me: *has way too many stories that i haven't updated in forever*
me: wow, maybe i should finish those.
also me: *writes a long-winded multi chapter tododeku fic*
Cover art is by me! Please do not steal it!
When Shouto was young, he thought that, when the time came, the world would end in flames.
He was wrong.
When society breathed its last breath, it did not breathe heat. It did not breath sickness or anarchy. The end of the world came in winter, with frigid air and the happy cries of children as the snow began to fall.
And fall, and fall, and fall.
The end of the world would be born of ice, and it would be Shouto's fault.
The apocalypse should have zombies, Shouto thinks idly. Or government corruption. Or, really, something more interesting.
He knows it's foolish. He knows it's selfish. But he can't help it. He stands on the tip of the First Glacier and watches the gentle rocking of the sea-ice and he is hopelessly bored and desolately alone.
The world is locked in ice, and it's all because of him. Because he lost control and didn't know how to stop himself.
Now he must live with the consequences.
The consequences, in his case, are total isolation. He'd never had many friends in the Before, but in the After he has none. The only people he ever sees are Fuyumi (occasionally), his three attendants (unspeaking servants), and, of course, his father.
His father.
Shouto's father is a hero. He is made of flame and fury. He is bold, larger-than-life. He has saved so many, his warmth a beacon in the icy wasteland the earth has become.
His warmth is skin-deep. Shouto's seen underneath it.
(It's wrong, he thinks, to hate his father. He can't seem to drum up the strength to care.)
Shouto stands on the First Glacier and stares out at the sea. He thinks of his father and the disappointingly boring end of the world. He thinks of ice and flame and fear and rage. He thinks of control and lack thereof.
He inhales the frigid air and then heads back to the Castle.
Once upon a time, back in the Before, the building had been Castle Endeavor. It had never been very welcoming, with its high, dark walls and its intimidatingly large gates. But it had been open. It had been full.
Now it stands empty on a plane of ice. Most of its windows are dark. It rarely sees visitors and it is only inhabited full-time by its former prince.
Shouto is very much alone.
The halls are cold and dark, lit only by the occasional candle and warmed only by the insufficient insulation the castle walls provide. Shouto's breath forms clouds in front of him and his footsteps echo back at him, the only reply he gets from the silent, empty place. Technically, he isn't supposed to leave the Castle at all, but who is there to stop him? As long as his father doesn't find out, Shouto can come and go as he pleases.
He could run away, if he wanted, but Shouto never goes beyond the First Glacier. He's thought about it before, but something always stops him. Standing on ice miles deep, the remnants of the beach cottage far below, Shouto always looks out across the ice-covered ocean and goes no further.
He's trapped not only by the will of his father, but also by his own guilt and his own fear. Fear of what he'll find out there, what he'll see in the faces of what few people are left.
He's sure it would shatter him.
So he stays.
There's a shuffling sound in the darkness. Shouto pauses, brow furrowing, and glances downwards. A spot of white, cast in shadow, but lit just slightly by the narrow window opposite. He bends down on one knee and peers closer, surprised when he finds himself face to face with the beady black eyes of a bird.
A raichō, its wing bent at an awkward angle and its small eyes watching him as it tries to shuffle away.
Shouto stares, unsure what to do. "How did you get in?" he asks it, even though he knows it can't answer. A breeze ruffles his hair and he stands, gaze drawn to the window which is slightly agape.
"Ah," he says softly. "I see."
The raichō must have hit the glass and fallen to the ledge, where presumably it had shuffled inside. It is clearly injured, with its bent wing and glassy eyes.
Tentatively, Shouto bends down again and scoops his fingers around the bird. It tries to flap its wings, panicking at the contact. Worried that it'll only injure itself further, Shouto cups his thumbs over its back and brings it against his chest.
It's warm, and soft. Shouto can feel its heartbeat, a fast-paced drumming against his palms.
Shouto has no means to help this animal and no means to care for it. If his father found out, he would surely insist the raichō be left outside to fend for itself. But it is small, and injured, and left on its own it would surely not survive.
