Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Don't deny

your fire,

my dear,

just be

who you are

and burn.

                 - Mark Anthony

There is a part of you that wants to live forever.

Even when you’re young; even when you’re well; and even on your darkest days, when you’re begging the Earth to swallow you up - there is a part of you that wants to live, and live, and live. A part of you that will take fading memories, take obscurity, take oblivion, if it only means endless peace. Existing in perfect stasis, never facing another fear, never confronting death and loss and change and strangeness. Just a simple, soft eternity.

It makes your hands clench up, makes your jaw lock. Puts that cold hunger feeling in your bone marrow and in your mouth. It makes you cling to things, to people - sticking like a tongue to ice, embarrassing. It’s alright, though, it’s alright. The world understands.

In the coldness of the snows, the world understands.

In the ice, the blueness of slowed blood, the chink of diamond water in a cup; in the kiss-sound of a frozen lake being struck, the shudder of a glacier, the lilac pain in numb fingertips; in the monstrous groan of a slow iceberg in the darkness, in the sigh and sing of a palace on a mountain that never, never changes - that is where the world understands. Where it promises to hold you, forever. Where it says it will lace over your skin with a spike-fur crust of cold. Where it whispers the same word to you - over and over and over, the same word. The same single word. The same promise.

Eternity, eternity, eternity.

Don’t you hear them? The ice shards begging to hold you, the snowflakes calling that name? Don’t you want it?

Don’t you want to live forever?

Chapter Text

Ice was easy.

At least, Shouto had found it to be so.

It was a simple process to pull from the cold, cold place inside of himself, and coat things in blue and silver as he breathed out that familiar frozen feeling. It was something he'd been able to do since he’d been left on steps of the orphanage and had been discovered, wrapped in a thin white fabric and cradled in a crown of icicles.

Frost had always been on the tips of his fingers for as long as he could remember, eager to be released into the world and difficult to control at times.

He could be good at it, though, if he let himself be - if he didn't care that it made him different, and made them all whisper and stare when they thought he wouldn't notice.

Fire, though. Fire was harder.

A small flame licked upward from the center of Shouto's palm; hot, unpredictable, and just as foreign to him as when he'd discovered he could do this just a few days previously.

He sat back against a tree, using his free hand to shield the fragile fire from the slight breeze that was passing through the edge of the forest.

The sounds from the village weren't far behind him, as he hadn't hidden very far away - just enough to be out of sight, so he could he could stare at what he could conjure.

The ember flickered as he shifted his hand, testing out what would happen if he flattened his palm and tilted into an upright position, raising an eyebrow when the flame climbed to the tips of his fingers.

Still no pain.

There was definitely some heat emanating from the fire, but no burning sensation. No hurt.

Shouto hummed as he studied his hand, knowing he’d never be able to show this new ability to anyone in the village.

A boy who could create ice already made them nervous enough - adding kindling to that flame, as it were, wouldn't help his case.

The story of the Man of Fire was one he had grown up with, along with all of the other children in the village. It was something adults told them to get them to behave. It wouldn't have worked on Shouto, if he hadn't been able to see the real fear in their own eyes when they spoke about him.

The Man of Fire hadn't been seen in years - all was well. But his story was a smoldering blot at the heart of the village’s history, never quite seeming to die down to ash.

The Man of Fire will come to your house in the nighttime and gobble it up in flames.

The Man of Fire will clap his hands and scorch the whole village to the ground.

The Man of Fire will blow on a candle and make it burn a thousand feet tall.

Shouto held his hand in front of his face and blew on the flame gently, eyes widening in interest when the flame grew in size.

There was only a brief moment of satisfaction before a heavy fabric smacked him in the face.

“Shouto!”

The fabric bore down on him a few more times as he spluttered, and eventually he was able to bat it away, only to have his hand grabbed at by a very concerned Izuku.

“Are you okay?” Izuku asked, dropping to his knees to inspect the hand that Shouto already knew would be free of burn marks.

“I'm fine,” Shouto said, yanking his hand out of Izuku's grasp and hiding it behind himself. “Were you following me?”

“No, I - Shouto, you were on fire,” he said, his brows knitting together. “We need to get someone to look at your hand -”

“No!” Shouto stood quickly, his hand still tucked away. “Nothing happened. I'm fine.”

Izuku looked up at him, more genuine concern on his face in this one moment than Shouto had ever seen directed at him in his entire life.

This wasn't out of the ordinary, however.

Izuku always cared so much about everyone, even someone like him - orphaned, reclusive, and possessing something that made most people afraid.

Shouto hesitated for only a second more before he reached down and helped Izuku to his feet with a sigh.

“I wasn't on fire. Well, I was - but not in the way you think.”

The Man of Fire will scar everyone in his path with those flames, except himself - he cannot burn.

He held out his left hand as Izuku stared, concentrating on the warmth inside of himself and producing the small flame in the center of his palm once more.

“ Oh... ” Izuku's eyes widened, flicking back and forth between the fire and Shouto's guarded expression. “So, that's... you?”

Shouto closed his fist and extinguished the flame.

“I didn't know I had this until a few days ago,” he murmured, waiting for Izuku to take a step back in fear. He pressed his lips together, trying to anticipate the horrified look, the way Izuku would turn and run. If he knew it was coming, it would probably hurt less.

Izuku had always treated him differently, that was the problem. Shouto couldn’t think of anyone else in the village who didn’t flinch away from him in some way. His power, his poverty, his parentlessness - everyone shrank away from bad luck, and Shouto had had the very worst of it. Only the boy in front of Shouto, right now, had ever really looked at him as an equal. Treated him like he was normal. Shouto wasn’t the most forthcoming of friends, and the bond between them had mostly been just looks and brief words and slight smiles, but it had been something.

Shouto doubted Izuku knew how much those little things meant.

But even for Izuku, this would be too much. Surely.

Fire wasn't welcome here, Shouto knew that.

The Man of Fire will burn you up from the inside out, and laugh and laugh and laugh.

“It's alright if you don't want to be my friend anymore, Izuku.” Shouto bowed his head in acceptance. He knew how some of the other children treated Izuku, and he didn't want to cause any more teasing.

Izuku said nothing - there was just silence, as Shouto stared down at the ground.

Then he noticed the scratching sound, and Shouto peeked up at Izuku to find him furiously scribbling away in that blank, bound book he always kept with him. Peering over Izuku’s shoulder, Shouto saw that he had already sketched out a simple drawing of the flame.

“Izuku, did you hear me?”

Izuku froze and blinked.

“What did you -” he shook his head, his mind apparently catching up with what had just been said. “Why wouldn't I want to be your friend?”

Shouto clenched his fist at his side, trying to figure out a way to make Izuku understand. He was dangerous, now. Someone worth running from.

The Man of Fire will find you in the woods and trap you in a ring of burning trees.

“I... because of the fire. You should want to forget about me now.”

“No way!” Izuku smiled at him widely and tucked the book under his arm. “It's so interesting! Have you tried making it in your other hand? Because I know that's your cold hand so it would be cool to see if you could change which is which - wait, how big can you make it? Oh - you probably haven't tried because you just found out about it and I guess it could be dangerous because it's so new to you, but maybe I can help find a place -”

“Izuku!” Shouto interrupted, tired of waiting for a shoe that didn't seem to want to drop. “Why aren't you scared of me?”

He lit the fire again, this time covering the entirety of his hand all the way up to his wrist as his frustration got the better of him.

The Man of Fire will walk wreathed in flames from head to toe, charring the ground beneath his feet and every tree and house and person that he touches.

“Everyone else already is. Just wait until they find out I’m just like the Man of Fire.” Shouto stared down at the ground, not extinguishing his arm but not looking at it, either. It felt as though it barely belonged to him, like he might not be able to move it if he tried.

“No,” Izuku said. “You’re not.”

Shouto looked up at him.

Izuku's hand twitched towards his notebook as he stared at Shouto's fist in awe, but he seemed to realize it might not be the best time, and instead shook his head.

“You're my friend, Shouto,” he said. “I don’t think you would hurt me, or anyone else.”

The heat vanished almost immediately, and Shouto was left holding up an empty fist.

Of course he didn't want to hurt Izuku, but that wasn't the issue.

“But what if I did, ” he asked softly. “What if this means I'm evil too?”

“Evil? You're not evil,” Izuku said emphatically. “You’re still you.”

“You don’t know that.” Shouto set his jaw. “We don’t even talk that much…”

“Remember the time you stopped Kacchan from pushing me? And the time you gave me half your food because I left mine at home that day at school? Remember when we heard that cat in the well and we got her out together?”

Shouto half-smiled at the memory of that cat clawing her way up his arm as he reached for her. He could still smell the wetness of her fur, hear the shrillness of her mewing echoing up the stone walls of the well, see the brightness of Izuku’s grin as they’d nodded to each other when the job was done and gone their separate ways.

“I can tell,” Izuku said firmly. “Are you going to try it out some more?” He waved his notebook hopefully, the one where he noted everything down. “Can I come?”

His freckled face looked so hopeful and trusting. Shouto said nothing, thinking hard.

“I could hurt you,” he said, “not even on purpose. Just by accident. It’s too dangerous.” He let out a breath, finally putting words to the half-panicked, half-resigned realisation that he’d had three days ago when the fire had first burst to life on his palm. “You should forget about me. Everyone should. I should leave the village.”

“Shouto, you should stay.”

“But if I hurt anyone. If I hurt you…” Shouto cut himself off with a sharp, angry breath. Just thinking of Izuku’s face as fire singed his skin made his stomach turn.

“If you accidentally hurt me, I'd forgive you.”

Izuku held out a hand to make his point, seemingly not worried that he was grasping the hand that had previously been on fire.

“You're not going to convince me to be scared of you. And I will not forget about you.” He smiled expectantly and tugged at Shouto’s hand. “Now, come on. I want to show you this family of birds I found outside my mom's window.”

Shouto wavered. He should leave, he knew he should. But Izuku’s hand was firm, and held onto his own tightly.

“Come on,” Izuku said, seeming to catch the touch of lightness in Shouto’s eyes, his voice softening. “Let’s go.”

Shouto allowed himself a small smile as he was pulled back towards the village. Izuku could promise so easily to never forget about him; Shouto wondered if Izuku knew how impossible it would be for him to ever forget, either.

Chapter Text

Three years later

In a summer-sweet wooded dell far from the village, the flowers grew clustered together thick as a tapestry and a clear river ran through silver-brown rocks. The air hummed with bees and pollen and the pearly-bell sound of the water flowing; among the leaves on the trees, apples blushed shy reds and pinks. Down on the bank, Izuku stood with his hands clenched around his notebook, eyes on Shouto; Shouto himself was deep in the river, his clothes soaked up to his thighs, his lips pressed together in concentration.

“I’ve never tried to freeze anything this big,” he called out to Izuku - and by now, Izuku knew him well enough to hear the nervousness behind his tone. “I don’t think it will work.”

“Last week you froze half of the orphanage pond,” Izuku said, flipping over a page in his book.

“Yes. Aizawa wasn’t happy about that, by the way.”

“And you lit thirty candles in a row the week before,” Izuku continued, reading over his cramped notes. “I think you’re getting stronger? Even more so since your birthday last month, actually. So, could it be that turning eighteen changed something? Your control is much better, and this time last year you could still only conjure up ice and fire in your hands, not spread it so far like this. If my calculations are correct, with the rate that you’re progressing, this should be within your reach soon even if it isn’t right now, and I suppose we won’t know for sure unless -”

“OK, OK,” Shouto called, waving his hands. “I get it. I’ll try,” He waded a little deeper into the water, up to waist-height.

Izuku watched that familiar expression of concentration pass across Shouto’s face, as he fell still.

In the sunny dell, everything went quiet. Only the barest of breezes disturbed the hush, rustling the leaves and tousling Shouto’s two-tone hair. Izuku stared, wide-eyed.

The village where they lived was picturesque, the landscape was unparallelled, every corner in the roads brought some new wonder into sight - but not one of them could possibly match this. Shouto, framed in the greenery of the dell, standing absolutely still with his hands curled into fists, his face taut as he reached for his power.

He breathed out, and a cloud of impossible white-grey ice ghosted from his lips, twinkling in the hot sun. Izuku breathed out with him.

Shouto uncurled his hands, and pressed them flat to the surface of the water.

From them, flowing out in ribbons, came lines of pearlescent ice. They roved and weaved, stiffening and slowing the water, catching it mid-eddy and freezing it into a softly spiralled still whirl. Izuku’s mouth fell open as the rocks near him furred over with crystals, the chill spreading.

He shivered.

“Shouto…” he said, in wonder.

“Izuku!” Shouto called, his eyes opening. He looked half-excited, half-worried. “Izuku, I can feel - it feels much easier. It’s like there’s - like I haven’t even scratched the surface of - like -”

“You could do more?” Izuku called, pulling his pencil from behind his ear and jotting down everything that Shouto was saying in his notebook. Like he hadn’t even scratched the surface? That made it sound as though Shouto had some kind of untapped reserve of power inside him. Was that possible?

“I think - I think a lot more. I can…”

His frown deepened, and Izuku saw his jaw clench as he reached for more power. The ice spread further, and further still, yards and yards away from where Shouto was standing in the river. Izuku wanted to reach for his notebook again, but couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The cold was prickling Izuku’s skin, raising goosebumps. He breathed out, and could see it crystallise before him.

The crystals danced, unnaturally perfect, in the air in front of him - and then they were swept away by a sudden gust of harsh wind.

“Shouto…” Izuku said again, but in a different tone - a thin line of worry edging aside the wonder. “Shouto, maybe - maybe that’s enough for today -”

Shouto wasn’t listening. Izuku took a hesitant step down towards the frozen water, and almost slipped as soon as he put down his foot even a few inches further on the bank; it was slick with black ice, and he only kept his balance by throwing his hands out to the side. His book flopped out of his hand, and to the ground.

“Shouto!” he called. The light breeze was picking up, starting to tug at Izuku’s hair and clothes. He shivered again. “Shouto?”

There was no answer. Shouto was completely still, waist-deep in the unmoving river water.

As he watched, motionless and confused at the edge of the river, Izuku saw the colour fading out of Shouto’s skin. Within just a few moments, he looked pale - deathly pale, almost blueish - and as Izuku stared, helpless, he saw Shouto’s brown eyes fly open.

They were blank and glassy, and he was staring down at the iced-over surface of the river. It was smooth as mirror-glass.

And on the wind - the sudden wind that had picked up, swirling from lightest breeze to whip-sharp bite of cold - Izuku went still with fear as he heard a voice. Sweeter than spun, shining sugar; thinner than a drip of perfect silver.

Shouto…

Izuku didn’t understand. The trees were snapping and waving their leaves in fear, the sky was darkening.

Shouto…

Down in the river, Shouto’s eyes were fixed on the mirrored ice, as though he could see something or someone in its reflective depth. He was paler than ever, the red half of his hair a gash of colour against the deathly pallor of his skin and the ice that surrounded him. His expression was different, somehow, changing, and Izuku saw less and less of Shouto - it was as though he was crystallising, icing over inside.

I’ve found you, Shouto…

“Shouto!” Izuku began to move again, slipping and sliding his way down the bank. This didn’t make any sense, none of it made any sense - but he had to get to Shouto, something had gone horribly wrong and Shouto needed help, he was sure of it.

Shouto didn’t look up in answer to Izuku’s shout. His face held no sign of recognition. But one hand lifted, stiffly, absently, as though in a frozen dream - his ice hand, his right.

It was held, palm-out, directly at Izuku.

Izuku stumbled to a stop, just as his foot touched the ice on the river’s surface.

“Shouto?”

His own voice sounded tiny, like a little child’s.

And Shouto, without looking at him or seeming even to know he was there, breathed out.

Ice flew at Izuku. Shards as long as an arm and sharp as a blade, three of them, launched straight for Izuku’s heart. With a yell, he dropped to the ice below, skinning his elbows and grazing his hands as he landed hard; the shards flew over his head, and he heard them crash against the bank behind him, shattering on impact, deadly little diamonds tinkling over the rocks.

“Sh-Shouto - what are you doing?” Izuku said, looking up at him, trying to understand.

And then he frowned.

Shouto wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t try to hurt him. Something was wrong.

Shouto…

And that voice on the wind had something to do with it. The way that Shouto was staring into the ice, hungrily, as though lost and looking for an answer, had something to do with it.

Izuku looked down at the ice that was holding him now, the glaze of it smooth over the surface of the river. He could still see the water moving beneath its perfectly glassy surface. It wasn’t too thick.

It could break.

Looking up at Shouto, Izuku took a moment to breathe. He couldn’t see any other way out of this. He wouldn’t be able to reach Shouto easily over the slipperiness of the ice, and he wouldn’t survive it if Shouto sent more shards at his chest and impaled him.

He allowed himself a moment to wonder how, in the space of just a few moments, everything that had been right had turned so horrifically and terribly wrong. The ice had spread, Shouto had gone cold and strange, too quickly to comprehend.

There was no time to think it through. No time for second-guessing. If Izuku was going to help Shouto, it had to be now.

Kneeling on the ice, he lifted his hands above his head, and clenched them into fists. He could feel his breath coming in harsh, terrified pants. This was going to hurt. This was going to hurt. This was -

With a yell, Izuku brought his fists down onto the ice beneath him, with all the strength he could muster. Under his hands, it splintered like a spiderweb; ignoring the sing of pain through his hands, he raised them up again and smashed them down into the ice once more.

The cracks spread further, ruining the mirror-glass perfection. Little shards of ice flew up around where the rifts pulled open, and Izuku only barely closed his eyes in time to protect them from the tiny blades. He fell through into the river itself, the waters cold but shallow here at the edge of the bank. Shouto, stranded in his self-made isolation, wasn’t touched by the shattering yet, though, still staring down into the ice.

Izuku looked at his hands; they were bleeding, thick visceral red dripping onto the jagged edges of the fractured ice. He looked back up at Shouto, and his face tightened into determination. He brought his fists down again, and again, crawling through the water until it was deep enough to stand and then walking, getting closer and closer to Shouto and ruining his hands as he smashed the ice again -

“Shouto!”

And again -

“ Shouto! ”

And again -

Until the cracks ran deep enough and far enough that the deepest split carved its way to Shouto’s frozen body. Shards of frozen diamond, supernaturally sharp and perfect, flew up out of the chasm as it cracked its path, lethal and beautiful.

“Shouto -” Izuku called, too late, far too late. The warning went unheeded and Shouto, his eyes open, watched as the mirror glass split around him - and splinters of delicate, deadly, diamond ice were thrown up towards him.

Izuku saw them pierce Shouto’s skin, fly into his left eye. He could hear someone yelling, could feel his throat burning, and realised he was calling out Shouto’s name. His heart was thudding in his ears as he pressed on through the floating remains of Shouto’s ice prison, wading deep into the river and catching Shouto just as he began to fall.

On Izuku’s shoulders, he was a heavy weight. Izuku pulled him clear of the water, laid him on the bank, and pushed his sopping wet hair off his forehead. Shouto’s eyes were closed.

“Please be breathing,” Izuku said. “Please be breathing, please be breathing, please -”

Shouto coughed, and Izuku almost fell backwards with surprise and relief. He put his hand on Shouto’s cheek, tapping his thumb against the the skin.

“Shouto?” he said. He swallowed. It only occurred to him now that the coldness in Shouto, the numbness that had seemed to overtake him and cause him to launch shards of thick ice at Izuku’s heart, it might still be inside him -

“I-Izuku?”

Izuku breathed out. Shouto knew him. The coldness was gone.

“I’m here,” Izuku said. His hand was still on Shouto’s cheek, blood running from it down Shouto’s neck and into his hair, but Izuku couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“W-What - what happened?”

