The Shape of Fire

Up in Flames

He's back in the facility and is doing his normal patrol route. It doesn't feel normal though, there's an icy feeling spreading through his body and he feels like he doesn't have any control over his body as it takes slow and steady steps towards the last containment cell at the end of the stretching hallway. He passes a few scientists but pays them no mind- even when they try to stop him, asking what's wrong.

He wants nothing more than to scream for help, but he's a prisoner in his own body and the only thing that he can control is his panicked thoughts that race through his mind at a thousand miles per minute.

Step by agonizingly slow step, he weaves his way closer and closer. He's lulled by the familiar low humming, telling him to approach. For just a heartbeat, he pauses in front of the looming silver doors until the humming grows so loud that he feels warm blood trickle down from his ears. Its rumbling hums serves as his own siren's song, singing tales of all the riches and power that he could ever ask for

"Open it." As much as he wants to fight against the command, it's useless. He can only watch in horror as his robotic stiff hands move on their own accord. There's a group of scientists rushing down the corridor towards him- they're shouting something but their muffled words only meld together in confusing sounds. There is only one voice that he will listen to, and the owner of it stands behind its own prison before him.

One by one the paper talismans fall to the ground like decaying cherry blossoms and they scatter around his feet. As the last one falls, a crack appears in the silver door. Soon, it's joined by other hairline fractures. There's a massive thud that echoes down the corridor and its after shock throws the scientists back against the wall, faintly he recognizes the sound of crunching bones and pained cries. Finally, the metal door screeches as it crumbles into itself, and there stands the demon. It beckons him closer still and motions at the silver shackles. He nods, understanding what must be done.

Its cell is so unbelievably hot and he feels like his skin must be melting off from his bones, still, he makes his way closer towards the demon.

There's more shouts behind him and a thundering pair of footsteps. Time seems to slow down when he hears the familiar click of a gun with its safety being switched off. A blur of silver whizzes past his ear and lodges itself into the demon's chest. There's an enraged roar and before he knows it, all he can see is blue.

Blinding and furious blue flames erupt in the cell and then, he's no more.

There is no body, just ash. He's naught but a small floating spirit that still continues towards the demon. Instead of reaching for the chains though, he's drawn into Dabi's stretching maw and is swallowed whole. His last memory is that of the folded up and now cremated photo in his wallet before he dissolves into nothing.

A stillness overtakes Hawks' apartment and he startles awake- shooting up in bed. Grasping at his chest, he takes in heaving gulps of stale air. Shaking hands finger through his knotted hair and Hawks steadies his breathing.

"It was just a dream." Hawks reminds himself. It still felt so real though, too real for comfort. He swipes away the sweat that's beading on his forehead and swings his legs over the bed. Unsteady on his legs, Hawks slowly steps over a pile of discarded laundry and enters his bathroom.

His reflection greets him with another bloody nose.

He has the next two nights off and Hawks orders cheap take out, not in the mood for cooking. He can't stop thinking about the nightmare. He sits in the corner of the small restaurant. Sometimes, Hawks catches himself staring at his reflection in the window- waiting for another bloody nose. There's a ghost of moments where he can still feel the fire licking up and down his skin and from time to time, he glances away from the window and down at his arms; checking to make sure that his skin is still unmarred by hell fire.