Jetstream (Hawks Angst)

whichever way the wind blows

Who doesn't love a hero who can fly?

Who doesn't love a hero with huge red wings, an awesome costume, and a ultra-chill personality?

Who doesn't love a hero who's brimming with achievement and potential at the ripe age of 22?

Barely old enough to drink and Hawks already knew no one really loved him.

He wasn't much of an alcoholic, but sometimes a little vodka got him through the hard nights. Sometimes getting blackout drunk was the only way to calm his body and avoid the inevitable panic attacks that came with the dawn of each day.

But alcohol was a privilege he didn't have very often, sure he had a business, and sure he was over 18, but he didn't have control over anything in his life.

All of it was controlled by the hero public safety commission, the organization he'd been sold to when he was just a kid.

He thought he was living the dream at first. He got to become a hero like the ones on TV. Like endeavor!

He got to save people. To save kids. To save people who had been living in abuse, but instead found himself stuck in a cycle of it again. Manipulation and physical strain and torture were the comission's favorite ways to mold him into a hero that everybody "loved."

But Hawks didn't love himself. He knew that for sure.

He'd lost himself in this endless routine of abuse, work, nightmares, and panic attacks. The only place he felt free was in the sky, above the clouds, where the air was so thin he could barely breathe, where he couldn't see the ground, where he could stretch his wings to their full length and soar freely, letting himself glide wherever the wind took him.

But at the end of the day he was always dragged back to his apartment, owned by the commission, or locked in his office, creating paperwork and examining statistics for his own agency.

All his income was managed by the agency. Despite being an incredibly successful business owner, if he wasn't working he didn't get his next meal.

All of this repeated. Wake up, save people, throw a massive panic attacks in there somewhere, then go home, eat, fall asleep. Wake up, rinse, and repeat.

And today had been a completely ordinary day until he found himself gagging on nothing, hyperventilating at the top of some random, abandoned apartment building. He sat curled up by the edge, his wings wrapped around his body, trembling aggresively. He could feel the wind whipping around him and as he let out a breathless sob, wished he could fall off the building without his wings instinctively saving him.

His biggest secret was the time he tried to fall from the sky. The time he flew himself so high up, up above the clouds, next to the stars, and had the thought that in a moment he'd be a star too, resting peacefully in the sky for people to gaze at on clear nights.

But a foot from the ground he'd instinctively sprung out his wings and landed on his feet. His body was buzzing with adrenaline.

In that moment in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere he felt nothing. So he went home, showered, and slept like nothing had happened. He couldn't leave bed for a full week after that fail.

He basically fell off the face of the earth for seven days.

A friend in the business, Mirko, brought him food under the impression that he was sick. He barely ate it. He couldn't afford meals if he wasn't working, so for a week he starved in bed, only leaving when he absolutely had to go use the bathroom, or when he needed to clean the blood from his arms.

After not working for 7 days, the comission began to threaten him with severe consequences if he didn't go back to work.

The next morning he forced himself out of bed, only motivated by the potential fires that would be burned if he didn't. He would have let it happen if it wasn't for the safety of everyone else in his apartment complex. Burning alive wasn't the best way to go, but at least he'd finally be out of the mess his life had gotten to be.

That day at work was the first time he really talked with Mirko as a friend rather than a colleague. She was confident, unique, funny, and charismatic. Unlike someone you'd imagine to personify a bunny, she was strong willed and always threw her opinion into the conversation. She wanted everyone's voice heard, including her own, she stuck up for everyone.

That week was the same week she found Hawks in a panic attack for the first time. He had cornered himself in an ally, sobbing harshly, hyperventilating so unevenly he felt like he would pass out. He was holding his sleeves over his bandaged arms, trying to gain some grounding, trying not to throw up, trying not to pass out.

"Hawks?" Mirko called into the ally, walking back without hesitation, past a dumpster and some graffiti.

All she got in response was a huge sob and a bout of uneven, shallow breaths.

"Woah woah, hey. Everything's alright, deep breaths." She said, kneeling down next to him, "in for four out for four."

"I feel- like-" he let out another sob, "like I'm d-dying." He choked out, trying to get some kind of control over his breathing. He was rocking slightly, grabbing tightly to the sleeves of his jacket, knees up to his chest and wings acting as blinders in a way.

"You aren't dying. You're having a panic attack, and it will pass. Feel the ground, and take deep breaths." She said, noticing his hands let go of his sleeves and find their way to the filthy pavement.

"Hey Hawks, tell me 5 things you can see." She said. He listed five things without question, trusting her to do whatever she thought he needed to get out of this trapped headspace.

"Four things you can touch"

"Three things you can hear."

"Two things you can smell."

"One thing you can taste."

"In for four and out for four." She directed, exemplifying, getting the occasional wiff of garbage from the nearby dumpster.

Hawks finally pulled back his wings to reveal his tearstained face. This was the first time Mirko ever noticed how exhausted he looked. Sitting next to him he didn't look like the Hawks she thought she knew at all.

And it most definitely wasn't the same Hawks the public knew. This version of the hero was someone else entirely, a version Mirko had a feeling next to no one had seen.

"You alright?" She asked carefully.

"Yeah." He said, his voice taking on the same calm smoothness she was used to, but with a twang of nasally accent from his extended crying. He wiped his nose on his sleeve carefully, "all good. Thank you."

She didn't necessarily trust his answer, but he very clearly didn't want to talk about it at the moment as he began to speak about something else.

"Work lately's been pretty busy, huh! We've had lots of jobs together!" He said enthusiastically, audibly forced, as he wiped his face and left the smelly ally.

"Yeah, true. Guess we're officially besties now!" She said, elbowing him playfully, "I'm always here if you need me, just give me a call!"

At her last words, she watched Hawk's cool mask slip for a minute into a look that looked like nervous dread. That looked like he was almost scared to have someone there for him. But just as fast as it had gone, the mask was back up and he was thanking her with the basic response. The fake response.

"Of course! Thanks." He said, feeling a buzz on his watch. Another job.

"Gotta fly! See'ya later, Mirko. You're a pretty rad rabbit!" He said as he flew off.

She waved him off, getting her own scene requests, but despite her job calling her elsewhere, she couldn't help but stand for a minute.

She had a feeling Hawks wasn't a "go with the flow, I go whichever way the wind blows" kinda guy like everyone thought he was. He was hurting, and he was hiding it. Hiding it in the back of ally's, hiding it on abandoned rooftops, hiding it from society, from other heroes, from the media, from everyone.

Maybe even himself.

Hawks wasn't the man anyone thought he was. There was something hiding, something deeper happening, a secret concealed with him up in the jetstream where he flew everyday.

(What's this Hawks angst Hawks angst!?!?!?)