This story has been sitting on my mind for a while, and I've been crazy inspired by other writers on here. Also, the perspective might be a bit off in this first chapter but afterward it will be set in third person.
I hope you all enjoy!
I do not own Boku no Hero Academia.
The Wind Beneath Her Wings
Chapter One:
Rebirth
Dying wasn't what she had expected. The movies, books, hell, even the fanfics had it all wrong. It wasn't a sudden darkness or the body slipping into oblivion coupled with a weird floating feeling. Nope. Not at all. It was pain. And lots of it.
In another life her name had been Annabelle West. From what she could remember, which wasn't much because these memories were now fleeting, Annabelle's life had been relatively simple. Mundane, even.
She was born first to Carol and Edward West. Her mother was a soft-spoken preschool teacher, her father a methodical biomedical engineer. Following behind was Annabelle's two younger siblings, Anthony and Andrea. Yes, her parents were those people. The ones that were unoriginal and bland in regards to naming their children, instead opting for the lazy approach of keeping the same starting vowel for each. Talk about taking strides towards individuality.
They were the typical, poorly written sitcom-esque American family. Except, Annabelle wasn't the unfathomably breathtaking high school main character always getting caught up in hijinks and unnecessary, self-induced drama. Her father wasn't the absentee, out-of-touch workaholic obsessed with football. Or her mother the self-obsessed witch, placing her family's societal appearances above her children's well-being. Her siblings were certainly not saints, not by any means, but they weren't vindictive little shits either. All three of them were notorious for their bickering, which sometimes escalated into gigantic blowouts. But at the end of the day they were there for one another and loved each other a great deal. There simply was no sad backstory, unless you counted the time Annabelle's fish died when she was six. She had held a tasteful memorial in the bathroom. It was odd, but she could still smell the lilac scented candles her mother had lit as she recited a prayer for Guppi Goldberg; her father failingly morphed his face to one of stone as he desperately attempted to stave off laugher. Or maybe the tragic backstory was the time Annabelle had simultaneously ruined the sanctity of Christmas for not only herself, but for Anthony and Andrea too. She shuddered at the one thought she wanted to go away.
Anyways! You get the idea. Maybe it was disappointing to some but there wasn't any skeletons in the closet, unless you counted the ones downstairs because that's where the West family kept some of the Halloween decorations.
Thinking back on it now, Annabelle's ordinary existence left her feeling uncertain, as if that life had been somehow fictional. The West family sounded too good to be true, almost like a Gergich family regurgitation. Death by love-induced smothering...or something like that. If given the choice that would've been how she'd want to die. Instead how she actually died was...
She halted that train of thought, getting too far ahead of herself. Instead she opted to recall where this all began...
It had all started with an alarm left unset.
"Shit, shit, shit!" she cursed, crushing her fingers as she jammed a pair of sneakers on.
Quickly throwing on her backpack, Annabelle vaulted down the stairs, nearly falling down the last two steps and cracking her head open.
Stabilizing herself, she flung open the front door with the force of a mighty God, then quickly slammed it shut behind herself.
Feet pounded against the sidewalk like heavy rain. Quaint family homes flickered by as she ran past yet another block with a ridiculous sounding name. Fishing her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket, it's bright screen flashed to life. Bold numbers mockingly presented themselves: 7:25 AM. She was so totally screwed. Throwing her phone back into her pocket, Annabelle picked up her pace. She had five minutes until homeroom started and nine more blocks to go. As the seconds tick tick ticked away Annabelle began to feel a bubbling of self loathing form in the pit of her stomach.
She began to mentally berate herself, How could I have been so stupid? I shouldn't have waited until last minute to do my homework. But then again, who the fuck assigns homework over the weekend? Satan? Oh no, that'd be Mrs —
Annabelle was ripped from her reverie as a piercing pop! cut through the air, reverberating. As the echo escaped into the distance, she waited for the second round. It didn't come. Annabelle's mind began to work overtime, trying to pinpoint what that could've been. It almost sounded like a single, unrestrained firework. But who'd be setting off a single firework so early in the morning. Not to mention, why?
Realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. That wasn't a gunshot, was it?
The gradual thumping of her heart began to quicken, anxiety spiking as a wave of heat slithered down her spine. Get ahold of yourself, Annabelle. Your sleep-deprived brain is just fucking with you. Besides, it was probably just someone's car backfiring or something.
As soon as the thought left her brain, a football sized bird collapsed from the sky, harshly landing on the pavement in an undignified heap of feathers. Before she could even produce a thought on how far fetched this situation was, an onslaught of shrill squawking assaulted her eardrums. Caramel eyes flickered down to the creature now located in the middle of the road. A hard gasp escaped her lips as Annabelle's gaze fell onto the pitiful ball of bloodied feathers. Witnessing the distressed state of this bird helped connect the dots. There was no mistaking it, someone had shot this predator. But why?
Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice selfishly reminded her that she was going to be even more late to school if she continued to linger. But before she even had the chance to contemplate that ridiculous notion, Annabelle's heart won her over, forcing her legs forward. She just had to do something, right? School be damned, this was more pressing.
With a pace rivaling turtles mating, she took tentative steps towards the wounded predator. A strange tension turned her stomach uncomfortably. Dropping to her knees at a safe enough distance, because judging by those razor sharp talons this bird could seriously wreak havoc on her jugular, Annabelle assessed it's condition. A hellish vermillion streaked it's soft gray wings, the thick droplets beginning to pool around it. It had already lost a considerable amount of blood but it seemed savable.
There was a myriad of emotions bouncing around within her gaze. Anger being the most distinguishable. Running out of time and options, she unzipped her hoodie. Annabelle quietly thanked the gods above for deciding to wear a shirt underneath her hoodie instead of just the usual bra. Being caught in the middle of a street, especially one so close to school, half naked was not how she wanted to be seen.
The sudden movements sent the beast of a bird into a full-blown panic. It's whole body shuddered as it began to hyperventilate. Quickly shifting gears, Annabelle began to move with slow, deliberate movements. It's eye, a dark mousse color surrounding by a vibrant gold, stalked her every move. Even in its weakened state, she just knew the unrestrainable power this creature possessed. Even though she was tending to it, Annabelle was keenly aware of it's control over her.
With patient, soft hands she wrapped her hoodie around the bird, carefully bundling it up. With speed rivaling a pregnant sloth, she maneuvered the wings into a more comfortable position. The bird had begun to pant like a dog from her close proximity, causing trepidation to rise within her as their eyes locked. With bated breath she awaited it's reaction, praying it didn't decide to viciously lash out and tear open her hand. Moments passed, but the terrifying creature in her arms had finally begun to settle down. Staring down at the bundle of fabric in her hands, Annabelle couldn't help but become transfixed on the tragic beauty before her. She had no idea what type of bird this was but she couldn't help but foolishly pause to take in its every detail, from its sleek raincloud gray wings to its freckled form and sharp, regal beak.
Grabbing her phone from nearby, Annabelle began single-handedly punching in the nearest animal hospital. Annabelle ripped her mocha eyes away from the screen when the bird began uproariously piercing the air, it's cawing strangely akin to one of foreshadowed panic.
That's when it happened.
Too fast yet painstaking slow at the same time. A prolonged horn blared as tires squealed against the pavement. Deep, dark marks began to mar the street as plumes of smoke radiated from the car. Annabelle's arms tightened around the bundle, body tensing as she prepared to jump out of the way. But as the car barreled towards her, she already knew it was too late. At the last second her body instinctively curled around the innocent creature, shielding it.
Before the vehicle made impact one last thought circulated her mind: Fuck.
Pain erupted in her skull, blossoming behind her eyes and pouring down the sides of her face like molten lava. She could hear the sickening crack of her skull making impact with the street as the metallic tang of blood began to taint the inside of her mouth. A burning sensation crawled down her neck, flitting across her neck like a hot sword had just severed her head.
Squinting through bleary eyes a muffled, distorted figure leaned over her. It's shrill words flooded out like a bursted dam, but they were garbled and incoherent to her cotton-stuffed ears.
Time began to slip away as the seconds melted into what felt like eons. Annabelle fought to keep her led-filled lids open, but quickly succumbed to the overwhelming urge to close them.
Like a quarterback protecting the ball, her arms remained encircled around the precious cargo. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe both. Laugh because she'd become a modern day Humpty Dumpty. Cry because of the ludicracy of the situation.
Speckled spots of gleaming white began to dance behind her eyelids as a fresh wave of hot, searing pain crashed over her body. Annabelle gritted her teeth as the specks became a swirling vortex, her world now spinning as a blinding white took over.
Then the white shattered like a broken glass and she was thrown into darkness.
And just like that, the pain was over.
At first, she thought she was in a coma. Get hit by a car, go into a coma. Perfectly logical. Going into a coma because you decided to save a bird that literally appeared out of thin air? Not so logical, but nobody was perfect.
She strained her ears to pick up a sound, desperate to hear something...anything. Instead she remained encased in silence. In a blanket of warm darkness, unable to discern her surroundings. She tried not to let the tingle of fear evolve into something more. It wasn't long after that a crushing weight lay on her chest.
