Chapter Text
The storm had long-passed by the time Izuku reached the foot of the mountains. The sunset, stained vermillion by the remaining dust hanging in the air, washed the distant fields amber.
On any other day, it might have been beautiful.
Izuku plodded alongside the tracks, panting like a pack mule. He probably looked like one, weighed down with his mentor and their bags. If it wasn't for the quirk latticing his body in undulating scarlet, he might have collapsed by now. He could feel exhaustion lurking beneath the static of One for All—not helped by the weeping scrapes on his knees and elbows.
The dust was the worst part. It stuck to his clothes and skin like talcum powder, itching and chafing until Izuku was certain the granules were embedded in his flesh. He regretted not showering off at the house, but the storm had still been raging, and nothing had been as important to Izuku as escape.
The atlas, with its key to the enigmatic rip in space, felt heavy in his jacket pocket.
Toshinori was still unconscious, arms draped over Izuku's back. The steady, rattling breaths against his shoulder were all that told him he was alright, but he didn't have the heart to wake him. Not when he'd been in so much pain.
A breeze ruffled the brittle grass along the tracks, and Izuku froze, heart hammering. It took him several seconds to start walking again—faster than before. His gaze flitted back and forth over the horizon.
Come on… Where is it?
Izuku was certain this was the right train track—it had to be. From on top of the rocky mound, he could see no other railway for miles.
Just when panic was about to set in, Izuku saw it; concealed just enough by a subtle rise in the rail. There were many signs running along it, but only one had a white strip of cloth tied to its crooked post.
Izuku heaved a sigh of relief just as something shimmered in the shadow of the basin. Izuku gasped, blinking to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
What…
He stared, fully expecting the mirage to disappear, but it didn’t. It was real.
Spread before him was a glassy expanse of water that coated the bottom of the valley, as if a piece of the sky had fallen to the ground. A hush of wind shattered the illusion into rippling pieces, carrying a scent so rote in Izuku's memory that it brought tears to his eyes.
The ocean.
There was no sign of the Gate. The lake (was it even a lake?) covered the basin it had sat in. Izuku remembered the way the portal glowed red after he and Toshinori crossed over, and the dark blot that clouded the sand around it. How the tide practically lapped at their heels before they entered.
Was this what Tiresias meant when he talked about doors standing open?
Izuku picked his way down the slope as carefully as he could, balancing his mentor and their bags on his back. The water looked even more like a mirror down here, bright alpenglow on the peaks above reflected in the surface. The runaway ocean couldn't have been more than a foot deep at the center, spread out over such a flat depression.
Izuku hiked Toshinori's legs up as his shoes made contact with the water. The hard-packed earth wasn't as muddy as it could have been, but he still cringed at the silt that washed into his socks. Little spirals of red earth swirled off his ankles the further he walked, mixing with what he was kicking up from the lakebed.
At least some of this will wash off...
The water didn’t come up much further than Izuku’s knees, even as he neared the center of the little sea. If he wasn't in a hurry, he would have dove to the bottom until every grain of dust was off of him, but he didn’t want to wake Toshinori.
Shifting his guardian on his back, Izuku squinted at the surface of the water and tried to remember where the Gate was.
Only after wading around in circles did he notice the surface undulating nearby like a cloud. Thin ribbons of colder water washed over his ankles, and Izuku followed them to the churning spot.
He didn’t see the Gate’s edge. There was no warning for the unearthly darkness that froze him to the spot, vision cutting out like a screen. His ears popped, and vertigo slammed into him as the Rockies vanished in the dark between.
Izuku wanted to scream—he might have screamed, but the void swallowed all air and sound.
Toshinori jolted in his arms, and without thinking Izuku grabbed his hand. He didn’t know if his mentor was even awake or if the spasm was just a reflex, but he remembered his insistence on it from the first jump.
It’s okay, Izuku thought, heart hammering. It’s okay. I’m getting you out of here. I’m taking us home.
Once again, the excruciating time in the void passed in impossible increments. Then it was over.
Izuku gasped, sputtering as he surfaced on the other side of the earth.
Shit, he thought. Forgot about the fucking tides.
The blood drained from Izuku’s head as the vertigo came down on him like a sledgehammer. Bright, fuzzy shapes swam in his eyes against the black sky.
Crossing to Wyoming was hard enough, but crossing in five feet of water with Toshinori on his back was another animal. After the long walk in the evening sun, the cold bay was almost worse than the shock of the in-between.
Toshinori was right, though—it wasn't as bad as the first time. Izuku could stay upright, and the lights of the skyline weren't excruciating to look at, but his head was still swimming.
Izuku squinted at the shore, trying to gauge its distance before a whitecap slapped him in the face. He tried to wipe the seawater away, but it was too late. Salt seeped into his raw eyes, and he mashed his palms into them. It stung so much that he gagged.
Before he even sensed the movement, cold fingers seized the crook of Izuku’s neck. He froze.
In one fluid motion, Toshinori slid off his back and spun him around by the shoulder to face him. Gone was the bleary-eyed panic from the gas station; only silent fury remained.
Izuku’s mouth went dry.
“What—" Toshinori rasped, exploding into coughs before he could say anything else.
His hands fell from Izuku’s shoulders, still trying to catch his breath as a wave knocked him off ballance. Izuku grabbed him by the arms, tugging him in the direction of the foggy skyline.
Toshinori gasped between coughs, eyes still flicking incredulously between Izuku and the city. A trickle of red mixed into the seawater on his chin, but his expression screamed outrage.
Izuku’s heart thrummed harder, Toshinori's unspoken words loud as thunder in his imagination:
'What the hell did you do?'
“I–It’s okay!” Izuku shouted over the waves. The water was growing shallower. “Toshinori, it’s okay! I got us out of here—we can get help now! We’re home!”
Toshinori stumbled in the shallows before he could reply, and Izuku was quick to swoop under him again, lending the man a shoulder to lean against. Even staggering in the surf, anger radiated from him like the sun.