Shouto has caused enough death. If he can't bring back all the many lives lost to the ice, at least he can save this small one.
The raichō settles down, calmed by the steadiness of his hands and the heat of his body. Chest tightening with an emotion he can't identify, Shouto continues down the corridor, bird in hand.
Everyone knows the stories of the Evil One. The Icy King. The Herald of the End.
No one's ever seen him, but the stories are everywhere. He's ten feet tall, or six feet tall, or average height. He has the strength of ten men, with broad shoulders and a wide chest, or he is thin as a rod, an icy spire. He is young, or old, or somewhere in between.
Some say he's the devil. Some say he's a criminal. Some say he's a god. Some say he doesn't even exist.
Izuku is sixteen years old when he learns the truth.
The Ice King isn't a monster.
He's a teenage boy.
At the moment he is trudging through the snow on the way to the trading post. Wearing two sweaters underneath his jacket and three different scarfs, Izuku is as bundled up as he can be and still be capable of walking, and yet even with all that he's chilled to the bone.
Ice crystals crunch under Izuku's boots and he's just thankful the ground isn't slippery today. Last time he'd made the trip, he'd slipped and fallen and his sled had gone rolling back down the hill. He'd fallen again trying to catch it, and by the time he got to it, it'd already lodged in a small crevasse and spilled some of its precious contents down into the depths of the ice where no one would ever reach it.
This is the age of the Great Ice. Supplies are scarce and no one can afford to lose any. The world is unforgiving, and mistakes can easily lead to disaster.
Life in the Before was simple. Mom went to work at the senior center and Izuku went off to school. Afterwards, he'd tag along with Kacchan (when he was younger) or study the practical applications of Kosei (when he was older), writing it all down in journal after journal. For the future, he'd told himself, but the future did not came the way he wanted it to.
Now, in the After, life is simple in a different way. Every day mirrors the rest; he wakes early and shovels snow from the carefully formed pathways outside their small home while his mother cooks breakfast. After they eat, he tends to his garden, and once he's done with that he treks the short distance from their house to the next one over, where the Bakugou family lives. Once a week, he gathers the vegetables he's managed to harvest and carries them on the long journey across the ice to the nearest trading post.
The vegetables harvested from his tiny, indoor garden patch aren't much, but in the After any sort of greenery is in high demand, so they get by.
They get by.
Izuku is lost.
By the time he'd made it to the trading post it had begun to snow, delicate flakes floating from the thick white clouds above. The man at the post had concernedly asked him if he'd like to stay the night, but Izuku hadn't wanted to worry his mother so instead he began the long trudge back home.
It was a mistake. The light snowfall had quickly turned into a blizzard and now Izuku is lost.
He can't move very quickly for fear of falling into a crevasse. He shuffles his feet in front of him, unable to see or hear anything past the cascading sheets of snow. The wind howls in his ears, biting at any exposed skin and making it burn and sting.
He'd stay put and wait it out, but if he does that he might freeze. So instead he keeps moving, painfully slowly, not knowing where he is or where he's going.
Izuku blinks away a tear before it can freeze to his lashes, the goggles in front of his eyes doing little to keep out the chill. He shivers and pulls his arms tighter around himself.
He'd lost the sled and everything on it ages ago. It had been a difficult choice, but it was such a dead-weight and walking was hard enough already. The next trip to the trading post he'll have to put his vegetables in a backpack, he supposes, which means they'll be squashed and therefore worth less. They'll probably go hungry this week, especially since he'll need to trade for a new sled, and he can't grow the vegetables fast enough to make two trips a week worth it.
Well. They'll go hungry if he makes it out of this alive. If he doesn't, he certainly won't be hungry anymore. He wonders what will happen to his mother when they don't have his Kosei to keep the plants growing. Maybe she'll go live with Kacchan's family.
No. I'm going to make it. I can do this.
Izuku shakes his head, snowflakes flurrying off of the hood of his parka. With renewed determination, he presses through the storm.
By the time he finds shelter, Izuku is sure he's going to die.