Some time later the crushing stopped and, with a thrill, she began to feel a distinct sensation. It was softness all around, something firm beneath, but the air had become comparatively chill and crisp. It was like a vacuum had sucked every ounce of oxygen out of her lungs because breathing was more difficult than she could ever remember and more precious than she could ever describe. The greedy lungfuls stolen from the air were both painful and glorious.
At least I'm breathing! She almost felt like crying. She was alive.
Long minutes later she managed to pry open her eyes and her elation died. Even with her vision blurred beyond usefulness, she could tell the scale of everything was off, giants looming all around. She realized the firmness below was not a bed, but a set of arms. She knew then she hadn't woken up. Her brain was merely becoming more creative in it's lies, playing what must have been the first moments of her life out of boredom.
Pain she could take, but this? No, this was too much. Panic rising in her tiny chest, she let loose a wail.
Smooth, rapid words floated through the air, fleshing themselves out into a language she couldn't comprehend.
Trying to formulate sentences, even basic words, proved to be futile. The only thing to come out her was shattering wails. Like a hot potato she was transferred from one set of arms to another. After someone had wiped away some of the gunk covering her eyes, some visibility was returned to her.
A soft disheartened gasp stilled the room as her eyes swiveled up to her current holder. The woman encasing her looked like shit. There was simply no nice way of putting it. Dark and heavy bags adorned her features. Inky black hair was haphazardly thrown up into a sloppy, crooked bun. The hairs framing her face mingled with the sweat that caked against her skin like a second layer.
Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, and in them she saw something that chilled her: heartbreak in a sea of sadness.
The weary woman muttered something quick under her breath before deeply inhaling and clearly enunciating a name, "Asuka."
It had taken Annabelle, scratch that, Asuka, three months to piece together what had happened. Well, not exactly. It had taken her about a day and a half to realize what had happened, but three months to acknowledge it. She was far from accepting any of this and had been living in a constant, cozy state of denial.
But she had been reborn.
What would the thousands of fanfiction writers and readers think of her if they could see her now? For years writers have been concocting stories of life after death in a faraway fictional world where the main character's very existence causes a ripple effect.
But she wasn't a character. She was a living, breathing person. She had no narcissistic quest for glory. No need to be the next Hokage. Not a single desire to end someone else's life with a notebook. Didn't even need to go on a journey to retrieve a mythical stone and reclaim her body.
And like everyone else she had practical dreams of tantalizingly tangible things such as graduating, marrying, maybe getting a job as she melded into the status quo on a normative pursuit of becoming a so called 'responsible adult.' But she was just a normal teenager. Or at least...she had been.
That was all gone now.
Laying in her crib as she gazed up to the ceiling, she couldn't halt her brain from the endless stream of intrusive thoughts. Thinking was all she could do in these terribly isolated, lonesome months.
She wondered how her family had reacted to the news of her death. Terribly, she was sure. But were they coping? Had the news been relayed to Anthony and Andrea by the unhelpful school counselor? Had they been removed from school shortly after? Were her parents putting on a brave face for them but holding each other as they cried themselves to sleep? Were they–
Enough, she mentally chided. I can't think about this anymore.
A tiny insignificant voice in the faintest crevice of her brain wondered if the bird survived.
She really hated her new name. She prayed it didn't mean anything dumb.
After about four and a half months of living this strange new life a startling realization struck her as odd.
She'll spare you the boring details of being a baby because nobody wants to hear about that. But something she couldn't quite skim over was the lack of treatment she received from the woman whom she guessed was her new mother. Not that she actually wanted to accepted that. Carol West was her real mother, okay?
In her mind she dubbed the woman Fake Mom.
Annabelle, Asuka, tried not to be a burden on this woman and only cried when needed, but the lack of care was definitely peculiar and disheartening. This pseudo-mom would let her cry longer than necessary, never quick to come to her aid. Fake Mom also allowed her to sit in her own filth for longer than necessary and wasn't as attentive with feedings as a new mother should be.
Annabelle's earliest memories involved her real mother tending to her infantile siblings. Carol West would rise before her babies had the chance to crack open their eyes, prepared their bottles before they wailed, held them, carried them, read and sang to them, but most importantly, she loved them. Unconditionally.
Fake Mom liked her, she supposed. She kept her alive.
But during their breastfeeding sessions she'd hum a disjointed, melancholic tune.
Did she have a Fake Father in this life or was Fake Mom a single mother?
A significant amount of time had passed since her arrival to this foreign place and the only life form she'd encountered was the woman that birthed her.
If her faux mother was hypothetically a single parent, how was she able to afford taking months off of work to take care of a baby?
As she began to ponder the infinite possibilities of the lacking father figure, she yearned for her past father's presence.
