Chapter Text
When little baby prince Shouto received the wound so terrible, so sudden, the castle was deeply struck as well. Everyone who cared for the beautiful queen and her progeny- so shocked, so heartbroken.
Perhaps, this was bound to happen, what with the king so stern of hand. So thunderous of voice, his temper as quick to catch as a match. But why little him? Hasn’t he been through enough? For a soul so new. And more broken still when the young one- then only 10 winters old, vanished into the night with nary a trace. The castle was a dark, strained place now. No laughter of children or glint of mischievous teeth. Only ash remains.
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Katsuki’s been trudging through these blasted snowdrifts for what feels like weeks.
The urge to light up and clear them in a second is hard to resist, but the ever-present threat of an avalanche is plenty to keep his cool. It's silent in the woods other than the crunch of snow beneath their feet and labored breathing of the horses. Despite the slowing of their ever diligent march, however, this is no place to rest.
Still climbing the foothills that rise into the peaks and valleys of the Shards, who knows what unsavory low-lifes may be lurking around. *Hawk-ptoo*.
Katsuki shrugs deeper into his cloak as his eyes skim the gaps in the trees beneath furrowed brows. They see nothing. The world is asleep in this blanket of snow. But his spine still prickles with the feeling of being watched. Probably the lingering feeling of having to interact with those asshole Flatlanders. Katsuki growls low at the thought, his frown deepening as he trudges with more ferocity than strictly necessary. Still, he keeps his eyes peeled- scraping the horizon and glancing back to check that his posse of idiot sidekicks hasn’t lagged behind.
Unfortunately, Katsuki finds himself on this side of the mountains more often than he’d ever really choose for himself. Which is never. But trading with the stuck-up pricks is always worthwhile. And the bounty’s they’ll put on someone’s head are downright ridiculous.
Any self-respecting barbarian would never hand off the job to someone else. But if there’s one thing a flatlander is practiced in, it’s keeping their precious fingernails clean of blood under the pretense of decorum while paying someone else to run around doing their dirty work. That suits Katsuki and company just fine. If there’s one thing he’s good for, it's dirty work.
They raised the reward to bring in that brat prince again. The fools do it every year, no amount of money is gonna raise the dead. People don’t just vanish and then stroll back into town nearly a decade later. Not even Katsuki is arrogant enough to accept a fool’s errand like that and tarnish his perfect record. He’s the best there is, but he ain’t a damn miracle worker. Not that it isn’t tempting. Katsuki even remembers seeing the little prince then and again.
At some shitty “diplomatic” balls the royal family put on that his hag of a mother forced him to go to, or her having to negotiate with those nobel pricks. The memories are fuzzy, just a few snapshots. But he remembers the younger boy looked sad. A little frown on his little downturned visage. A fresh, angry, red wound. Red. White.
Katsuki’s gut clenches at the memory, and he squirms a little in discomfort. There’s no damn reason to think of this shit now. People go missing all the time, not like it has anything to do with him.
Izuku is waiting for them with the other caravan at the village. They figure a huge band of barbarians bursting through the city gates won’t gain them any friends. He misses his baby. It’s unthinkable now to remember how he used to treat him. Like a pest. Not how he deserved, not like the most precious, beautiful thing this world has to offer.
Everyday he wishes to go back in time and slap the shit out of his younger self. Too blinded by his enormous ego to see how lucky he was. He can’t believe his baby still chooses him every day, after all he put him through. All there is to do now is worship the ground he walks on in thanks for him, which is exactly what he’s gonna do as soon as he gets home.
Katsuki loses himself in his imagination for a time, thinking of all the ways he’ll express his gratitude. To think he used to want Zuku to go away. He thought he made him weak; thought that’s what Izuku saw in him. How foolish they all were, now he feels weak just a few weeks apart from him, the strength slowly draining from his soul- only to be put back in place by his lover.
