His Hero

Unravel

After combing through nearly two years' worth of agency case files Shoto still hadn't found a single damn mention of Katsuki, Project Leviathan, or any Hero agency that could possibly be 'HD'. He arched his back, every pop of his spine loud in his stuffy little office, and clicked open another file, another document, and scrolled through another dead end. Then another. And another. His leg bounced furiously. The fire buried deep within grew hotter, burning through his control. He opened another. And another. White-hot pain shot through his jaw as he clenched it tighter and scrolled through another. And ano-

Fuck!

He shoved himself away from his desk, slamming his chair into the small bookshelf behind him. He couldn't do this anymore – sit here and scroll, and scroll, and scroll and not get any closer to finding Katsuki. Not when the rage he buried so deep inside was slowly prying the bars of its cage apart, eager to escape, to bring everything down in a blaze. Wiping a bead of sweat from his temple, he took a slow breath in and closed his eyes. An image flashed through his mind – a dark hospital room, Katsuki falling to his knees in front of him – and a different kind of heat spread through the hero.

He shook his head and pressed his palms to his eyes hard enough to see stars instead; the feeling was like sandpaper scraping an open wound. How many hours had he been at this, eight? Nine? It had been dark out when he rushed back up to his father's office to try getting the files again, but now the honeyed glow of midmorning sun spilled in through his office window. And he still hadn't found a single fucking clue.

A tightness that had made itself at home in his chest wound itself tighter, coiling around his heart like a damn python trying to squeeze all hope out of him as he sank down in his chair. When he opened his eyes again, they landed on the door. Why hadn't he locked the damn thing? Or made a copy of the files first? Both rookie mistakes only fanned the flames of his frustration hotter. It was like he was back in his first year as a professional hero, fumbling from one mistake to the next. And the worst part was that he could only blame himself.

And Hawks.

At some point while he was scrolling through dead ends in the middle of the night, Shoto's mind had sunk it's claws into the certainty that the damn bird had taken the flash drive. Hawks had caught him in his father's office, the password to Endeavor's computer had been changed when Shoto tried it again, and Hawks was just too damn smart not to piece things together.

Shoto yanked his phone from his pocket to send another message –

Hawks🐔:

11:36pm

Where are you?

11:52pm

I know you have it, I want it back.

12:14am

You changed his password?

5:13am

Please, Keigo.

10:25am

Call me.

- and then shoved it back in his pocket and clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms. Hawks knew exactly what this would do to him. He knew, and he clearly didn't care.

A wave of angry heat spread like wildfire from his core to the tips of his fingers. The tightness in his chest turned sharp as flames tore across his skin, curling the leather of his chair. All those times... all those times Hawks had promised to be there for him like a brother. Promised to look out for him the way Toya would have. He slammed his hands on his desk and shot up from his chair. It was all a fucking lie. He rounded the desk, his heart thundering in his ears. In two long strides he was at the door, wrenching it open as the metal handle sizzled under his fingers. He was going to find that winged bastard, and when he got his hands on him, he would-