She wondered if Anthony and Andrea were bickering as much as they used to.
She decided from this point forward to spend her time wisely and begin composing a mental list of where should could be. Judging by Fake Mom's dialect, she had deduced it to an Asian country. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
If she was lucky her life wouldn't turn out to be a fictional rehashing befitting a story for others pleasure. Maybe a higher being was looking out for her and had her rebirthed on the other side of the world so one day she could reconnect with her real family.
That pesky voice in the back of her head told her that the chances of that happening were slim to none. But it was more probable than being reborn into an anime, right?
Witnessing her new appearance had shocked her to the core. The moment had been fleeting as her fake mother held her in her arms, walking past the mirror with haste. But it was enough time to immortalize the image in her brain like stone.
Like any newborn her age she was incredibly fragile and small with full, pinchable cheeks. Perfectly matching her new mother's, her head was peach fuzz colored in a glossy midnight. However, her breath stilled the moment she saw her own eyes. Unlike her faux mother's bark brown, her eyes were a round, delicate robin's-egg blue.
She couldn't help but wonder why her features in this life were so distinguishable and distinctly...American?
Was it because her past life had been spent as an American and it somehow translated into this one?
She racked her brain for a possible explanation. Perhaps it was some sick and twisted form of symbolism bestowed upon her by a cruel entity? Perhaps it even eluded to some foreshadowing...
She mentally snorted at the ludicrous thought. Yeah, right...
She couldn't help but feel like this was scripted.
Looking back on her previously ended life, she couldn't help but mourn the loss of her appearance. Annabelle had been fortunate enough to be born with plain features, which allowed her to be a wallflower of sorts. But here it was different. Everything was different.
And she hated it.
At six months old she was able to produce her first word, "Mama."
It had taken her three painstakingly long weeks to get it just right because she wouldn't settle for anything less than perfect. Besides, getting her infantile mouth to properly formulate the words in an entirely new language proved to be the hardest part. Begrudgingly, she had to admit all the time and effort she put into that singular phrase was purely for self gain and attention. However, she also hoped it would please Fake Mom, maybe she'd indulge her with a smile and congratulate her.
When her caretaker had come in for the routine changing, she couldn't contain her excitement. Like a child with a juicy secret she blurted it out.
The air became stagnant as a pregnant pause turned suffocating. She instantly regretting opening her mouth as soon as Fake Mom deflated like a pricked balloon. Her neck bent to the side as her gaze focused away from Asuka, not-so-subtly hiding her face so that she couldn't see the salty water threatening to leak from her chocolate eyes. Asuka's gut clenched at her reaction.
The victory wasn't sweet.
A month later her brain connected the dots, recognizing the constant rattling from the other room to be a pill bottle.
Two months after that, at a whopping nine months old, she began to walk. Bumbling like Bambi at first she was quick to fall. Fake Mom watched with tired eyes, keeping a safe distance a few feet away. Asuka looked at her for guidance but came up short.
Nevertheless she persisted, determined to get this right. Even if it meant doing it all by herself. Her caregiver had decided to relocate them to the living room because of the wide open terrain. This was the first time in this life she was experiencing an area outside of her room and she was going to take full advantage of it.
Instinctively her arms shot out to the nearby couch, seeking to gain stability as her wobbly legs threatening to give out beneath her. Her faux mother's keen eyes followed her every move like a hawk. After a few more stumbles with no further incidents her confidence began to soar. Exhilarated, and becoming cocky in her newfound abilities, she began testing the boundaries as she branched out further around the room.
She didn't even notice the end table with the violet glass vase until it was too late.
Crash!
Piercing screams infiltrated the air as a shard of glass tore into the side of her arm. Quick as a flash her mother was on her, gently teasing the glass out.
With an air of refined ease, the woman held a smooth hand over her wound. A subtle hum tinkled like bells in a breeze as a soft white glow began to illuminate from the palm of her hand. Firmly grasping her forearm, the applied area was bathed in a radiant yet soothing warmth. After a few beats the woman released her arm, leaving behind unblemished skin.
Her screams were louder than ever before.
If possible she would've fainted. She wasn't ashamed to admit it. People didn't just glow and magically heal you!
She rotated her arm like a cheap hot-dog rotisserie found at the checkout counter of a crack-shack 7-11. There wasn't a single sign of a cut. Not even the faintest line of a scar.
Nothing. Zilch. Nada.
What kind of freaky shit is that!
She was in an anime. And her mother had freaky healing powers. There was no other way of putting it.
Helplessly, she wanted to scream. Her thoughts alone were filled with infinite strings of curses. Every word imaginable coursed through her head. It was probably enough to make sailors blush.
But overall...she blamed that stupid bird for all of this.