As badly as he wants to get home, walking through the night’s a bad idea. He doesn’t wanna set up camp here either, a great place for highwaymen to descend on travelers. He’d kick the shit outta anyone who messed with them of course, but it might be better not to blow up half the mountain along with all the valuable shit they just dredged out of the city. Katsuki racks his brain. He could camouflage the wagon, but there’s not much to work with here, plus the deep tracks in the snow are a dead giveaway. He thinks back to his time spent learning from All Might, Aizawa- Aizawa.. the old recluse lives around here somewhere now doesn’t he?? Maybe it’s about time they give his old teacher a visit >:)
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Shouto is not cold. Though the fluffy clumps of snow float softly from the ashen sky, the alone one shivers not. Where his feet touch the snow, it hardens with a glossy sheen and he does not sink through. As he slowly steps, he holds his arm out languidly and runs his fingertips over the bark of each tree he passes, leaving swirly frost patterns in his wake. I was here.
Eventually the long, lone man peters off where the trees do- an overlook that marked the sudden end to the forest floor and slopes deeply away into the rolling beyond. From there he felt he could almost see the sparkle of the ever unrestful city, as he could feel the overwhelming might of the shards looming at his back.
A raptor hangs suspended in the air high above as if frozen in time, before abruptly dipping to one side and effortlessly beginning a slow, twirling descent. Behind him he hears squirrels chittering through the boughs, raining down flurries of snow as they go. Shouto quietly observes it all. There’s nowhere for him to be, and nothing he has to do. He’s free. Free to eat whenever he wants, sleep whenever he wants. He can run and jump and roll and shout if he wants to.
Shouto sits at the edge of the precipice and observes. He eats some dried fruit and a fish he had caught a little earlier that day- as usual his jaw aches a bit to be opened so, for the only soul he might ever have to converse with is the lethargic trapper in the old cabin a little ways farther up the mountain. But even though he could, (he could) he doesn’t. He still stops by the place from time to time though, he likes it there, and he likes Aizawa.
As the man gazes into the distance, his thoughts slowly flowing floatily, he spots movement from his perch.
His legs swing a little to and fro off the edge as he watches several figures and a covered wagon march slowly but surely into the shards. They were actually making considerable progress for the conditions. It’s not completely rare to see people out here following the river to where they need to go. People have to get from here to there somehow he supposes, although it is rather unusual- especially this time of year.
He almost thinks he can hear a grouchy voice shouting, and laughter. The people are too far away to make out much detail, but the silhouettes are distinctly barbarian. He’s never seen them this far south before. Other than maybe Aizawa he guesses he’s never really seen them at all, but his father told him they’re brutal and animalistic people with no concept of true civilization. And their leaders are the worst of all.
Shouto looks down at himself, his handmade clothes and the remains of his simple meal, then off to the side in the direction of the castle; the shards looming behind him. He puffs a laugh through his nose. It seems he’s turned into the very thing his father despises. A grin crawls unbidden up his cheek. He never much cared for his fathers words anyway. The smile drops. He doesn’t like to think of the man or his old life. Shouto turns his head back towards the figures, almost out of sight now.
Shouto gets the strangest feeling that he.. would like to be with them. He doesn’t necessarily feel this way often, knows that to be surrounded by others is often even emptier than solitude. But what if someone made some noise just for him to hear it? What would it feel like to be held gently? Like he used to see in the theaters, or hear about in fairytales. Probably bad. Shouto picks up and starts to meander in the direction of Aizawa’s cabin, the sun hanging low in the sky, his gaze lingering on the retreating figures.
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Shouta is lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. It feels pretty good on his back.
One of the cats has even joined him, curling up on his chest. He lingers on the border of sleep and the world becomes strange. The shadows cast by the firelight shift and dance about. Memories swim in his head.
*thump* *thump*.
He’s dragged to the surface by a sound other than logs crackling in the fire pit or kitties meowing- therefore a sound most unusual. He pretends to have dreamed it until it sounds again.
His cat has now jumped off his chest to sit in front of the door in anticipation. With a sigh and a symphony of cracks from his spine and joints the trapper levers himself up slowly and shuffles to the door. Upon opening he is unsurprised to see a tall and lean young man with shoulder-length, dual-colored locks, and a pair of heterochromatic eyes set into a blank, mask-like face. “You know, most people move to secluded cabins to be alone.” deadpanned Shouta, but he moves away from the door to let the nap-interrupter in. The young man says nothing, he never has.
He scoops up a kitty and rubs his face against her soft fur as Shouta shambles off to find his kettle for tea. It’s been so long since the mysterious boy has been visiting him now, he’s grown so much.