“You,” Toshinori choked out, “You…!”
He sputtered again, blood hitting the foam like drops of red ink. Izuku winced.
"I, I think you n-need to stop trying to talk," he said, hauling him further out of the water. "You're hurting yourself…"
Toshinori made an irritated sound, snatching his arm from around Izuku’s shoulders. He stormed ahead, wheeling around in the water to cut Izuku off. He reached out.
“G—" Toshinori choked, glare contorting in pain for the briefest instant. More blood ran down his chin. “Give—m’the b-ook, M’doriya.”
Izuku’s stomach dropped further at his family name.
I’m fucked.
On the most blatant sensible level, he knew he should comply. Should give Toshinori the atlas before he made things even worse somehow. Instead, Izuku said:
“Tell me why.”
Toshinori balked. Then he buried his head in his hands, fingers clawing his forehead with a guttural growl. Izuku had never seen him so angry.
“Iz—" Toshinori growled, fluid bubbling in his shredded throat. This time he really did lose his balance, swaying on the sand like a palm. Izuku moved to grab him, but Toshinori shook him off.
Again and again, Toshinori tried to talk. Again and again, he failed. His face was quickly turning red—from anger or exertion, Izuku couldn’t tell.
At last, he couldn't keep his balance in the swaying water, and Izuku caught him before the surf could go over his head. Toshinori sputtered for air, coughing harder than ever. Alarm lit Izuku's quirk like a candle, and in two bounds they were standing on the beach.
Izuku let Toshinori down on the strand, kneeling beside him as he spasmed with more awful coughs on all fours.
“Toshinori, I think we need to go to the hospital,” he blurted.
The man jolted, eyes wide as moons. With animal urgency, Toshinori scrawled a line of messy hiragana in the sand with his finger:
NO HOSPITAL
“What?” Izuku blanched. “What do you mean?! You can barely stand!”
He hadn’t even finished speaking before Toshinori was shaking his head and scratching at least four lines under the message for emphasis. Even that appeared to wind him, as he had to catch himself on all fours with a ragged gasp.
"Toshinori, you can barely stay upright. You lost God-knows how much blood, I—! You can't honestly tell me not to get help!"
Toshinori seemed to regard him, choppily scrawling something else in the sand.
ALMANAC
“What?!" Izuku shrieked. "That storm is what did this to you.”
Toshinori sighed, curling his fingers into the sand till his knuckles turned white. Again, he held out a hand, making a grasping motion for the Atlas. Izuku gritted his teeth.
Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in…
“N–No," he said shakily. "Almanac doesn’t have a hospital, and you—you saw what happened back there! We can’t go back. There’s no reason that we ever would go back.” Izuku took a deep breath. “And I… I’m not giving you the atlas until you tell me why we should.”
Water crashed all around them. Izuku’s clothes—tacky with salt—stuck to him. Thunder murmured in the distance over the sea. Real thunder—not hellish dust storms.
Toshinori stared at Izuku for untold moments; a silent game of chicken in which neither was willing to look away.
At least, not until more choking coughs rankled him.
Izuku grabbed his mentor before he could collapse, and this time Toshinori slumped in his arms as if he'd passed out. If he wasn't still gasping like a fish, Izuku would think he had.
“Toshinori,” Izuku pleaded.
The atlas sat like a coal in his bag. If he wanted, his mentor could just reach in and grab it. Toshinori wouldn’t trick him like that, would he?
The man was staring listlessly at the dark ocean, eyes clouded with something Izuku couldn’t decipher. The smell of copper mixed with the salt on the wind.
Finally, Toshinori sagged the rest of the way against Izuku, eyes shut tight. Without a sound, he pointed at an intersection above the seawall, hand flecked with red. Izuku blinked, squinting down a gap in the glittering skyline towards the train station.
“Ah—You… want me to go down that street?” Izuku ventured. “Are we taking the train?”
Toshinori nodded.
“Okay…”
Izuku hauled him off the sand, steadying him as they picked their way towards the seawall, and far from Almanac.
Good, Izuku thought. Every meter between them and that place meant a little more peace of mind.
Izuku had no idea where Toshinori was leading him, but it had to be better than where they came from.
⨀
“Um,” Izuku said. “You’re sure this is where you wanted to go?”
Toshinori nodded against his shoulder. At some point during the walk, he lost the energy to even keep his head up, and his breathing was more labored than ever. They’d gotten a lot of strange looks from the early commuters on the train.
The place in question was an apartment building on the west side of town. It was dilapidated to an almost comical degree; paint peeling from the bricks to frame a welcome sign that hung precariously over the door by one strut. The corner window on the top story was busted out, and bright orange construction barriers walled off the first story—the kind meant to keep rubble from spraying onto the street.
Is he delirious? Izuku thought, scanning the rest of the street. Squat, bland business parks and a storage unit center stared back. I tell him to go to the hospital and he takes me to a crackhouse!
“Toshinori, this doesn’t look safe,” Izuku hedged. “I mean, what if—“
Unsympathetic, Toshinori lurched forward, shoving Izuku towards the front steps.
“Okay, okay! I’m going…”
Swallowing, Izuku shifted him higher onto his back and trudged up the steps. It was the only part of the first story not blocked off by construction material. The door squealed shut behind him, revealing a tiny entryway with grimy green-and-white tile. On the other side of the room, a wide hallway was separated by a gate with a keypad. The lights were on, at least.
Toshinori nudged Izuku towards the buzzer panel by the elevator, and he was less than surprised to see the nameplates were blank.
“I don’t see wh—“
With Herculean effort, Toshinori lifted one shaking arm and punched the third button from the bottom. It buzzed gutturally before cutting off with a click.
Toshinori cleared his throat, sputtering painfully when he tried to speak. Izuku cringed at the spray of blood that further sullied the tile. After several more attempts, Toshinori finally grimaced and knocked on the wall beside the buzzer plate. Rhythmic, purposeful.
