Chapter 6

"Toko…yami…"

It was so hot. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe… it hurt to even open his eyes. He hadn't planned for his student to show up, but then again, he hadn't planned for anything after this. A soft cloth was draped over his back, and Hawks hissed as it made contact with the fresh burns.

Burns… Not wings. Touya had done it. He hadn't been sure whether he really would. Dark Shadow was looming over him, not sure if they should touch him, help him, or help Tokoyami fight a villain. Hawks tried to turn his head to hear what they were talking about. His ears were ringing, and all he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding away in his skull.

"I am only concerned for my teacher." Tokoyami took a step back, eyes never leaving Dabi, and cradling Hawks in his arms.

"Think for yourself!" Blue flames were thrown in their direction, and Tokoyami hurled them away at the last minute. Hawks bit back a scream, as the wounds on his back were pressed against the hardwood floor, the weight of Tokoyami on top of him, shielding them from the heat. This had been a close call. They were now trapped between the wall and Dabi's flames, the light making it virtually impossible for Dark Shadow to do any real damage.

Had Dabi planned this? Hawks couldn't tell what was intention and what was not. Tokoyami had probably ruined anything he had planned in the first place… But the flames were-

Hawks vision was going in and out of focus. It was harder and harder to breathe, to stay conscious.

"Hawks, the hallway is too narrow. I can't dodge him."

"Fumikage, I'm sorry…" Dark Shadow whined as they tried to wrap themselves tighter around him.

Dabi was talking. Hawks couldn't hear what he was saying, but there was a pitch to his voice he recognized.

"Think about it, you Barbequed Birds…"

It was the voice he used when he was distracting someone from the real problem at hand. When he was talking just because he could. He was stalling for time.

Tokoyami was still not moving. The strange cold sensation radiating from Dark Shadow was the only thing keeping the darkness at bay, and Hawks would have laughed at the irony. He was so tired. They had to move… he didn't know how long he could make it.

"He's still talking…"

His voice was nothing more than a broken whisper, but enough to get Tokoyami out of his stupor.

"Who do you think really needs rescuing?" That was definitely a rhetorical question. Dabi was nudging Tokoyami in the same direction, albeit in his own way.

Tokoyami's grip shifted. "Your orders?"

The ringing in Hawks' ears was back, and it felt as if every breath was sending liquid fire down his throat. He couldn't move, couldn't even open his eyes anymore. Everything was so heavy, but he couldn't let go, not yet. He needed to hold on, if not for himself, then for Tokoyami… Stupid, loyal heroes…

Dabi hadn't moved, as if giving them time to-

"Now… go."

Tokoyami's reaction was instant. A barked order, Dark Shadow hurling them into the air and off the balcony, followed by a gust of heat and flames.

There was a scream, and suddenly their world drifted sideways.

'He's not strong enough…" thought Hawks absentmindedly, before there was a crash, and everything went black.

He was woken up by a monotonous beep. The first thing Hawks noticed as his eyes fluttered open was the cold.

Goosebumps were creeping up his spine and he shivered under the light hospital blanket. The Hospital…

His eyes flew open in an instant and the beeping sound got more erratic by the second. The room he was laying in was empty, private. Only a small chair was sitting beside a window, from which you could see the city skyline. So, this had to be central hospital, top notch facility of the country.

He was laying on his side with something pressing down on his face, probably an oxygen mask. He reached up to remove it, shifting his wings a little so he could sit u-

Hawks froze. There was something wrong. He couldn't feel the familiar weight of the feathers pressing down on the mattress. Couldn't feel his surroundings tingling through the nerve endings, not even the dull feeling often caused by too many painkillers or the aftermath of an anesthetic. There was just… nothing.

He craned his neck, but the mask on his face made it impossible to turn it enough to see anything behind him. But even so, he had to make out some red at least, his wings normally reached way past the dimensions of a normal hospital bed. Maybe he had lost too many feathers? That might explain the lack of sensation as we-

He tried turning around, but as his back made contact with the mattress, pain exploded along his spine. It felt as if he was on fire. The muscles in his stomach cramped, his hands shook and a muffled scream tore through the mask on his face, broken and frail. Hawks didn't recognize his own voice. He tried to turn around again, away from his back, but he wasn't strong enough to push himself up.