When Shouta first met him he was a battered and exhausted-looking pre-teen with a haunted look in his eyes. Shouta never learned from the horse’s mouth what he was running from, but when the child’s shaved hair grew once more and that burning blue eye was revealed a pretty damn clear picture was painted.
The lost prince of the flatlands lived. And he was here frolicking through these treacherous mountains everyday inspiring ghost stories instead of his rightful place in a fuck-off fancy castle to be waited on hand and foot for all of time. Well, he’s one to talk. Not his business anyway, if there’s one lesson Shouta has learned in all his years on this bitch of a planet, it’s that snitches get stitches. Besides, the kid’s not bad company. Quiet for sure, but funny in his own right with no small dose of snark.
When Shouta returns with a kettle packed with snow to be set over the fire, he finds that the lost prince has pillaged his bookshelf and was reading a worn and marked up copy of this silly romance novel Hizashi had given him in his youth- saying he just HAD to read it, it’s SO good, Shouta. Shouta shifted in embarrassment a bit, but half-smirked at the memory of his friend.
“That’s 13 and up y’know. Sure you can handle it?”
The vagabond tosses an unimpressed glance at him over the cover before returning to his stolen reading material. It’s there they sit in companionable silence as the sun dips below the horizon outside. It took a long time for him to become comfortable enough to stroll in and lay across his furniture. Longer still to look at Shouta without fear or trepidation in his eyes, especially since the young man tends to stop by less than once per moon. In the beginning out of apparent necessity.
Kid probably thought the place was abandoned and took shelter. It’s a long way from civilization on foot, one can imagine Shouta’s surprise to find a child curled up in his own usual napping spot in front of the hearth.
When he shifted on a squeaky floorboard (all of them) the young one’s eyes snapped open and he stared at the man with a huge, terrified, eye.
Shouta was struck, simply staring back for a beat before the mysterious child started to slowly rear up from his spot on the floor like a frightened kitten poofing itself up to look more intimidating, his eye never leaving Shouta once.
“Hey, it’s okay.” said Shouta in a low voice as his pack slipped off one shoulder and thumped to the floor. He squatted to the small one’s level with his palms out non-threateningly. “What are you doing out here? Got a family?”
The little boy said nothing, he looked ready to bolt at the drop of a dime.
Shouta stood back up and walked into the kitchen. “You can spend the night if you want.” he called from the other room. This isn’t some poorhouse, but he wouldn’t send a child back out into the stormy night. He returned with bowls of rice, vegetable soup, and fish on a tray. Now the boy was sitting with his knees to his chest right near the door, looking warily with tired eyes at Shouta.
“Hungry?” asked Shouta, scooting the tray across the floor to him. The boy curled up tighter, frowning.
“S’ good.” said Shouta, taking a few grains of rice with his fingers into his mouth. Upon the lack of reaction Shouta got up and started putting his gear away, then pretended to clean up the place, paying no mind to his uninvited guest. By the time he sat down in one of his chairs, said guest had almost finished hungrily clearing the dishes.
He had a single pack stuffed with various survival gear. His head was choppily shaved and one side of his face had a scarf tied around it. The scarf was obviously of fine material and beautifully yet subtly ornate- it almost completely covered some kind of birthmark or scar as well as the entire left eye. His clothes, though simple and unadorned as well as dirty and damp, were finely crafted as well. He appeared to be at least lightly wounded all over, but it was hard to tell with the long sleeves and pants.
The boy was distinctly Flatlander, but the nearest town is miles away. Finished with his meal the boy slumped to one side, barely able to keep his eye open.
“Time for bed, bald head.” murmured Shouta. He only had one futon but Shouta could sleep anywhere. He rolled it out and embellished it with the appropriate accoutrement. Turning back to the little lump he swept one arm out in a behold motion. Still looking at him with a half-lidded eye, Shouta slumps back into his chair and gazes steadily back.
It’s been a long day. The animals seem to get more clever every year, snatching the bait from his traps without the decency to get caught themselves. Forfeiting the impromptu staring contest, Shouta lets his eyes blink more and more slowly until closed they remain, the drone of the wind outside and the ever-crackling fireplace lulling him beyond.