It went on for almost a full minute; Toshinori stopping and starting at intervals that seemed entirely random to Izuku. Sometimes pausing for entire seconds, and sometimes knocking so rapidly Izuku couldn't keep the pattern.
Morse code, he realized suddenly.
Without any fanfare, Toshinori’s hand dropped. After an agonizing wait, The intercom clicked again, and a gruff voice on the other end suddenly sparked to life.
“Alright. Kid, you listening?"
Izuku started at being addressed. He nodded, then caught himself with a stammered "Y–Yes sir?"
The speaker clicked again.
"Alright. Bring him up. At your right there should be a wrought-iron gate into the hall. The code for the gate is 2251—got it?"
Izuku mouthed the digits to himself, staring at the iron bars.
"Take the immediate left at the T-intersection. At the very end of the hallway, you'll see a blue construction tarp. There’s a staircase behind it. Go to the third floor, second door on your immediate left. Savvy me, kid?”
Izuku blinked at the speaker, and Toshinori chose that exact moment to fall unconscious again. He yelped, steadying his mentor and barking a ‘yes sir’ at the buzzer before picking his way upstairs at the man’s instruction.
What are you up to, Toshinori?
Izuku thought of shady street doctors as he came to the apartment door, eyeing it warily. Seeing nothing suspicious, Izuku shifted the bag on his arm and raised his hand to knock.
The door opened before he could touch it, and Izuku jumped with a squeak.
It—It was a little old man. The sun was barely up, but he was fully dressed in old jeans and a rumpled plaid shirt.
“You waiting for an invitation?” he barked. “Get him inside!”
Izuku started, bustling past him and into the apartment before he knew what he was doing. The man was probably a whole foot shorter than him, but his voice carried a surprising amount of authority.
“In here,” he ordered, gesturing to a couch in the dim, cluttered living room. It reminded Izuku of the garage in the Almanac house.
“Here?” he asked, setting Toshinori on the cushions. The man nodded.
“Wh–What about our bags?”
“Just throw them somewhere! And help me lay him down.”
Izuku did so, sheepishly, and he noticed an IV pole by the couch with a jolt.
Oh God—did Toshinori actually bring them to a street surgeon? Izuku knew he had a reckless streak, but this reckless? He supposed the man didn’t particularly look like one, but Izuku didn’t know much about that type of thing. It was possible…
“What happened to him?” the old man asked, thumbing one of Toshinori’s eyes open.
The dust storm in all its awful glory came rushing back, and Izuku's stomach turned. Already, the memory felt fuzzy at the edges—like a bad dream.
“We… got trapped in a dust storm,” Izuku said. “It was everywhere. He–He breathed in so much…”
Surprisingly, the man didn’t react—didn’t balk and ask how on earth a dust storm could happen in Japanese suburbia. Izuku wasn’t sure if he could trust him, but suddenly something compelled him to—even if it was just out of fear for his guardian.
“He—He only has one lung,” Izuku whimpered. “And he already had a horrible cough before this. His stomach's gone, too. He can’t even eat most—“
“I know everything you know, kid,” the man interjected, rolling Toshinori’s sleeve up. “And a whole lot more that you don’t.”
“Wh… Huh?”
The man turned around to his coffee table—which was drowning in prescription bottles and other medicines of every variety. He picked out a vial of brownish liquid and inserted a needle into the stopper. Alarm shot up Izuku's spine.
“Hey, hey, what is that?” he snapped. “What are you doi—?!”
“My God, you’re jumpy,” the man muttered.
Without any flair or hesitation, he swabbed the dust from Toshinori’s inner arm and stuck him. Izuku choked.
Oh shit. Oh God. Was that morphine?! What if—?
Izuku was so flummoxed he didn't notice the vial the man lobbed at him. He yelped, scrambling to catch it and flip it upright. He squinted at the tiny print on the label, heart pounding.
Toradol, it read. And under the patient name, Yagi Toshinori.
Izuku blinked.
What?
He picked up another bottle. Yagi Toshinori. Then another, and another—every container Izuku could get his hands on was prescribed to his guardian. It was a staggering amount of medication—especially since this wasn’t even Toshinori's apartment.
“Who... Who are you?” Izuku finally asked.
The stranger paused where he was currently putting an IV hub in Toshinori’s arm. He looked like he knew what he was doing, at least. Maybe he was a doctor of Toshinori’s?
“I can’t say I’m not flabbergasted that he never mentioned me,” the man grumbled drily. “Torino Sorahiko is my name. You—” he pointed at Izuku with the drip, “Will refer to me as Gran, or Gran Torino. Copy me, zygote?”
“G–Gran?” Izuku echoed.
Is he some kind of car nut..?
The man—Gran—rolled his eyes.
“That works,” he huffed, digging a pair of reading glasses out of his shirt pocket.
"And what's in that?" Izuku asked, pointing at the bag hanging from the IV pole.
"Calm down—it's Dextrose,” Gran said, attaching the drip. "He's gonna need more to fight off infection than whatever crap he's been eating. If all he gets is bronchitis, he'll be lucky… Any idea how much blood he lost?"
Izuku remembered the scene in the gas station with a shudder. There were still splotches of blood on Toshinori’s shirt, though they had turned brown.
“Enough to cover himself and a bathroom floor,” he answered. “And I think it was coming out of his mouth even when he was unconscious...”
“Alright. I’ll have to set up a drip for that up, too,” Gran muttered, half to himself.
“So you’re a doctor?”
“No.”
Izuku wracked his brain.
"Uh... One of those nurses who go to people's houses?"
"No."
“Then who are you?”
Gran gave him a once-over, hazel eyes betraying nothing but the same passive ire he’d been looking at Izuku with since he arrived.
“You need a shower,” he remarked gruffly—as if Izuku hadn’t asked anything at all. He blanched.
“Don’t change the subject!”
Gran Torino sighed. “Look. I’m not explaining anything until he's awake.” He gestured to the hallway behind Izuku. “Bathroom is the second door on the left. You're getting dirt in my carpet.”
