Amplify. The word sparked a half-buried memory of Hawks’s office corner, a quiet afternoon, a computer screen brightly displaying a wiki page.

Trigger. The drug that could enhance Quirks. If it worked on Quirks, there was a high probability it would also work on magic.

But unlike iron and sulfur, Trigger was highly illegal. He couldn’t just raid a random store.

This would be complicated, risky, and dangerous. Cold doubt coiled around his heart. He let out a long exhale, pushing the feeling down. He couldn’t fail.

Chapter Text

Low voices emanated from the corner of a nearly-empty convenience store, unnoticed by the cashier, who was blasting music from her phone while wiping down the counter.

“You’re sure you weren’t tailed? Hawks has been patrolling around here lately. Seems like he’s looking for something. Someone must have tipped him off.”

“Eh, I’m not worried about that guy. Full of hot air is all. You know as well as I do that sometimes the heroes change up their patrol routines to keep us on our toes.”

Hunter crept down the aisle, lungs screaming for air, invisibility glyph clutched tightly in his hand. He crouched low, then exhaled quietly, hidden behind the three buyers. The invisibility glyph dispelled without a sound. He stood as slowly as he could, knees protesting the awkward movement, careful not to draw attention to himself. He flexed his fingers, wrapped tightly around his staff, to restore circulation - his grip was tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Peering over the shoulders of the buyers, he saw the dealer pull three vials out of the inside of his coat. Each glowed faintly red, the liquid inside radiating an energy that felt almost like magic. Like… Titan’s blood?

Adjusting his grip, Hunter channeled his magic, waving his staff in a decisive motion. A loud crack and a blinding white light filled the room.

In that same instant, Hunter darted through the group, snatched a vial from the dealer, and disappeared down the neighboring aisle, pulling out another invisibility glyph. A piercing alarm rang out, followed by a shower of stale water from the sprinkler system. Hunter shuddered, biting his lip hard to suppress the urge to hiss at the sudden cold.

The cashier, jolted into awareness by the noise, immediately pressed a hidden button by the cash register.

 

A rough hand grabbed Hunter’s elbow. “Invisibility Quirks don’t work on me, kid,” said a man with scales for skin and a snakelike head. His cobra hood flared. “I can see the heat radiating from you. Your anxious energy is like a beacon.”

Hunter choked out a surprised cry, visible once again as his last glyph dissolved. He struggled against the snake man’s iron grip, using his staff to attempt to strike his knees, the side of his neck. But each swing was blocked as the snake man’s companions closed in.

“Scatter!” The dealer shouted. “Pro Heroes incoming!”

“Fuck!” The snake man hissed, shoving Hunter hard against the cold glass of a fridge. Hands roved over Hunter’s shirt. “Did you take one? Out with it!” His breath was hot against Hunter’s ear, fangs brushing his vulnerable neck.

 

A flurry of red feathers signalled Flapjack’s shift into palisman form. Tiny talons scraped at the snake man’s eyes. He loosened his grip just enough for Hunter to shove himself blindly away, finding an opening and bolting for the door.

As he shoved out the door, the criminals at his heel, he caught a glimpse of purple hair beneath the glow of a streetlight. Purple hair and… pointed ears. A cloak that looked like it could be from a coven. From home.

He slowed for a beat. “Witch?” he asked breathlessly, hopefully.

The boy looked up with wide, frightened eyes. “Me?”

Then a wall of yellow appeared behind him, a man in what could only be a Pro Hero costume.

Hunter ran.

 

In the darkness behind closed eyelids, faint whispers and the quiet, rhythmic thrum of heartbeats passed through Hawks’s mind like clouds across the sky. Normal, human heartbeats. Not the slow, almost-hesitant, echoing sound that came from Hunter’s galderstone heart. One by one, Hawks called his feathers back to him, the sounds replaced by the whistle of wind as the sailed through the air and reattached to his wings. His awareness shrank to the rooftop he was standing on, and he opened his eyes with a heavy sigh.

What if he couldn’t find Hunter’s heartbeat because his heart was no longer beating?

The thought snapped his eyes back into focus. That couldn’t be it, right?

It couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t let it.

He would find Hunter before something else, something worse, did.

He hates me, a small voice argued.

Hawks shook his head, chasing the thought away. He didn’t need Hunter to forgive him. He just needed to know that the kid was safe.

As he launched himself into the air, he checked the map again, the coordinates that showed where Hunter’s tracker was last spotted. There had been no movement detected from it for twenty-four hours, and for sixteen of those hours, Hawks had been working his way in a spiraling radius from those coordinates.

His heart sank as he looked out over the expanse of the city he had covered already. He had helped a few people cross a busy street, rescued two cats from a tree, broke up a handful of fights, stopped a robbery, and found a lead on a small crime ring, but there was no sign of Hunter.

When his wings began to ache, he forced himself to perch on a nearby rooftop. Just long enough for the ache to subside so he could fly again. Not a second longer.

As he rested, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and raised an eyebrow at the name.

“Fatgum?”