When Shouta wakes it’s with a vengeful crick in his neck from sleeping in the wooden chair all night. The light from outside is faint and grey, so it must be early morning. His futon had been dragged under the lone table of the cabin, but appears to have been slept in. However, a certain someone is nowhere to be found. Shouta opens the front door and scans the misty mountainside, one hand bracing the side of his neck. Oh well. He hopes the kid finds what he’s looking for. Hopes the mountain and its denizens don’t snatch him up in one bite.
Weeks later he finds the kid on his doorstep. Same clothes, no more scarf so Shouta can see the angry red mark and strangely mismatched eye. Head is freshly shaven though. “You live.” said Shouta. The child stares and frowns. “What do you want?” asked Shouta, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. The boy looks at the ground, shifting, before he pulls a broken bow out from behind his back- dangling forlornly in his hands.
“How’d you do that?” asked Shouta with a raised eyebrow. The kid pauses for a moment before miming drawing a bow, then pretending to trip, a tumbling motion with his hands, and at last poses like he fell from the tallest tower of that ridiculous Flatland castle.
Shouta’s abdominal muscles seize once- forcing out a dry, disused laugh. Then more laughter overtakes him, almost doubling him over. When he can finally catch his breath he rubs his eyes with his sleeve of wetness, and with a terrifying grin says, “Alright. Let’s get you fixed up!”
First it was the bow. Then kiddo wanted to learn how to build a trap. How to skin an animal for its pelt. How to make a fishing pole. Where to find fruits, vegetables, and herbs. Which ones are safe to use. Before either of them knew it, many winters had passed, and Shouta’s self-imposed isolation was just one kiddo’s worth less depressing.
Closer to a full grown man than a child now, the mysterious one has grown tall and strong- even teaching Shouta a few things here and there. But honestly, Shouta wishes he weren’t in this cabin beside him right now. People the prince’s age should be drinking and dancing. Getting into stupid drama. Singing, fighting, laughing. This life Shouta has chosen for himself is no life at all for a growing boy. Or- a fully grown boy, but still. There’s so much more than this mountainside out there. More than the flatlands, the castle. This is all Shouta has to offer though. A novel, a pot of tea, and a warm side to sit by. Gods he’s old.
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Shouto has fallen asleep here again. Kind of wedged himself between Aizawa and the couch. He always tries not to, but it’s like Aizawa’s eternal tiredness infects him somehow. He’s abruptly awoken by a loud and sudden-
*THUMP THUMP THUMP*
His eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright, heart hammering. Who would visit the ramshackle old cabin at this hour other than himself? Unless of course-
they’ve come for him.
Aizawa rubs his eyes and drags a hand down his face. “Haa?? WHO’S THERE?”
“IT’S THE GODSDAMN TOOTH FAIRY. OPEN UP YA OLD CRONE.”
Aizawa squints and furrows his brow like he’s onto something, heaving himself off the couch and grouching under his breath “what does this look like *grumble* some kind of *grumble grumble*?” Shouto snatches his sleeve before he can make it to the door.
“Huh? It’s okay kid, I think some old friends have stopped by for some reason.” Aizawa says tiredly, shaking off the offending grip.
Noo, he doesn’t understand! Standing up, Shouto opens his mouth to protest but only a strangled wheeze comes out.
There’s no time- he could jump out the window, but they could have surrounded the building by now. Shouto is confident in his ability to protect himself, but what if they get Aizawa? His best chance is to hide. If he’s not here, they’ll have no reason to hurt Aizawa.
Shouto frantically looks around, under the couch? Too obvious. The chimney? He wouldn’t fit.
He gingerly creeps into the only other room, the kitchen, avoiding the squeakiest of floorboards. Aizawa slowly stretching his lower back has given Shouto a few seconds to act, he folds himself into the pantry, praying they won’t look in the only hiding place this wretched little hut has to offer.
At the same time that Todoroki closes himself in silently, the front door is opened.
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The door opens to reveal his old teacher looking just as if not more tired and done with life as the last time he saw him.
“Damn. You got molasses instead of blood ol’ man? Freezing our asses off out here.” Katsuki said, but he was grinning.
Aizawa leans to one side to peer behind Katsuki and finds more of his students from that year's batch. Dunce Face, Raccoon Eyes, Flat Face, and good ol’ Shitty Hair. All of whom immediately start shouting for him, waving their arms around, hopping up and down.