Izuku simmered at being so blatantly sandbagged, but he couldn’t deny the allure of a shower. He was chafed raw from all the dirt in his joints, and on top of that, the dried saltwater made his skin and clothes sticky.
Still, the idea of leaving Toshinori in the care of a stranger—a stranger who was sticking needles in him and lived in a seemingly-abandoned building—put Izuku on edge, to say the least.
“N–No sir, I’m alright,” he said, firmly rooted to his spot on the rug.
Gran muttered something vulgar before he whipped around to face Izuku, scowling.
“I was his damn teacher at UA. Happy?” he snapped.
Izuku choked on his tongue, thoughts slamming into each other like a pileup on the highway.
What?
What?
Gran Torino. Izuku felt like such an idiot—that must have been his hero name! A short list blistered through his mind—all of them heroes from All Might’s time and before. He’d never heard of a Gran Torino.
But then, he’d never heard of Nana Shimura, either.
“You—" Izuku finally managed to sputter out, pointing at Toshinori. “You taught him?!”
“Don't stroke out, I only have so much saline,” Gran said drily. “And I’m serious about the shower. Get!”
“Ah—Yes sir! Th-Thank you, sir!” Izuku exclaimed, bowing and side-stepping into the hall. Immediately, he ran back and bowed again for good measure—so fast that he almost lost his balance. “And I’m so sorry for not recognizing you!”
“That was the objective.”
“Still!”
Gran massaged his temples with a long, gravelly groan, which Izuku took as his cue to leave.
Switching on the bathroom light, he cringed. The sea hadn’t washed off all the dirt like he’d hoped; instead, every article of clothing he was wearing was stained the same shade of muddy red. His skin was striped like a zebra where saltwater had trickled through it, and his knees and elbows were still shredded from rolling down the hill.
Izuku almost didn't see the dried blood on his shoulder for all the other grime, and his hair… He ran a hand through it, wincing at how crunchy it was from the dirt and salt. It didn’t even look like his hair.
No wonder people were staring…
Izuku shook as much dirt as he could out of his clothes and into the bathtub, but even wringing them out in the sink couldn't return them to how they looked before. His body would be clean, at least. Maybe Gran would let him use the washing machine.
All Might's teacher... I can't believe I'm in his house!
Showering was a rush of nigh-ethereal ecstasy, but Izuku’s thoughts soured almost the instant he stepped in. Suddenly, there was nothing to distract him from the thoughts he’d been dancing around for the past hour.
Toshinori was mad at him. Furious, even. Izuku’s stomach twisted at the memory; at the outrage that had radiated from his mentor in waves on the beach.
What’s he going to do when he wakes up? Izuku thought, watching a cyclone of rusty grime circle the drain. Is that why Gran seems so frustrated? Did Toshinori tell him what I did in that Morse message? Is he also mad at me?
Izuku still wasn’t sure what he even did. Obviously, Toshinori was angry at him for going through the Gate without permission, but the only reason Izuku could think of was that he ended their first round trip. They were always going to be coming back to Japan, weren't they? And they still had two more trips through the portal.
His road burns itched, and Izuku grazed his nails over one absentmindedly. Red lines marred his skin where he’d scratched the dirt off in the absence of a sponge.
Izuku couldn't understand. Toshinori was unconscious from blood loss, and that dust storm was likely the closest thing possible to Hell on earth. Surely he had to know that they couldn’t stay in Almanac?
But that was the worst part. The part Izuku had been ignoring and excusing and pushing away since the morning of the robbery.
Toshinori was hiding something from him. Something bad.
Izuku rinsed his hair for the second time, squinting through the water to see if dirt was still coming out. Sighing, he reached for the shampoo bottle again.
He probably regrets letting me live with him, Izuku thought. He probably thinks this was all a big mistake, and now he’s just buying time while he figures out how to tell me…
But then, Izuku remembered how he acted in the gas station—how he’d looked up at him like he was the last thing he would ever see. How he’d cried holding him, and how…
Izuku grazed his fingers over his forehead as the water turned lukewarm, the moment replaying in his mind like a clip reel. He could still recall the feeling of Toshinori’s bloody hands sticking in his hair, the haphazard kisses he'd pressed to his forehead. That, more than anything else, felt like a dream.
No doubt Toshinori thought he was going to die in that storm. He very nearly did...
Still—mortal danger was a special circumstance. Surely, Toshinori could care about Izuku while not wanting to live with him. Izuku supposed he could understand—it wasn't like he'd been particularly easy to deal with lately.
Options floated through his mind. He liked his classmates well enough, but none of them were close enough that Izuku could see being housemates with them. Living on his own was out—he could never afford that... God, he would have to get a job.
The water was growing lukewarm, which meant the heat building in his eyes was even harder to ignore. Izuku swallowed thickly, shoving his head back under the spray before any tears could fall. This time, he saw no dirt in the soapy water.
It was officially a cold shower now, and despite the encroaching shivers, Izuku didn’t want to get out. His stomach hurt at the thought of facing Toshinori.
But he had to get out sometime, so after one last once-over with the soap, Izuku shut off the faucet. His teeth chattered as he toweled off, and he noted that his dirty clothes had been taken and replaced with clean ones from his bag.
… Wait. No—Not his bag. Izuku hadn’t brought this shirt with him to Almanac. He was certain of it. It was from Toshinori's apartment.
Looking around the bathroom with renewed urgency, his eyes landed on Toshinori’s hair dryer lying on the counter—along with a faded robe on the back of the door that was entirely too big for Gran.
Izuku’s head spun. Why did this man have so much of their stuff in his apartment? Where did he get it?
Towel-drying his hair as fast as he could, Izuku got dressed and threw open the door. Something moved in the corner of his eye down the hall, but it was gone by the time he looked. Izuku was too caught up to care. Instead, he zeroed in on Toshinori’s coffee table, which was standing up against the wall next to him in the hallway.
What—?!
“Gran!” Izuku barked, storming into the living room. The man nearly dropped the blood bag he was hanging on the pole, but Izuku wasn’t looking at him for long.