He's freezing. He stopped shivering a while ago, even though he's no less colder than he was before, and he's worried, because isn't that a sign of hypothermia? In addition to that troubling thought, his fingers and toes are like ice even through the layers and layers of socks and gloves, and he'll be amazed if he makes it out of this without at least some frostbite.
Anaesthetics are extraordinarily rare. He's not about to make his mother go hungry for the next year just because he might have to lose a few toes. It's his own damn fault for not staying at the trading post with the snow falling outside.
Izuku is so deep in his thoughts that he almost doesn't notice the castle until it's right in front of him.
And it's definitely a castle. Tall, dark-stoned walls reach towards the sky, spires at each corner looming above like the fangs of some great beast. Izuku cranes his neck back and gapes, almost losing his balance in the snow.
Maybe he won't die after all.
Shouto is sitting by the hearth, watching the fire. It's hypnotizing, the coils of flame dancing around each other and sending out sparks like shooting stars. Fire could be beautiful, Shouto thinks, if only he hadn't seen it's dark side.
Miku croaks softly, ruffling her feathers. Shouto's gaze leaves the fire to watch her settle down again, white wings bundled against her sides. He'd removed the splint from the bent one earlier today, and he was pleased to find it looked alright and didn't seem to be paining her. He doesn't know if she'll be able to fly again, though, and he isn't sure if he should be happy or sad about that. Happy, because he won't lose his only companion, or sad because it would mean she'll be confined to the Castle, just as he is.
One beady eye opens and Shouto finds himself frozen, trapped in Miku's gaze. The raichō watches him without blinking, both of them totally still. Then she closes her eyes and tucks her head beneath her wing and Shouto can breath again.
"How pathetic am I," he says to no one. "That my only friend is a bird."
That's when he hears the noise.
It's not an unfamiliar noise, though it is fairly uncommon. A grating, echoing sound, it signifies the opening of the gate. In this Castle, with its long, echoing corridors, that sound can be heard throughout.
Shouto frowns. None of his attendants are supposed to be around today, and Fuyumi only just visited last week. She's not due again for another month, which means…
Endeavor.
Shouto swallows, throat suddenly dry. He closes his eyes and curls his hands into fists, fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. The temperature of the room drops ten degrees and Shouto can feel his heart rate speed up.
Miku fidgets uncomfortably, slipping off of her cushion and waddling towards the fire. Shouto barely notices.
The Lord of Endeavor has always been in his life and he's always been cruel, so Shouto really should be used to this by now. Yet even knowing that, he can't stop the clamminess of his palms or the shaking of fingers, can't stop the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.
A visit from his father is never a good thing, even if Shouto longs for company. Endeavor is not company. At least not the good kind.
Part of Shouto, the part that is still a child, wants to run and hide. Part of him wishes to stay here by the fire and hope the slamming of the doors is his imagination. The reasonable part of him knows he should go greet his father, but he can't bring himself to do it. His legs are glued to the floor, and he fears if he tries to stand he will fall over.
He stays where he is. Waiting. Listening.
Footsteps in the hall. Quiet, padding, the echoes faint. A voice, calling out.
The footsteps are too light to be Endeavor's. The voice is too high-pitched, too young, too unsure, to belong to his father.
Shouto can breathe again, but now he's confused. A frown spreads across his face and he slowly stands, still shaky from left-over adrenaline. Who…?
"Hello?" echoes the voice. "Is there anyone here?"
In a moment Shouto has crossed the room and started into the corridors, silent feet padding towards the main entrance, where the voice originates. Rounding a corner, Shouto watches from the shadows as flurries of fresh snow dance through the air around a small, unfamiliar figure, bundled up in so many layers that Shouto's amazed the person is still standing.
Although 'standing' is a relative term. The stranger looks unsteady on their feet, like any moment they'll keel over. The voice is hoarse and wobbly with the shivers that are obviously racking the form despite how bundled up they are.
Shouto makes a split second decision and steps out of the shadows even as the door slams shut, cutting of the snowfall and the light from outside.
