"Where'd you get those scars from, eh?"
Hawks turned around from his spot on the side of the bed, naked and tousling his damp hair while Dabi lay slumped and staring from the other side.
"I'm a Hero, man, kinda comes with the territory," he said softly, simply.
Dabi shifted, the bed dipping with his weight as he pulled his knees underneath him and shuffled over. He got close, close enough that Hawks could feel his breath against his back, and then reached out and traced burnt fingers over the criss cross scars on Hawks' back, across his shoulders and around the joint where his wings met skin. They were textured, gnarly, yet strangely straight, lacking the randomness of Dabis own scarring.
They were silent, for a moment. Dabi stroked his back while Hawks finished his hair and started drying the tips of his wings. The fingers grew bolder, beginning to trace the individual scars, pressing down where they grew thick and jagged, gnawing on his lower lip.
Hawks couldn't take it.
He got up, grabbing his clothes from his closet and pulling them on. Trying not to make eye contact with Dabi. Because he already knew, was too bold and confident not to mention it, and Hawks wasn't quite ready for this conversation right now, or ever. This wasn't them. Dabi was different. Fuck first, ask questions later except Dabi never cared to ask and Hawks never care to answer. Things as convoluted as feelings never graced their vocabulary.
"Those are whip marks." Dabi said slowly, more carefully than he ever seemed capable of. "Can tell by the pattern."
Hawks ruffled his feathers, irritated.
"Yeah and what? Maybe I'm kinky-"
"With that scarring?"
"Why do you care?!"
Dabi got up, regarding Hawks like some scared animal, voice this half strained whisper as if he was fighting back anger or upset. "I know I'm not some fuckin'," Dabi gestured with his hands, "'upstanding citizen' or whatever. But is it really that hard to believe that I care when you're hurt?"
"Yes it is!"
Dabi sizzled. Anger growing and burning too quickly, spitting like a pan of oil.
Hawks turned away. Ran his hand through his hair, talons catching on the tangles and tugging.
"You're a fuckin' asshole."
Hawks supposed he could agree with that. Dabi would probably burn him, now, or hit him, and this weird little excuse for a relationship they had would crumble like ash on the end of a cig.
The thought made his chest tight, like his lungs were caught in a hydraulic press. Hawks didn't want to lose Dabi. And now he was, because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.
"Failure!"
Hawks was young. Old enough to recognise his mistake yet too young to know how to rectify it.
The palm of his Handler came down hard across his face. Would have sent him tumbling to the ground had his wings not fluttered in reflex, this natural yet foreign desire to take off, away from here, almost too hard to ignore.
Then, she grabbed him by the forearm and started to drag him. Somewhere unknown. His instinct was to scratch or bite, but he'd been trained out of those instincts and his clawed hands had been filed down to 'normal'.
Their destination was a cold room with empty walls and a table in the centre. Somewhere where his screams wouldn't be heard.
The Handler instructed him to take his shirt off, back to her, her heels echoing the ground as she grabbed something hanging from the wall.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
She instructed him to place his hands flat on the table, leaning forwards slightly. And to flatten his wings either side of him, so his bare back was exposed. Hawks obeyed. He didn't know what was going to happen but already knew it was going to be painful. It always was.
Her heels clicked as she positioned herself. A soft woosh as something swung in the air.
Smack!
He cried aloud as the whip met flesh. It was probably only an angry whelt but he felt as if his skin had been torn apart. The whip had sharp edges, teeth that bit into muscle and tore.
Smack!
It was as if he couldn't think. The pain was blinding. He clenched his jaw because Heroes don't cry.
Smack!
Something wet dribbled down the dip in his back, not quite enough liquid to flow smoothly just yet.
Smack!
Three more hits in quick succession. Hawks sobbed, broken and bleeding. The blood was flowing easily, now, dripping low, a painful meander, soaking his jeans. He moved his hands, ignoring the part of himself that told him to run, instead using them to grip the side of the table.
The torture continued. His legs gave out and she carried on. He was lucky, in a way. She hadn't made him count.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
When it finally finished, Hawks was slumped on the floor, legs curled up to his chest and wings gathering around himself in a protective shell, vomit or drool clinging to his chin.
"When you're done sniffling," she said the last word like it was dirty, "you have a meeting in two hours. Be there."
Click. Clack. Click.
Hawks hated that sound.
"Hawks? Earth to Bird Brain."
Dabi wasn't rudely clicking in his face like he usually did to the LOV, instead waving his hand in the air from a respectable distance. He'd laid down again, feet up like he owned the place, brief anger replaced with something dangerously close to concern.
Hawks blinked at him.
"I lost ya for a bit there." He tilted his head to the side.
Hawks didn't respond. Couldn't. His voice was lost like the feeling in his back and recovering it would mean digging up skeletons long buried.
Dabi reached an arm out, hand visible and open. Like that was something Dabi just did.
Hawks crawled on the bed, placed his head on Dabis' chest and curled his wing around them both.
"Who the fuck did this to you, eh?" Dabi whispered. More to himself than Hawks.
Hawks closed his eyes. Maybe later.
End.