He screeched to a halt when he saw Toshinori—awake and sitting up on the couch.
The couch.
The couch. That was Toshinori’s couch—from their apartment!
Izuku met his mentor’s wide eyes, all anxiety replaced with bafflement. He clenched his fists at his sides.
“Why—” Izuku shouted, pointing at Gran, “—does he have all of our stuff?!”
Toshinori froze.
Gran hummed, turning back to his former student with a look that could cut stone.
“I don’t know,” he intoned flatly, folding his arms. “You want to answer that one, Toshinori?”
Toshinori was still staring at Izuku, rattling breaths picking up speed. If it was even possible, he was growing paler by the second.
“I…” he rasped. “I—” an explosion of wet coughs cut him off, and Gran cursed as he grabbed a water bottle and a bucket.
Toshinori hunched over the edge of the couch, hacking God-knows-what into the container with an utterly wicked noise. It made his usual coughing fits look like nothing.
Eventually, Toshinori collapsed back onto the cushions, bangs sticking to his sallow skin. Izuku wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw tears in his eyes.
“S…” Toshinori gasped, swallowing. I’m sor—”
“Oh, will you just cut the bullshit!” Gran barked. “And don’t swallow—you’ll give yourself pneumonia!”
“Wh–What’s wrong with him?” Izuku cried. “It’s not internal bleeding is it?”
“No,” Gran snipped. “No more than usual. It’s that crap in his lung that’s the problem. Best thing for it is to let it flush itself out, but it’s not pretty.”
As if to demonstrate, Toshinori let loose with another volley of skin-crawling coughs, convulsing as he spat into the bucket again.
Izuku winced, sidestepping the coffee table to pull back his long bangs. Between coughs, Toshinori looked up at him with a nod of thanks.
“Do you have something to tie back his hair?” Izuku asked Gran, who had come up beside him. Toshinori began hacking again, and Gran’s expression softened by the smallest possible margin.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he sighed, retreating to the hallway.
Izuku thought he heard whispering after he left, but he couldn't think much of it while Toshinori was coughing up a lung. He put a hesitant hand between his shoulder blades, giving an experimental beat of his palm.
“Does that help?”
Toshinori nodded, and Izuku hit him in the same spot again—over and over, until he'd sweat through his shirt and hacked up everything in him.
Finally, Toshinori sagged back onto the couch, panting and exhausted—but otherwise alright. He patted Izuku’s arm in thanks, hand trembling.
“Alright. If you can believe it, I’ve got no hair ties,” Gran Torino announced as he re-entered the room. “Thankfully, I’ve got the next best thing. But first—” He brandished an old spiral notebook, dropping it and a pen on Toshinori’s chest.
“That’s for you,” he said, glaring, “So you can finally talk to this kid—without killing yourself in the process.”
Toshinori gave Gran a withering look.
"Save it! You brought this on yourself!"
“What about his hair?” Izuku interjected, eyeing Toshinori's blood-matted bangs. They hadn’t escaped falling in the bucket.
Rather than answer, Gran held up a pair of kitchen shears.
“This fine with you?” he asked Toshinori gruffly.
He hesitated, but eventually conceded with a shrug.
Izuku helped him sit up—slowly, as not to trigger another coughing fit, but the task of cutting his bangs proved to be more challenging than it seemed. The kitchen shears weren’t very sharp, which Gran mitigated by hacking at them like weeds until they were almost as frayed as before.
Eventually, Toshinori was left with slightly uneven bangs that ended just above his jawline.
“That’ll do for now,” Gran said, removing the towel they’d thrown around his shoulders. Toshinori laid back down, sighing roughly. His eyes slipped shut.
“Oh no—don’t think you’re getting out of this!” Gran bellowed. Toshinori jolted awake. “I believe your student had a question?”
Both Izuku and Toshinori looked sheepish at that, each avoiding the other’s eyes. Finally, Toshinori sighed, picking up the notebook. As he began to write, Gran gestured for Izuku to sit on an ottoman next to the couch.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” he said, retreating to the hallway. There was some shuffling, and another bout of whispers.
Who are you talking to? Izuku wondered.
Toshinori handed him the notebook before he could think about it too hard.
I’m sorry, Toshinori had written. I should have told you these things before, but I just didn’t know how... If I told you one thing, I would have to tell you another, and another, and there are some things more upsetting than others. This wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, but because I didn’t want to cause you any more pain. I see now that this has only backfired, and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.
Izuku’s stomach clenched, and all his fears came flooding up his throat like bile. He gave the notebook back with a jittery hand.
A truly agonizing amount of minutes later, Toshinori handed it to him again.
I’ll get the worst out of the way first: UA has been seized by the government for lack of funding and public interest. The property may be reused, but the school as an entity has effectively been shut down. I was laid off two weeks ago.
The air rushed from Izuku’s lungs in one fell swoop. Static danced on the page as he forced his eyes to keep moving, but he could barely focus on the words. Toshinori laid a hand on his arm. He barely felt it.
Before you worry about money, I was given a generous severance pay, given the circumstances, and there’s still what remains of my retirement money from hero work. I also sold the apartment, though my reasoning for that is more hasty than I would normally act.
Izuku blinked hard. He what?
… Izuku, I mentioned that UA was seized. Well, the Public Safety Commission are the ones who seized it, along with every remaining hero school in the country. Some of the more promising students were—
A mess of scribbles broke up the words.
—drafted, for lack of a better word. The paperwork was both extensive and frustratingly vague, but I knew if they got their hands on you—
More scribbles.
—the Commission... is not a good organization. They’ve been known to push people to do unspeakable acts in the name of manufacturing peace, especially in recent years, and they do this by controlling every aspect of your life. Isolating you. Teaching you God-knows what. I could never put you through that type of—of farm, but they were so insistent… They wanted you out of my custody. My home.
Izuku remembered the news broadcast with an electric shock. The Commission president talking about a shortage of heroes. How there needed to be a fresh supply. His stomach turned.
