Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some days, it was easy to forget his life was no longer his own.

With the wind in his hair as he soared through the sky, only his signature aviator jacket (a fan favourite in several focus surveys!) keeping him from freezing to death, clouds heavy at the tips of his glove-clad fingers - there was no space left in his mind for any coherent thoughts unrelated to flying.

Other times, his brain was too busy, too occupied with his feathers, thoughts flying through, almost too fast to hear them. So focused on saving people, on neutralizing threats, on being fast enough, his body was moving more on pure muscle memory rather than any conscious decision of his.

Then, there were the brief moments when he failed at something, dwindling in frequency from when he first started training. Cold seeped through his bones for hours as he dreaded the inevitable call.

The Commission liked to make him wait - just a touch too long, just to make him think, for the briefest of moments, maybe it wasn’t that bad? That maybe, just maybe, this time he would be forgiven, that it would be understood, that despite being the Fastest Hero, despite being the Commissions poster boy, he couldn’t always save everyone-

And then his phone would ring.

He would come to the good doctor himself, just like he always did. Always on time, always compliant, but it never seemed to make any difference.

The thought of not coming, of being even a second late, had never crossed his mind before. It was inconceivable, to disobey the Commission this blatantly, after everything they had done to him.

They were always so sorry. It has to be done, they’d tell him, strapping him into the gurney he was far too familiar with. If you could only learn your lesson, they’d despair, we wouldn’t have to do this.

In those moments, brief slivers of lucidity, he would promise to improve, he’d beg for forgiveness, stuffing as much as he possibly could before the pain began and took away his voice.

His voice and his thoughts, filling his head with incessant buzzing and fuzzy pain, making him unable to remember - it was not exactly forgetting, but it was close enough.

Some days, Hawks wasn’t questioning his freedom.

Today was not that day.

*** (present) ***

He offered no more than a single blink as his brain processed what he just heard.

And then a second one when it made no more sense.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” he asked his handler with the smile he had been trained to plaster over his face at all times. “I think I heard you wrong.”

“Of course,” the handler smiled too, and Hawks squashed his instincts, yelling that it wasn’t real. Of course it was a real smile, this was his handler, of course she cared about him. For some reason, his instincts always went haywire around the Commission, though. “Your new assignment is to infiltrate the League of Villains.”

Turns out, he didn’t mishear it.

“Yes, m’am,” he said, because asking her to repeat it again was not an option, and neither was refusing or, All Might forbid, questioning the assignment.

He took the file - the same size Hawks’ files always were, though from his rare collaborations he had learned other Pros would call it “worryingly thin” - and with a jaunty little salute, the same one he always offered, he left the room.

The corridors were blessedly empty, the over-ground areas of the Commission usually deserted while the rest of Japan slept, activity contained to the training facilities deep below the lowest areas of the city.

Still, he did not drop his guard. He learned that lesson very, very early. There were cameras everywhere within the building, watching his every step, even if neither his naturally keen eyes nor his training could spot any.

Not even his apartment was safe, but it was safer, the footage only reviewed when there was something alarming noticed about his behaviour.

Hawks knew how to pretend everything was fine, he knew how to keep his act up to his standard. He knew exactly what the cost of his safe haven was.

***

The file brought exactly as much new information as he had expected: none.

Go fetch, they might have as well written, for all that it brought forward. No location, no insight as to who the leader could be, not even a tentative list of members, considering the League hadn’t even made their debut yet.

All they knew was the name, whispered throughout the underground scene. Well, only the League was ever whispered, as if everyone feared speaking their full name would summon them upon the unlucky soul.

Knowing they were called the League of the Villains, as pretentious as the name was, was the result of the Commission's best underground heroes putting their necks out for the past several weeks.

Why one of them hadn’t been assigned this mission instead of Hawks, the number four hero, was anyone’s guess.

Possibly it was due to the lack of information on what, exactly, the League was trying to accomplish.

The undergrounds, orbiting just out on the outskirts of the Commission’s influence, could have been easily stolen away if the LoV manifesto was particularly alluring.

Hawks, so close he was almost a part of the core himself, would never be swayed this easily.

With a sigh, he sunk deeper into his sofa, the file forgotten on the coffee table.

He could succeed, he was good enough for that, but he’d need some help getting started.

It’s not like he could saunter into just any seedy bar and start asking questions; he was too well-known to do that, and it would only result in painting an even bigger target on his back.

Fortunately for him, he knew someone who could.

But before he went for such drastic measures - Internet was his friend!

He was already familiar with the most popular forums on the Dark Side of the Internet, as his training had, thankfully, covered those fully.

How absolutely infuriating it was, then, that the only upcoming event with possible ties to the League of Villains he’d managed to find was on goddamn Barker.

Hawks can freely admit this wasn’t the most forthcoming bark when it came to information, but… This was still better than nothing.

And, well, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, would it? Even if he rather doubted the elusive League chose this method of advertisement.

It was clearly open to everyone, but, well… Being polite never hurt anyone, did it?

This was a very good start, if he did say so himself - and he did! Now, for the confirmation...

*** (past) ***

Keigo was living at the Commission’s dorms for a week when he first met Tenko.

It was late in the evening, and he was supposed to be in his dorm, resting after the full day of training.

Instead, he had snuck into the cafeteria, to see if maybe there were some leftovers of today’s sidedish - Keigo would do anything for hot wings, including breaking and entering.

Successful in his endeavour, clutching a Tupperware box full of delicious meat in his arms, he was almost back to his room when the footsteps came.

He was often praised for his speed, but even he couldn’t find a good hiding spot in the long expanse of the hall on such a short notice.

Freezing slightly, he watched the incoming potential threat, balancing the Tupperware on two of his feathers completely hidden behind his back. But the agent looked relieved rather than angry.

“Here,” he said, lightly pushing the other boy towards Hawks. “He’ll be staying in your dorm. Show him the ropes, watch out for his hands, take him to the cafeteria in time for breakfast, and someone will take over from there.”

Not even waiting for an acknowledgement - the agent barely stayed still long enough to finish talking - he walked off in the same direction he came from, clearly in a hurry.

Keigo took a moment to take in the other boy.

He was scrawny, his hair was ashen, and it was hard to tell below the thick layer of dirt, but if Keigo were to guess, he’d say they were more or less the same age.

The only clean part of him were his hands, covered in the special gloves for five-point contact-activated quirks Keigo saw some of the other recruits wear. It was clearly the extent of the Commission's initial influence before they hefted him off onto Keigo’s shoulders.

“Hi!” he beamed, startling the other boy into finally looking at Keigo.

“...hello.”

Keigo opened the doors to his - their! - room, waiting for the newcomer to pass through before following him.

“I’m-” Oh, he couldn’t say his name, could he? The Commission was very clear on what the rules were, and they never hesitated to clarify any new ones if Kei- if Hawks just so happened to break them. “Hawks! What’s your name?”

Hopefully, his new roommate would attribute the peculiar mid-sentence break as a clumsy attempt at building anticipation. Seeing his eyes wander over Keigo’s shoulder, he was probably focused on a different part of what he said altogether.

The boy hesitated a moment longer.

Well, maybe he was shy?

“Do you want some hot wings?” Keigo asked, floating the Tupperware into his hands and opening it in a single motion, revealing the precious content.

He breathed in the smell of spices wafting up from the reddish wings, his eyes closing in expectation of the deliciousness hitting his tongue.

When he opened them again, his roommate was staring at him weirdly.

“If you make a joke about how this is cannibalism, I’m not sharing,” he warned.

That earned him a snort.

“Shimura,” his roommate said shortly after, munching on a wing. “My name is Shimura Tenko.”