Chapter Text
Your name is Y/N, and you’ve got the most beautiful pair of brown dappled wings you’ve ever seen. Not that you’ve seen many, at least not on a person. At the meager age of twenty, you’re a fully licensed pro hero, with worldwide experience.
You trained and attended school in your home country, the same place in which you began your career, but your work has taken you across the globe. Specializing in aerial search and rescue, you’ve seen many a crisis and natural disaster, and though you truly enjoy helping people, you’ve begun to get...what’s the word?
Tired.
All-encompassing and wholeheartedly tired.
Every day there seems to be a new accident, a new life to save, a new vacation to put off until later when you’re not needed, a new ‘I’ll take it easy today’ only to get home well after the sun sets and wake before there’s a light in the sky. You understand that aerial-quirk heroes are in high demand, but the amount of work you’re expected to accomplish is downright unreasonable. Fifteen hour work days, seven days a week?
And the commission has the audacity to wonder why you’ve gotten slow.
Such circumstances are why you made the bold decision to quit your job at your current agency, pick up everything you knew, and move overseas to Japan. With other popular winged heroes established there, you might begin to feel your workload lessen and the joy in your life return. Plus, you’ve never been to Japan, and you’ve heard it’s pretty this time of year.
Which leads you to where you are currently, standing in a small ice cream shop, trying to decide what flavour to order.
You eventually pick one, opting for something sweet instead of savoury (you didn’t even know savoury ice cream existed), and, with your treat in hand, you wander outside. The little shop almost looks out of place nestled amongst the high-rises, but then, that’s probably what drew you to it.
That, and they seem to have really good ice cream.
You begin walking down the street, your original purpose for being out and about coming back to the forefront of your mind. You don’t start work at your new agency for a couple of days, but you figured it would be wise to get familiar with the area. You never knew if you had to give a lost patron some directions.
Then, just as you’re beginning to enjoy the sun on your face and the breeze in your feathers, an explosion goes off down the street. People scream and run in every direction to escape the blast, and you watch, and hope, and pray, that another pro arrives on the scene. You’re so tired.
A man cries out, drawing your attention, and you watch as his young daughter is snatched from his arms and carried off into the sky by a villain.
So, so tired.
The villain flaps his wings hard, dark flesh menacing against the bright blue of the sky.
Tired.
You wonder if the soft flesh of his wings was damaged in the explosion. He seems to be struggling, even though the little girl is already screaming and wriggling uncontrollably in his arms.
He shouts something at her, but you don’t hear what it is. Probably some kind of threat.
…
And then he drops her, from three hundred feet up.
You drop your ice cream and take off into the sky, wondering why it was so impossible for you to have just one calm day.
You catch the girl easily, though she writhes a little bit until she realizes you’re there to help, and return her to the ground. The villain is a short ways away now, and you would bet your left arm that you could catch him if you tried, but the fact is that you don’t have to.
With the excuse of keeping the little girl safe, you let the bastard get away, secretly hoping karma catches up to him and he runs into a building.
At the very least, the child’s father seems grateful, taking her into his arms and holding her close. He doesn’t say much to you beyond some blubbered thank yous, but you don’t mind. You’re long desensitized to the traumas of hero work, but the average citizen isn’t. You know he’s relieved, and that’s all you need.
You walk away from the scene then, now that other pros have arrived to help with the damage, pausing for a moment to stare at your ice cream that’s melting on the sidewalk.
So. Fucking. Tired.
You decide to spend the rest of the day in your shitty apartment, where the space was barely wide enough to stretch your wings out but the need for a hero was slim. The place had been a bit of an impulse ‘buy’ (you rented the space, in actuality), much like your entire move to Japan had been. A desperate attempt at change, for the sake of your own wellbeing.
But if you were a magnet, disaster would be a sheet of steel.
Your phone rings on the table beside you, cheery tune mocking your sour mood. You briefly entertain the idea of letting it go to voicemail, not having the wherewithal to deal with anything social at the moment, but the call display dissuades you.
“Hello, Y/N speaking,” you answer, putting on a light tone for your new agency. You don’t want to give them any kind of reason to regret hiring you, even if it meant putting on a farce for a few minutes.
“Good evening, Miss Y/N,” the person on the other end says, “I’m calling to inform you that your contract with us has been terminated-”
Fuck.
“-at the request of the Heroes’ Commission.”
Seriously. Fuck.
“Earlier this afternoon, we received a call regarding a transfer to the agency run by Hawks, and the request of the man himself. Seeing your history, we decided it would be best if we didn’t hinder you in achieving your full potential.”
Right, and the sum of money they probably received had nothing to do with it. You knew how these things worked.
You bite your tongue.
“We appreciate you considering us when you applied for jobs in Japan, and we wish you the best of luck in your new position.”
You hang up.
Of course the damn Commission would still have a say in what you do with your life. They’d work you to death if you ever gave them the chance, but it seemed trying to take that chance from them was near impossible.
“Why did I decide on this career,” you ask, of no one in particular, letting your misery seep back into every crevice of your mind.
You’re so irritated that you nearly throw your phone across the room when it lights up with a text.
‘I look forward to meeting you. Gonna be cool to work with another bird.
-Hawks’
The only thing you can wonder, as you stare down at the patronizing words, is how the fuck your new boss even got your number.