He remembered Toshinori talking when he woke up after the robbery—angry with someone on the phone. All his weird silences and anxious looks.
I sold the apartment to protect you, Izuku. I’m moving us here to protect you. I took you to Almanac to protect you—so they wouldn’t be able to track us down between houses, and I’ll take you there again if they find us. I wanted to tell you this myself, in Wyoming, but I waited too long, and then this happened. I’m so sorry.
For everything, I’m so sorry. I understand if you’re furious with me—if you hate me, and I regret so many things. What I could never regret, though, is keeping you safe. If there’s any one thing you take away from this, please let it be that. I did this for you.
The room was spinning. Izuku heard a distant sound, and looked up to see that Toshinori was crying. Izuku stared at him blankly before he set the notebook aside. He felt like he was going to throw up.
“I need… to get some air,” he breathed, standing robotically. His voice sounded like a stranger's.
Walking to the front door felt like floating. Behind him, Toshinori tearfully called his name, only to erupt into more violent coughs. The last thing Izuku heard before leaving the apartment was footsteps. Gran shouting. Then,
“Let him go, Toshi. Let him—”
Izuku shut the door and didn’t look back.
⨀
At some point, he found a fire escape. He didn’t know where it was or how he ended up on it, exactly. But it was here, and Izuku was here, and that was all that mattered.
Toshinori’s message flashed over and over in his head—along with everything else. The awkward silences, the white lies, the outright lies, the dread etched into his face for weeks…
Izuku buried his face in his knees and cried until he was hoarse. When he wasn’t crying, he was dissociating—watching shadows creep across the buildings as the sun arced and his legs slowly went numb.
Naturally, the window behind him slid open just as another sobbing fit came on.
“I was starting to think you’d run off,” Gran Torino said, clambering out of the window. In one arm, he carried a can of Kunko sake and a plate Izuku couldn’t see the contents of. His stomach churned, and he suddenly realized he hadn’t eaten since the night before.
“Saw Toshinori’s little note,” Gran said, sliding down the wall to sit beside Izuku with a grunt. “Tch. He definitely gave you the bullet points. All at once, no less…” He cracked open the sake and took a drink. “Sorry he dumped it on you like that, but to be honest, I’m not sure I would have handled it better. At this point…" he trailed off. "Hmph. It doesn't matter.”
Izuku stared straight ahead without looking at him. His shoulders shook from the force of trying to keep his sobs in, but when Gran silently handed him a misshapen pork bun, the dam broke as if detonated with dynamite.
If Gran had any reaction to Izuku's ensuing outburst, he didn’t notice. He was sobbing so loud he heard it bounce off the building in front of them.
“My life,” he hiccuped, choking on air, “My—l-life—is—over!”
“Eat, kid,” Gran said, a touch quieter than before.
Izuku raised the bun to his mouth, taking a bite as ordered, but he could barely chew through his sobs. He knew he would choke if he did.
To make matters worse, déjà vu from his first night in Toshinori's apartment hit him, which made Izuku feel even worse.
Still, hunger won quickly, and before long the whole thing was gone. Izuku wiped his eyes with the backs of his wrists, feeling slightly more human with a full stomach. Tears still crept down his cheeks, but the explosive sobs had ebbed. Only sporadic hiccups shook him, now.
“I hate these damn things,” Gran muttered beside him. He was chewing on a taiyaki—one of the microwavable kind. “I miss rice flour. Anything else is a disgrace.”
Izuku blinked, sniffling. He suddenly felt bone-tired.
“Why did–you come out here?” God, his voice sounded awful.
“To make sure you didn’t skip town,” Gran quipped, taking another bite. “And because Toshinori was about to have a damn conniption fit.” He washed the last of the taiyaki down with sake, chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment. “And because I want to talk to you.”
“Me?” Izuku croaked.
“Don’t be expecting much—coddling is not my wheelhouse. I came to reinforce what Toshinori said. About the Commission.” His eyes were amber coals. “Those people are snakes. Every one of them—and I should know. You think I hole up in this dump for my health? It may not have been perfect; may have been flat-out rotten—but what Toshinori did was right. Believe me.”
Izuku nodded slowly.
“Don’t be too harsh on him—or at least don’t hate his guts.” Gran's voice dropped in volume. “You’re not the only one who’s upset—why do you think Toshinori waited so long to tell you? This is killing him. He knows he fucked up, but he’s still… new. At this whole," he waved a hand. "Caretaker thing. He’s given up a lot for you.”
“I’m not worth it…” Izuku mumbled automatically. Gran paused at that, running a hand through his wispy hair.
“... That’s kinda dramatic, don’t you think?”
Izuku hunched in on himself, eyes watering. He shook his head.
“Well I do. Getting down in the mouth, bad-talking yourself—it’s a crock. I haven’t even known you for a full day, but I still agreed to him taking you in. Hell, I agreed when I only knew anything about you via phone call. That’s got to say something about your chops. I know I’m just some old bastard, but I dragged myself out here, didn’t I?”
Izuku looked away, feeling a blush creep up his neck. He was dangerously close to crying again.
“… He talked about me?”
Gran laughed—a raucous, abrasive sound.
“‘Oh Gran,’” he pantomimed, giving a surprisingly good imitation of Toshinori, “‘You have to help me; I found a successor and I know jack-shit about teaching. Gran, I know we haven’t talked in six months, but can you please have the furniture moved out of my apartment? I need to run off to goddamn Wyoming for the week. And while you’re at it, can we crash in your building while restructure my entire life around this kid I apparently took custody of since we last spoke?’”
Gran took a giant swig of sake.
“So, yeah. He talks. And I don’t know why I keep bending over backwards for him... Maybe I’m just a bored old shut-in.” Quieter, he muttered; “Maybe it’s because he’s all I have.”
Gran stared through the grate at their feet—something heavy and unseen weighing on his shoulders, before he snapped out of it to look at Izuku.