“I don’t know…” The full horror was starting to sink in, now that there seemed to be no more immediate danger. Izuku swallowed and tried to breathe steadily. He could feel tears running down his cheeks, mingled relief and confusion and helplessness. “You - you - changed… do you know why?”

“It was like there was a rift inside me. And it was cold all the way down. Like a well of ice that went on forever. It was so much...” He trailed away; it was one of the few times that Izuku had ever heard real fear in his voice, and Izuku himself felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Shouto was never scared, always in control. If even he sounded shaken...

“There was a voice,” Izuku said quietly, trying to be calm. “Did you hear… in the ice, did you see...”

“I don’t know what I saw.” Shouto still hadn’t opened his eyes. He brought his left hand up to cover his left eye, hiding the vicious red of the splinters’ damage. “It hurts…”

“It’s okay,” Izuku soothed, with no idea if any of this were really okay.

“Is it over?”

“It’s over,” Izuku said, with no idea if it were actually over. He pulled his hands away from Shouto, looking around the dell. The sun was shining, at least. The wind had died down to a soft breeze. The flowers all around them had withered in the frost, but further away they still bloomed. Somewhere in the trees, a bird called out tentatively.

Shouto sat up, and for a second, he rested his head on Izuku’s shoulder and simply breathed. Izuku was still, supporting the weight of him.

“Are you hurt?” Shouto said.

Izuku looked down at his hands, his torn-up palms and ripped knuckles.

“Izuku?”

“Not badly.”

Izuku could feel the way that Shouto’s body relaxed, and leaned his head down so that his cheek lightly touched the top of Shouto’s head.

“Are you?” he said.

Shouto moved, sitting up straight. The colour was blooming back into his skin, at least. Izuku heard him swallow.

“I’ve never been hurt by the ice before,” he said in a low voice, sounding a little stronger - more like himself. “But something was different. It was like… the ice wasn’t all mine, or - like I couldn’t control it.”

“But are you hurt now?” Izuku pressed. Shouto still had his eyes closed.

“I don’t know,” he said, in a small voice. “I’m - my eye hurts. Izuku, I’m - I’m scared I’m blind.”

Izuku swallowed. If Shouto was blind because of what he’d done by smashing the ice - if he’d stolen away the sight from Shouto’s eye -

“Open it,” he said, trying to sound bracing. “It’ll be okay. If it’s hurt then we’ll just take you to Shuzenji.”

“I don’t want to be blind.” Izuku didn’t know what to say. Shouto breathed out sharply, as though pulling himself together, and nodded. “I just need to do it.”

He opened his eyes.

Izuku almost fell back.

Before today, both of Shouto’s eyes had been a deep brown. Among all the strange things about him - his past, his powers, all of it - his brown eyes had been one normal thing.

“I can still see,” Shouto said, and then turned to Izuku. He didn’t smile, but he looked relieved. “Izuku, it’s okay. I can still see.”

Izuku nodded weakly. Shouto could still see, and that was good.

He could still see - out of one brown eye, yes. And one eye that was as blue and sharp and cold as ice.

Chapter Text

Shouto’s dreams were spun together with the thread of a voice that echoed like a distant memory; like something on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite name.

Shouto …

It brushed against his very being, whispering promises that felt familiar and foreign in a way that he couldn’t wrap his head around no matter how much he tried to understand.

He couldn’t keep you from me forever.

It was a haunting sound - sad, yet hopeful. His dream changed, and he was swimming effortlessly in an endless ocean, and the voice sailed through on a ship of pictures he couldn’t comprehend.

White hair.

A kind smile.

Warm eyes, despite the cold.

Oh… Shouto. I’ve found you.

Shouto started awake, and the voice was still fading on the wind.

A chill ran up his spine as flashes of the dream slipped in and out of his memories. The voice... it reminded him of the day before. The cold. The vast well of frozen power that he’d felt within himself.

The person he’d unwittingly become.

Even if it had been only for a moment, the thought of it made him clench his fists as he lay on his bed. He’d become numb; clouded. As if he hadn’t been the one in control of his actions - but he knew that wasn’t quite true. He remembered choosing to use his ice ability on Izuku, because he’d been scared. For a second, it had felt as though everyone who wasn’t the voice had been the enemy.

Izuku -

The way he’d looked at him, after. It was the fear Shouto knew would come eventually, despite how much Izuku had insisted it could never happen.

Izuku being scared of him... the thought hurt more than he’d thought it would.

Shouto ran a tired hand through his hair as he woke up more fully, noting a dull ache around his left eye that was still a present reminder of yesterday. He sighed as he tried to actively forget about it - and stopped, his heart skipping a sudden beat in his chest.

There, in the air. As he’d breathed out.

A visible puff of air. And another, as he exhaled again.

But - it was near the end of Spring.

Why could he see his breath?

Why was it... cold?

He wasn’t doing this. Was he? He looked down at his right hand, but it was warm and normal.

This wasn’t him.

Shouto sat up and turned towards the window just to his right, sucking in a sharp breath.

A layer of frost had covered the glass sometime during the night, making it too opaque to see clearly through - something that hadn’t happened since the previous Winter. He leaned closer to it, feeling as though he were still dreaming.

What was going on? Was this because of him? He could feel his heart pounding.

Hesitantly, Shouto reached up and pressed a hand against the glass, gently nudging heat into his palm and watching as the frost melted at the presence of the small fire - creating a handprint outline first, then flowing outwards until the window cleared entirely.

He sat up on his knees, and nearly toppled backwards when he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

The dull ache he felt around his eye was for a reason.

Covering a large portion of the upper left side of his face was an angry red mark, similar to marks that he’d seen on people who’d made the mistake of exposing limbs to the cold for too long - but this was one of the worst cases he’d seen. It was the stage right before frostbite.

Shouto reached up and pressed on the mark, wincing at the sensitivity.

Faint shouting in the distance snapped him back to reality, and he forced himself to look past the reflection and focus on the white expanse that was now their village.

It was snowing.

Shouto swung off the bed, shoved on some boots, and grabbed a thin jacket he’d almost been ready to pack away for the year, rushing for the door.

No one was still inside the orphanage - everyone was outside, staring at the sudden heavy downfall of snowflakes.

He caught sight of Aizawa standing still next to a small group of younger children, his gaze transfixed on the blinding white sky above.

“Aizawa,” Shouto said as he approached. “What’s happening?”

Aizawa was silent for a few moments before answering.

“I’m not sure,” he murmured, his gaze still turned upwards. “But I don’t like it.”

Shouto looked down at his feet and kicked at the inch or two of snow that had covered the ground for as far as he could see.

An ominous tension had settled on their village as everyone stood in the snowfall, the adults muttering to each other nervously as the delighted screams of some of the younger children echoed around them in stark contrast.

Something was definitely wrong. Shouto pressed his lips together, eyes roving over the scene, looking for answers and finding none. He swallowed, feeling eyes starting to turn on him.

This was like a nightmare. But he was awake.

He felt a little tug on the corner of his jacket, and looked down to see one of the younger children from the orphanage pulling at his clothes for his attention.

“Did you do this?” she whispered, her eyes wide. Shouto stared down at her, not knowing what to say, and she lifted her right hand. Her gaze was unblinking, and Shouto could feel the thudding in his chest starting to spiral faster and faster.

Izuku .

He needed to talk with Izuku.

Shouto glanced around, looking for any sign of him nearby, but found nothing. Obviously. Izuku lived on the outskirts of their village and hoping he would have come running to Shouto, now - after what had happened yesterday, the ice shards and the fear in his eyes - had been a ridiculous thought.

Still, Izuku always knew things.

Perhaps he’d have answers to what was happening now. It was worth a try - and Shouto didn’t know what else to do.

He started hurriedly down the road in the direction of Izuku’s home, stopping every so often to turn around. Every few steps, he thought he heard his own name being called by someone just on the edge of his hearing.

Finally, as he rounded a corner and reached the very edge of the village, he saw it - a shock of green hair that stood out against the white of the snow, by the door of a nearby house.

“Izuku!” Shouto waved, trying to get his attention.

“Shouto?”

Shouto…

There it was again. Shouto blinked, confused.

“Shouto!”

Izuku crashed into him, causing Shouto to stumble backwards as he was hugged, and fiercely. Shouto could feel the concern and worry in the tightness of Izuku’s arms, even though he said nothing - just held on for a second.

Izuku had been worried. Despite everything that had happened.

The thought warmed Shouto’s chest.

Izuku scrambled backwards before Shouto could decided to hug him back, and the warmth from his embrace faded too soon. Shouto pushed away the urge to pull him back in, and looked at Izuku wordlessly - not knowing what to say. At least with the two of them standing here, he felt less alone.

Everything about Izuku now, from the lines of his body to the expression on his face as he looked around at the snow, made Shouto feel like they were in this together.

They stood beside each other on the fringe of their village, looking out at the snow-smothered meadow beyond the houses and the frostbitten treetops of the woods beyond. Out of the corner of his eye, Shouto saw Izuku shiver.

“It’s beautiful,” Izuku said uncertainly. “But it’s not - right. I think -”

When he turned to face Shouto, to look at him as he finished his sentence, Izuku blanched.

“Shouto!” he said, shock quickly fading into crumpled sadness. “Your face… are you alright?”

Shouto ducked his head away from Izuku at the question, trying to angle it so the mark wouldn’t be as noticeable.

“I’m fine,” he said, realizing as he said it that he meant it. Once it healed, it wouldn’t hurt anymore, and a scar was something he could live with. “Really, I am.”

“I did this.” Izuku looked dejected as he spoke, like he’d committed the worst sin imaginable. “I’m so sorry… I thought...”

“You didn’t,” Shouto said sharply. “It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t you. This is -”

Shouto reached towards the scar again, stopping before he touched it. Izuku was biting his lip, as though trying not to cry.

Yes, Izuku had smashed the ice to save him, but regular ice couldn’t have burned him like this. This was something else.

“- it wasn’t you,” Shouto finished, with certainty. “You got me out of there.”

Izuku still looked on the verge of tears.

“I’m just...” he said, and sniffed. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m glad you’re alright, I saw the snow and I thought -”

“Of course I’m alright. It’s just snow.”

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. This was so much more than just snow and everyone seemed to know it, though no one was saying it.

“Shouto it… it feels like yesterday.” Izuku looked him up and down as he shivered, presumably trying to find something about him to confirm his suspicions. “Did you do anything?”

Shouto shook his head, heart heavy and desperate to allay the worry in Izuku’s voice. If Izuku believed this was him, that he’d done this to the village deliberately, that he was trying to hurt people… the fear that he’d seen in Izuku’s eyes before would return. And if it came back - if he lost Izuku’s trust - Shouto didn’t think he could stand it.

“No. I swear it isn’t. I only just woke up and the snow had already fallen.”

“You’re sure? Because yesterday you seemed to not know what you were doing all the time?”

“Izuku,” Shouto said, meeting his eyes. “This isn’t me.”

For a long moment, their gaze held. Shouto looked at Izuku, at his honest, worried face, and felt a surge of warmth in his chest that he did his best to not let show.

Izuku breathed out, and shook his head.

“Then who is it?” he said.

If anyone else had posed that question to him, Shouto would have taken it as an accusation, but it was Izuku. Ever hungry for answers; he just wanted to know.

Shouto…

An ice wind whipped between them, cutting a whisper of his name out of the air like a silver edge - just like at the river yesterday, and just like in his dreams.

Izuku looked panicked.

“Shouto, listen to me. Don’t let yesterday happen again. We need to get somewhere safe -”

The sound of Izuku’s voice faded when Shouto turned his eyes towards the treeline of the forest not far away across the meadow, and saw a white mist starting to pour outwards from in between the trees.

It roiled forward towards them, like the spray of snow that led an avalanche, but it was slow and fluid - and getting closer with every passing second.

Shouto stood, transfixed.

The mist had crossed half the distance towards them when he felt a tug at his arm.

“Shouto, please!”

The voice was muted. Just background noise that could easily be ignored while he... waited for someone?

Was that what he was doing?

“I’m waiting for someone,” he murmured, and the words felt right on his tongue.

Shouto attempted a step forward towards the mist.

Shouto...

But the tug on his arm from before, which he’d barely noticed until now, was suddenly a hindrance impeding his progress. Someone was stopping him from following that voice.

And he couldn’t have that.

Raising his hand while keeping his eyes on the mist, not wanting to stop watching it, he blasted at the weight holding him back. He trapped its legs, so that it was held in place as he walked forwards.

The shouts of protest were ignored; he was waiting for someone.

“Shouto, please -”

The muffled voice, something about it made him pause. Izuku. He’d used his power against Izuku.

He stopped, half wanting to turn back and half desperately needing to move forwards. The mist was almost upon him, now, a flurry of perfect snowflakes dancing at its edge. Just as he was about to look around for Izuku, the voice called him again, one more time.

“Shouto…” It was near, now. Right in front of him. Not carried on the wind, but close enough to hear.

A single, slender hand, naked of rings or glove, reached out of the ice mist. Its soft-fingered curve was simple, supplicatory, asking for his hand in return. Shouto froze in place.

Was this who he was waiting for?

The mist unfolded, breathing apart, and Shouto could only watch.

Frost and furs.

Pale eyes, gazing at him from behind wisps of white hair.

A smile, genuine and hopeful, cracked around lips that were crusted in a thin layer of crystals.

Out of the mist, her tread light as though she walked above the snow and not through it, stepped a woman. A woman who had eyes only for Shouto - eyes that were full of sparkling tears.

“I knew I would find you,” she whispered. “Just like I promised.”

“Shouto! Don’t - just run away!”

Shouto could hear the distressed cries from behind him of Izuku, held in place by the ice.

“It’s alright,” he muttered. “It’s going to be alright, Izuku.”

Shouto took another step forward and could feel the frost bite at him in a way he wasn’t used to - but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

It was going to be alright. This woman, she was - the look in her eyes, the gentleness of her step, it didn’t feel bad. It felt right, it felt - it felt like something deep inside him knew her already.

The beautiful woman continued to smile at him as she got closer, and eventually stood in front of him, the mist curling around them.

“I’m so sorry I took so long to get here, my darling,” she murmured, and her words were silver on her lips. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Look at you, so tall...”

Shouto stood in place, staring at her in awe as she reached for his hand.

He hesitated only for a moment, and then pressed his palm to hers.

It was cold.

The bite of it woke him up, just a little, for a moment.

“Shouto!” he heard Izuku cry out. “Shouto, please, listen to me -”

Shouto wanted to turn and reassure him, but couldn’t bring himself to look away. His forehead creased, Izuku’s fear like jarring notes in the perfect song of the snow and mist, and of this woman. Her hand lightly squeezed Shouto’s when she saw his distress.

“Let me help you,” she said, and leaned down, and pressed a gentle kiss onto Shouto’s forehead.

Almost instantly, the cold began to melt away, starting the point of contact on his forehead and travelling until it had spread everywhere.

“ Shouto!”

The woman pulled back, and her smile faltered as she lightly pressed a single finger to the angry scar over Shouto’s eye.

“I’ve caused you pain,” she said softly, her white hair shimmering as she tilted her head to the side. “ Many have caused you pain.”

Memories flashed in front of him.

The ice. The bullying. The loss. The fear. The ostracization. The non-acceptance. The loneliness.

Above everything, the loneliness.

The ice woman nodded in understanding, and a single tear spilled from her eye and rolled down her cheek, until it froze on her skin.

“I thought as much.” She let out a long breath and ran a hand through Shouto’s hair - and it almost felt familiar to him, the sensation. “I’m going to take away the pain, Shouto, don’t you worry. I’m going to take it all away.”

Shouto leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as he did so, and felt a second press of lips on his forehead.

Everything began to fade.

The pain in his eye - well, it didn’t disappear, but the memory of how he’d got it faded, clouding over until it was lost to sight. The ache, it became a part of him, until… there was no origin for it. The mark had always been a part of him, which made it easier to feel.

More and more memories began to slide away from him, like icicles slipping out of warm hands that couldn’t grasp them properly.

The village bullies.

The heat of fire in his palm.

The long, long years spent in the orphanage.

Pain that Shouto hadn’t even realized he was carrying, it was fading. Trusting the kiss of the ice woman, he let go his hold, felt years falling away - the little good, and all the bad.

Eventually, everything was replaced with the here and now, and nothing else mattered - nothing else was worth remembering. She was here, now. She’d found him. He could let it all go.

“There,” the ice woman said, and gave him a satisfied smile. “My first gift to you, a new beginning. This time with no more pain.”

Her hand wrapped around his and tugged him forward.

“Come. Time to go home.”

He nodded once.

Home.

Home sounded nice.

Hand in hand, they began to walk into the mist.

“Shouto, stop!”

He did, recognizing his name - but not the voice that had said it, and he turned to see what was behind him.

Standing trapped in a block of ice was a boy, probably around his own age, and desperately trying to break free of his bonds. Tears were streaming down his face as they made eye contact, but this boy was a stranger to him.

“Shouto, don’t go with her! Please! Stay here.”

Shouto stared back blankly.

“It’s me!” The boy gestured at himself wildly. “We’re - we’re friends! It’s me, Izuku!”

Shouto blinked.

“Who?”

And then he turned back towards the woman, allowing himself to be pulled into the icy curlicues of the mist, ready to go home.

He wasn’t so far gone as to not recognize a look of complete heartbreak, but on a stranger?

It didn’t matter.

Chapter Text

There was a pain in Izuku that he couldn’t explain.

It woke him in the night, twice. Each time, it pressed at his heart before his mind had come to, and he felt the weight of it before he remembered why. When he sat up in bed at dawn, giving up on restful sleep, it only worsened. Memories rolled over him.

Shouto was gone.

Not only gone from the village - Shouto was gone from his own mind.

The moment when Shouto had looked back at him, turning away from her - from that lady made of ice - kept replaying in Izuku’s head, round and round and round. The coolness of his features, the blankness of his eyes. Shouto had never shown his emotions strongly, and Izuku hadn’t realised how much he’d come to recognise the subtle familiarity and warmth in Shouto’s expression until it had all disappeared, frozen over.

Gone.

He was gone.

Izuku had been forgotten.

“Come on, Izuku,” said a gentle voice at the door. Izuku’s mother peered around it, looking timid. “Come and have some breakfast.”

Izuku could feel how glassy and hard his own eyes were, with the pain. He couldn’t have predicted how badly this would hurt, didn’t understand it; it felt as though his heart were tearing itself in two, slowly and agonisingly, here in the banal normality of his little bedroom while his mother watched and wrung her hands.

“Izuku… it’s very sad, what happened, but I’m sure Shouto wouldn’t want you to feel this way...”

“You don’t know what he wants,” Izuku said, but not harshly - only stating a fact. “You didn’t know him.”

Izuku’s mother came a little further into the room.

“Well… neither did you, really, did you?”

Izuku bit his lip. His mother didn’t know about all the hours that he’d spent with Shouto in the woods, practising ice and fire, learning about the power that Shouto could wield. She didn’t know about all the notebooks stuffed under his bed, packed full of notes and numbers and probabilities and hypotheses. She didn’t know anything about the trust and - and care, that had grown up between them.

Even still, was she right?

Shouto had usually been impassive, rarely showed any emotion - he’d let his guard down around Izuku, sometimes, though, more and more often down the years. But the Shouto that Izuku had known would never have willingly disappeared into the snow with a stranger, or imprisoned Izuku himself in ice.

Had Izuku really known him at all? Was he being stupid to think that there had been something between them - some kind of bond tying them together, down the years that they’d grown up here?

He’d been forgotten so easily. Just a kiss had been enough, something so soft and sweet. Shouto hadn’t even fought to remember.

Maybe, in the end, it had meant nothing at all.

Izuku could feel the promise of numbness in that thought, could feel his heart groan and ask for the relief of it. If it had all meant nothing, then he didn’t have to care that Shouto was gone. He didn’t have to worry about whether or not Shouto was alive. He didn’t have to break his heart over the fact that he might never see Shouto again.