The heart monitor was probably entering the red zone, he thought absentmindedly, as he struggled to get oxygen into his lungs. Why was he wearing that stupid mask anyway, when it wasn't working?

He tried again to roll himself around, but the fabric of the sheets had crumpled up under him, creases pressing down on the bandaged that were apparently wrapped around his torso, but he couldn't feel his wings and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't-

"Hawks!"

The door to his hospital room flew open, and Best Jeanist's face entered his field of vision.

"Hawks, slow down…" Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, mindful of the bandages, and pulled him into a sitting position. "There…You're frail like stretched out denim. Be careful…"

Hawks breathing was still too fast, and there were black spots dancing around the room. "Jeanist…" His voice was not even a whisper, but a cracked rush of air between his lips.

"Shhh, you're okay. I called the nurse; they should be here any minute…"

The hand on his shoulder was a grounding weight, and Hawks tried to focus on his breathing. In…Out… In…Out…

"Mr. Hawks."

A man in his mid-thirties entered the room, followed by a nurse with a small tray. Hawks could see something metal glistening on the tray, beside an IV pack with clear liquid. The nurse was averting his eyes, and Hawks grew even more nervous. The commission has taught him to be vary of liquids and syringes…

He followed the nurse with his eyes as he walked around his bed, placed the tray on his nightstand and turned to the little machine fastened to an IV stand. He pressed a few buttons, the machine beeped, and a few seconds later Hawks could feel a fuzzy numbness entering his body. Painkillers.

The nurse turned again and picked up the clear plastic bag. He placed it onto the IV stand and switched it out with a similar but empty one. Out of the corner of his eye, Hawks glimpsed at the label: Fluids. Normal procedures. Calm down.

The other man cleared his throat, and Hawks gaze wandered back to the third person in the room. "Mr. Hawks," he said again. His voice was calm, and he moved closer to the bed, while the nurse exited the room without a word, but not without a glance towards Hawks that he didn't understand.

"My name is Dr. Okumura. I am the doctor on duty. You're currently in the burn unit here at central hospital." He made a pause, as if to let his words sink in.

The painkillers did their work, and Hawks' brain was very slow to process the doctor's words. He felt a bit like down feathers…

He was at central hospital… burn unit… yeah, his back burned alright… burn…

"Mr. Hawks, can hear me?" The doctor had stepped closer to the bed and was shining a little torch into his eyes. Why was he doing that? Why was it so bright? His head hurt… His throat hurt… his back…

"Mr. Hawks, focus on me. The painkillers are quite strong. At this dosage you may feel a bit of nausea and brain fog, but it will pass in a few minutes…"

The beep beep of the heart monitor had gone off the rails again, and Jeanist was still holding his hand. Why was he holding his hand? He never did that… Hell, he had put him in a body back not many weeks ago, and now he was holding his hand like a little kid…

"There you go…"

The doctor waited a little longer for him to calm down, but Hawks could feel the strange atmosphere in the room like a living thing. He knew that the doctor wasn't just here to check on him and up his painkiller dosage. That could have been done by a nurse alone. He had probably waited for him to wake up to tell him what happened… That's what doctors did, right?

But… what had happened?

There had been the fight with the PLF, the commission had sent him to fight alongside the heroes… They had given him the task to… to…

Suddenly, it all came rushing back to him like a tsunami.

The commission briefing. The order to kill the league members. The rooftop. The fight…

Hawks felt like he was falling. Like a huge pit had opened under him and he was falling into darkness. He could hear the doctor talking, but his voice was far away.

"…weren't able to save them. You suffered extensive 3rd to 4th degree burns on your back, as well as extensive damage to your throat and vocal cords, probably due to breathing in the hot air. You won't be able to talk for a while, and you'll probably need to enter physical therapy, but we'll check up on that in a few days."

The doctor looked at him, but Hawks' heavy-lidded eyes stared right through him.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Hawks. Please try to rest a little, I'll sent the nurse to check on the medication in a few hours." He bowed and left the room.

"Hawks…" Jeanist's voice came to him through the fog. "Did you hear, what he was saying?"

He nodded, slowly. His head was spinning. It had worked… They were gone. He had-

"We'll make this work. There will be a way for you to-"

He was interrupted by a curt knock on the door.