“Don’t you dare repeat that,” he snapped, jabbing a finger at him. “Or you’ll be sleeping out here tonight. That was the alcohol talking, got it?”
Despite himself, Izuku giggled, causing a few stray tears to escape. He thumbed them away.
“Did Toshinori ever,” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice from wavering. I mean, did he… Did you ever have to talk to him like this?”
Gran sighed, and some of the heaviness from before leached back into his posture.
“No,” he muttered. “Not me. Nana did, but…” He took a drink, gaze distant as he stared at the smoggy skyline. “Like I said before. Not my wheelhouse. Would I have, if he asked me? Sure. But…”
He sighed, abandoning the thought.
“You're a lot like him. If it makes you feel better.”
Izuku didn’t know if it did. He should feel honored, but it was hard to feel anything right now. Anything but sad. Anxious. Confused.
“What am I going to do?” he whispered. “I’ve wanted to be a hero my whole life. I feel like there’s nothing else left for me…”
“Well, first off—that’s bullshit,” Gran replied bluntly. “When I had to quit and uproot my life, I thought it was over. Nana was gone, Toshinori was gone, and I was just some fool with a stripped heroics license. I had no clue how to do anything else. Still had to do it." He paused. "Toshinori ever show you Shawshank Redemption?”
Izuku shook his head. He didn't even know what that was.
Gran rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about failure.
“Get busy living, or get busy dying," he said brusquely. "I made my choice. This place may not be the Ritz, but it’s mine. I'm hidden, and I’m as satisfied as I guess I’m ever going to get. You’ll get back on your feet.”
“How did you do it?” Izuku asked. “Get back on your feet, I mean.”
Gran shrugged.
“Started working at a food bank near here. Kept working ‘till I got a management position, then used the money to buy this place. Not pretty, but it was cheap. And it makes good shelter if you want to hide from someone. Most of the larger furniture from Toshinori’s is actually in the flat next to mine; I just needed the couch ‘cause he could fit on it. Heh.
“And in any case,” he continued, “Just because the Commission is centralizing it here, that doesn’t mean you can’t still be a hero. There’s plenty of other avenues for that; other countries, too. You could study abroad like Toshinori did. Hell, I didn't even go to a heroics school.”
Yeah, but things have changed a lot since then… Izuku thought.
Still, he nodded.
“I just want to help people. Save people. If…” He thought of Mom. Of all the people at her funeral. Of Toshinori. The scars on his hands itched. “If there’s anything in the world that I can do to save lives… then that's the path I’m going to take. I don’t care what it is, or how I get there.”
Gran looked at Izuku for a long time with an expression he couldn’t read. He closed his eyes, and the fire escape shuddered as he stood up.
“Yeah,” he murmured at last. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard it all before.”
The silence that followed was smothering.
“Alright, that’s enough talk for one lifetime,” Gran grumbled, climbing stiffly back through the window. “Try not to stay out all night.”
Izuku was just starting to think he’d walked off when Gran suddenly spoke again.
“Your life’s not over, kid. And if you start feeling like it is—” he tossed Izuku the last taiyaki. “Eat something.”
Izuku caught it, giving Gran a wobbly smile over the windowsill.
“You said this wasn’t your wheelhouse, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re alright at it.”
Gran actually seemed thrown by that, rubbing the back of his neck and scowling like he was trying not to smile.
“Bah…” was all he said.
Then he was gone.
⨀
The sun was already down by the time Izuku returned to the apartment. He expected Gran to appear—to scold him for staying out as late as he did, but no such thing happened.
The television was on, and Toshinori was asleep on the couch. At some point he had been given new clothes and a shower, but despite this, the corners of his mouth were already stained red again. Clutched tightly to his chest was the spiral notebook. His eyes were puffy.
Izuku wandered in, not knowing where else to go. He had a feeling Gran might be asleep, but he didn’t want to go poking into rooms to make sure. He wandered over to a recliner near the couch, doing his best to be quiet.
Predictably, the springs gave a deafening creak when he sat down. Izuku flinched.
Crap.
Toshinori jolted awake like he’d been electrocuted. The moment he laid eyes on Izuku, he sat up and scrambled to mute the TV.
“Iz—” was all he could get out before some unseen spasm made him clap a hand over his throat with a pained grimace. Izuku cringed.
“I’m sorry I woke you up…”
Toshinori shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving Izuku.
The television cast the room in a dreamlike glow, and Izuku noticed with a jolt how the light glimmered in Toshinori’s eyes. He knew the sheen of painkillers intimately, but there were tears there, too.
“To… shinori?”
The man sniffed, and Izuku watched, motionless, as he sat up and struggled to rise from the couch.
Izuku tensed, ready to rush to his side if he fell, but Toshinori tugged the IV rack around the edge of the couch, notebook hanging from his other hand. With mammoth effort, he shambled across the living room until he was standing right in front of Izuku.
The notebook was already open to a new page. Toshinori held it up with shaking hands, biting down on a painful sob. The tears finally broke free, and Izuku felt that gut-wrenching dread all children feel when adults cry.
Toshinori sobbed again, pointing shakily at the only thing written on the page:
I’M SORRY
Izuku's throat threatened to close up.
“Toshinori…” he breathed, pushing the notebook aside. “It’s okay. I don’t—”
Toshinori shook his head so violently he nearly fell down, shoving the notebook in Izuku’s face again. Twice—three times—he jabbed his finger into the paper hard enough that it creased. Convulsing with silent sobs, he fixed Izuku with a look that could only be described as manic.
Please understand, his flooding eyes said—wild with grief. I'm begging you to understand.
“No. Not—” Toshinori pressed the notebook to Izuku’s chest so hard it creaked. “Not—”
He stumbled forward, and suddenly they were chest-to-chest as his arms snaked around Izuku in a truly desperate embrace. The notebook slipped out of his hands, and Toshinori fell to his knees with a small, shattered sound.