He looked down at his blanket, and absently pulled loose a thread from it, teasing it free with senseless fingertips - fingertips that were still cracked over with bloody lines from just two days ago, when he’d smashed the ice apart to set Shouto free. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken any of his fingers, but they were purple with bruises.

Everything felt unreal and unfamiliar to sight and touch, even the blanket Izuku had had since he was three. Everything was strange and not what he’d thought it had been. Izuku realised his mother was still watching him, waiting for him to answer.

“Maybe I didn’t know him,” he said, his mouth turning down at the corners uncontrollably. Izuku’s mother came closer, kneeling down beside his bed. Her eyes, too, were filling up with tears.

“I don’t want you to be sad,” she said. “Oh, Izuku… he was a dangerous boy. Maybe this way is better, and we can all be safe…”

Izuku drew in a breath. Maybe this way was better. Everyone was safe now, yes. No more ice, no more fire. No more magic. No more secrecy.

No more Shouto. Ever.

“But I miss him,” Izuku said, which was the best way he had - a terribly insufficient way - to describe the fierce, ravening ache in his chest. Another few tears rolled down his cheeks, unbidden. He couldn’t look down at her, where she was kneeling beside him. His mother could never watch him cry without crying, and he knew that seeing his blank, hurting stare must be causing her pain.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku’s mother said, reaching up her hands to hold him, while he sat like a broken doll under the covers of his bed. “I’m sorry, Izuku…”

The sadness in her voice put a weight of guilt on his shoulders. He needed to give her some space while he grappled with this, while it was still so fresh and raw. He hated to watch her cry. He made a move as if to stand up, gently shifting her away from his bed, and she wiped her eyes. He pushed back his covers.

“I’m going out,” Izuku said, reaching for his boots and pulling them on as she watched.

“Where are you going?”

“The river,” Izuku said, because it was the first place he could think of. “We used to go there sometimes.”

His mother’s face dropped.

“Oh, Izuku… he won’t be there…”

Izuku stopped moving for a moment, suspended in sudden pain - and then went back to dressing, pulling on light clothes. The ice and snow had left along with Shouto and the lady - not melting, but simply disappearing, too strange and arcane to become anything so desultory as puddles on the village paths.

“I know he won’t,” he said, when he could trust his voice to speak. “I just want to feel like…”

He broke off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“It’s good to say goodbye,” Izuku’s mother said tentatively. “It will help you move on.”

“He might not be gone forever,” Izuku said, fully ready now and heading for the door. He looked back at his mother, who was following him across the room, her step uncertain. He tried to soften himself, put her at ease.

“Izuku, you said he disappeared with a lady made of ice. She sounds as powerful as the Man of Fire. He never took any prisoners.” She shivered, not meeting Izuku’s eyes as the tremor went through her. “Izuku, I think he’s - he’s really gone. You understand?”

The lump in Izuku’s throat would not be spoken through. He could only lift a shoulder and reach behind him for the door handle, needing to escape.

“Take care,” his mother said - and she stepped a little closer, and leaned to kiss him on the forehead.

The gesture was so simple, so caring, and so wordless - so effortlessly mothering - that it took Izuku’s breath away, for a reason that he couldn’t quite put together. Something stirred in his mind, some answer to a question that he hadn’t known he’d been asking - but it was stubborn and didn’t want to crystallise. His mother was watching him, her eyes sad.

Izuku remembered what he was doing, and turned for the door.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, crossing the kitchen and making for the front door to their house. His mother made a little assenting noise behind him; he turned, and gave her his best impression of a smile. It came out a little grim, but it was worth it to see the lines around her eyes ease just a touch.

“Take care,” she said, and he nodded, and left.

Outside, everything was still. People were mostly staying in their homes, today, and here on the outskirts of the village that meant complete silence, save the odd bark of a dog who hadn’t understood the unspoken agreement to mourn and worry and wonder quietly.

Mourn, Izuku thought. How many people were mourning Shouto? How many people had taken the time to see past their fear, to discover the person Izuku knew - the person who was brave, and strong, and intelligent, and caring -

Maybe I didn’t know him. Izuku’s own words came back to him, and he didn’t know if they were true. He didn’t know anything about Shouto’s past, after all, not really. Didn’t know where he came from, at all. He only knew little things, from the time they’d spent together.

It had been a lot of time, though, Izuku thought as he passed across the low meadow outside the village and stepped into the shaded woodland. Sunlight streamed through the green leaves, painting a fluid mosaic on the forest floor.

Yes, it had been a lot of time. So many hours spent conjuring ice, conjuring fire, watching Shouto get stronger. Sharing their breakfasts as they talked about what experiment they wanted to try next. Lying on their backs in the grass as they talked, trying to figure out the limits of the magic - and chatting about other things, too, all their strange little jokes and stories and imaginings.

After a hard climb up the sloped woodland incline, Izuku felt the ground finally begin to drop away again into the dell. He flew down it, starting to run. When the blood was pounding in his head and his breath was coming fast, it was easier to forget about the pain in his chest and the fact that Shouto was gone.

When he reached the river itself, however, embroidered like a blue-purple thread into the green tapestry of the land, it was impossible to do anything but remember.

There was the place Shouto had stood, and plunged his hands into the water to freeze it over.

There was the place Izuku had smashed his fists into the ice to pull him out, to save him.

And here, on the slow rise of the river bank, was where Shouto had laid his head on Izuku’s shoulder and let his breaths come slow, in trust. In safety. He’d opened his eyes and looked at Izuku, relieved to still have his sight, his expression so familiar because of course Izuku knew him, and he knew Izuku.

The pain in Izuku’s chest was unbearable. Unendurable. He dropped to his knees, and pressed clenched fists to his face. If he blotted it all out with his hands, all the light and all the sights around him, maybe it would all go back to how it had been.

He could almost feel the pressure of Shouto’s weight on his shoulder, again.

And then in his mind, he heard a single word, spoken in cool and impassive tones.

Who?

His shoulders began to shake. He couldn’t hold back the tears, and with his mother too far away to see or hear them, he let them come - let himself sob and gasp, let his breath shudder and shake, let his hands clench into his hair as the river flowed beside him, bubbling merrily, unaffected.

He cried until he’d worn himself out with it.

There was no use pretending that just because he hadn’t known Shouto’s background or every tiny detail about him, he didn’t care. It wasn’t going to be possible to push away or numb the searing ache of Shouto’s loss by acting like the time they’d spent together had been meaningless.

The lessons they’d learned together.

The smiles - all of them, the soft and lingering, the surprised, the beaming - the smiles they’d shared.

The talks they’d had. Shouto had been the first person that Izuku had told that he liked boys and girls; Izuku had been the person Shouto had trusted to speak to about how he didn’t like anyone until he knew them well enough, but he liked boys, too. Izuku had never been so open with anyone else.

The cat they’d saved from the well. They’d done that together. Shouto had taken her home and Aizawa had loved that cat, and called her Nietzsche, and she’d lived to be eighteen and birthed three litters of kittens before she’d gone. And yes, they were only kittens - and yes, there were other cats and other boys and other smiles and other talks and other lessons -

But these ones were special. These ones belonged to Shouto and to him, Izuku. They’d made them, for each other and for themselves, these memories. And they meant something. That couldn’t stop just because Shouto was gone.

Izuku wiped his nose, sniffed, and nodded to himself. The resolution didn’t ease the pain, but he accepted it. He’d lost the person in the village that - that he’d cared about, that he’d seen a future with, the two of them sitting together as old men playing board games and setting things on fire in the village square just to see people’s faces. Shouto had been a part of his life, something woven in so deep that Izuku hadn’t even realised how intrinsic he was, until he was torn out.

He missed Shouto’s presence, physically. He wanted Shouto beside him. They had rarely touched - it had seemed intimate, just a brush of hands enough to give Izuku butterflies in his stomach - but he missed the possibility of touching, the nearness. And more than that, the steadiness of Shouto’s presence.

The river burbled on. Izuku breathed in and out, deeply, letting it soothe him. Very well: so he couldn’t forget about Shouto and accept that he was gone so easily as his mother would like. What was he going to do about it? Sit and mope? Write about his feelings in his notebooks? Go and get some things of Shouto’s from the orphanage, to make Shouto feel closer?

Shouto would know what to do. Izuku had his moments of inspiration, but Shouto had always been the calmly decisive one. The one who surveyed the options laid out before him, evaluated them, and selected the best possible choice. Izuku missed that, now more than ever.

He could live without Shouto, he thought, if he only had Shouto to talk to about it.

Getting to his feet, his body feeling battered by the tears that had wracked it, Izuku tried to think of anything else that he could do. His mind kept returning to that memory, that pivotal moment where Shouto had turned to look at him and quite clearly seen a stranger.

It had been that kiss - the kiss on the forehead. The woman had pressed her lips to Shouto’s skin and frozen him up inside, somehow - Izuku felt his hands itching for his notebook, even now, even through the pain. And according to his mother, she’d then led him away to die.

But that didn’t make sense, did it? Why would she steal his memories if she just wanted him dead, what would be the point? To torture Shouto? No, that couldn’t be it. Izuku hadn’t been able to hear all the words that she’d spoken, just too far away to hear her soft voice, but he’d seen the expression on her face and she hadn’t looked murderous. She hadn’t even really looked dangerous.

She’d looked… nice. And sad.

Again, something shifted in his mind. Two memories that wanted to connect. Standing by the river, lost in thought, he struggled to follow the train of his subconscious thought; there was something important, something he was missing but almost had in his sights. The way that the ice lady had looked, the way she’d kissed Shouto so sweetly, as though it could take away all the hurt…

Another image burst into his mind. His own mother, kissing his forehead before he left.

His own mother, looking… nice. And sad.

Izuku went still with the suddenness and certainty of his realisation.

The ice lady - she was Shouto’s mother. Of course, with the ice power - how had he not already put that together? His mind was flying, now, throwing off the clouded mist of grief. Shouto was with his mother, now, and she surely wouldn’t kill him.

He wasn’t dead. He was out there, somewhere. Izuku’s eyes drifted up over the treetops, towards the just-visible peaks of the mountains above. They were snow-capped, as always.

His lips tightened. There was no way to be sure - but if he were a lady with power over snow and ice, that’s where he would be.

And if she was there, that’s where she would have taken Shouto.

Mind reeling from the sudden tumble of realisations, Izuku felt the burn of strange certainty that he sometimes felt when he had managed to alight upon the right answer to a riddle or conundrum that was puzzling him. There was no guarantee, of course - he could yet be wrong, the ice lady could live in a far-off magical kingdom up in the sky or she could have killed Shouto the moment the ice folded around him or she could be a total stranger to Shouto.

But Izuku didn’t think so. The sensation of certainty only lit up stronger the longer he looked at those mountain peaks. The satisfaction of it, the clear direction of the thought, was stronger than the pain in his chest.

He bit his lip. If Shouto were there, then it wouldn’t be completely impossible to -

Izuku stopped himself. Shouto was with his mother. They’d never talked about family; Izuku had never even asked how Shouto had come to be in the orphanage, and Shouto himself had never offered any explanation. Even still, Izuku had caught it sometimes - just a touch of wistfulness in Shouto’s eyes when Izuku unpacked food that had been so lovingly wrapped for his lunch, or when Izuku mentioned that his mother used to read him bedtime stories, or when they parted ways at the end of a practice session with Izuku going back to his home and Shouto going back to tired Aizawa and all the other kids.

Shouto had wanted a mother. Of that, Izuku was fairly certain. And now… well, now he had one.

He turned away from the river, and began to walk back towards the village; just thinking of Shouto wanting his mother made Izuku wish, suddenly, for his own. He headed back through the woods, deep in thought. Izuku’s mother had kissed away all the years of pain and loss - he’d never shown it, always stoic, but Izuku knew that Shouto had been lonely. That was all gone now.

If Izuku went after them - if, by some miracle, he did manage to snap Shouto out of his numb and strange amnesia - would Shouto thank him?

Or would Shouto hate him?

The morning air was fresh and clean in his lungs, but as Izuku considered that Shouto might want to stay exactly where he was - far away from Izuku and the village, not even remembering him at all - every breath felt painful once more. The ache of helplessness and directionless sadness filled him up all over again, and he bit his lip to keep himself from tears. He thought he’d cried them all out, but there were more in him at the thought of Shouto not only being gone, but being glad to be gone.

Glad he didn’t remember the hours they’d spent.

Glad he didn’t remember the cat in the well.

Glad he didn’t remember Izuku at all.

The thought was a white-hot knife in Izuku’s brain. He felt anger - anger towards Shouto, for choosing this, for not fighting, for surrendering his memories so easily. It felt like a betrayal all over again. Had it really meant so little? Could he really be happy, could it have been so throwaway, to forget all about him?

He tried to temper himself. Then again, he thought, maybe Shouto had weighed the options, as he tended to do, and made a careful decision. Maybe he’d evaluated the past eighteen years of his life, and seen the dark hours of isolation and grief over his missing parents, and one simple friendship hadn’t been worth keeping - if it meant holding onto all that pain.

Maybe Izuku just hadn’t been enough.

He knew that he could never completely understand what Shouto had gone through. He shouldn’t be trying to make judgements or feeling hurt over this, when it was probably the best thing that Shouto could have done for himself. He was probably happy, now that he’d made the choice and left.

Izuku reached the treeline, and looked out towards the village. Thatched-roof cottages with thick wooden beams nestled in the centre of the meadow, rising a little way up the rocky incline to the west; they were small and comfortable and familiar, with a trail of thin smoke rising out of a couple of chimneys - the hearth fires already carefully lit to cook the lunchtime meal.

This was where the ice lady had stood. This was where she had come from, to claim her son.

Izuku tried to imagine what he and Shouto had looked like, there on the edge of the village.

Probably very small, even though they were full grown now. In his case, probably very scared. In Shouto’s case, very… dazed. He’d been in that blank, glassy state where he barely seemed to hear anything or to know himself.

Izuku frowned. He’d barely seemed in control of himself, as though some horrible otherworldly power had overtaken him or entranced him. Izuku had been thinking that Shouto hadn’t fought back, had made the decision to leave. But what if he hadn’t? What if he’d been in some kind of thrall? At the very least, Izuku was fairly sure that Shouto couldn’t have known that the kiss would make him forget everything - there hadn’t been time for the ice lady to explain that, and he hadn’t seen Shouto nod or heard him say anything to agree to what she was proposing.

Izuku’s frown deepened.

When the ice lady had kissed him, had Shouto had a choice?

He could feel his breath coming quicker. If Shouto wanted to leave him behind - turn his back on the village forever, and never return - Izuku would have to find a way to accept that. It wouldn’t be easy, but if it was what Shouto wanted, then he thought he could do it.

But Shouto should have a choice.

He should be able to say yes or say no. He should be able to decide for himself. Knowing all the facts, and as many of the consequences as were foreseeable. Shouto deserved that, at least.

Izuku looked back between the trees. That was the way from which the ice lady had come, and that was the path that he would have to take to find her and Shouto. If she were going to hold him under her spell, then the only way for him to break free was -

A memory flashed through him, and his torn-up and bruised hands spasmed with remembered pain. He clenched them, looking through the trees, his resolve hardening.

Shouto should be free to choose.

And for him to be free - someone would have to break him out.

Chapter Text

The woman of ice had a sleigh made of what Shouto could only assume was also ice - but it wasn’t fragile in a way he knew ice could be, and sitting on it didn’t melt any part of it. Intricate diamond swirls and pendants adorned the fur-lined seats. Harnessed to the front of the sleigh were two horses, just as white as the snow around them, with icicles chinking in their flowing manes.

They’d been travelling for quite some time now.

“Where are we going?” Shouto asked, turning towards the woman next to him. He had a surge of that feeling again, that he knew her - but he didn’t, he couldn’t. She was a stranger.

And yet something about her was so familiar to him - but nothing seemed to stick.

She turned; the crown of ice resting on her head glimmered as it caught the light of the sun, and she smiled at him, resting a hand over his.

“Home, my dear. Didn’t I tell you?” Her voice was gentle and kind.

Shouto paused before nodding once.

Yes. She had told him.

“Where is home?”

The ice woman reached out as they broke through the treeline and pointed at the intersection of two large snowy mountains in the distance.

“Right there lies my castle. It’s perfect for people like us, Shouto. We’ll be safe there, where no one can lay a finger on us - where no pain can find us.”

No pain.

This woman was very adamant about that, Shouto had noticed. It didn’t seem like a bad thing, however. In fact, a painless life was fairly enticing.

At least, he was fairly sure. Wasn’t it? Painless was good. Pain… pain was bad.

He couldn’t remember what pain was.

There was another stretch of silence as another question floated in and out of his reach. Should he ask it? Was there a reason not to?

If nothing else, it would solve the one current problem he was facing - whether or not the ice woman was familiar to him.

“Who are you?”

The woman turned to face him once more, her hand squeezing his once while her smiled turned… sad.

“I am the Snow Queen. Harbinger of winter and the forewarning of frost.” She took away her hand and rested it on his cheek. “And I am your mother.”

Shouto blinked. He kept his face blank, but behind his eyes - in the cool, misted place his mind had become - he could feel the words strike deep.

His mother.

“I don’t. . . I don’t have a mother,” he said, but even as he said it he didn’t know where he’d got that information from.

He didn’t have a mother. Didn’t he? It felt right, but how did he know he didn’t have a mother?

“Oh, Shouto… of course you have a mother,” the Snow Queen said, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek, as though he were a little boy. She looked upset.

“But - but I -” Shouto swallowed. Something didn’t fit, but he couldn’t remember what it was. “I don’t…”

The Snow Queen stroked his cheek, soothing him.

“There’s no need to be upset,” she said, though her own expression looked like poorly-disguised bitter sadness.

“I don’t understand,” Shouto said. He could tell that she wanted him to stop worrying about it, but something was strange, and he couldn’t let it go. The Snow Queen sighed.

“If I tell you too much you’ll feel all that hurt again, Shouto. You’ll remember all that grief. It’s better not to know… not to remember these years while I looked for you and never found you. They’re over now.” Her smile was so sweet and honest that Shouto felt himself trusting her. “I didn’t give up. I knew… I knew that one day you would find me.”

She smiled down at him, perfect crystals on her lips.

“And you did. You called for me, and I answered.”

“I… I did?”

The Snow Queen nodded.

“You did. You’re very strong, but you haven’t realized just how strong you are, yet.”

He was… strong?

There was no memory he could find to prove that, but there also wasn’t any to disprove it. And this was his mother. If she said so, it must be true. Mothers didn’t lie.

At least, he didn’t think they did. And his mother didn’t feel like a liar. She felt sad and tired and powerful and kind.

But there were things that didn’t quite make sense. Back at the village… had it been a village? How did he know that?

“Mother,” he said, trying out the name, and liking the way it made her brighten. “Back where you found me… who lived there? Who was that boy who knew my name?” He thought back; the boy’s face was misted over in his memory, just out of reach, but Shouto could remember the expression of shock and loss on it. “I think he looked... sad to see me go.”

The Snow Queen shook her head slowly and turned to look ahead.

“No one, Shouto.”

“There must have been people… and the boy…”

“They were no one. He was no one. All these years I looked and those were the people hiding you from me.” The Snow Queen looked back at him, and her expression seemed to soften at his obvious bewilderment. “They weren’t on your side, Shouto.”

“They weren’t?”

“Only people who had either already caused you pain, or would cause you pain in the future.” Her words were as sharp as icicles, like she was preparing to defend him against people that they’d left far behind. “But don’t worry. They’ll never find us.”

Shouto nodded, neither in agreement nor in disagreement - but he took the information as it was given to him.

If she said they were nothing, then maybe they were. He could hear in her voice that she cared about him, and didn’t want harm to come to him. That was something he could trust. Wasn’t it?

Was he the kind of person who trusted? He couldn’t remember.