He’d teamed up with the rotund hero once or twice, but Fatgum was not the type to call or text out of the blue.

hey birdman, think i found some sort of runaway teen. thought he was you for a sec lol. swear he’s almost as fast. he’s got a red bird with him. i’m not good at speed so could really use ur help catching him. he seems scared.

Hawks was in the air before he was even aware of making the decision, wings glowing faintly as he poured every ounce of effort into speed.

 

Tentacles wrapped around Hunter, their suckers pulling painfully at his skin. In a flash of gold, he was free of them. His lungs refused to inflate as he staggered, struggling to run, to fly, to focus long enough to channel magic. But it was his third night of no sleep and the boy with tentacles for fingers looked more like a living nightmare.

He shouldn’t have hesitated. Shouldn’t have called out to the purple-haired boy with the pointed ears so much like his own. Should have noticed the Pro Hero he was traveling with.

In this world, humans could look like anything.

Of course they could have pointed ears as well. Why the hells not?

A lapse in judgment. A moment of stupidity. And now he was paying the price. As always.

He was always so stupid.

“Wait,” the tentacle boy pleaded. Then, mostly to himself, “why do you have to be so fast?”

Hunter raced through a maze of narrow alleys, slipping into a small alcove and forcing air into his lungs. Spots swam in his eyes. Flapjack nudged his neck and let out a small, concerned chirp.

“Shh,” Hunter hissed. He was seen with a bunch of Trigger dealers. He had stolen a vial of the drug. What would they do when they caught him? He was a criminal. He didn’t belong here. He had to get away.

His heart thudded painfully against his ribcage, as if it had a life of its own and was trying to escape from its too-slow host.

He closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness. Exhaustion was tugging at his limbs, weighing him down like a thick wool cloak.

Footsteps echoing off the plaster walls snapped him back into focus. He forced his tired legs to run, taking turn after turn.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” the boy called out.

A deeper voice added, breathlessly, “Yeah, kid, we’re on your side. Let’s just talk.”

Hunter grit his teeth. Just talk. Yeah, right. As lost and confused as he was in this new world, he knew one thing. He had broken the law, and these people were as good as cops.

Then a shadow fell over him. Hunter looked up and the breath froze in his lungs, a choked sound of mingled relief and dread escaping him.

Hawks.

Hunter surged forward, tripping on his own boots with a sickening lurch of his stomach. The ground rose up to meet him - until he was stopped short by his own shirt. Or rather, the feather now hooked through it.

Hunter reached out a hand and grasped at thin air. Flapjack obligingly turned into his staff form as Hunter struggled against the immovable feather, wielding his staff with blind fear.

It stopped short, held by a gloved hand, and Hunter froze.

In front of him, Hawks. Behind him, the Pro Hero and his sidekick closing in. Thankfully, the sidekick’s tentacle fingers had retracted. One less horror to deal with.

“Fatgum,” Hawks greeted. “Suneater. Thanks so much for reaching out.” His voice was bright, and when Hunter risked a glance at his face, he saw no anger. But Hawks was a good actor. And Hunter had seen the raptorlike glint in his eyes when he was on the hunt.

Flapjack shifted back to palisman form, twittering a flurry of disjointed, anxious thoughts, struggling to explain the situation, but only Hunter could see the flood of images and feel the torrent of emotions from the little bird. Flapjack’s talons dug into Hunter’s shoulder and he cupped a hand around him.

“Alright, breathe, both of you,” Hawks said, very slowly setting Hunter down and reattaching his feather, hands raised in a gesture of peace. “You’re safe now.”

Finally catching his breath, Fatgum said, “You should probably know that I ran into him while busting a Trigger deal. He was with them, but he didn’t look like part of the group.”

Hawks’s relieved smile dropped. Hunter’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, the words freezing in his throat.

Suneater’s voice, muffled by the wall his forehead was now pressed against, was barely audible. “I think I saw him run off with a vial. Sorry. I should’ve been faster.”

“You did great,” Fatgum assured him, earning a doubtful groan from Suneater.

Hunter tensed, bracing for punishment as Hawks sucked in a sharp breath.

Hawks’s voice was still light when he said, “I find that hard to believe. Hunter here isn’t the hardened criminal type. I ran into him on patrol about two weeks ago and I’ve been keeping tabs on him. He escaped a nasty cult and he just wants to find his way home.”

A nasty cult. A pang of defensiveness, quickly extinguished. By definition, he supposed, the Emperor’s Coven could be considered a cult. And he supposed what was done to him could be considered “nasty.”

The weight of the vial, tucked into the inside pocket of Hunter’s vest, became almost unbearable under the eyes fixated on him.

“Why didn’t you take him to the police or the CGC?” Fatgum asked. Not accusatory, just curious. Or at least, he was good at hiding any accusatory feelings.

Hawks shrugged helplessly. “As you’ve seen, he’s not very trusting of authority. I guess he connected with me because of my avian Quirk.”

He took a deep breath, then looked directly at Hunter. “You’re not in trouble. I need you to understand that, okay? I know your situation’s… complicated. I’d rather we figure things out ourselves than get the authorities or other Pros involved and add even more complications.”

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Hunter’s attention to Fatgum, who mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. “But if things get too complicated for you to deal with alone, don’t be afraid to reach out. This will stay between the three of us. Promise.”

