Work Text:
Izuku hummed, watching the little baggie of spices bob merrily in the vat of soup. Dipping in a spoon, he sipped it before grinning. Very nice. The beauty of Lanzhou ramen was the spice mix, somehow making the whole thing taste more like beef than beef itself. With the back of his knife, he pushed in the daikon, careful not to splash boiling soup on his arms. He glanced at the clock. 11:02am, all running on schedule. They’d open for lunch in an hour, and the soup would be finished.
The bell on the door jingled quietly, Izuku tilted his head, trying to peer out of the kitchen to look at the doorway. No dice, the kitchen hadn’t really been built with easy access in mind, which, considering the typical clientele, was probably not the worst idea. He dithered for a moment, torn between the counter and his defrosting chickens and the front door. He glanced at the clock again, before sighing. If they needed him, they’d come into the kitchen. The chickens needed his attention now.
He prodded the largest tentatively, pleased when the flesh under his hand was only a touch cooler than room temperature. Pulling a face at the feeling of raw chicken skin under his hands, he turned on the tap and began rinsing out the cavity. Odds were they’d be spotless, but still. Huh. They’d left the kidneys in this one. He pulled them out and resolved to make something small for Sensei, the organ meat would be good for him. He’d need more than two kidneys but he ended up being in luck, the new butcher hadn’t cleaned their carcasses very well. Given the new butcher had taken over from the old one after he’d been arrested for a murder outside the dead zone, Izuku was pretty glad they had a new one, even if he was a little sloppy.
Double checking he had enough time, he lowered the cleaned chickens into the pot, tossing in the sliced ginger and scallions. 45 minutes of cooking followed by a 10-minute bath in iced water, then chopped small enough to serve. He might have to get Kurogiri in for that, he still wasn’t quite strong enough to use the cleaver.
“Izuku?” The kitchen door opened cautiously. Was Tomura the one who’d come in? He’d thought his (brother) friend had been upstairs, mucking around online. Maybe not?
“Tomura!” he chirped. “Come in!”
Despite his invitation, Tomura still opened the door like he was sure the kitchen was going to bite him. He sighed in relief when he saw Izuku washing up in the corner. “Oh thank god, I thought you were going to make me cook something again.”
Izuku couldn’t help but giggle “I asked you to cut up half a cabbage and you decayed a fridge. I don’t know how you did it, but don’t blame the cabbage for getting smacked in the face with 40 pounds of ground beef - that was on you.”
Tomura groaned, opening the door up fully. A second man stood behind him, clad in a dark jacket, bedecked in scars and snickering loudly. “You couldn’t have let me pretend to cool for like 20 minutes?” Izuku’s giggles burst into wheezing laughter, forcing him to hold himself up by the counter to stop himself from collapsing to the floor in a breathless mess.
The laughing man clapped Tomura on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, dusty. You didn’t manage ‘cool’ from the start.” Tomura bristled like an angry cat, but harmlessly. It was kind of cute - he didn’t give any sort of warning when he was actually mad.
“Anyway!” Tomura called, trying to pretend he wasn’t flushed with embarrassment. “This is Dabi, I found him wandering around the river side of the quarter. I knew the dumbass was new because he was trying to buy lunch from that shithouse combini that thinks they’re too good for us.” Ah. That combini. The one that took one look at Izuku’s scuffed red shoes, called him an unevolved ape and threatened to call the cops if he didn’t get out and never come back.
They hadn’t had any issue with other members of the villain’s quarter - not until word had gotten around. At this point, refusing to serve anyone shady was less discriminatory and more self-preservation, given what the restaurant patrons had done to the store. It made him kind of warm and fuzzy if stressed. He didn’t want anyone he knew to go to jail!
“Sweet little charity shop you got going on here? Hosu’s ward didn’t have anything near so nice.” Izuku flushed at the acerbic tone to his voice. Charity was a tricky thing here, but -
“It’s. It’s not charity.” Izuku blurted out, unable to help himself. “It’s community. And - its. It’s good. To have a safe space in the zone.” He fiddled with the rice cooker, just to have something to do with his hands. He could probably actually turn it on now that he was thinking about it. He flicked the switch and wished that it was a more complicated process. “People are - are nicer. Nicer when they have something good. It’s nice to be that, too.”
Dabi’s laugh was nice when he wasn’t laughing to be mean. It was warm and a little gravelly, lower than Tomura’s. “I’m pretty sure ‘you’re helping me by letting me help you’ is heroics 101 for dealing with stubborn brats, but I’ll take it.” Izuku flushed. He hadn’t done it intentionally, but thinking about it, that's totally what he’d done, wasn’t it?
Tomura rolled his eyes, “Izuku’s better than any hero. Anyway, now that you know better than to visit that trash combini, get out of the kitchen. You’ll be fed in an hour with the rest of the NPCs.” Dabi looked largely unimpressed.
“Um - if you - we’ve got drinks? Like, I think we have - we’ve got grape juice? And green tea - and also I think pineapple?” He quailed a little under the perplexed looks they shot him. “It was for the duck!”
“Ooh, that slapped, actually. Made me almost feel bad for the trash mobs who only get your cooking at lunch.” Izuku preened a little before gesturing them over to the fridge.