The Snow Queen touched a hand to his own, and the picture in his mind of the heartbroken boy clouded over like frozen water. When he tried to recall the details of his face, his mind slipped away as though on ice.

“There,” his mother said. “No more pain.”

She smiled at him.

Shouto turned his head to watch the white countryside fly by, as their sleigh took them much faster than he’d ever seen a sleigh go before - but no, that wasn’t - he had no memory of any other sleighs. Why had that thought occurred?

His head ached.

The falling snowflakes seemed to part ways for them as they continued their journey, in a way that seemed unusual - but Shouto had no memories of usual, nothing to compare it to. He couldn’t comprehend his surroundings. And there was something… something he did, when he didn’t understand why something was happening. Something he turned to for answers.

Shouto turned to the empty space on the other side of him as he came to a realization that didn’t make sense.

Something was missing.

There was something in his life that was now gone, something important to him, though he couldn’t tell what it was.

They rode onwards.

***

The intersection of the mountains grew very close, and soon the village - it had been a village, hadn’t it? The village he’d left had faded, too, from his clouded memory.

The horses finally began to slow as the tip of an iridescent spire slowly rose up from behind the hill they’d climbed. Before too long, a large, shimmering castle with seven steeples of made of ice and snow was visible, a stunning amalgamation of fragility and beauty and ominous intimidation.

It was a breathtaking piece of architecture.

And it was the perfect reflection of his mother.

“We’re so close to being home.”

The Snow Queen let out a short breath in satisfaction as she spoke, and her longing to return home was contagious. Shouto was definitely curious about the castle, and what his life was going to be like. If he could make some new memories, maybe his head would stop hurting - and he’d stop looking for things that weren’t there.

The sleigh stopped moving before Shouto thought it would. They weren’t yet within walking distance of the castle. Were the horses tired?

He stood, looking out beyond the horses, and saw the problem.

Ahead of them, stretching far and wide with the castle of sitting just beyond, was a deep chasm.

“There used to be a way across,” the Snow Queen said, staring over the ravine at her castle. “But it’s not here. It must have melted and fallen in my absence.”

She sounded unbothered, despite her words.

“Shouto, what should we do?”

Shouto looked over at her, and turned his gaze to the massive maw of a chasm that lay between them and their castle. It taunted them, and Shouto could only stare at it. How was he supposed to know what to do? He didn’t know the first thing about this castle or the area or… or anything, really. What did he know?

Hmm.

“What was here before?” he asked, scanning for any clues on the cliffside for what might have been used in the past - for what was missing.

“It doesn’t matter,” the Snow Queen murmured. “What matters is what we do now. ”

Shouto frowned, recognizing a pointed tone in her voice, but he still didn’t understand.

“What do we do, then?”

The Snow Queen said nothing, only held up a slender hand and pointed in the direction of her glittering castle.

“But -” Shouto furrowed his brows together.

“How do we get across, Shouto?” Her voice was soft but her intent was sharp. “What can you do to help us get home?”

Oh, a test.

He understood, now.

Shouto nodded once and jumped down from the sleigh, walking towards the ravine and stopping just in front of the cliff’s edge.

It was wide and foreboding, with only inky blackness below.

A way across?

Maybe the simplest answer was the best one.

Shouto exhaled, and saw his breath.

There was a cold place within himself that he’d forgotten about, though it called out to him in familiarity, yearning to be useful as it had been in the past.

Shouto turned to the side, planting one foot ahead of the other to get a good stance, and made sure that he was as close to the edge as he could possibly be before he stomped down hard with his right leg.

Ice instantly spread outward, starting where he’d come in contact with the ground and reaching out towards the ravine, spanning the large gap with a thick bridge of ice. It was crude and jagged in places, but was completely smooth where the sleigh would be riding atop.

Shouto held out his right hand as he tried to slow his now heavier breathing down, and cocked his head curiously as he noted the thin patches of frost that were beginning to form on his skin.

“Beautiful.”

Shouto turned, and saw his mother’s eyes glistening. The expression on her face… Shouto had seen it before, but never directed at him.

Pride. She looked... proud of him.

“I wanted to see… you have so much greatness in you, Shouto. Come. Let’s drive home on the path you gave us.”

He gave an appreciative nod and climbed back into the sleigh, feeling a budding sense of pride in himself at her words. He took his place by her side as the horses surged forward, gliding them across the ice with sure-footed ease.

“There’s so much to teach you - so much for you to learn...” The Snow Queen waved a hand as they passed over his bridge of ice, and intricately ornate guard rails rose up from the sides, beautiful additions to his own less-than-artful design. “... so much lost time to make up for.”

The sun was just beginning to set as they arrived on the other side of the ravine, sending pink light shimmering through the ice crystals that formed the spires.

The Snow Queen turned to him, and smiled.

“Welcome home,” she said.

***

Inside, the castle was just as breathtaking as the outside. Every wall had delicate, textured details, ceilings held chandeliers of glittering icicles, and windows boasted curtains of lacy, snow-soft frost.

Whoever had made the castle had either a lot of patience or a lot of skill.

Or both.

Shouto followed his mother up a wide set of blueish, frigid stairs, glancing around for any signs of life other than the two of them, but found nothing. So far, he’d heard no sounds other than their own footsteps echoing in the rooms around them as they passed through.

“Are you alone?” Shouto asked.

The Snow Queen paused in her ascension. She’d hitched her skirts up slightly to climb the steps, but she let them fall when she turned to look at him.

“Of course not,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You are here.”

Shouto frowned.

That hadn’t answered his question.

Aloneness wasn’t always about who was near you. The opposite of alone wasn’t always with someone ; a person could be in a crowd of people and still be alone. Shouto was familiar with the idea of alone being an emotion, something that said more about who you were than whom you were with.

Somehow, he was familiar.

“ I’m alone,” he murmured, staring at his frost-covered hand as it gripped the icy bannister. “I didn’t use to be this alone, and now I am.”

Why did he feel that way? There was no memory for him to prove the words that had just come out of his mouth, yet they felt correct when he spoke them. There was an ache in his chest that told him he was alone, and it had been present for - well - for as long as he could remember.

But it made no sense.

“How could you say that?” Her voice didn’t sound angry - but sad, perhaps even a little betrayed. Shouto breathed out.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Shouto, I took you away from being alone. Now we have each other. Don’t you want that?”

Shouto looked up at the the Snow Queen, and saw a few more tears frozen on her cheeks. He didn’t know what to say; he didn’t want to hurt her - she was his mother - but he couldn’t stop feeling like something was missing. Something he wanted back.

The Snow Queen held out her hand towards him.

“Come. I’ll show you. I’ll show you what I saved you from, and how alone you were. I’ll show you that when we have each other, neither of us are alone.”

Shouto hesitated. There was a part of him that was pulling away - but he didn’t like that he’d made his mother sad, didn’t want to see her eyes widen with more hurt when he rejected her. He took the offered hand, and found himself being led towards the top of the stairs and down a long, high-ceilinged hallway.

They reached a room at the end of the hall that was only dimly lit, despite the fact that the sun should have been able to shine through the ice easily - but the strangest thing about the room, the thing that caught Shouto’s eye at once, was the wall of mirrors.

There were at least two dozen of them, each with a beautifully carved wooden frame. They were neatly aligned, tessellating perfectly to fill the space; no spiderweb frost marred their reflections of the chamber’s crystalline walls. Their clarity and faultlessness was eerily smooth. They asked to be touched and promised danger, like dagger blades or pointed teeth.

The Snow Queen walked until she was standing in front of the first mirror. She beckoned Shouto closer, and closer he came. The two of them stood and looked in together, side by side.

Shouto saw his mother. Next to her, he saw a boy he didn’t recognize.

White and red hair. One brown eye, one blue. A red mark staining part of his face -

Shouto reached up and touched the skin of his cheek, and the boy’s hand moved too.

It was him. That was him, in the mirror.

He looked into his own eyes, and tried to see someone he knew. A stranger stared back, his expression unreadable.

“I was alone, once,” the Snow Queen said, pressing one finger to the glass. “I’ve learned that it’s better not to remember those times. It’s better to… frost them over.”

The mirror’s surface filled with white, like someone had dropped milk into a cup of water; fluid, it swirled across the glass, until Shouto could no longer see himself at all. Into the white mixed drops of red, and orange, and deep brown, and black -

And then it showed a man on fire.

The man was screaming at them through the mirror, but… not in pain. The fire was all over him, wreathing him in the light, but it didn’t seem to be burning him.

“- absolutely useless, that’s what you are! You should respect me more. I’ve burned entire cities to the ground -”

Shouto flinched away from the sheer volatility in his voice,; it was as though every word was a coal from the fire that he’d stoked, flung in anger, meant to scorch and scar. Every so often, a hand would fly in front of their vision through the mirror - an elegant hand, that Shouto recognized as the Snow Queen’s.

He was watching something from her point of view.

He glanced over at the Snow Queen and found her glaring at the mirror, her jaw clenched tightly.

“Mother -”

The Snow Queen pressed the same finger against the glass once more, and now frost gathered on the face of the mirror, drowning out both the image and the sound.

She let out a sigh of relief.

“See? There. Frozen over, all gone.”

The Snow Queen nudged Shouto over to the mirror next to the frosted one, and made a motion for him to touch the face of it like she had done.

If a screaming man wreathed in flames had appeared on hers, Shouto wasn’t sure he wanted to touch it.

“It’ll be alright, Shouto,” the Snow Queen said, and motioned again.

Shouto furrowed his brow and slowly lifted his right hand, touching the lower left corner of the ornate mirror.  

White overtook his reflection, and then a different scene was shown.

This image also looked as though it was from someone’s point of view - he guessed it had to be his own, but he didn’t recognize anything that was happening.

This person was walking in the middle of a village along a muddy road. The sky was clouded over with a dull grey, and rain was falling. A squelching sound was heard with every footstep - and then there were more footsteps, quick ones, as if people were running.

“Hey, half-and-half!”

There was the sound of the wind being knocked from someone’s lungs as the image shifted much closer to the ground. He could hear laughter in the distance and see as a fist clenched in the mud. The person pushed themselves up off the ground.

“Is this… me?”

He knew the answer to that question. He knew that it was him. He couldn’t place the image, couldn’t put names to the voices that were calling and laughing, couldn’t even recognise his own white-knuckled hand in the sloppy dirt on the ground - but he felt a stir of feeling somewhere deep inside him.

Anger.

Humiliation.

These emotions were his own.

Shouto frowned as he studied the moving image on the mirror, trying to make sense of it.

“You’re a freak, Shouto.”

The voice sounded closer, and then there was the sound of footsteps running away.

“I’m sorry.”

Shouto turned to see the Snow Queen staring at him with sorrow etched into every line on her face. She pitied him.

“Freeze it over.”

Shouto held up his hand and curiously pressed it against the memory in front of him, and watched the ice take hold. It moved, slowly covering the entire surface of the glass and blocking everything from view. He felt the details of it cloud over in his mind, chilling and blurring.

What had he seen in the glass? He couldn’t remember it.

“That’s right,” the Snow Queen said, nodding at him encouragingly. “See? Doesn’t that feel better? Isn’t it freeing?”

Shouto stared at the frosted surface of the mirror. The ice hid the memory from him, froze it opaquely so that he couldn’t picture any of the details - but he could feel that somewhere inside of him that image had belonged to him, despite how much he wished it didn’t.

Anger.

Humiliation.

The chords still rang through his body - chilled and obscured, but still inside him. Even so, it felt better than before he’d frozen the memory, much better - the feeling seemed unimportant, like being angry at a dream. The specific remembrance was gone, now, but he could remember it had been bad. And he’d been alone.

If he really had been that alone, in all his memories, maybe it was best to freeze them like his mother said he should. Why would he want to hold on to that?

“Again,” she urged, and prompted him towards the next mirror, this one only about the size of his own hand.

Shouto did as he was told, touching the mirror’s surface and watching it fade from a reflection, to white, and to a memory.

This time he was sitting at a wooden desk, across from a man with shaggy black hair and a scarf wrapped around his neck at least five times.

“Back so soon, Shouto? I thought you wanted to find a place of your own?”

“No one will take me.” Shouto raised his brows at the sound of his own voice. “No one will give me a job, no one will give me lodging, and no one will give me a chance.”

The frown that already looked to be permanently present on the man’s face deepened.

“No one?”

“No one. I was… hoping you’d take me back until I can find out how to to get far away from here.”

The shaggy-haired man let out a long sigh.

“Of course, Shouto.”

“Freeze it,” his mother whispered.

Shouto lifted up his hand again, bringing it close to the glass.

“Have you told young Midoriya that you’re trying to leave here?” said the man in the mirror.

Shouto paused.

“Do it, Shouto.”

“No. I was thinking…” Shouto heard the hesitation in his voice, and the way he trailed off. “ He’ll understand.”

“Shouto -”

He pressed his finger against the glass and the ice began to crust over the surface once again.

This memory was different than the one before. It one had seemed lonely at first, but there was someone who might miss him?

Midoriya .

Who was that? Who was he supposed to have told? Did he tell Midoriya he was leaving to be with the Snow Queen - his mother? Had he -

The ice reached the corners of the glass, and the memory was gone. Shouto reached for a name that wasn’t there.

“See?” The Ice Queen rested a hand on his shoulder, giving him a consoling pat. “No one wanted you, there. That was their mistake, I’m afraid. They didn’t realize how incredible you are. They didn’t give you a chance.”

Yes… she was right. These memories were blurred to him now, but they were leaving a residual pit of sadness and aloneness in his stomach - and here was his mother, offering to love him unconditionally, despite her also seeing that no one had wanted him before.

He was lucky. Incredibly lucky.

“One more…”

The next mirror in the order was taller than he was by about a foot, and much bigger than the previous three.

Without prompting this time, Shouto touched the mirror’s surface and waited on baited breath for the next memory - even though he knew it was going to be another testament to how alone he had always been.

He was curious.

The surface shimmered, and he saw through his own eyes once more as he paced next to a tree on the edge of the forest, back and forth in anxious strides.

“I need… I need to go somewhere no one knows who I am. Will - will you come with me? If you want to, that is. You don’t have to, obviously. I don’t need you -” the image shook and his fist knocked against the tree a few times - “no, don’t say that . Come on. “

The pacing continued again.

“Hey! Hey Shouto!”

The memory of him stopped in his tracks, and found the source of the voice.

A boy was running towards him: freckle-faced, with wild green hair and wearing a large smile as he waved.

“Hey!” The boy tilted his head. “Were you muttering to yourself? I thought that was my thing?”

“... no.”

Apparently, Shouto wasn’t the best at lying.

“What are you doing all the way over here?”

“Nothing.”

The boy rolled his eyes, but never lost his smile.

“Okay, Shouto. Listen, I just wanted to tell you that, um. You’re always welcome over for dinner. Obviously. You know that. But... my mom’s been crying a lot today? So, maybe not… today.”

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

The boy waved his hands in front of himself.

“Nothing too bad! We just got a letter from my dad today. You know how he’s overseas? Apparently he caught some kind of illness.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. He’ll be fine. My mom’s just worried. You know how she kind of snowballs with things like this. One minute it’s a slight illness and the next it’s a rant about how the world is a dangerous place and I should stay here with her.”

The boy shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll probably help out at home a little more while he’s sick. Just so she doesn’t worry about us.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Yeah… so, there’s that. Anyway, do you want to -”

“It’s time to freeze this one, too.”

Shouto stared at the boy in the memory - though honestly, he was nearing the word “man” instead of “boy”. He’d been trying so hard to be optimistic, and - and was nice to him. The Shouto from the memory - he’d wanted this unnamed stranger to go with him, somewhere far away. After all the loneliness Shouto had just seen and felt, that stood out. He’d trusted someone that intently.

“That - that boy -” he said, looking at him in the glass. He was still speaking, rustling through the pages of some kind of book.

“He turned you away,” the Snow Queen said.

“But I -”

"Even someone you thought you could rely on doesn't welcome you unconditionally," the Snow Queen whispered. “Even with him, you found yourself all alone.”

“He had a reason…” Shouto said, but she was right; even this person, whom he’d trusted, had been shutting him out.

“They always have reasons, Shouto.” He could hear in her voice that she was speaking from some kind of experience, referencing a history he didn’t know.

The conversation in the memory continued, but Shouto was no longer paying attention, his own mind spinning off track wildly as he tried to fit the pieces of everything he’d seen together.

How he’d paced by the tree, planning what he was going to say.

How sorry he’d sounded that this person in the mirror was going through something bad.

How even now, as he looked through the glass at that smiling, freckled face, he felt something rise up inside him. A warmth in his chest - no, not just warmth, heat. And a turning-over feeling in his stomach.

“Freeze the memory,” the Snow Queen said.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet.

“Mother,” Shouto said, turning away from the mirror to see her face while trying to string the words together in a way that sounded right, “before I came here... was I in love?”

The Snow Queen’s eyes widened at his question, and she inhaled sharply, stepping backwards in a sudden recoil.

Shouto stared back, waiting for her to gather herself again. He could feel his heart pounding, though he kept his expression impassive. In the mirror, the boy was smiling again.

“If you were,” the Snow Queen’s words were almost a hiss, like drops of cold water falling on heated metal, “then it’s even better that I brought you here. Love is only a pathway to pain, Shouto. Don’t be tempted by its lies. Freeze it. ”

Shouto shook his head slowly as she spoke, not even really sure why he was doing it. It didn’t ring true to him. It couldn’t all be pain.

“No,” he murmured.

“Shouto, you need to freeze the memory.”

But this memory had the kind stranger in it, with the warm eyes and the bright smile. Shouto breathed out as he looked back at the glass, finding himself wishing he could step through it and be that version of himself on that day again. He trusted that boy, he cared for him - deep inside, Shouto felt it like a flame. It would be a shame to watch that face get entrapped in ice -

A flash of another image.

That same stranger.

His legs trapped in a block of ice.

Tears on his face.

“Freeze it!”

“No!”

Shouto screamed the word - and then everything was coated in fire.  

When the heat died down, he was breathing heavily, small flames still licking upwards on his left side. The place where the mirror used to be was now a melted hole in the wall of ice, with charred and shattered pieces of glass embedded all around it.

The Snow Queen hadn’t moved from where she’d been before the explosion, and she appeared to be unharmed, but there was something wild in her eyes that hadn’t been present previously.

“You…” her voice was strained, “you have fire.”

Shouto swallowed as he glanced around at the damage he’d done, and back to his mother’s face. She was looking at him with wide, hard eyes, and even through the cloud and ice of his frozen memory, he remembered exactly what that look always meant. He saw it in her.

The fear.

Again.

Chapter Text

Izuku walked.

He’d gone longer distances on foot; since around three years ago, when Shouto had discovered his powers, Izuku had started preparing. What exactly he was getting himself ready for, Izuku hadn’t known; he’d imagined that some day, trouble might come, and it would be better to be prepared. The stories of the Man of Fire had always fascinated him, but seeing Shouto’s fist envelope itself in flames had awoken something in him - some certain need to be readier, and stronger. He’d trained every day.

Now, he was feeling the difference between theory and practice. When he’d been walking before, he’d strolled through glades and copses, stopped to admire views, lost himself in dreams that were warm pastels.

He marched, today. He didn’t stop. His thoughts skipped from Shouto, to how far he’d walked, to Shouto, to how his mother would worry, to Shouto, to which direction he should walk in, to Shouto, to how many supplies he had and whether it would be enough, and back to Shouto and round again and again -

He kept heading due north, following his gut more than anything else; that way lay the main bulk of the mountains, where they were at their densest and least climbable. He didn’t imagine the lady of ice wanted too many visitors, so it seemed like his instinct could be right.