“Not okay,” he whispered, clutching Izuku even tighter. “Not ok–kay. Not—okay…”
Izuku felt tears sliding down his own cheeks as a hand dragged through his hair and held him like a lifeline in a storm.
Izuku returned the hug, balling his hands in his guardian’s shirt as tight as he dared. The resulting sob was deafening against his ear.
“Never wanted—t’ hurt you,” Toshinori wept, voice threadbare, “Never w’nted—see you c-cry. Love—you—”
Izuku sucked in a breath, and in one moment everything from the past 24 hours ignited until he was sure his chest would explode.
“I l-love you, too,” he finally blubbered, voice breaking—then shattering altogether in a wordless wail. “I l-left—Alma-nac because I wuh—was so s-scared you were going to die,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry I s-snuck out without yo-our permission, but—but I had to save you. I couldn’t lo-lose—you—too!”
Toshinori howled.
In retaliation, his voice splintered like glass. Izuku heard the fluid in his chest crackle angrily. His lung had done all it could take.
“Toshinori?”
He shoved Izuku back before doubling over with another violent fit of coughs, hand over his mouth as he gripped his side. He tried to stand—to head for the couch, but stumbled when another convulsion hit.
Izuku helped him to his feet, nudging the IV pole across the carpet as he limped Toshinori to the couch and set him down gently.
“I can go get Gran if you—”
Toshinori grabbed Izuku’s arm in a definite plea to stay. When he didn’t let go, Izuku opted to sit next to him, thumping his back between his shoulder blades as Toshinori coughed and dry-heaved into the bucket.
It felt like an age before the spell passed. Toshinori sagged back against the cushions like he just fought a war, eyes glazed and blood stark against his clammy skin. Izuku was so glad Gran had attached the blood bag before this.
He passed Toshinori a handful of tissues, to which Toshinori nodded and mouthed, ‘Thank you, my boy,’ before cleaning himself up. Despite everything, there were still tears falling sporadically from his eyes.
For the first time, Izuku actually looked at the TV. It was a man—an American—standing in the middle of a blackened field, gesturing with his hands as a graphic filled the corner of the screen. Izuku knew these types of dubbed news clips well. He wondered where the man was; if it was anywhere near Almanac. Maybe it was the same field they had run through that first day.
Being there already felt like a distant nightmare. One Izuku had woken violently from in the cold waters of the sea, only to find himself in yet another surreal place.
Toshinori nudged him, motioning for Izuku to stand. The quilt Gran had given him was bunched up by the armrest, and Toshinori managed to pull it over himself with Izuku’s help.
Izuku stood there, unsure if it was alright to go ask Gran where he should sleep. The kinetic shamelessness of his meltdown was gone, and now he didn’t know how he should just say goodnight, or if he should hug Toshinori again, or—
A hand touched his arm, and the achingly tender look on Toshinori's face made Izuku flush to his roots. He had probably said all of that out loud. The breathy almost-laugh that followed confirmed it.
Toshinori turned down the quilt, and Izuku thought he might try to stand and hug him goodnight. Instead, he shifted towards the back of the couch, patting the cushion beside him. Izuku straightened, blush deepening.
“O-Oh. Are you sure? I don’t want to crowd you… What if—”
Toshinori rolled his eyes fondly, tugging on Izuku’s wrist until he all-but stumbled onto the couch.
Izuku stopped fighting it then, sliding in as close as he dared next to Toshinori—who just shifted closer anyway. His guardian rolled onto his side, pulling the quilt up over both of them before wrapping an arm around Izuku.
The emotional meltdown from before ghosted through Izuku again, throat closing up as he curled into the embrace. He was wary about agitating Toshinori’s scar, instead balling his fists in the front of his shirt.
“Thank you,” Izuku croaked.
Toshinori pulled back a bit—just far enough to cock his head as if to say ‘Thank you for what?’ The lump in Izuku’s throat grew.
“Everything,” he croaked. “Everything…”
Toshinori tried to smile, but it was so wobbly it didn’t really look like one. Gently, he brushed Izuku’s bangs aside and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead.
Izuku felt his ears burn. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to that—only Mom was ever this affectionate with him. It made him feel like a little kid again.
Still, that wasn’t to say he disliked it.
Toshinori reached over Izuku’s head to turn off the TV, and the room plunged into darkness. The only sounds in the room were their breathing, and below that, the quiet litany of Toshinori’s heartbeat.
Izuku was a mess. His face was covered in snot and tears, his shirt had flecks of blood on it, and he was sweaty from being pressed up against Toshinori under the quilt.
There was also nowhere on Earth he'd rather be.
⨀
That same heartbeat was the first thing Izuku became aware of when he drifted out of sleep the next morning, still cocooned in a warm embrace.
He forgot where he was for a moment, but then everything came back to him. The dust storm. The lake. Crossing over. Gran.
That’s right, he thought sleepily. I’m in Gran’s apartment…
Toshinori was still breathing evenly against him, dead to the world. Izuku shifted only to relieve his nose from where it was mashed against his sternum, resting his cheek against his guardian’s chest instead. He saw no need to open his eyes. It was so warm.
Izuku dozed, floating in and out of consciousness to the rhythm of Toshinori’s breathing, until eventually something roused him: a door shutting.
His eyes cracked open the barest possible amount, just enough to make out the room. It wasn’t completely dark, but it was still the gloomy indigo of dawn.
Izuku blinked sluggishly at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, expecting Gran to walk into the kitchen.
Someone did indeed walk into the kitchen, but it wasn’t Gran.
Izuku froze, eyes widening as he watched this fourth occupant open the fridge and rifle around for something. All at once, the sound became muffled from the amount of blood surging in his ears.
The fridge closed. A veritable gunshot in the silent apartment, and Izuku’s breath caught in his throat as the other turned around—
Their eyes met.
Neither moved. Izuku didn’t even breathe. The stalemate could have gone for hours and he wouldn’t have noticed; it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Even still, Izuku eventually managed to force his mouth to move. To whisper the only thing his mind could possibly compute at that moment.
“Kacchan?”