Silence. Shouto stares into bright green eyes, shining in the reflective light of the candles.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, hello!"
They speak at the same time, and Shouto finds himself suddenly unsteady. What is the etiquette? Who gets to speak first?
The figure shuffles their feet and pulls the hood back, shaking piled snow onto the floor. The face that's revealed is young and round, delicate freckles sprinkling the cheeks of what appears to be a boy around Shouto's own age.
"Uh, sorry," chuckles the boy, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "I got lost in the storm and I needed shelter so I thought I'd...is it alright if I stay here until the snow stops?"
Shouto blinks. It's been years since he's met someone new. It'd be nice, he thinks, to have another person stay in the Castle. It might make the nights less lonely.
Endeavor will be angry when he finds out.
If he finds out. Just like he'll be angry if he finds out that Shouto sometimes leaves the Castle to walk the glaciers.
Mutely, he nods.
A smile breaks out on the boy's face, and it's like the sun appearing from behind a cloud. For a moment, Shouto forgets how to breathe.
He turns away and starts walking, confused as to why his face is suddenly so warm. The boy's footsteps patter behind him as he hurries to follow.
"My name's Izuku," offers the boy brightly. "What's yours?"
"Shouto."
"Nice to meet you Shouto!" A pause. Then, "Do you live here?"
Shouto nods sharply, not looking at the boy. He hopes Izuku won't question him further. He doesn't really feel up to explaining his circumstances.
It occurs to him that if this boy knew who he was, he'd probably turn the other way and start running. Even with the blizzard outside, Shouto knows he's not someone who deserves company. The apocalypse is his fault, after all.
Izuku, Shouto soon realizes, is very talkative.
"Wow, this place is amazing. Who built this? I wonder if it was purely engineering or if they used their Kosei? These certainly look like bricks, so probably they weren't built directly by an earth elementalist. Maybe they formed the bricks and then lifted them one by one? That's an old style. I wonder when this was built? Do you know how old it is? How long have you been living here? Did nobles live here in the Before? Why was it built so far away from anything else? Is there a whole city underneath the ice?"
Izuku goes on and on and on, descending into vague mumbling that Shouto can barely understand. He never once replies, but Izuku doesn't seem to mind, perfectly content to chatter away with no response. For his part, Shouto enjoys the sound of another voice filling the silence.
They stop in the sitting room where Shouto had left Miku and the still-burning fire. Izuku stops talking as they enter, eyes widening at the sight of the hearth. He sends Shouto a questioning glance, and Shouto nods slightly, gesturing for the other boy to move towards the fire.
Izuku barely waits for him to finish his nod before racing to the fire, plopping down in the very spot Shouto had been sitting in earlier. Miku stirs, indignantly shuffling to the side and away from the stranger in her home. She crosses the room and Shouto lowers a hand for her to crawl onto before using his arm as a bridge to his shoulder.
By the hearth, Izuku has pulled four layers of gloves off of his hands and extended his fingers towards the fire, sighing happily. The room descends into comfortable silence.
Shouto crosses the room and lowers himself onto the worn couch, cushions sinking below his weight. He finds himself watching Izuku, fascinated by the softness of the boy's features.
Everything about Izuku is open, from his words to his expressions. He radiates innocence and gentleness, freckles mapping out the obvious kindness of his soul. Dark green curls frame his face, dripping melted ice and snow onto his shoulders. As he warms, he begins to shed soaking layer after soaking layer until he sits on the floor in nothing but a faded pair of black slacks and a mint green sweater.
Looking at him, Shouto knows that even if Izuku has known pain, he has never been hurt. Not like Shouto has. That's rare, he thinks, at the end of the world. Everyone's lost someone, he knows from Fuyumi's stories of the remaining vestiges of civilization.
But Izuku has been loved. It's obvious in the warm glint of his eyes, the trusting tone of his voice.
It would be nice, Shouto thinks, to befriend someone who has no sharp edges.
Izuku is curious.