It was so much more exhausting than he was used to. His pack felt wired to his shoulders, straps cutting into the skin. As night fell, he felt his eyelids growing heavy, though he saw no sheltered spot where he could curl up under the buckskin blanket that he’d stuffed into the top of his pack. His feet started to drag on the ground; his brain was an endless circle of worried and horrible thoughts.

Izuku, my son, no! Why did you leave? I need you!

Izuku could see his mother’s face, tear-stained, as she read the letter that he’d left on the scrubbed wooden table for her to find in their kitchen. He wrenched his thoughts away.

Izuku, why did you wait so long to come after me? I’m gone and you could have saved me…

Shouto’s face was as unreadable as ever, except his eyes - those two-toned eyes were full of shock and pain and betrayal. Of course he’d expect his best friend to plunge after him at once, wherever he’d been taken, with no hesitation. Why had Izuku ever lingered? Slept in his own warm bed, stayed safe for hours and hours, while Shouto was out facing the terror of the ice lady alone?

Oh, Izuku, what if you don’t come back? You’re going to break my heart in two…

And there was the reason. Izuku’s mother’s face was distorted by grief and confusion. Izuku couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear any of it - anything that he did was wrong and hurtful. He had no right option. His head ached, his feet ached, his soul ached from the hours of torturing himself with these images.

He just needed a place to rest. If he could get some sleep, things would look brighter in the morning, he was sure.

But then again, how could he rest, when he’d already lost so much time? Surely he had to press on, now that he’d left, and then he’d be back sooner so his mother could stop crying, and -

Hummm.

A single musical note sounded through the dark woods through which he was walking.

A perfect, thrumming note, that seemed to go all the way through Izuku - seemed to sing to the very centre of him. He could feel the skin of his fingertips prickle with pleasant pins and needles, goosebumps rising on his arms and a shiver going up his back.

Hummm.

The note sounded again, a little softer; without making a conscious decision, Izuku found himself stepping in the direction that it had appeared to be coming from, not wanting it to fade. It seemed to hum the exact note that his heart needed to hear, easing its tension and hurt.

Hummm.

Izuku trod faster, brushing through the undergrowth. The note started to become louder again as he chased it down through the gloom; once, in his eagerness, he stumbled and just managed to catch his balance on a nearby tree. He swallowed and hurried on, sweat on his forehead.

Hummm.

The sound was warm, deep, and satisfied. Izuku stepped into a clearing that he couldn’t make out clearly in the darkness - but to one side, glowing with a light that was milky and delicious, there was a plant. It had huge, wide leaves; the topmost ones were almost too high up for Izuku to see, but the bottom ones were as big as feather beds, with soft and downy fur covering them.

Hummm.

Izuku reached out a hand and stroked the nearest leaf of the plant, its texture reminding him of the little succulent plants that his mother had liked to keep on their windowsill at home. His mother… with the note running through him, he saw her smiling. He saw her say,

Oh, Izuku, you’re such a good boy…

With a little grateful sigh, Izuku let his eyes fall closed. He pitched forwards, and the softness of the leaf caught him; sleep overcame him at once. Under the canopy of the all-surrounding trees, Izuku rested.

And the plant said,

Hummm.

***

Izuku woke up and the first thing he saw was the delicate strands of the plant’s furred leaves, silver-grey in the light of day. He stared at them, blinking slowly and calmly.

How beautiful they were.

Lazily, he sat up and stretched. For some reason, he couldn’t seem to stop himself smiling. Now that he looked around him in the pinkish, sweet dawn light, he could see where he was in a way that he’d not been able to figure out the night before; he was in a garden of sorts, one that looked tended to and cared for. There were flowerbeds nearby that boasted lovely, brilliant flowers - as Izuku looked at them more closely, their colours seemed to iridesce for a moment and settle on red, his favourite colour of rose.

Oh, and they were all roses. How wonderful.

Izuku stood up. There was a relaxed, loose feeling through his body that he hadn’t felt since - since he’d been tiny, too tiny to even really remember anything, before he’d ever had to worry about much more than food and sleep and more food and more sleep.

He’d rested like only a baby could, free of cares. And he felt so profoundly refreshed and happy for it.

Now, though, he needed to be moving on. He had to go and find -

Hummm.

Izuku blinked sleepily.

Twenty more minutes of rest couldn’t hurt, could it?

***

When Izuku woke up again, the light had shifted to the golden-brown tones of a forest afternoon.

That was wonderful. He smiled.

Motes of shining pollen hung in the air, catching the sun rays that fluted through the canopy of leaves. Izuku watched them dreamily. Somehow, even though he had been here for a long time, now - hours and hours - he wasn’t hungry at all. In fact, he felt full.

That was good, wasn’t it? He didn’t have to eat any of his supplies, and could save them all for later. Save them for when he got up onto the mountain.

The mountain.

Hummm.

Izuku frowned against the sudden wave of sleepiness, his mind grasping for something. There was something - some reason that he shouldn’t lie back and close his eyes once more, some reason that he had to try to stand up. Wasn’t there? He was sure…

He felt his hand fist in the down that covered the leaf he lay on as he struggled to hold on to the thought he’d just had.

The mountain.

Hummm.

The mountain - the mount, the mountain. The -

Hummm.

The m- the mountain. Because of -

Hummmmmmm.

Shouto.

The thought broke through clearly, fracturing Izuku’s happiness. Shouto. He was looking for Shouto. Red and white hair, blue and brown eyes, a steady gaze. Shouto. Shouto -

Hummmmmmmmmmmm.

“Izuku?”

A voice called across the clearing - a voice that was almost familiar.

Izuku sat up, his heart thudding.

His mouth fell open. Walking through the red, red roses, an expression of shock and hope and wonder on his face - his eyes lit up, blue and brown eyes -

Shouto stepped right up to the leaf where Izuku was lying.

“It’s you?” Izuku said, struggling to raise himself up onto his elbows. “What - but how?”

“I came to find you,” Shouto said simply. “I missed you so much, Izuku.”

“But - I was supposed to be coming to save you -”

“You would do that for me?” Shouto seemed genuinely touched, though his impassive expression didn’t show it beyond a subtle look in his eyes and shape of his mouth. Izuku felt a flood of warmth in his chest at the familiar expression, and nodded. He couldn’t believe it - Shouto, here. Safe.

“You don’t need to save me,” Shouto said. His gaze held Izuku’s steadily. “Everything is alright now.”

“And you remember me?” Izuku said, his voice coming out small.

“Of course I remember you,” said Shouto, frowning. “How could I possibly forget you?”

“We need to - to go back to -”

“You’re tired… just rest for now. There’s no rush. I’m right here, okay?”

He was so sincere, so plain-spoken. Exactly as Izuku remembered.

Izuku relaxed.

He smiled.

And he went back to sleep.

***

Izuku wanted to stay in the garden forever.

Shouto seemed to love it here, too. Whenever Izuku woke up, he was always close by. Sometimes he would be watching the pollen swirl through the air; other times, he’d be looking down at the beautiful flowers, and one time Izuku woke to find Shouto simply watching him.

It didn’t bother Izuku. The expression in Shouto’s eyes was soft and respectful and caring, just like Izuku had always imagined it would be.

Yes, he realised - he had imagined that, a couple of times before. He’d pictured what it would be like to wake up to find Shouto on the other side of the bed, looking drowsy himself, just watching Izuku rest for a few minutes before he dropped back to sleep.

Izuku hadn’t ever thought about it too much. The imaginings had only really come to him when he was sleepy, half in dream, fantasising impossible things. One time, Izuku remembered now, he’d pictured that Shouto had reached across the bed to take his hand - he could almost feel it, how warm it would be, and -

He felt a hand take his. Shouto had come to lie beside him on the leaf of the plant, which was easily wide enough to allow them both space - and Shouto had taken his hand.

Izuku felt calm about that. It felt good. It felt right.

He smiled, and Shouto blinked happily.

“You know how I feel about you, don’t you?” Shouto said.

“No,” Izuku replied, though that wasn’t quite true - was it?

“Come on,” Shouto said. “You’ve known for a while.”

“I - I don’t -”

“It’s OK. We don’t have to talk about it. But I like that you’ve imagined us like this before.”

Izuku fell asleep with his head resting on Shouto’s chest.

***

The garden seemed to be growing. Izuku could see the plants getting stronger and healthier, their leaves more vividly green, the red of the roses deeper and richer. Izuku woke up enough to walk over to them - or perhaps he only dreamed that he did so. It didn’t really seem to matter.

The petals were as soft to the touch as the roses that grew outside their house at home. They smelled just the same, too. Izuku breathed in deeply.

“I love roses,” Shouto said. “I’ve never seen ones this beautiful.”

“We should take some seeds with us,” Izuku said.

“Why? Where are we going?”

“For when - for when we -”

Hummm.

Izuku sighed, and the thought melted happily away.

“Do you like the roses?” he asked.

“Of course,” Shouto said. “I want to stay here forever.”

“I could stay here forever too,” Izuku said, and then added shyly, “with you.”

Shouto’s face lit up in the way Izuku loved best, those eyes suddenly filling up with a kind of profound, quiet joy. It made Izuku’s heart flip in his chest to see it, turning over with happiness and -

And -

He’d been a fool for so long, back in the village. He’d known how Shouto had felt, in his heart of hearts, and he hadn’t acted because it had felt as though there had been so much time… there had always been the next practice session, the next time they hid out in the woods to talk, the next time their eyes met, and held. And he’d been scared of ruining things between them, scared of taking the leap.

“Shouto,” Izuku said.

Like the prince in a beautiful story, Shouto lifted his head to look at Izuku, seeming to shine in the sunlight.

“What?” he said.

“Shouto, I…”

Izuku had no words to say it. He was so happy, so impossibly happy. He and Shouto were going to stay here forever, together, in the wonderful garden that would just keep growing and growing and growing and singing to him every time he woke up or got worried. And it was going to be so, so perfect.

“You can tell me, Izuku,” Shouto said. “I feel it too. You know that I do.”

He smiled.

And just for a moment, the dream fractured. Izuku gasped, feeling it like a physical blow that winded him, coming unexpectedly. He kept his eyes on Shouto, who only smiled back.

Something about that smile wasn’t right. It was too sweet, too loving, too open, too desperately perfect; it felt like - like the point in Izuku’s dreamy imaginings down the years where he would roll over and wake up, because things had become too sentimental. Too saccharine. Too good to be true.

Too good to be true -

Hummm.

Izuku stared at Shouto’s smile, which hadn’t faded. It was held in place, almost rigidly.

Something was very, very wrong.

Hummmmm.

Shouto - Shouto wouldn’t want to stay here forever. There were no beds, there was no food, and he’d know that Izuku would want to get home to the village.

Shouto wouldn’t just accept that this was where they should be, without asking any questions. And why hadn’t Izuku asked Shouto about how he got away from the ice lady? How long had they been here, just sleeping and talking about nothing?

Hummmmmmmmm.

The plant sang again - but the note was discordant, now.

Izuku looked at the Shouto in front of him, and felt his heart twist and crack. That smile. Too good to be true.

The realisation was a devastation.

This wasn’t the real Shouto.

“Izuku?” the Shouto said, his eyes wide, not understanding. “What’s happening?”

“You’re not real,” Izuku said. Through the golden world, like a sword-strike, there slashed a dark tear. Shouto, though, didn’t take his eyes off Izuku.

“What? No, I - I’m real -”

“You’re not real,” Izuku said again. He looked around the dream world, blinking muzzily, trying to clear his head. “I - I have to go, I...”

“But - Izuku - the things that you said, you can’t want to leave me - I’m real, look, you can touch me! I’m right here! Isn’t this what you always wanted?”

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. Another vicious gash tore through the dream, and Shouto looked lost and bewildered and his gaze was still utterly steady on Izuku’s.

“Izuku,” he said softly, sounding hurt. “Aren’t I enough?”

Izuku took one last look around the dream world - at the frayed tatters of it around the two deep scores through it, like rips in a painted canvas. He took in the roses, the shining pollen, and Shouto; Shouto, perfect Shouto, woven from Izuku’s dreams and hopes and secret imaginings.

He reached out a hand, but pulled it back just before he touched Shouto’s cheek.

“Of course you are,” Izuku said, holding back his tears as best he could. “That’s why I have to find you.”

And into a thousand shreds, the dream world was destroyed. Izuku was plunged into blackness, and horror, and hurt; suddenly, all the little aches and pains that he was carrying were magnified tenfold as he slammed back into sensation in his body.

He opened his eyes.

Above him, in the gloom, he saw a milky-white drip of liquid dangling like drool from the tip of one of the plant’s leaves; slowly, lovingly, a bead of the secretion dropped, the pearly globule heading for Izuku’s open mouth.

He choked, shut his lips, and sat up before it could drop in; as he moved, he felt his full stomach start to ache. There was a sharp pain in the shoulder that had been pressed to the leaf’s skin. How long had he been here? How much had it fed him? He felt light-headed and woozy and strange, and -

He looked down at the leaf he lay on, and saw that through the veins - the spiderweb insides, tangled like tiny tree roots, just visible through the softness of the leaf’s fur - there ran a liquid that was thick, dark, rich red.

A gasp of horror tore out of Izuku’s lips. He threw himself off the leaf, stumbling in the darkness; the plant didn’t sing to him, now, seeming to know that he wouldn’t be swayed. Without looking back, his pack thudding against the base of his spine, Izuku ran.

Chapter Text

“No, no, this won’t do at all. It must be changed. He needs to learn -”

Shouto followed his mother down another long hallway, listening to the argument she was having with herself as he kept a safe distance behind her.

Back in the Mirror Room - he hadn’t meant to explode the way that he did, and it was only by sheer luck that he hadn’t accidently singed the Queen in his outburst of flame. If he’d hurt her - his own mother - the guilt he’d feel would have eaten him up from the inside out.

If you accidentally hurt me, I’d forgive you.

Shouto stumbled as he felt a faint whisper of memory nudge at his mind. It wasn’t his mother’s voice. It was someone else. Someone familiar.

“It’ll only hurt him. It hurts everyone . He hurts everyone.”

The hallway became more elaborate the deeper they walked. There was a chandelier every few feet above them while the carvings in the walls became even more intricately detailed. Finely crafted furniture made of ice filled every niche and corner.  

The Snow Queen eventually stopped at the end of the long hallway in front of two large double doors guarded by two ice-carved statues of knights in full armor, their helmets glittering dangerously.

She took a deep breath, waved a hand, and the doors slowly opened inward.

Shouto’s eyes widened as a ballroom of immense size was revealed before him. The floor was inlaid with interlocking, weaving ice designs; at the crown of the room, a single, carved ice throne sat in pride of place.  The obvious effort that had gone into making something of such grandeur was enough to make Shouto stare around - half-admiring, half-concerned. Why had he been brought here?

The Snow Queen continued walking until she was in the very center of the expansive room, with the largest chandelier of ice and crystal Shouto had seen yet hanging above her.

“Shouto…” She turned to look at him, and beckoned with a hand. “Come. I need to teach you something.”

Shouto clenched his fists at his sides, checking his left to make sure there was no hint of a flame on it, and raised an eyebrow at his right. The layer of frost that had previously crusted his skin was gone, and some of the paleness had been replaced with a more vibrant, healthier pinkness.

He couldn’t let his mother down now, not after already disappointing her.

He walked forward.

“I built this,” she said, her gaze drifting to different parts of the ballroom around her. “I created all of it from scratch. Every inch of its design was implemented by my powers - a gift I’m grateful to have.”

The Snow Queen bent down and touched the floor beneath her feet, humming as a white plant began to sprout upwards, crystallized leaves and thorns erupted around iced-white petals, until a large rose bush had been crafted in front of Shouto’s very eyes in only a few seconds.

“This ability that I have - that you have - is a magic of creation. An ability to create something from where there was once nothing, and have it last for a very long time. The beauty that you can bring into the world is unceasing, and the power it gives is immense.”

The Snow Queen plucked a single, white rose from out of the frosted flora and smiled softly as she brushed Shouto’s hair away from the unscarred portion of his face, tucking the flower behind his ear.

“Watch.”

She raised a hand into the air and soon enough, gentle snowflakes began to fall from the ceiling in mesmerizing, synchronized patterns. All throughout the ballroom, a white blanket of snow was covering everything, creating an indoor winter wonderland.

Shouto’s mouth fell slack as he was dusted in snow, and watched the snowflakes finish their downward dance in awe. There was so much that his mother could do, so much she could create.

“The snow speaks to me,” she murmured. “It tells me things I don’t know about myself - tells me what I love, and what I fear. The snow and ice always tells the truth. And then it helps to take away that pain, forever. Do you see?”

“Yes,” Shouto said, though a little uncertainly.

“All I wanted,” the Queen sighed, “was to live without pain, with you. Forever, Shouto, just the two of us. Endless peace, for eternity.”

The flurries continued to fall, kissing his skin gently.

“Shouto.”

He tore his gaze away from the eye-capturing performance and looked at the Snow Queen.

“The memory is still inside of you,” she said, her hand still frozen in the air above her. “Freeze it.”

Shouto took a half-step backwards at the sudden shift in tone.

He didn’t want to.

The green-haired, freckled young man with the smile on his face, looking at him without an ounce of fear in his eyes - that memory belong to him, to Shouto, and he wouldn’t allow it to be taken away.

“No,” he said, and the snowflakes that had been gently falling froze in place.

“Do it, Shouto,” the Snow Queen said insistently. “Find it within yourself and frost it over, like you would the mirror.”

“It’s mine, ” Shouto said, his fists balling at his sides. “I… I need to tell him… something. I need to remember.”

“He doesn’t matter .” The Snow Queen flicked her wrist and the snowflakes began to move again, their pace faster now, and their patterns wild. “You’ll never tell him anything, because you’ll never see him again.”

Shouto clenched his teeth together, feeling the first swells of an anger that he’d nearly forgotten existed.

“But I care about him,” Shouto threw back at her. “I can tell that much from only one memory!”

“I’m trying to protect you! Can’t you see that?” The Snow Queen was pleading with both her words and her eyes, now. “He’ll only hurt you. Love always does. Freeze it, Shouto.”

The memory that he clung to desperately started to grow white along the edges as he listened to the Snow Queen’s voice - a voice that echoed frost and ice.

No. He needed that memory. It needed to stay warm. Shouto could feel the heat rise this time - noticed it build up inside of him like a rapidly rising tide - and used it to keep the cold from making him forget.

“Stop it.” He dropped to one knee as the fire and ice battled inside of him. “ Stop.”

“Let me help you.”

“I said to stop!”

The overflow of flames that he’d been holding back exploded outward as the cold reached for the memory again and, for the second time that day, his vision was painted with yellow, red, and orange as heat surged outward, looking to eliminate the attack.

It was over almost as suddenly as it had started, and Shouto found himself standing on the ground with dirt beneath his feet. The floor nearest to him had been melted away, as had the wall to his left, the chandelier above him, and the rose bush that had been grown nearby. All of it was gone. Steam hissed upwards around the destroyed area, obscuring his vision as Shouto tried to get his bearings back.

“Fire destroys.”

Shouto heard the voice before he saw her again.

“Ice creates, but fire destroys.”

The steam slowly faded, showing the rest of the damage he’d caused.

Whatever hadn’t been completely blighted from existence had been disfigured past the point of recognition - everything, except for his mother, who now stood at the farthest point from him, looking unharmed and unsurprised.

“Do you understand yet?” she asked, the intensity in her voice all but gone. “Do you see what you’ve done?”

Shouto’s chest rose and fell, his legs shaking slightly from the raw energy he wasn’t used to

“This is a better way to learn than the way I had to,” she continued. “Your father made sure of that.”

“My... father?”

The Snow Queen nodded once, and walked back towards him, sidestepping the destruction he’d caused.

“He also had fire, and he also destroyed. He caused pain… so much pain.” The Snow Queen had tears in her eyes again, another example of the pain that Shouto was already causing. “And then I had you, and I knew that no matter what, I couldn’t let him hurt you. So, I took you and ran… I ran from the Man of Fire.”

