#you almost set your apartment building on fire ONCE and your signs writes arson fic about it :/ :D

[flowercrowngods]

Eddie slots himself neatly beside Steve, who in turn has wedged himself awkwardly, deliberately so, against the wall so that the bed is sprawling in comparison to his body.

"Heard I'm not a house fire, Harrington," Eddie says easily. "Heard I'm just a boy."

Steve holds his breath, knowing Eddie can tell.

"That lighter - Wayne thinks he lost it, y'know? Big, chunky old thing. Doesn't know that I have, well, light fingers when I want to. He trusts me. I break that trust. I think he pretends I don't. Hurts less that way. Or just different. Different kind of hurt." Eddie huffs out a laugh.

"Why are you telling me this?" Steve asks, not wanting to blame Robin for telling, but desperately wanting to blame someone, somehow.

"What do you think the first thing a kid with a lighter does?" Eddie asks, and runs a finger over the shell of Steve's ear, making him shiver for all the wrong reasons. Steve wants to ask. Can already smell the smoke. "Yeah, you got it."

"Firebug," Steve says, remembering for the first time the unexplained fires from a few years back. Back when he didn't have to care. "They never caught you."

"I freaked myself out, got too close to the flame," Eddie says, and presses a finger right against Steve's cheek, making it to hollow. "Look what I did again."

"I'm not a flame," Steve says as Eddie pulls his finger away and traces Steve's jawline.

"Sure would like to watch you burn though," Eddie says.

"Did Robin make you do this?" Steve asks and Eddie shakes his head.

"Would that be easier? You could turn me away with my virtue intact? Instead, here I am, the worst version of myself still loving the worst version of yourself, and what are you supposed to do with that."

"You know how to get away with it," Steve says, really realising. "You - love me."

"Both true," Eddie says. "Whatever that means to you, I'll take it."

"You deserve better," Steve says.

"That's for me to decide, isn't it?" Eddie asks. "You fascinate me, Harrington. In the way of rare things. Or deadly things, perhaps."

Steve moves then, so he can line their mouths up.

"The way you talk about me - like you actually see me - "

"I'm just a boy," Eddie says.

"No, I don't think so," Steve says, breathing in the air Eddie's breathing out. "No, not at all."

And then Eddie kisses him, and it's like suffocating, but the best kind, and Steve doesn't fight to inhale, getting lost in it instead, and maybe Eddie is a deadly thing too, because Steve is light headed and gasping when they part.

"Okay, he says. Okay.

Eddie is not just a boy. He's a bolt of lightning that shoots into a tree and burns it from the inside in a beautiful display of nature's forces. He's a house-fire. He's the sun.

Steve is the tree. He is the house. He is the flower turning toward the sun to stay alive. He's the boy who forgot how to breathe air that doesn't smell of gasoline or smoke.

But it's okay. It's okay.

[dabiapologist]

[My Hero Academia Fanfiction]: Fever Dream

Pairing: Dabihawks, hawksdabi, hotwings, spicywings

Characters: Dabi (My Hero Academia), Hawks (My Hero Academia), Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Usagiyama Rumi | Miruko, Toga Himiko

Rated T

Word Count: 2.2k

Chapter 1/3

Tags: i've always wanted to write a sick fic, Don't Judge Me, Sick Fic, Fluff, bratty dabi is my favorite dabi, chock full of cliched tropes, and im not sorry, tfw you catch feelings for your annoying villain liaison

Summary: 

"Endeavor-san? Quick question." 

"What is it? I'm busy right now." 

"How do you know if you're sick?"

"...excuse me?"

"Like, how do you know if you're running a fever? Do you even get fevers?"

"Why?"

"Uh, um, just curious?"

On the other end, he hears Endeavor sigh in annoyance. "Of all the things, Hawks, Why would you be curious about that?"

"Well," Hawks chews his lip anxiously as he turns to look back over his shoulder, back at the sizzling bundle of blankets on his couch.

Sizzling.

Oh. That's probably not a good sign.

Read it on || AO3

At a glance, Dabi’s moods and expressions are damn near impossible to tell apart. In the time that they’ve been in contact, Hawks has only really seen Dabi function in three modes: Distant and Aloof, Aggravatingly Smug, and FIRE. And even then, the first and the last tend to blend together most of the time, since Dabi doesn’t think much of using his quirk on others. Hawks finds himself wondering if the novelties of murder and arson and villainy have long since worn off for his scarred cohort.

Even so, Hawks prides himself on his razor sharp skills of observation. You can’t be a hero without some semblance of awareness, let alone a top hero, but Hawks’ skills are a clear cut above the others, thanks in large part to the extraordinary precision required to use his quirk effectively.

And tonight, it is obvious that there is something very… off.

Dabi is quiet normally, usually sticking to one or two word answers. Three, if he's feeling particularly chatty. Unless it's to insult him, of course. For that, Dabi will talk all day long. But as they walk side by side down the dark alleyway, having just completed a deal with a shady fellow who leered at the two of them in a way that makes Hawks desperate for a shower, Hawks feels like Dabi is too quiet. To the point where it's uncomfortable.