"Yes?" Jeanist asked as the door did not open at first and Hawks very obviously couldn't ask whoever was waiting outside to enter himself.

The door opened, and two figures in pin-striped suits entered the room. "Excuse me, but we need to talk with Hawks alone for a minute."

Jeanist did not move, and Hawks just stared down at his blanket. He didn't need to look up to know who these people were. Jeanist, too, seemed to sense his unease because he stood up.

"And who are you? The doctors ordered Hawks to rest. Maybe you can come back later,

when-"

"This was not a request, Best Jeanist." The woman's voice radiated authority, and Hawks flinched. He didn't want Jeanist to leave the room, but he felt the weight on his hand lifted after a reassuring squeeze.

Don't go. Please, don't go.

"I'll be outside if you need me."

And just like that, Hawks was alone with the two Commission Officers.

Their gaze wandered over the hospital bed, and the man noted something on a clipboard, while the woman took a step towards his bed, albeit not touching anything or getting too close in the process.

"Hawks, we have seen your medical files." Of course they had. There was no such thing as medical privacy when you're basically government property. Hawks swallowed, and it hurt.

"There is still a chance that they will grow back," the woman continued matter-of-factly. "As your quirk has not been nullified, and the other aspects of it are still intact…"

There was a pause, and dread settled in Hawks stomach. They will not let him go. He knew they would not let him go. "Therefore, you will be transferred to support activities and more… civilian types of work. When you're discharged, you will be transferred to one of our own private rehab and research facilities, where you will be given the best care and-"

"No." His voice was not more than a rasp, but Hawks tried to put as much authority as he could muster behind it. He knew what the research aspect was, and the rehab part of it probably wasn't much better.

"I want... to go… home."

The woman sighed, as if she had expected this protest. "Look, Hawks. We know this must have been a very traumatic event for you. But heroes are in a position where they cannot afford to be selfish."

Selfish. The word left a stale taste on his tongue.

"Hawks, we understand that you want to be in familiar quarters while you're recovering," the man tried a different approach now. Hawks felt like they were talking to him like he was a little, stubborn kid who didn't want to do his homework. "We can probably arrange for you to rest at your downtown apartment, while doing regularly scheduled checkups with one of our physicians…"

He scribbled something down on his notepad and made eye contact with the woman, who nodded and left the room with a phone in hand.

"You'll probably be discharged in a few days, so we'll make sure everything is arranged accordingly. Do you have any questions?"

Hawks felt his talons pierce through the fabric of the comforter. He had to relax his hands, or they would end up in a stress grip and ruin the fabric.

"What about the kids?" His voice was so quiet, he didn't know if the man had understood him.

The commission officer took a deep breath, and dread settled in Hawks stomach again. What had happened after their little stunt? Did they really sent students after the pros and let them do their job?

"The students of class A are currently being treated here at the hospital as well. They're all on the mend, still unconscious, but according to the doctors, they're recovering. Your internship student has already been discharged."

Hawks nodded. He had to thank Tokoyami… without him, this would have been a whole different outcome.

When the officers left, it took only a few minutes for Jeanist to enter the room again.

"Are you okay?"

Hawks was still gripping the bedsheets, but his breathing had calmed down a little. He nodded.

"What did they say?" Jeanist's eyes narrowed a little, as if to dare Hawks to not lie to him. But he just remained silent.

Hawks was indeed discharged two days later. They said the paperwork was a formality, but Hawks still felt like he was signing his life away by allowing them the regular checkups by the commission doctor.

He was given a portable version of the oxygen mask, which, as it turned out, was not only distributing oxygen but medication to help his vocal cords heal better. The nurse was very adamant about him not talking for the next week or so and gave him a phone like device with a text-to-speech function. Great, now he would sound like a robot.

But the worst part was taking off the bandages on his back. Central Hospital was known for their exquisite medial service, which was one of the reasons Hawks was able to leave the hospital already in the first place. However, it did not prepare him to see his own silhouette without the familiar red feathers for the first time.

There were still little bumps of scarred flesh and bone between the burnt skin on his shoulder blades. His torso and face were full of minor burns and bruises as well, one on his neck more prominent than the others. This one would probably leave a scar.