“HI MR. AIZA-“
“PAPA, PAPA!”
“LOOK WHAT I CAN DO WITH MY-“
Aizawa raises one palm without a word and something instinctual straightens inside him. Apparently the circus troupe feels it too because the squawking dies in their throats.
“Children.”
Everyone gawks back with stars in their eyes, Denki practically vibrating in place. Damn, Katsuki’s gotta learn that one. He’s tried everything to get his own personal freak show to shut their damn yaps.
“Exactly what brand of trouble do you find yourselves in that you’ve all decided to drop in on your old teacher unannounced?” he said flatly, looking inexplicably in Katsuki’s own direction.
Katsuki looks to the side and sucks his teeth, swaying once with his hands shoved into his pockets.
“You gonna let us in or not?”
Aizawa steps to the side to allow his string of delinquents in.
Stomping their icy feet and peeling off their snow-crusted outer layers the gang takes in an eyeful of Aizawa’s dwellings. Dark wood, very little decor other than a richly colored rug in the main room and some blankets and furs about the simple furniture.
“Looks like it’s a party at Aizawa’s house.” Aizawa deadpans as he turns back into the otherwise empty room, and seems to stop short before looking around the empty house.
“Hm.”
He turns back to the small gathering in his entryway.
“Well, make yourselves comfortable. UOF-“
Aizawa is suddenly wrapped in one of Eiji’s infamous bear hugs.
“Sensei!”
Followed by Denki, Mina, and Sero squashing him in a Zawa sandwich. Katsuki thinks he hears some snaps, crackles, and/or pops from in there.
“We missed you!”
After a few seconds of recovery Aizawa starts patting comfortingly with one hand and rubbing soothingly with the other.
“I missed you kids too.”
“Why did you have to leave?!” Cried Mina.
“Oi! Stop crowding you damn clingy extras!” Katsuki shouts before aiming a few kicks at their calves, secretly not wanting to stress out their teacher. What if they snap his elderly body in half or some shit??
Reluctantly Kiri loosens his grip and the others take a step back.
Aizawa breathes in a gasp sigh. He pauses for a moment, looking somewhere else while collecting his thoughts
“… I’m done teaching kids how to sell their souls. This path is cursed, coated in blood. I don’t need to see any more dead children.”
“But..” started Mina.
“That’s enough. It’s your turn to tell me what you’re all doing here.”
“We came to the Flatland kingdom to sell and trade all our leftover junky adventuring loot!” shouted Denki.
“And we didn’t wanna drag all our new stuff through the night an the snow an all!” shouted Eiji.
“ARE YOU DOUBTING MY SCHEDULE?? I HAD EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL. I JUST
THOUGHT WE OUTTA MAKE SURE THE OL HERMIT AIN'T CROAKED SINCE WE’RE IN THE AREA >:(“ shouted Katsuki the loudest- waving their beautifully marked, rolled up map in the air for emphasis.
“Aawwwwwww” crooned the menagerie unanimously. Think they’re so damn hilarious.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” threatened Katsuki with his map, face not even a little bit red.
“Got any food?” asked Sero.
“Not for a bunch of freeloaders like you. Aren’t guests supposed to bring gifts for the host?” Aizawa responded as he moved to fill his kettle.
Aizawa served them steaming mugs of some buttery, milky, sweet stuff and put them all to bed. Himself rolled into a raggedy old futon, the rest of them sprawled across every other available square foot of space in the tiny cottage including each other.
Despite his well known affinity for an early bedtime, Katsuki had a hard time falling asleep, tussling around in half-consciousness all night. Besides someone’s stank ass feet in his face, his spine is still prickling like earlier. But no matter how long he looks into the darkness, he sees nothing. Katsuki shoves his head under the pillow. Just when he thinks sleep will finally take him, Katsuki feels an icy draft flow over his back. Snapping his head up, Katsuki’s eyes dart around the room. The window has swung inwards and snowflakes are quickly inviting themselves in. Must’ve been blown open by the storm. Fix your stupid latch, old man. Katsuki gets up to close it, taking a moment to peer out into the pristine, untrodden blanket of snow.
Huffing through his nose he closes the window properly, and squeezes back into his spot. There’s no use now. Wide awake, Katsuki accepts his fate and watches his friends' chests rise and fall until sunrise.