Even when Hawks’ foot catches a large pothole and he stumbles and bumps into Dabi, the taller man doesn’t acknowledge it, other than a tired suck of the teeth and an outstretched arm to set Hawks upright. Not that Hawks really needed him to do that; he quickly steadies himself with his wings and manages to keep his balance, but that’s hardly the point.

Not a single word. Not even a “You fucking clumsy idiot,” Which is one of Dabi's default reactions where Hawks is concerned, and one that Hawks had an insult fully prepared for.

But nothing.

Hawks wonders if maybe it’s the weather. Rainy weather is one of the few things, besides him, hero society, and the gross dehydrated vegetables in instant ramen, that Dabi is actually quite vocal about hating. It’s been raining for the past few days, and tonight especially, it’s coming down like it’s the end of days. He’s thankful he had the foresight to wear an extra layer under his coat, though at the moment it’s not really doing much to warm him. It’s only been raining hard for maybe ten minutes at the most, but his hair is already dripping into his eyes and the rain is weighing his feathers down almost to the point of discomfort.

Dabi isn’t faring much better, Hawks notices. Being a fire user, he doesn’t necessarily need any extra layers; the bastard could probably steam himself dry in a few minutes if he wanted to. But as Hawks discreetly eyes him, watching the rain drip down his fringe, plastering his dark hair to his head and face, he thinks it might have been wiser to at least wear a hoodie or something, rather than just his usual overcoat with that thin, dingy shirt underneath.

Thankfully, the storm passes quickly. It lessens back to a light drizzle by the time they clear the alleyway, and Hawks finally has enough space (and reason) to stretch his wings out to their full wingspan. With a few mighty flaps, he shakes all of the excess water from his feathers.

“I hate it when it rains this hard,” He says casually as he folds his wings back, “Weighs my damn wings down.” It’s a relatively inane, pointless comment, one that Dabi would not hesitate to label as such; Hawks is hoping he will, if only to break some of the tension that’s been hanging in the air all night. Because truthfully, it’s a discomfiting silence. One that is slowly driving Hawks crazy. Hell, dare he say it, he would actually take the threatening but oddly playful barbs and bickering the two of them engage in (when Dabi is feeling more talkative) on occasion to this.

But all Dabi gives him in response as they continue on their way is an absent nod and a shrug of the shoulders.

Hawks almost growls at the lack of engagement, but gives up. He knows how to pick his battles, too. And by the way Dabi stares straight ahead, jaw set tight, eyes clouded and distant, this is one perhaps best left alone. He’s clearly got something on his mind tonight, and Hawks decides to let it be. It’s not like it’s his problem, anyway.

At least, that’s how Hawks feels until they turn onto another side street, down to the junction where they usually part ways.

“So, I’ll pass the news along to Shigaraki,” Dabi speaks for the first time since leaving that skeevy dealer’s place, voice even softer than normal, “And then once he gives the… the, uh…” He trails off briefly, eyes pinching shut, letting out a quiet, pained grunt.

Ah, so that’s it, Hawks realizes instantly, he’s just not feeling well.

However, he’s not above taking his jabs at Dabi when the opportunity arises. After all, if their roles were reversed, Dabi would most definitely lay into him without a second thought. They have been, and he has, so Hawks feels no shame or sympathy when he says, “You don’t look too good, Dabi. You alright?”

Finally, a genuine reaction: Dabi’s eyes narrow to slits, in what Hawks’ assumes is annoyance at both his taunt, and at himself for letting Hawks see any weakness. Dabi exhales sharply and straightens up to full his height and squares his shoulders, shaking any semblance of discomfort from his visage.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, inhaling deeply, “Just tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hawks nods, though he’s hardly convinced. Now, under the streetlights, he can just barely see that Dabi is a little pale in the face, and, for all of his forced bravado, his shoulders are starting to slump again.

“Tired. Right. Once Shigaraki gives the what now?”

Dabi sucks his teeth, mustering up just enough energy to give Hawks one last scathing look. “Once he gives the okay, I’ll contact you again.”

He doesn’t say another word as he turns to leave, and Hawks doesn’t say anything else either.

But he watches.

He stares at Dabi’s retreating back for a bit, head cocked to the side. When Dabi turned away, he turned just a little too quickly, a little too aggressively, and there was a very noticeable lurch and bob as he righted himself before walking away. The first real, clear sign that Dabi is under the weather he’s had tonight.

It was quick; anyone else would’ve missed it. Hawks, unfortunately, is not one of those people, though he really wishes he was. Because now, he can’t move from this spot until Dabi leaves his sight still an upright and ambulatory sentient mood swing. His conscience just won’t let him budge.

Goddammit. He curses mentally.

And, just for the record, it’s not that Hawks necessarily cares about Dabi’s well-being. If it were up to him, he’d let Dabi rot in that gross, dirty alleyway from before. It’s all the man deserves, frankly. What he does care about, however, is maintaining a (somewhat) reliable communication with the league. And for that, he needs Dabi. Dabi is his way in, --his only  way in-- so he’s obligated to care a little.