Hawks’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Does that mean we can go?” Suneater asked. “I think the cardinal wants to eat me.”

Flapjack chirped, eyes twinkling with mischief, and took to the air, landing on top of Suneater’s head. A distressed whine escaped him.

Fatgum gently shooed Flapjack away, halting his tormenting of the hapless Suneater. “Yeah, we should get back out there now, as long as Hawks has this under control.”

“All good here, right, Hunter?” Hawks asked. His wings rustled as if ready for Hunter to bolt again. But at this point, having stood still for this long, the exhaustion had finally caught up with him. All he could do was brace for impact. He nodded, gaze dropping to the scuffed toes of his boots.

“Alright, remember, I’m just a phone call away!” Fatgum said. Then, before he turned to walk away, he gently rested a hand on Hunter’s shoulder, making him flinch. “Chin up, kid. You’re in good hands - er, wings.”

As Fatgum and Suneater left, Hunter squeezed his eyes shut. Fatgum’s touch was just a friendly pat. What would Hawks do now that he wasn’t being watched by the other Pros?

“Sit,” Hawks said firmly. Then, softer, “please. We need to talk. Really talk. And I don’t know about you, but I’m dead on my feet.”

Hunter pried his eyes open and lifted his head. Hawks’s posture was tense, alert, his eyes hidden by the glare of his visor. There was no way Hunter would be able to give him the slip again.

Slowly, careful to not make any sudden movements, Hunter sank to the ground, resting his back against a rough brick wall.

On the other side of the narrow alleyway, Hawks mirrored him, resting an elbow on a bent knee, wings sagging with exhaustion. After a moment, he took off his visor and headphones, setting them gently next to him, revealing dark circles under his eyes. “Okay. We left off on a bad note last time. Let’s try again.”

Hunter opened his mouth, but only a small squeak escaped. His fingers shook, but every movement was sharp and deliberate. Who. Are. You?

Hawks ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess I have some explaining to do, huh?” He adjusted his gloves, gathering his thoughts. Then he met Hunter’s gaze with visible effort. “The Commission gave me an assignment. I am to infiltrate the Paranormal Liberation Front, gain their trust, and gather information. The PLF has no idea that I’m undercover. They think I’m working for them. I give them enough information, interfere with enough Commission business to make it look like I’m doing something, but my real goal is to take down the villains from the inside.”

Hunter studied him, tilting his head slightly as the words settled in his mind. “You’re a double agent.”

Hawks nodded. He was noticeably paler, feathers bristling, breathing hard enough to be just audible above the distant sound of traffic. Hunter decided he had to be telling the truth or he wouldn’t look like he was on the business end of Belos’s staff.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Hawks chuckled without humor. “Guess I underestimated you. I didn’t think you’d question my ‘night patrols.’ And I didn’t think you’d be able to tail me without getting caught.” He tried for a smile. “You’re wicked smart, kid.” Then his smile faded. “Exactly what the Commission is looking for,” he added under his breath.

He fell silent, breaking eye contact, feigning interest in something happening at the far end of the alleyway.

Hunter felt a chill travel down his spine. The villains, the Commission, the Pro Heroes, was there any group around here that wasn’t trying to nab him?

“They still don’t know you exist,” Hawks added, sensing Hunter’s mounting anxiety. “And the PLF won’t risk losing their inside man by hurting you.”

Hunter stroked Flapjack’s feathers. “You’re mad at me.” Not a question. He was sure of it.

“A little,” Hawks admitted. “But mostly, I’m mad at myself. And most of all…” his expression softened. “You really scared me. I spent the last few days wondering if you were hurt, cold, hungry… the streets here are dangerous. I’ve… seen how quickly things can go bad.” He glanced away again, blinking hard, wings pulling in tightly.

Hunter had a suspicion that what Hawks had seen was more personal to him than just chance encounters on patrols.

“I want to trust you,” Hunter said, the words tearing from his throat. He coughed, wincing at the bitter taste they left in his mouth. “But… you lied to me. I know you had your reasons. Everyone has their reasons. That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know,” Hawks said, his voice a near whisper. “No more secrets between us. I promise.”

“No more secrets,” Hunter echoed. “I’m pretty sure you know all about me anyway.” Then, after a beat, he asked, “You said you’ve seen how quickly things can go bad. What does that mean?”

“Y’know, on patrols and stuff. Sadly, I can’t save everyone.”

Hunter clenched his hands into tight fists. That answer was too fast, too flippant. Scripted. “I thought you said no more secrets.”

“That wasn’t a secret,” Hawks said with a dismissive gesture.

“Who were you before you were a Pro Hero? Is Hawks even your real name?”

Hawks stood abruptly. “It’s getting dark. Let’s fly and talk.”

With a frustrated huff, Hunter readied his staff and took off after Hawks.

“What were you doing before you were a Pro?” Hunter repeated.

Hawks didn’t respond, speeding up so that the roar of the wind drowned out any potential reply.

Hunter rolled his eyes but fell silent for the rest of the flight. Something told him this wasn’t exactly a secret, but it was something Hawks couldn’t talk about all the same.