His hair had been burnt off, too. The nurse had commented on it when she had put on the fresh bandages around his face and upper body, before handing him the clothes Jeanist had brought for him.

"Do you need help getting dressed, Mr. Hawks?" The nurse was standing in front of his bed after putting away the tray with the bandaged and ointment from before. Hawks huffed out a laugh. He was injured, yes, but he would not need help to dress himself like an old man thank you very much.

He shook his head and stood up from the edge of the bed, clothes firmly pressed under his arm. But when made one step towards the bathroom door, the world tipped dangerously to the left. Hawks tried to brace himself against the bed, but was already too far away to reach it.

"Careful!" Strong arms gripped him by the shoulders, and the nurse was suddenly there, holding him upright. "Are you okay? Your circulation may be affected by you not moving for a while, and you can get dizzy… Here, I'll help you to the bathroom."

She guided Hawks to the door and opened it. There was a chair in the corner by the shower and he sat down on it. The nurse left him alone after asking again if he was sure to not need any help.

When the door closed, Hawks grip on his clothes loosened. This hadn't been a circulation problem. He hadn't been dizzy. Carefully, he stood up from the chair again and walked the few steps over to the sink. Again, he felt wobbly on his feet, and had to grip the wall for support. It felt as if something was keeping him from standing straight. The way a too heavy backpack dragged you down when you moved too much to one side. Just this feeling was… opposite. Like when you tipped to the side when you stood on one leg for too long…

He stood up straight, let his hand fall from the wall and took a few tentative steps in the opposite direction. Again, he tipped to the side, hands flying out to brace against the sink.

His balance was off. Way off.

"Are you alright, Mr. Hawks?" The voice of the nurse sounded concerned. She had probably heard him stumble against the wall.

"Yes! Everything's fine. I'll be done in a minute." He typed into the little device and sat down on the chair, heart racing. He hastily put on the black pair of pants and hoodie that Jeanist had provided, and his fingers stopped at the non-existent cuts in the back. He closed his eyes and dragged the soft fabric over his head quickly to not aggravate the burns on his face too much.

When he was dressed, Hawks swallowed down his pride and called for the nurse after all. "Sorry, I think I'll need some assistance to walk back to the bed." The voice of the little speaking device was strangely similar to his own, and the nurse smiled warmly before helping him stand up and walk across the room.

Jeanist entered his room not much later, a coffee cup in hand. "You look like freshly washed denim, Hawks." He commented, while throwing away the apparently empty Styrofoam cup. Hawks didn't know if he should take this as a compliment or a poor excuse for small talk.

"Probably need a haircut," Hawks typed and smiled, before he noticed that nobody could see that through his mask. Jeanist nodded. "We can arrange that. But now we need to get going, before the press shows up and bombards us with unnecessary questions."

Hawks' eyes widened a fraction. He hadn't thought about the press yet. They were probably swarming the parking lot, with this many high-ranking heroes currently admitted to this hospital.

"We'll try to maneuver you through the underground parking lot, so your privacy can be protected." The nurse piped up. "Oh, and you'll probably need this." She walked outside, only to return a second later with a wheelchair.

Hawks groaned. He didn't want to be pushed around by Jeanist, but given his current state, he doubted that he would make it as far as the garage without assistance. So he swallowed down his pride again and sat down.

They were wrong to think there would be no press around. Even though the garage was pretty secure, a few photographers had managed to sneak into the hospital and snap a few photos of them wheeling into an elevator. Jeanist cursed, but Hawks just shrugged, which very much hurt his back more than he would admit.

"Couldn't be avoided," he typed and looked down at his feet. The commission probably already had a press statement ready for this very reason. Jeanist mumbled something about frail edges and wheeled him into the parking garage. The nurse left them at the car and wished him all the best. He would make sure to thank her properly when he was back at the hospital the next time.

The garage was nearly empty, but Jeanist's car could have stuck out either way.

"You're not here with the bat mobile, are you?" Hawks typed as he spotted the dark sports car.

"It's reinforced and has several defense mechanisms."

"Why would we need those? I'm not that frail, you know? I can take a little paparazzi chase."

"You would be surprised…"

Hawks raised his eyebrows at that.

"Jeanist, what exactly have I missed?"