Besides, he knows for a fact that Dabi’s apartment is a long ways off from here, if only because he’s followed him home before, for surveillance purposes. And hell, it could barely be called an apartment to begin with.

And that piece of knowledge is what finally uproots him from his spot at the stoplight. Dabi rounded the corner a while ago, so Hawks figures it’ll be faster if he takes to the sky. He lands up on the rooftop of the building, and walks along the length of it to the corner.

That’s where he spots Dabi.

Well that didn’t take long, he thinks to himself. letting out a whistle. Dabi must’ve been making one hell of an effort to not let Hawks see just how poorly off he actually was.

“Boy, do I hate being right all the time,”He mutters out loud, but nonetheless he soars back down to ground level.

“Just tired, huh?” He says with a chuckle as he closes the distance between himself and Dabi, “Did you really think you could fool me, Dabi?”

Dabi, who is slumped against the side of the building, his breathing labored between wet coughs, just stares back up at him through narrowed but unfocused eyes. Even in the orange glow of the street lights overhead, the pallor of his skin, the healthy parts, stands in stark contrast to the deep purple scars. Deep down, Hawks can’t help but feel a tiny modicum of respect for the man. How he managed to keep himself together for the duration of the deal is a mystery to him because, to be frank, he looks even more like shit now than before.

Hawks doesn’t hesitate to tell him that, either.

“Fuck off,” Dabi snaps, but it’s hard to be intimidated by him when he slides to the floor, slowly curling into himself and trembling.

Hawks sighs. Damn his conscience.

“Look, I don’t know where you live,” A lie, “But based on what I’m seeing right now,” He says, gesturing to Dabi’s current position and quickly deteriorating condition, “I don’t think you’re gonna make it home, man. Come-”

“I’ll manage,” Dabi cuts him off sharply, pausing for a beat when a wave of nausea passes through him, “I just...need a minute to catch my breath.”

Hawks gives him a look. “The only thing you’ll manage in your state is to stumble into traffic and get hit by a car. That or pass out on some random sidewalk.”

Dabi growls.“I’m fine,” He reiterates, forcing himself to his feet, “I’ve dealt with worse. Just go away.”

He could go away, he should go away. But Hawks doesn’t. Instead, he walks a few paces behind Dabi’s still slouched form, face twisted into a permanent grimace as he watches the other man force himself along at a snail’s pace, using the wall to brace himself. At this rate, it’ll be sunrise before he makes it home.

Assuming he doesn’t pass out face down on the ground before then.

Hawks rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake.

With two flaps of his wings, he lands directly in front of Dabi, forcing him to stop. “Come home with me.”

Oof, could’ve worded that better, he thinks. By the look on Dabi’s face, he clearly agrees.

“My place isn’t far from here,” Hawks continues quickly, “And I can’t, in good conscience, let you go after seeing you like this. Just crash at my place tonight.”

Despite looking and feeling like death warmed up, Dabi still gives him one of his standard sarcastic replies. “Aww, that’s so fuckin’ sweet of you, hero. Now, move. I said I’m fine.” He says caustically as he shoves his way around Hawks’ form...

...and immediately collapses on the ground.

Hawks stares down at his prone form, shaking his head. “Yep, seems about right.”

He walks over and picks Dabi up, bridal style. Despite their height difference, Hawks finds himself barely struggling to hold the other man. Dabi fits in his arms easily after just a bit of manipulation into a more comfortable position. Wow, he’s a lot lighter than he looks, Hawks thinks, eyebrows furrowing as he hefts Dabi up a bit closer to his body, preparing to take flight.

“I guess now you have no choice but to come with me,” He says, watching as Dabi’s head lulls to the side, unconsciously pressing into Hawks' chest, his face contorted with pain. “You’re definitely not going anywhere like this.”

But Dabi is nothing if not persistent. And amazingly stubborn.

“Put me down,” Dabi still manages to croak out, even on the precipice of unconsciousness, “I don’t need your fucking help.”

It would almost be impressive, if Hawks wasn’t so tired and desperate to get to his damn apartment already. Still, he can’t help but laugh out loud at Dabi’s tenacity. He doesn’t know when to give up, does he?

“Dude, you just went down like the goddamn Hindenburg, and you’re still fussing? Just give it up. You’re coming back to my place, and you can sleep this off. I need you alive.”

Dabi grips the front of his jacket weakly. “If you take off, I swear to god I will set the both of us on fire.”

Hawks blinks down at him. Alright. That’s it.

“For fuck’s sake,” Hawks snaps, “Well, if that’s how you’re gonna be, then you leave me no choice.”

“Wha-” Dabi doesn’t get another word in, as Hawks promptly headbutts him into silence.

“What a brat,” Hawks says aloud. With Dabi’s now fully unconscious form hanging in his arms like a limp rag, Hawks has to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of this situation. He really should’ve just let him go.

“I’m sure this is gonna come back to bite me in the ass,” He mutters to himself as he takes flight.

Because after all, no good deed goes unpunished.