They walked forward and suddenly all Izuku could smell was burning.
Phantom pains flared to life on burn scars long healed and he couldn’t help but flinch backwards, rubbing harshly at his sternum to distract himself from the panic. Dabi looked concerned, but hung back, shooting a glance at Tomura who was mostly just focused on Izuku. Through the panic he was pretty practised at repressing, Izuku noted that he was clearly used to scaring people. That only made him push his fear down with a greater fervour.
“Whats-”
“You’ve - you’ve got a fire quirk, right?” Izuku fought to keep his voice steady, breathing through his mouth to keep the smell from his nose.
“I - oh.” Dabi looked angry, defeated. Maybe a sibling? Himself? “Yeah. The smell, right? Sorry. I’ll - I’ll shower before I come here.” Tomura’s concern morphed into rage.
“That. That might be best? Sorry.” Izuku stepped back a bit, to the comforting bubble of savoury smells, away from the smell of ash. Dabi’s kicked-dog look morphed into morbid curiosity.
“How does it go with cooking?” Izuku let out a soft laugh. “I got very good at not burning anything. Plus, the deadzone doesn’t have any gas lines, so all the stoves are electric!” Dabi let out a rough laugh, settling himself down against the counter furthest from the stove and, therefore, Izuku. It made something warm flare in his chest. He was a good person. He was also definitely a criminal and quite possibly a murderer, but living in the dead-zone with Sensei, Kurogiri and Tomura has shown him that those could still be good people; if you overlooked the obvious.
He glanced over at the clock. 11:39. Izuku heaved another pot from the near bottomless cupboard below the counter. Looking at it appraisingly, he figured he probably wasn’t going to be able to lift it to the stove full of water, so he just plopped in on a free burner before filling the kettle.
“Are you staying for lunch then, Dabi?” Tomura phrased it like a simple invitation. It wasn’t. Izuku wasn’t sure exactly what Tomura was planning, but he’d mentioned needing some higher star characters than the fodder Giran was sending. Izuku wanted to help his friend, but. He was more of a support character. He’d wanted to be a hero, once, but now the idea of stepping outside of the dead-zone had him feeling shaky. He liked it here, where people knew him and looked out for him, where no one thought he was worthless. He helped people here, and that was - it was nice. It was enough. He was enough. He didn’t need to be someone important to the whole of Japan, it was enough to be important here, to his family.
“Maybe.” Dabi threw his voice a little, directing it to Izuku. “What’cha cookin’, Greenie?”
“Right now?” Izuku grabbed another pot, before fighting with the bag of ice he’d left in the freezer. Dabi looked like he wanted to help, but didn’t get closer, scared he’d frighten Izuku. Tomura looked like he wanted to help, but was scared of the kitchen in general. He fought the urge to smile. “Lanzhou ramen and poached chicken with scallion chilli oil.” He grabbed his chef’s knife from the counter, slashing open the plastic before tipping the ice into the pot. The noise made him cringe. “I’ve also got some rice cooking, and some bean sprouts to go with the ramen.” He began the annoying quest to fill the 8-litre pot with a 1-litre kettle again - at least it was half filled with ice this time. “The chicken is almost done, it just needs to sit in the ice bath after it’s cooked - helps the texture of the skin stay nice rather than all gooey.”
He heard a scuffle behind him, likely Tomura jabbing Dabi in the side. He ignored it in favour of double-checking the chickens. A few more minutes and he’d pull them. He already had the oil in the fridge, he’d made extra so he could put a little on some okayu for breakfast. His brother’s obsession with a new C-drama had been enlightening for him, but had mostly just made him hungry.
“That's pretty impressive, actually,” Dabi said, consideringly. “I won’t be as good as my sisters, but -”
Tomura hissed like a feral cat, ready to defend Izuku’s cooking with - well, not his life, but maybe Dabi’s. Izuku couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“No no- I get it! No one will ever cook as well as Mum did - it’s the same with your sister, I’m guessing.” he flicked on the burner for the first pot of water, throwing in a handful of salt. He’d have to cook the noodles in batches so they didn’t get too soggy. Fresh noodles were better, but they’d swell with water if he left them too long. “I can’t promise I’ll cook as well as your sister, but I can promise you’ll always have something to eat.” He shot Dabi a soft smile. As intimidating as he tried to look, there was no hiding how thin his wrists were.
Tomura hissed something to him that Izuku decided he didn’t need to hear - discretion being the better part of valour and all that. Also, if he didn’t pay attention to the chickens as he pulled them out of the water he was going to burn himself something fierce, and beyond hurting it would just be embarrassing.
Chickens resting in their bath, he turned to look at Dabi appraisingly. He was thin, hungry, but a lot bigger than Izuku, with some degree of definition to his arms. He could probably use the cleaver - right? “Will you cry if I ask you to cut something for me?”
Dabi did a double take. “No? Why would I -” Tomura made an angry noise.
“It's stressful , ok?!” Izuku bit back a smile as he rolled his eyes.
“That’s why I’m not asking you!”
Dabi looked lost, but amused. “No, I won’t cry. What do you want me to do?”
“So - I need the chicken cut into pieces like this…”