The Man of Fire.

Shouto’s brows knit together as the words almost sprung a hidden memory, but it wasn’t there. The words - they should have horrified him - but instead they were shoved aside.

Shouto could see the hurt on her face as she relived the awful memory, and he wished there was something he could do to help - anything.

“It didn’t last long. Your father found us, and took you from me - hid you from me - causing me the worst pain I’d ever felt. I was alone.”

The Snow Queen stepped down into the circle of fresh earth that surrounded Shouto, her expression a song of mourning and resignation.

Shouto trembled as she neared, not wanting to accidentally cause her more pain - like he had twice already.

“I’m sorry. I’m… so sorry.”

His words shook as he spoke, threatening to give way to emotion.

“Oh, Shouto, no…”

Her hand pressed against his cheek as she gently shushed him, soothing in its coolness, and her thumb wiped away streaks of tears he hadn’t realized had been silently falling down his face.

“Shhhh. It’s alright. It wasn't your fault. We’re together now.” She smiled at him warmly, despite her wintry face, her sad eyes. “Your mother is here, now. I know it’s not your fault that you have this inside you. I don’t blame you. I can help you, if you’ll allow me.”

Shouto swallowed, and leaned into the touch.

What he had, the power he carried - it caused damage and destruction. He knew that now. It ignited a fear in him - a fear of himself, and what he could do. The fear felt old, somehow, though he had no memory to place it in. It was as though he’d been afraid of himself before.

“Yes,” he said. “Please, help me.”

Please stop me from hurting you.

The Snow Queen wrapped both of her hands around his still-clenched fist.

The one on the left.

“Anything for you, my darling Shouto.”

Chapter Text

Shouto, I…

Izuku’s own words echoed in his head as he hurried onwards.

Shouto, I…

He’d been standing in front of the false Shouto, smiling, ready to say something that he’d never imagined he’d ever speak out loud.

The way that he felt about Shouto - he’d always deliberately tried to keep it wordless, and unacknowledged. Shouto had been one of his only true friends in the village, and Izuku hadn’t wanted to ruin the subtle lines and lovely, sketchy details of how they felt about and acted with each other by saying something he couldn’t take back. It would have felt like a child’s scrawl in sloppy ink pen over a quiet masterpiece, a treasure.

And yet, in the garden, he’d been ready to speak it out loud. Smiling and ready.

Shouto, I…

Izuku knew how that sentence ended, and it terrified him.

He kept up a punishing pace through the woodland, feeling the ground harden and watching the trees turn coniferous as he neared the base of the mountain cluster. He was still following his gut, walking towards the cold and hoping he was right.

Shouto, I…

Izuku tried to wrench his thoughts away, but they kept circling back around. He’d wanted to say it; the words had felt lovely and genuine and good on his tongue. If he’d wanted to say it - and if he now knew that he’d wanted to say it - was that something he could push away? It felt as though he’d opened a box in his mind that he’d been keeping rammed shut for a long, long time.

Had it been the plant’s effect that he’d wanted to say it, though? It had sent him into a dreamlike state, kept him pacified, made him weaker - perhaps he could blame it all on the potency of whatever strange sap or secretion the thing had been feeding him. Perhaps he didn’t really want to say that to Shouto, and this was all just him worrying and spiralling over nothing.

It was the best solution he could think of to try to send things back to normal, so he tried to accept it; he covered the memory of his dream over with it like a blanket, and attempted to not let his mind worry and gnaw at the many, many fraying details at the edges.

As far as he could tell, he’d been trapped in the plant’s clutches for less than a night. It was hard to know, but the thing hadn’t managed to weaken him too far; within a few hours of escaping its clutches and beginning his journey onwards, he’d felt his head stop spinning and his heart start beating at its usual, steady pace once more.

He should have rested, he knew. He would probably have fewer grazes and scrapes on his elbows and arms if he had done, because he wouldn’t have stumbled into so many trees and bramble patches in his lightheadedness - but there hadn’t been time to waste.

Now, as the trees began to thin out and the ground started to slope upwards - crackled over in places with iridescent frost - Izuku shivered and stopped to look up. Through the far-off, splintered ceiling of the pine trees’ brushes, Izuku could see a grey, dull sky - and then he drew in a breath, seeing the grey for what it truly was.

The monstrous, spine-chillingly huge hide of a mountain. It towered over him, immutable, daring him through the treetops to come closer and try his luck climbing it.

Izuku swallowed, staring up at the mightiness of it.

He didn’t know if he was going in the right direction. He didn’t know if Shouto wanted to see him. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t know if Shouto were even still alive.

The thought was like a swift punch. Taking in a deep breath, Izuku tried to calm himself.

Shouto, I…

What if he never got a chance to finish that sentence aloud, to the real Shouto? The drop in Izuku’s chest was far harder and more painful than his fluttering fears over feeling that way at all.

He had to press on. If there were even the smallest chance that he could find Shouto, it was worth a try. He set his jaw, gripped the straps of his heavy pack, and -

“Young man!”

Izuku stumbled to a halt at the sound of a voice calling through the trees. A frail-sounding voice, weak and thin.

His instinct was to call back, but he pressed his lips closed when he remembered how the carnivorous plant had called to him with its lovely, perfect hum, and trapped him when he came to find it.

“Young man, are you there?”

The voice was closer this time, and Izuku hesitated. Should he hide behind a tree, find someplace to observe whatever was coming before it had a chance to see him?

“Ah,” said the voice, and it was too late to try to hide. “There you are.”

A figure hobbled out from the darkness between two trees, clutching a tall stick in one hand and wearing a strange, white, sack-like robe. It was a man, Izuku realised, though just barely; he looked wasted away, impossibly scrawny and haggard. His face was all angles, his eyes dark. He smelled, Izuku realised as the man came closer, and not in a nice way. His blonde hair was a ragged, mussed thatch, grown absurdly long in places and hacked short in others.

He coughed, and Izuku could hear the rattle in the man’s lungs.

“What do you want?” Izuku said, hearing the cautious note in his own voice, though he wasn’t sure he had much need to be suspicious. The man looked to be on his last legs. And surely if he had evil magic, he would have already used it to take a bath.

“Well,” the man said, “I saw you walking through the woods on those young legs of yours. You’re walking in the direction of my house. I’m sick, and…” The man coughed again. “And I ask your help to get back to my home.”

The man kept his eyes fixed on the ground, looking low and craven, his shoulders hunched under that strange, oversized white robe.

“Sir, I… I’d like to help, but I’m really - I’ve got to find my friend because he got taken away and I’m tired, and -”

Izuku held out his hands, offering himself up for inspection. He could only imagine what a scarecrow he must look, with cuts and bruises all over, and his hands still battered from striking the ice to free Shouto back at the river, and streaks of dirt across his skin.

The man looked him up and down.

“You look better than me,” he said.

Izuku couldn’t deny that this was true.

“Sir, I want to help, but my friend…”

“Please,” said the man. His hand, on the stick, was thin enough that the bones of his knuckles stood out starkly. His voice was low, and he didn’t offer anything more than the single word. He coughed into his empty palm, and Izuku saw blood.

He stood, wretched in indecision for a few moments longer - and then realised that if he left this man standing here, he’d worry about him for the rest of his life. He sighed and looked up at the mountain above one more time, and then offered his arm to the man.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. The man seemed to brighten; he latched onto Izuku, his grip surprisingly strong. “But then I have to go and find my friend.”

“Of course, young man. Of course.”

“Izuku,” Izuku said, and then bit his lip. He’d heard stories about elves in the wood, to whom one should never give one’s name, lest they use its power over you to control you.

The man sneezed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Izuku looked away, with the blank-eyed, wearied expression of someone going through something.

An elf, he was sure, would smell better. And wouldn’t have phlegm.

“I’ve been to the market today,” the man said conversationally, as they began to walk forwards together, Izuku supporting the man’s weight. “I have to leave the house to get supplies sometimes but it does tire me out.”

“That doesn’t sound too convenient, sir,” Izuku replied politely. They’d moved around six feet. This was going to be painfully slow progress.

“I should leave my little house in the woods. People have been telling me so for years. But I think it’s just because they want my house for themselves!”

“Of course, sir.”

The man rattled on as they walked, telling Izuku about the market and the prices of various items and the difference in cost since two years ago of goat’s milk, which was his favourite, and the weather that they’d had for the market day, and the way that the humidity and mist played with his joints and made them creakier. Izuku nodded courteously throughout, occasionally making interested noises.

Soon, the man would be delivered home. Then he could get back to climbing that lumbering mountain quickly, with what strength he had left in him.

They crested a low hill, the ground dropping steeply away from them for a hundred yards or so. At the foot of the little valley rushed a river - it was white with foam, fast-flowing, fresh with water that had melted from the snowcapped peak of the nearby mountain. No bridge spanned the width of its rushing waters, but there was a lovely wild meadow on the opposite bank. Izuku blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. On the far side of the river, in the middle of that meadow, there was a little dark blot. When he squinted, Izuku could just make out a chimney, and a red front door -

A house. He was looking at a house.

He looked down at the man leaning on his arm with deep, deep trepidation.

“Sir,” he said, “please tell me that isn’t your -”

“My house,” said the man triumphantly, pointing with his stick towards the building and almost losing his balance. “We just need to cross the river.”

“But - there’s no br-”

“Come on,” the man said with cheerful gruffness, starting to walk; Izuku, who was supporting his weight, had no choice but to follow. They walked down the hill towards the gushing roar of the river; as they neared it, Izuku saw that it wasn’t as deep as it had first appeared - but the current was so quick that it was eternally churned to diamond brightness. It looked lethally fast. Across its perilous width, on the far side, a lovely little cottage sat smug and tranquil in the meadow.

“Doesn’t look like there are any bears around, today. That’s lucky.”

Izuku turned to look at the man with wide, wide eyes. The man was placidly watching the river, humming to himself.

“Sir...” Izuku said.

“Just across the river,” the man said. “I’ll need to ride on your back. The current will take my legs out from under me! I don’t have your strength!” He laughed, and batted his stick towards Izuku’s calves. It struck his knee.

“Ow,” Izuku said, miserably. The man was manoeuvring himself, going to stand behind Izuku and tugging at his pack. “Hey -”

“You can retrieve it on the way back,” the man said cheerfully. “Come on, let’s go.”

Izuku slid his pack to the ground, feeling a sense of unreality. The man wasn’t a malevolent elf or a blood-drinking plant, but he was still apparently very keenly invested in hastening Izuku’s arrival in the afterlife. He crowed with delight when he was aboard Izuku’s back, and smacked his stick against Izuku’s heels.

“Hey!”

“Onward!” the man said, urging Izuku forwards. He was shockingly heavy for a frail, weak man, like a sack of rocks on Izuku’s back, the weight of a man three times his size; Izuku strained and stepped forwards, fighting to keep his balance even on dry ground. The river had a low bank, at least, so he’d only have to step in rather than climbing down -

How had he got here? What was happening? He was supposed to be rescuing Shouto and instead he’d managed to get himself embroiled in the affairs of a hermit who seemed to be one stall short of a full market.

Shouto - if only he’d been here, Shouto would have been able to solve this easily. With his power, he could have created a bridge, or frozen the river to stillness so that they wouldn’t get swept away as they crossed.

Izuku had no powers. No magic, no ice. Only his own two legs. He’d have to cross the roaring, foaming flume on his own strength and nothing more.

The sooner he did it, the sooner he could get back to finding Shouto. Izuku frowned in determination, tightened his grip on the man’s uncomfortable weight, and took his first step into the river.

His foot touched the water and was almost pushed out from under him immediately; he barely landed the footfall.

“I’ll never make it! The current is too strong!”

The man on his back wheezed a laugh.

“Work upstream, young man! Fight it!”

Izuku gritted his teeth, and took another step - angling himself upstream, this time, and it was slightly easier. With both feet in the water, though, it was taking all his strength just to stay upright; he could feel his leg muscles straining as the spray flew up around him, soaking him in moments. The roar of the water was impossibly loud. Izuku didn’t dare to lift one of his feet, for fear of falling.

“Use your strength!” the man shouted. Izuku could feel his balance wavering as the man wielded his stick, flourishing it in the air. “Be brave!”

Izuku’s breaths were coming fast. He was going to die, here. He felt suddenly sure of it.

Shouto, I…

No. He wouldn’t die here. He couldn’t. There was something he had to tell Shouto, first.

He let out a low, rough yell of defiance, almost inaudible over the river’s rush - and then he started to walk. One foot in front of the other, working to a rhythm, keeping his eyes fixed on the swirling waters in front of him to try to see the bottom and avoid any missteps. One mistake and it would all be over. The sweat dripped down his forehead, his thighs and calves’ straining turned to burning as he kept moving and kept moving, the water rising higher and higher until it was at his waist, pushing at him with its full might.

“Yes!” shouted the man. “Onwards!”

Izuku almost dropped him in the river through sheer frustration, but the man was gripping on to Izuku’s sides so grimly with his knees that Izuku taking his hands away probably wouldn’t have made any difference. He kept going, his breath coming in aching rasps, his heart pounding in his ears. He wasn’t going to be able to make it. They were still thigh-deep in water, and his legs were trembling between every step. He was going to have to give up.

The water lowered to his knees.

There was no way he’d make it. His muscles were crying out, shaking. He thought he might be crying, too. The man was waving his stick around, almost unbalancing him.

The water was midway up his calves.

He was shuddering with the cold, his clothes plastered to him. He wanted to sink into the water and let it carry him away.

The water was to his ankles - and then he stepped out of it, and onto dry ground.

He set the man down on the ground, carefully, and then dropped to his knees. He was shivering violently, unable to believe that he’d done it. It was too surreal. He could only look down at the grass in front of him, eyes wide and glassy, trying to take in what had just happened.

“Well. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” said the man, whose voice sounded a little strange - richer, somehow, more full.

Izuku looked up at him, still panting, full of incredulity and frustration.

His expression dropped.

Instead of the wizened, frail man that he’d helped to cross the woods and had carried over the river, he saw before him… someone else. A man who had to be over seven feet tall. He was muscle-bound, had a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and was beaming down at Izuku brightly.

“Who - who - who are -” Izuku stuttered, still out of breath. He looked around for the man he’d carried, but there was no one else in sight - and when he looked back to the impossibly tall man, Izuku saw that he was wearing the same strange white robe, which now fit him perfectly, with dark trousers underneath. He had the same fair hair, which now tucked neatly down his neck apart from two magnificent, shining sections at the front which formed what looked like golden horns.

“My name is Toshinori,” he said, and offered his hand down to Izuku. “And you have my thanks.”

Izuku eyed the proffered hand, and then cast his eyes over Toshinori’s huge, impressive musculature.

He looked back at the river, and down at himself, and then back at Toshinori.

He struggled to say something.

“Well,” he managed. “This isn’t even close to the strangest thing that’s happened in the last two weeks.”

Taking Toshinori’s hand, he got to his feet. His legs were still shaking beneath him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the figure before him, his brain grinding into gear as the shock wore off.

“Come inside,” Toshinori said, in that resounding voice. “You can dry off, young man.”

“Oh - I really need to...” Izuku said, half-trailing after Toshinori, who had set off for the front door of his house just a little way across the meadow.

“You need to find your friend,” said Toshinori, turning to look at him, “who was taken by the Snow Queen. I know. I saw them pass by on her sleigh of ice, drawn by two fine white horses.”

Izuku stumbled, and Toshinori reached back, supporting Izuku on one arm.

“How - how did you -”

“I keep my eyes open,” Toshinori said. “You’ve been walking fast, young man. Right for the mountains. And you got into some trouble with the Dream Weaver back there, didn’t you?” He laughed, and it boomed loudly across the open, grassy field. “Don’t worry. No more Dream Weavers for you.”

“How - you - how -” Izuku was a mumbling mess.

“It’s been hard for you, yes. But it’s fine now.”

“What - how do you - why?” Izuku managed.

“Why?” Toshinori smiled down at him. “Because I am here! Come inside, come in.”

Toshinori’s house was dark inside after the brightness of the open meadow, and it smelled like fresh flowers and goat’s milk. It seemed small - just one main room with a kitchen and a bed in it. Toshinori pointed Izuku towards a chair to one side that was nestled next to a wooden table - there was just the one chair, but it was huge, and Izuku sank into it feeling like an imp in the house of a giant. The place was spotlessly clean, and homely enough. Toshinori moved around it gracefully, striking flints into the hearth to set a fire and putting a pot of water on to boil. Izuku watched him, not knowing what to feel.

Fascinated?

Terrified?

Impatient?

Glad?

“You look confused, young man,” Toshinori said, moving to stand at his kitchen counter and mixing some things in a bowl that Izuku couldn’t see.

“I am - I am confused,” Izuku said, in a small voice. His mind was looking at what had just happened from every angle he could find, trying to comprehend it. “I don’t understand. How were you tiny and weak one moment, and then as soon as we were across the river, you looked... like this? You could have easily walked yourself home in this form... and you should have carried me across the river. Why would you want me to do it for you? Unless…” Izuku paused, thinking hard. Toshinori said nothing, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you... wanted me to do it to… see if I could?”

Toshinori smiled and nodded assent, and Izuku bit his lip.

So, a test.

“But why? What were you testing?”

“Young man,” Toshinori said, bringing the bowl over to the table and setting it down by Izuku, before sitting himself down cross-legged on the floor beside him, “eat your soup, and I’ll explain.”

“But the Snow Queen, I need to -”

“I will tell you about her.”

The soup smelled delicious, steaming gently; Izuku didn’t know how Toshinori had made it warm in so short a time, but his stomach rumbled and he wasn’t in the mood to have too many more questions floating around inside his head to worry about. Setting aside that specific qualm, he picked up the bowl, tilted it, and drank.

It tasted delicious. Izuku swallowed down four large gulps before pausing for breath.

“The Snow Queen,” Toshinori said, “is not a bad person. I know her history. She can be kind and she is always honest. She loves, very deeply, and she has been hurt very badly.  All she wants is to live without any pain - and she wants to live forever. Endless peace. If you go to reclaim her son, though, she will do everything she can to stop you.” He looked at Izuku, his expression becoming complicated. “I wanted to help you as soon as I saw you, young man,” he said. “But I needed to know what the right way to help you could be. If you were strong, I would help you reach the Snow Queen and try to save your friend. If you were weak… it would be kinder to send you home.”

“Home?” Izuku said, horror flooding him.

“Her coldness crushes all but the most determined of spirits. I had to know if you could break free of the Dream Weaver, and if you could cross the river. I needed to see how strong your powers are.”

“I don’t have powers,” Izuku said. “I’m nothing special.” It didn’t seem like the right moment, but he couldn’t resist; he slurped another gulp of soup.

“Nothing special? I have never seen anyone have enough determination to break free of a Dream Weaver without help before. You have tiny muscles, but you still crossed the river!”

Izuku, who had been working on his body every day for three years, ate more soup.

“I see that you have a mighty heart. I see that you are kind and willing to help out someone in need. You have spirit! This is why I choose to help you find the Snow Queen. I think you stand a good chance against her.”

Izuku stared at Toshinori. Somehow, the full scale of his own folly was only starting to hit him now, when someone else was telling him that he could, perhaps, achieve what he was trying to do.

“But - but she’s so strong,” he said. “She’s got ice powers. And so does Shouto, and he might not even remember me. What if they’re both fighting against me? I have no powers! Maybe if I had fire magic like Shouto, I could melt the ice. But I’m just…” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m just me.”

“You stand a good chance,” Toshinori repeated. Izuku felt a little anger kick up inside him.

“How can you say that? Look at me! I’m tiny, just like you said! Look what happened last time I fought against ice magic!” Izuku thrust out his purple, torn hands. The bruises were only growing darker and more colourful as time went on. “They’ll just freeze me into another block of ice and I’ll die in minutes!”

“You have no faith in yourself, young man.”

“What about you?” Izuku said. “Why can’t you go? You’re strong, you’re powerful. If you went to go and get Shouto then maybe you could actually get him out of there without dying.”

“I cannot. You are the only one who can help.”

“Why?” Izuku demanded.

“Because you are the only one who cares enough,” Toshinori said. “Feel it! In your chest! You care for the boy who is missing. That feeling is what gives you a chance.”

“I don’t understand,” Izuku said. “I don’t know what you mean. Look at me, I can’t do this.”

Toshinori leaned forwards. “What did you say before you crossed the river?” he said. “Do you remember?”

Izuku took a mouthful of soup. “Mmmm,” he said, non-commitally.

“You said you would never be able to cross!” Toshinori said. “You said the current was too fast. And then you crossed it!”

“Well… yes, but…”

“Say you cannot do it. Fine! But then do it, young man! Because you can! You think you need power? You have power, here!” Toshinori struck himself on the chest. “I can feel it!”

“Sir, I don’t think that crossing a river and going to confront two powerful magical people who could turn me into an icicle with one look are the same thing -”

“So, are you telling me that you won’t do it? You will leave your friend with the Snow Queen, and go home?”

“No!” Izuku said, and then frowned. “Well - no, I just - of course I’m going. I just think… it’s stupid to go. I have nothing that can stop her. No way to save myself or Shouto.” Izuku felt his heart seize, even at the name. “But I still have to try.”

Toshinori’s smile was full of certainty.

“That is what you have against her,” he said. “The reason that you must try, the reason you set out in the first place. That is what you have against her. Not all fire is flames, young man. And you have your own fire in you.”

Izuku stared at Toshinori, trying to understand.

“I have never met anyone like you,” Toshinori said. “Your spirit, and how much you care, together? They have a power that nothing else can match.”

Izuku shook his head.

Shouto had always been the special one. The one with the powers, the one who was unusual and mysterious. Izuku had only ever been… well, normal. Plain Izuku. Nothing different or rare about him - just an ordinary boy who had a few friends and got a little bullied and lived with his mother and hoped for katsudon every night for dinner.

Something slid into place. He could pretend like he hadn’t told Shouto the way he felt before now because he’d thought they had time - but the truth was, he’d pushed his feelings away because he’d never felt Shouto’s equal. How could he? Shouto was so unusual and brilliant, so real. Izuku was like any other boy.

And now, the man in front of him - who had some kind of magic of his own, absolutely, who was definitely one of the special ones - was telling Izuku that he was special, too. That there was something about him that made him unique.

Izuku looked down at his chest, pressed his crippled, aching hand over his heart. It thudded away, like normal.

“I have to go,” he said aloud, looking up at Toshinori with new determination in his eyes. “I don’t know what I can do, but I have to try. Will you help me?”

Toshinori’s smile was confident and bold.

“Of course,” he said.

Chapter Text

Like a tiny dandelion seed caught in the hide of a huge, grey wolf, Izuku clung grimly on to the side of the mountain. He pressed his face up against the rock, his fingers trembling with the effort of keeping himself steady.

Below him, a great chasm of wide, white hunger yawned open, ready to swallow him.

There are two ways up the mountain, Toshinori had said. There is the slow way, that the Snow Queen uses with her sleigh. And then there is the fast way, which no one uses, because it is almost certain death.

Izuku was beginning to have some regrets about the choice that he’d made. He adjusted himself on the mountain face, his lips blue, his bruised hands protesting every movement inside the gloves that Toshinori had given to him. He clenched his teeth, his breath coming fast.

Not far above, there was a ledge of sorts - a thin one, still perilous-looking, but a place where he could stand and be relatively safe for just a few moments. Izuku readied himself, tensed, and swung a hand upwards. Hand over hand, feet struggling for purchase on the craggy rock, Izuku hauled himself up.

On the ledge, he allowed himself to lie and shiver for just a moment. The wind howled around him, baying its intent to rush him off the mountain and let the abyss below be fed. Izuku pulled his scarf - another gift from Toshinori - further up his face, and got up, and carried on.

His muscles protested. His mind protested. He couldn’t possibly make it - there was still another thirty feet to go, and precious few ledges to rest on. His arms were already shaking with the effort.

“I can’t do it,” he said, pressing one cheek to the cold rock, and breathing. “I can’t do it.”

Say you cannot do it. Fine! But then do it, young man!

Izuku ground his teeth, and climbed on. Just one more hand reaching for a new hold, one more foot scrabbling against flat rock before finally finding friction. Just one more, and again, and again, always one more.

He couldn’t give up. At the top was Shouto.

Shouto. Izuku allowed his mind to fill with pictures, spurring him onwards. Shouto conjuring fire in his hand, lighting up his face from below. Shouto sitting politely at his mother’s dining table, eating her katsudon with well-concealed ravenousness. Shouto exchanging looks with him at school, and when they passed each other in the streets, and even when they were alone.

Shouto. Strands of his red and white hair falling over his forehead. Steady eyes. Careful hands.

Shouto.

Izuku murmured the name to himself as he climbed, half a gasp.

“Shouto… Shouto… Shouto.”

And he climbed on.

***

Whatever Shouto had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

He stood on the outskirts of a frozen lake in the middle of an expansively large cave made almost entirely of ice. Large crystalled stalactites were hanging down from the ceiling, an occasional ray of light streaming down through cracks in the top of the cave and catching their sparkle in its rays. Everything was coated in a thick layer of opaque blue ice the color of a robin’s egg - and every inch of it radiated power.

The lake itself was as smooth as glass, not a ripple or blemish anywhere to be found on its frozen face.

“Did you create this, too?” Shouto said, his voice barely above a whisper.

When he’d followed the Snow Queen deeper into the castle, he hadn’t realized that it must have been connected to the caverns inside the mountain it was built on. This place felt different than the ballroom, though. More powerful, more impressive, despite not an inch of it looking man-made.

“No.” The Snow Queen shook her head as she ran a hand along one of the walls, a smile on her face, like she was greeting an old friend. “This place was here before me, and it will be here after me. This cave, this lake, it’s very dear to my heart.”

Shouto could see why. Just standing in its radiance felt welcoming and peaceful.

“I first found this place a very long time ago.” She tilted her head to the side. “Or, it found me, I should say. I was low, and it gave me what I needed to keep going. I come here now whenever I’m hurt or lost and it can always find a way to free me of any lingering sadness. ”

The Snow Queen pressed a hand down on the surface of the frozen lake and sighed peacefully.

“I call it the Mirror of Reason, and… this is where I became the Snow Queen.”

Shouto looked out across the lake, and had to admit that the name fit. The surface was perfectly polished, as if someone had spent an eternity smoothing it over inch by frozen inch.

“What do you want me to do?” Shouto asked, “How will this help me?”

The Snow Queen stood and nodded her head in the direction of the lake’s center.

“When everything around me was breaking, the ice was steady. When everything was aflame, the ice burned cold. When the pain was too great for me to bear, the ice showed me how to freeze it, and leave it behind. Endless peace, Shouto. It’s what I needed, my path to eternity. The mirror will tell you what you need. Step into the center, and let it speak to you.”

Shouto searched his mother’s face, and found only sincerity. If this is what she thought would help him, then it’s what he had to do.

Stepping up to the surface, he only briefly hesitated before taking his first step onto the ice, praying for a solid walkway.

The ice held.

Shouto exhaled, and continued his journey to the center of the lake.

He didn’t know what to expect. This cave clearly held some sort of powerful magic to it - his magic. He could feel it calling out to him in familiarity, but it wasn’t a feeling he could return, with his memory clouded and cold.

However… there was something. A remembrance of something. Not quite the same as this lake, but there was a different surface. Clear. Smooth. Reflective. Similar, but not the same. Something that he’d made not too long ago.

The young man from his memory had been there, too.

Shouto arrived at the center of the mirror-lake, and stood still - waiting.

Let it speak to you.

He closed his eyes and listened to the deafening silence of the cave, which was only broken by the occasional drip of water falling from an icicle.

Nothing.

Was this him? Was it because of who he was, and what he had? Maybe the Mirror of Reason refused to talk to him because of his fire, and that’s what his mother was trying to show him. Maybe he’d never be good enough for it to speak to him, to show him what was wrong.

Maybe…

What had his mother said?

She’d said the snow spoke to her, sometimes.

Maybe if he -

Shouto held out his right hand, remembering the snowfall that he’d seen in the ballroom not too long ago, and tried to duplicate how that might feel.

A flurry of snowflakes, gently falling in his own personal winter.

He opened his eyes when something soft and cold fell on his cheek, and allowed himself a small smile of triumph at the success. Around him, out by at least seven feet or so in every direction, was a perpetual snowfall with snowflakes that danced and swirled around him as the natural breeze in the cave whispered through them.

The snow was in every direction.

Shouto listened.

It was… almost. A feeling of almost, as he concentrated, hoping for any sounds from the ice that he could listen to, any words to give him advice. Tell him what he needed, or what he should do.

Shouto closed his eyes once more, and nudged at the pocket of cold inside of him, urging it to give the snow more power. Hopefully that was all that would be needed. Just a little more cold, and then the mirror would speak to him. More ice and he’d be helped in the way his mother was sure would happen.

No longer would he worry that he’d hurt her. No longer would he scare her with his other ability. No longer would he fret over the memory he was holding on to -

The memory.

The ice found it as he let his mind stray its direction, frost overtaking its edges as he urged the cold onward.

The fire within him rushed to the aid of the memory, but Shouto held it back and shut it away, fearing that he’d frighten away any of the mirror’s attempts to speak to him. Around him, the snowflakes sharpened, starting to fly faster and faster as his distress grew and grew.

The memory slowly froze over as the ice overtook it, and within seconds Shouto couldn’t remember what he’d fought so hard to defend.

He no longer remembered the boy he was sure he loved.

Chapter Text

Izuku had his elbows on the top of the cliff, his feet scrambling to propel the rest of himself upwards. He was far, far too terribly conscious of every one of the forty feet below him, and the horrible gaping extension of the chasm beyond; with an undignified grunt and a kind of half-roll, he finally managed to lever himself up onto flat ground.

He lay still, and stared at the sky, and breathed.

It was too bright. He closed his eyes, and covered them with his arm. And breathed.

A couple of times, rocks had broken under his hand. A couple of times, he’d felt his foot’s position slowly slipping, weakening and unbalancing his hold until he almost fell -

He sat up suddenly to break away from the memories, ignoring the way his muscles - too tired even to cry out for respite, now - hummed with a kind of numb ache. Crawling a safe distance away from the edge, he pulled the scarf lower down his face, and looked around as he got to his feet.

He saw a castle, the like of which he’d never laid eyes on before.

It was several hundred yards away, tucked neatly into the gap between the mountain Izuku had just scaled a part of and a mountain on the far side. Its spires rose like daggers of ice, stabbing up at the sky; even at this distance, Izuku could see the carvings and decoration on them, the frozen crenellations and stately columns that lined the balustrades. Izuku realised his mouth was hanging open, and closed it.

The ice lady - the Snow Queen, as Toshinori had called her - had a palace fit for royalty. She must have built it herself.

Could Shouto’s powers one day be strong enough for him to build something like this?

Izuku tugged at his gloves nervously, eyeing the palace doors. They looked huge and forbidding. Izuku didn’t think it would be a good idea to simply march up them, knock, and expect to be welcomed - what would he say?

Hello, it’s me, Midoriya Izuku. I’ve come to give your son the choice to stay here with you or come away with me. If he comes away you may never see him again, it’s really up to him. Anyway, do you by chance have some warming tea?

No. It wasn’t going to work. And so far as Izuku could tell, walking across the flat, icy plain between himself and the palace to try to find another way to sneak inside was going to be as good as knocking on the door and announcing his presence in a loud voice while banging on a tambourine. The plain was wide and open and there was nowhere to hide. He’d be spotted easily by anyone watching - if he hadn’t been already.

He needed cover, while he figured out how to get over to the palace undetected. He cast his eye around, searching for something, anything; the mountain he’d scaled had a peak high above, the behemoth’s sheer rocky face soaring up to reach the sky on his left. It didn’t seem to be much help, too flat and stark to offer any camouflage. Except -

Izuku narrowed his eyes.

There, in the rock face. A little crevice, cracked through the stone, starting some ten feet above the plain where Izuku was standing. It widened further down, and Izuku squinted; at the bottom, it looked to be big enough for him to squeeze inside.

It was better than nothing - and it was the best chance he had of not being seen from the palace towers.

Moving as quickly and stealthily as he could while being a boy dressed in dark clothing on a plain covered in snow, Izuku made for the crevice in the mountain face.

He squeezed inside, grunting with the effort; his pack, which was all but empty at Toshinori’s insistence when Izuku had chosen the quick way up the mountain, scraped against the rock as he wriggled in. Once he was within the crevice, he found that he couldn’t turn around. He experienced a brief moment of panic, and almost backed right out again - but then something caught his eye.

The crevice didn’t have a back wall, or any end point that Izuku could see. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom after the glare of the snow plain, he could make out what looked like the start of a narrow tunnel, leading into the mountain.

His eyes travelled over the neat, blocky lines of it. It was possible that this was naturally made, but something in the careful deliberateness of those cuts looked man-made to him. And if the tunnel was man-made…

That meant it probably went somewhere.

Considering the desolate landscape, Izuku thought, there was surely only one place where the tunnel could be going. Even if it didn’t head to the palace, it was surely better to try it and see, rather than his first attempt to get into the Snow Queen’s home being a full-frontal one-man assault.

He made up his mind, and set his jaw, and started to walk. The tunnel had damp, cold walls, and there was the constant sound of dripping water from somewhere further on; Izuku’s eyes were slow to see fine details in the dark after so long out in the snow-reflected sun, and a couple of times he tripped on loose rocks on the ground. He tried to be as quiet as he could; he had no idea if the Snow Queen would have guards down here.

He could feel himself moving on an incline, sinking lower into the belly of the mountain. It was getting colder and he felt it keenly, even through the scarf and gloves and coat that Toshinori had given him.

Every step he took, he hoped, was bringing him closer to Shouto.

Would Shouto even remember him?

If he didn’t, what would Izuku say?

If he did, what would Izuku say ?

If the Queen herself were there, what would Izuku do - what could he do again her powers? He had nothing to offer. He was so small, and he was trapped here in the stomach of a monstrous mountain, walking towards almost certain death.

The reason that you must try, the reason you set out in the first place. That is what you have against her.

Toshinori’s words echoed in Izuku’s mind. His pace, which had been slowing, steadied. He didn’t understand, had no plan, had nothing to offer except his own determination - but Toshinori had thought that that would be enough. Toshinori had thought he stood a chance, that he could walk into this palace with his head up and his heart set on what he wanted, and get it.

He could do it. He could do it. He’d find a way, because he had to.

The path through the mountain began to widen ever so slightly, and light seemed to be seeping up it and gathering in glimmers on the walls and floor; Izuku moved with more caution, keeping his eyes wide and alert. He trod softly, seeing a kind of narrow archway roughly hewn into the rock ahead.

He peered out, and what he saw took his breath away.

The tunnel opened out onto a cave - magnificent, high-ceilinged, shot through with bolts of blueish light from the cracked ice roof; there were thick, heavy icicles clustered on walls and high above, perfect diamonds, their pointed tips glinting. The ground in the room was sheer, perfectly reflective - frozen water. In the very centre of the room, there was a sight that Izuku struggled to comprehend, staring at it; it was a circle of tiny, sharp, rapid movement, white and glittering, like the wings of thousands of swirling, swarming butterflies. He looked closer, frowning, trying to make out what it was - and as a ray of sunlight lanced down from above, illuminating the scene, Izuku gasped.

Snowflakes. They were hundreds - thousands - of tiny, individual snowflakes. Moving in a neverending, hurricane-quick whirl around a focal point.

And there, in the centre of them, almost completely obscured by their glittering, iridescent rush, Izuku saw him.

Shouto.

His red hair stood out, the thing that Izuku saw first. He looked trapped, caught inside a cage of perfect crystal snowflakes; before he had time to think, or plan, or have a single second thought, Izuku was running.

He slid down the side of the cave, ungainly, speed of the essence. When he hit the ground - the flawless mirror, sheer underfoot - he began to slide across it, keeping his eyes on the whirlwind of snowflakes and, in the middle of it, on Shouto.

When he reached the hurricane itself, it whipped up his hair, stole his breath away. He could see Shouto, his eyes closed, brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Izuku put out a hand, and a snowflake sliced neatly into his fingertip, drawing blood. He let out a breath. There was no way he could make it through the storm to get to Shouto; he’d be torn apart before he’d taken one step.

He could feel his heart pounding painfully in his chest. There, so close to him, was Shouto. Everything that Izuku had felt over the past days as he walked through the woods and climbed the mountain, all the realisations he’d had, seemed to double and fill him up. He was thrumming with emotion, bursting with it.

He opened his mouth.

“Shouto?” he said, the single word vibrating with it all.

At once, every single one of the snowflakes went completely still.

Suspended in the place, they turned slowly on the spot, catching the light. The roar and rustle of them moving over and around each other was stilled to sudden silence that filled the high, blue cave. Izuku kept his gaze on Shouto, his breath coming fast.

Shouto was motionless for a long second, still frowning - and then his eyes opened.

Izuku drew in a sharp breath. He could tell, immediately, that Shouto was still frozen inside. Still didn’t know him, didn’t remember him. There was no glint or glimmer of recognition on his face.

“Shouto,” Izuku said, not daring to come closer and step through the razorblade snowflakes that twisted sweetly and dangerously in the air between them.

Shouto’s expression was flat, uncaring.

“Who are you?” he said, as though it hardly mattered.

Izuku felt the sting, again, of betrayal. He tried not to let it show, but he was sure that it did. He didn’t know what to say.

Who was he? How could he possibly tell Shouto everything that Izuku was to him, everything that they were to each other? Friends - best friends. Confidants. Cat-rescuers. Partners in crime. Trustees of deepest secrets. Each other’s escapes; each other’s sunny days; each other’s warmth, and light, and laughter, through the worst of times. When Izuku looked at Shouto, he saw something so achingly familiar; he saw home.

And he didn’t know how to say a single word of that to the blank face of a boy who didn’t know him.

“Who are you?” Shouto asked again, a little louder.

“My name is Izuku,” said Izuku, his voice coming out low, a little thick with emotion.

“But who are you?”

“I don’t know how to - how to answer that,” Izuku said.

“What does that mean?” Shouto asked, the question sounding impatient even though his tone was unreadable. His expression was still blank, totally foreign to Izuku, as hard as he tried to catch a glimpse of the Shouto that he knew.

“I don’t know how to explain who I am to you,” Izuku said, in a small voice.

“You are telling me nothing,” Shouto said, in that flat, emotionless voice. “You must be nothing to me.”

He reached out and curled his hand; a single snowflake flew at Izuku, and sliced open his cheek. Izuku reached up a hand to touch the blood that flowered up and flowed down his skin, his mouth falling open. Where the ice had touched, he felt a needle of cold that pressed and stayed, pushing into his veins, bleeding through him towards his chest.

Shouto - Shouto would never have done that. He’d never, ever wanted to hurt Izuku, and Izuku could feel tears gathering. He was so helpless, a tiny powerless creature faced by a wall of ice and jagged edges. He’d never be able to get through to Shouto, he had no idea how to even begin to try.

“Shouto?” A different voice, from the other side of the cave; there was the sound of swift footsteps. “What’s happening? Who are you talking t-” The Snow Queen, rounding the edge of the suspended snowflake storm, came to a sudden stop when she saw Izuku. Her mouth fell open. She looked as though she’d been struck by lightning. “You?” she said.

Izuku looked back at her.

“Me,” he said. He looked to Shouto, and then back to her. “What… have you done to him?”

“I - I’m helping him,” the Snow Queen said.

“But you’ve taken away all his memories -”

“All his pain. ”

“He isn’t himself anymore,” Izuku said, fighting back tears. He put a hand to his cheek, and turned back to look at Shouto, whose disinterested expression had not changed. “You took away what made him him. Can’t you see that? Shouto would never have wanted to hurt me.”

But if I hurt anyone. If I hurt you…

A voice echoed through Izuku’s mind as he stared at Shouto - Shouto’s voice, from all those years ago, when Izuku had convinced him to stay in the village and not run away.

What had he said?

If you accidentally hurt me, I'd forgive you.

This hurt had felt deliberate - but this wasn’t Shouto. Shouto, in control and able to make his own choices, would never harm him on purpose. Izuku believed that - he believed it, could feel his trust and determination like hot coals in his chest. And if Shouto - the real Shouto - were somewhere inside the boy standing in front of him, Izuku knew that he would be lost, and sorry, and frightened.

“Shouto…” he said aloud. Before he could finish his sentence, though, Shouto interrupted.

“Tell me who you are,” he demanded.

“Shouto - he - he’s from your past. He’ll hurt you,” the Snow Queen said, though looking confused, and sounding uncertain. With a twist of Shouto’s fingers, another snowflake flew at Izuku. It razed against his neck, opening a light gash there.

“Shouto,” Izuku said, trying to ignore the trickle of blood down his neck. “If you can hear me, I want you to listen to me, alright? It’s okay. I’m here.” He smiled, thinking of Toshinori, making it as genuine as he could - imagining that the Shouto he knew was behind those eyes, watching, wanting to get out. “I know you don’t want to do this,” Izuku said, to that Shouto. “I’m going to get you out.”

Shouto blinked, showing his first sign of emotion since Izuku had entered the cave. He swallowed, visibly, as though he’d unfrozen just a little - as though Izuku’s words had warmed, him, just ever so slightly.

“No - Shouto, the ice,” the Snow Queen said, urgently.

“The ice?” Izuku said.

“You’ll never reach him,” the Queen said. Her tone was conflicted, dark and intense. “He’s too far gone.  His heart has been frozen. You should leave him to the ice, boy.”

And in a blinding flash, suddenly, Izuku understood.

Not all fire is flames, young man. And you have your own fire in you.

Izuku’s words had warmed Shouto. What he’d said, and the forgiveness he’d shown - words like hot pokers, drawn from a furnace - had melted just a little of the ice around Shouto’s heart.

You are the only one who can help… because you are the only one who cares enough. Feel it! In your chest! You care for the boy who is missing. That feeling is what gives you a chance.

The words had worked because they came from fire, from the heat of belief and trust and care in Izuku’s chest. If it had worked once, it could work again. Izuku had to say it - had to say it all, everything, anything that he could think of.

He supposed he could start off simple.

“Shouto,” he said, “I love you.”

Shouto reeled, visibly. The Snow Queen gasped, her expression shifting into anger.

“Shouto, he’s lying, don’t trust him - don’t you see, he’s lying, just like they always do!”

“I love you,” Izuku said again. Shouto fired a bolt of ice at him, straight from his own palm, that grazed Izuku’s other cheek. Izuku pressed his lips together for a moment, to steady himself, and keep from crying out.

“My name is Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku said, keeping his eyes on Shouto. He took a step closer to him, pushing up against the snowflake blades, which left little nicks in his skin as he moved them aside. Their touch was like frozen claws digging into him and holding; he felt blooms of ice lace over his skin. “You have known me all your life. We’re best friends.”

“I don’t know you,” Shouto said, though Izuku could see it - the change in him, in the way his face moved, now, in the way emotions were bleeding into his eyes as he stared at Izuku.

“My name is Izuku.” He took another step forward. He could feel the blood on his neck and on his cheek, could feel the fire in his chest burning bright, could feel the absolute hopeless love of what he was doing - stepping towards the endless jagged edges in Shouto’s hands, walking towards the cut of the blade and the shrill coldness of the ice. He could die, he knew. He could take a blade of ice to his chest, if Shouto wanted, and he would die.

But for Shouto, Izuku would face down anything. Anyone. He’d tear this palace down brick by iced brick. He’d take a dozen frozen shards to his chest and here, on the lake, let the heat of his blood melt the ice. Whatever it took for Shouto to be himself. To have a choice. To be safe.

“My name is Izuku,” he said, “and I love you, Shouto.”

Another blade of ice thrown at him, slicing through the upper arm of his coat and piercing his skin.

“You don’t know me!” Shouto said, and Izuku could see tears gathering in his eyes. “You don’t know what I am!”

“You are Shouto!” Izuku said, and kept walking, never taking his eyes off Shouto’s. “You gave me your lunch when I forgot mine, you chased away the bullies who were pushing me, you helped me rescue a cat from a well! I - I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone, and you - you kept my secrets. You told me things in return. You let me into your life and showed me these things, and Shouto, you know me!”

Shouto held out his hand, palm up, pointed right at Izuku’s heart. Izuku stopped walking, held in place; behind him, he could hear the Snow Queen moving, watching them.

“Shouto?” she said.

Shouto glanced at her, and back to Izuku.

“Shouto,” Izuku said.

The moment hung suspended, like a slowly-turning snowflake.

And then Shouto said, ever so softly,

“Izuku?”

Izuku could see a tear fall down Shouto’s cheek. He felt his heart break, and heal, and break again, in the space of a single second.

“It’s me,” he said.

He stepped closer, but Shouto didn’t drop his palm.

“Stay away from me, Izuku,” he said, warningly. Another tear dropped down his cheek, and he dashed it away angrily with his free hand.

“Shouto…”

“I’m dangerous, Izuku! I always told you! Look at where we are!” Shouto gestured around at the cave they were in.

“You’re not dangerous,” Izuku said, calmly. Blood dripped down his neck.

“Izuku,” Shouto said, almost too quietly to be heard, “I hurt you.”

Izuku took a step closer.

“I told you I’d forgive you,” he said. “I meant it.”

“How can you say that? How can you just stand there and forgive me? Don’t you care what I’ve done?” Shouto’s voice was getting louder, shaking the crystalline clusters of ice above. “Don’t you care who I am? Izuku, I’m a walking nightmare! I can freeze you with ice, I can burn you with fire, I’m built to destroy! Don’t you know who I am?”

Izuku was almost beside him, now, at the centre of the snowflake storm.

“Who are you, then,” Izuku said. “Who are you, Shouto?”

Shouto couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t look at him.

“Izuku, I think - I think my father - I think my father is the Man of Fire,” he said, the words pulled out of him tortuously. He looked up, then, at Izuku’s face, clearly waiting to see the betrayal and the confusion and the horror written there.

Izuku snorted.

“Well,” he said, “yes. Of course.”

Shouto’s mouth fell open.

“Wh- what?”

“Of course the Man of Fire is your father.”

“You - you knew?”

“Of course.”

“But…” Shouto was dumbfounded; his eyes were warming, more and more. “But - how long?”

“Since… well, the day after you showed me you had fire magic. It took me longer than it should have to put it together, really. I mean, two people in the same region just happen to have the same strange fire power, and one of them just happens to be left one night at an orphanage with no idea who his parents are? It’s not a huge leap, is it?”

Shouto gaped at him.

“I think you knew,” Izuku said. “Deep down. But you didn’t say it.”

“You knew all this time,” Shouto said. “And you weren’t afraid of me? Of what I could do?”

“No,” Izuku said stubbornly.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

“But - how?” Shouto murmured. “Izuku… why?” A touch of the ice returned to Shouto’s eyes as he asked.

Izuku shook his head, feeling frustration starting to overtake him.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why? Haven’t you been listening to anything that I’ve said? Shouto, I know who you are, I’ve known you since we were small, I know you! And I trust you! Don’t you get it?”

“My power…”

“It doesn’t frighten me!” Izuku said. “It just doesn’t! And you don’t! I refuse to be afraid of you, because I know you! Look at me - cuts, grazes - barely breaking the skin, and that was when you had your heart encased in ice! This is the worst you could do to me, even then, even when you didn’t even know my name - and you think that I wouldn’t trust you?”

“But Izuku -”

“Listen to me!” Izuku closed the gap between them, stepping right up to Shouto, tilting his head back. “Listen! Your power is your own!”

Shouto looked down at him. In his eyes, close-to, Izuku could see the ice splinters swirling and breaking up.

“Do you hear me? YOUR POWER IS YOUR OWN,” Izuku yelled, slamming his foot into the mirror of ice below them - the surface of the lake. He heard it crack, somewhere deep below. The splinters snapped and spun in Shouto’s eyes, melting away.

“YOUR POWER IS YOU!” he yelled, smashing his foot down again. The ice groaned and complained, shifting underfoot.

“And I - I love you, Shouto!” One last smash, one last creak and ache from the ice.

Shouto’s gaze was steady, stoic - but another single tear rolled down his cheek.

“I love you, too,” he said. “Izuku.”

The mirror’s surface splintered.

“I’ve loved you for years. I wish I’d told you so long ago.”

In the soft shape of his eyes, in the tilt of his head, Shouto invited Izuku in closer. Izuku went to him, stepped in near. Shouto leaned down; for a moment, they simply stood, foreheads together and eyes shut. The ice all around them was cracking and breaking; Izuku looked up at Shouto.

He lifted his chin. He didn’t smile - neither of them smiled - but in both their chests burned a fire without flame. A fire that was melting the core of this cold, cold place.

“Close your eyes,” Izuku whispered, reaching up a hand to touch the scar that the ice splinters had left on Shouto’s cheek.

Shouto closed his eyes.

And Izuku leaned up, and kissed him.

It was a world of their own, suddenly. A quiet, gentle place. No ice, no sharp blades, no flames - just the soft press of their lips. Shouto’s hand cupped the back of Izuku’s head, keeping him close; Izuku, lost in this touch, this wonderful wonderful single moment of touch, didn’t even hear the mirror break up completely beneath them. Didn’t hear the Snow Queen’s cry of anguish.

But he heard the snowflakes, as they moved once more. Around the two of them, they started to dance. First slowly, then picking up speed as their movements became more intricate, the flakes looped and whirled around Izuku and Shouto, and as they danced and danced and danced, they sang.

A single word, soft and silver and sweet. A single word that was a promise.

Eternity, sang the snowflakes.

Eternity.

Eternity.

Shouto and Izuku broke apart as the lake beneath them welled up, liquid and warm for the first time in centuries, perhaps millennia.

“Izuku -” Shouto said.

A crack in the ice’s surface had fallen directly between them; they floated away from each other, now, Shouto reaching out confusedly as Izuku drifted away.

To one side, Izuku heard the sound of icy breath crackling. He turned, and saw the Snow Queen.

“You have him fooled,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “Quite the show. But I know you, boy. I know what you’ll do to my son. One day, you’ll break his heart. The only way to keep him safe,” she hefted the ice, “is this.”

“Wait -” Izuku heard Shouto say.

“Please,” Izuku himself said aloud. “Please -”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I truly am.”

Her eyes turned hard and cold.

And she launched the ice at Izuku’s heart.

Chapter Text

“Mother, no!” Shouto only had a split second to react as he saw the shard go hurtling towards Izuku.

He could almost see it - the deadly spike taking what he loved away from him, as he scrambled for footing on a broken piece of what used to be the Mirror of Reason.

Reaching a hand out and upward, Shouto let out a shout. A thick wall of hard ice erupted in front of Izuku, the Queen’s deadly frozen blade shattering harmlessly against it as the waves pushed Izuku backwards on his own floating island.

Shouto breathed out in relief, and turned back to face the source of the danger.

The Snow Queen’s mouth was open in frustration as her hair whipped in front of her face. With a low growl, she lifted a clawed hand and pulled it towards her; with an almighty boom, the wall of cracked, only just holding up.

She was preparing another attack.

“Stop!”

Shouto froze the water in front of him.

“Mother!”

He ran, sprinting over his own ice path towards the Snow Queen.

“ Mother! ”

He had to stop the assault against Izuku. He had to. He could do it from here, he could send a bolt of ice towards her - she wasn’t even watching him, she had her eyes fixed on that wall of ice, and Shouto could destroy her now…

He cringed from the thought. She was his mother.

Her mirror had been decimated - her sanctuary of peace, now, was gone. She’d been terrified and forced to relive horrific moments from her past. She was lost. She was alone, and she was probably desperate not to have her one chance at not being alone forever taken from her.

She was trying to protect him.

“Mother!”

He called out desperately as a thorny whip of ice burst from the ground, much like the rosebush from earlier, and shot over the wall of ice that Shouto had used to block the first attack. There was a shout from behind him as he turned to see Izuku lifted into the air by the whip.

Shouto formed an icicle of his own from the frozen pathway and shot it towards the writhing vine, severing it in a single shot. Izuku fell and Shouto gritted his teeth, forming a slide of ice to cradle and carry him to the opposite side of the lake.

This was new.

He was battling with his ice now, and it was exhausting. He’d used his powers before, of course, but never this much at this speed. There was countering to be done as he worried for the safety of Izuku, and plans to formulate as he tried to think ahead.

Ice was difficult to use against her. She was better with ice than him, as she’d had years to hone her skill. The alternative to that was using his fire against her, but that was going to be the last possible resort.

The moment Shouto stepped off of the lake he summoned two walls of ice behind him - thinner than he’d wanted, but he wasn’t sure he had the strength for more - and hoped that blocking her line of sight to Izuku would calm her down enough to talk.

“Mother, please.” Shouto held up his hands as she stood in front of him, her eyes wide and frightened, like a cornered animal. “It’s me. Your son.”

“He - he’s going to take you from me -”

“No, he -” Shouto shook his head - “he’s trying to help me. Just like you’re trying to help me.”

She paused for just a split second, enough to give him confidence to push forward.

“I know you’ve been trying to help. Except - except forgetting isn’t going to solve anything. It isn’t helping anyone . You froze your memories for years and it didn’t do anything to block out the sadness and the loneliness.” Shouto took another step towards her as she glanced uncertainly behind him. “Because you can lock away what happened, but then it leaves an emptiness that you can’t explain to yourself.”

If it was true for him, it must be true for her.

“My path - my path to eternity,” she whispered. “It was forgetting. The snow told me, it sang to me…”

“Well - maybe it was only supposed to be the first step,” he said. “I don’t want to forget what happened, Mother. I don’t want to forget anything. That’s not what I needed from you.” He held both of his hands out towards her. He had to say what he felt, what was real; he’d learned from Izuku that that was the only thing that stood a chance of working, when someone’s heart was bound up and encased in ice. “What I needed... is for you to recognize that there are many parts to who I am. And... yes. Fire is one of them. But I’m not him, I’m just - I’m not. He might use fire to destroy, but…”

Shouto swallowed hard.

“But my power is my own. And I can use it to do so much more.”

Shouto bowed his head as he stood in front of his mother, the Snow Queen.

There was a moment where nothing happened.

Then, two soft hands touched his own, the pressure getting more confident until they were gripping his, and tightly.

“I made you feel unwanted.”

Shouto looked up at the Snow Queen as she spoke, and there was truth in her voice. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“I - I’m so sorry.” She swallowed thickly. “I was trying to help the best I knew how and - and I failed you. I hurt you. I’m so, so sorry… Shouto, I...”

Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

In his head, Shouto heard a voice - a familiar voice, from years ago.

If you accidentally hurt me, said the voice, I'd forgive you.

Shouto reached over and wiped the tears from her face, much like she’d done for him not that long ago at all. Much had changed in such a small amount of time.

There was a movement out of the corner of his eye, and he saw that Izuku had made his way back over. No doubt he’d already assessed the situation and realized it was more or less under control now, as he was staying back, albeit warily.

The cuts on Izuku’s face were stark reminders of Shouto’s own mistakes.

Pain was inevitable - it was something he’d realized on his journey. Feeling it, seeing it, causing it. All three were bound to happen at some point, and all you could do was forgive, help, or try and be better.

“I forgive you,” Shouto said, turning back towards his mother. “And I love you.”

There was a soft moment, a gentle pause where the two of them didn’t say anything, just held each other and were happy to be with the other - mother and son, together again.

“Mother, this is Midoriya Izuku,” Shouto reached a hand out towards where Izuku was standing, and nodded encouragingly as Izuku stepped forward with a shy wave, “and he means a lot to me.”

The Snow Queen cleared her throat and finished wiping away her tears before brushing her hair away from her face and attempting a smile.

“Hello, Izuku. I apologize for earlier. I - I’m truly sorry. I was...” She trailed off and held out a hand. “My name is Rei.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” Izuku said, taking the offered hand warmly. “It’s a… pleasure to meet you. Your son is one of the best people I know.”

Rei nodded and let out a breath, and drew her hand back.

“Please take care of him and... treat him well.”

“I plan on it,” Izuku said emphatically.

There was another beat of silence, before Izuku coughed pointedly, looking between the two of them.

“Uh, well… the two of you are invited over for dinner, if you want?”

***

One Year Later

On a fine October evening, with the sunset trailing her silken cloak of gold across the red-brown carpet of fallen leaves as she left the world to the care of the night, the Snow Queen returned to the village.

No cloud of mist accompanied her, this time. She stepped lightly from her sleigh, and paused to pat the necks of her horses before walking to the green front door of a house on the outskirts.

A woman threw open the door - a little too quickly in her nervousness, and it crashed against the wall. Rei graciously pretended not to notice, and greeted Izuku’s mother, Inko, with every courtesy. Her own nerves only showed in the tightness of her hands by her sides, and the thin corners of her mouth.

After only a few minutes of talking with Izuku’s mother, however, she’d unclenched her fists. In the kitchen, she could hear the sounds of arguing - good-natured arguing, that made her and Inko smile at each other, sharing the wordless happiness of mothers.

In the kitchen, there was a great deal of steam and several pots sitting on the counter. The hearth fire was grumblingly low, smouldering over its last embers with one final pot sitting and bubbling atop it.

“Now,” Izuku was saying, “we need that a little hotter…”

Shouto turned pensively to the fireplace.

“The key,” Izuku said, looking around for the matches to marry with the kindling by the hearth, “with sauces, is to control the temperature very carefully. You don’t want to -”

Whoosh.

Izuku turned around to find Shouto standing with his hand out, over a roaring fire and a decidedly blackened pot.

Together, they both peered inside the pot, and winced.

“Ouch,” Izuku said. “Too hot. Well, we didn’t really need a sauce for the potatoes.”

“Sorry,” Shouto said sheepishly. Izuku reached out and squeezed his hand; when Shouto’s expression softened, Izuku leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” he said, and kissed him again. Shouto turned to him, eyes lit up, overspilling happiness. “Even though you are a horrible cook.”

“Hey!”

In the dining room, Inko sat with Rei in comfortable quiet.

“Nice for it to still be so light out, this late in the year,” Inko said after a while. “We’ve had bitter winters for a long time, now… maybe we have a warmer winter coming.”

Rei smiled.

“I hope so,” she said.

Chapter Text

There is a part of you that wants to live forever.

Even now, you feel it, don’t you? A little call inside you, the plea of the ice in your bones that says stay, stay, stay the same. Let me remember nothing, let me feel nothing, but let it all just stay the same. Let nothing worse come for now. And you cling and you grasp, and you shake.

It’s alright, though, it’s alright. The world understands.

In the coldness of the snows, the world understands. There are snowflakes dancing around you, to promise you forever and another day.

And there is a fire in your heart, a fire without flame. When you think of your dearest friends, it rises higher. When you think of your kindest moments, it rises higher. When you are the only one who cares enough, that is when it flares and shines the brightest.

Your fire promises nothing but to burn, if you will let it. Not forever within you - but it is a fire that never goes out.

So let it burn. Let it kindle you, scorch you, comfort you. And don’t fear it, now.

It lights up your path to eternity.