Shouto is a strange boy in a strange castle, with mismatched eyes and a large, painful-looking scar. He doesn't talk much and he appears to be completely alone in the vast emptiness of this castle.
He wants to ask. Oh, how he wants to ask. But he's young, not stupid, so he keeps his mouth shut.
Well. He's not exactly silent, but the questions he asks are trivial. Where did the bird come from? What is its name? How big is the castle? None of the questions he really wants to ask, none of the questions he somehow knows Shouto won't want to answer.
Even with all his questions, Izuku knows without asking that this strange, silent boy is lonely. He can feel his gaze fixed on him as he dries himself by the fire, the hairs on his neck prickling slightly. He pretends not to notice, though, afraid to scare Shouto off.
"Where'd you get that bird?"
Shouto shifts behind him, as if shaking himself from thought. "She flew through one of the windows. Her wing was broken so I did my best to fix it but…" he trails off, not needing to finish the sentence.
Izuku turns. "Can I see?" he asks softly, stretching out his hand. Shouto hesitates before sliding down to sit cross-legged on the floor beside him. Gently, the strange boy coaxes the bird from his shoulder and into Izuku's waiting hands.
Their fingers brush. For a moment, time stops, and Izuku is caught up in the quiet intensity of Shouto's gaze.
The raichō croaks impatiently and the moment shatters. Izuku looks downward quickly, hoping the dancing shadows cast by the fire will hide his blush. Trying to ignore the thick lump in his throat, Izuku tenderly guides the raichō's wing away from its side, inspecting the bend and feeling the flow of energy around the poorly healed bone.
"I can fix this," he mutters softly, and lifts a finger to do so before pausing. He glances up at Shouto, questioning. "Do you want me to try?"
Shouto frowns, but nods. Even as he stirs the familiar warmth in his fingers and molds the bone back into shape, Izuku thinks that maybe revealing his power is a bad idea.
In the Before, the percentage of people with Kosei and people without was forty to sixty. In the after, that percentage became eighty to twenty. With the many deaths caused by the coming of the Great Ice, and the subsequent harsh conditions, the world's population fell dramatically and the possession of a Kosei severely increased the chances of survival.
The most common Kosei are the elementals: the traditional water, earth, fire, and air, and the slightly less common wood and metal, followed by light and shadow. It is rare, but not unheard of, for people to possess dual elements, and even more rare for the elements to be opposites, such as earth and air or water and fire.
The rarest Kosei are life and death.
There is only one recorded individual in possession of a life Kosei. Izuku knows differently.
There is currently no record of any living individual being in possession of a death Kosei.
Izuku's Kosei is life. He is one of two with this power, and he knows full well what people would do to control it, to control him , especially in this world of ice and death. So he keeps it hidden, the knowledge limited only to his mother and the Bakugou family.
And even they don't know the whole truth.
So really, revealing his Kosei to this strange boy he's only just met is a terrible idea, but something about Shouto puts him at ease. Maybe it's his quietness, or his softness, or the loneliness in his eyes, but Izuku knows somehow that he can trust Shouto.
That is why, sitting in a castle in the middle of a blizzard, Izuku uses his Kosei to heal a bird's wing.
Izuku leaves when the blizzard ends, with a glance at the stars and a beaming smile. He promises two things: one, that he will be able to find his way home now that the sky has cleared, and two, that he will use the same sky to find his way back.
He promises the latter without Shouto having to ask. "Well, I fixed your raichō," he'd said with a laugh and a blush on his cheeks. "Now that it can fly away I guess you'll need company. It's only fair."
Shouto had said nothing, even though he'd wanted to.
"Un-unless you don't want me to. Which is fine. I'll—"
"Come back," Shouto had whispered. "Please."
Izuku had smiled again, lighting up the darkness and warming Shouto's ice-locked heart. "Alright," he'd said.
He'd left with a smile and a wave and a promise to return, and Shouto had watched him leave from the shadows of the doorway. He'd watched and watched until Izuku had disappeared over the horizon and then he'd watched some more, unable to explain the warmth in his chest or the longing in his lungs.
Izuku has a life Kosei. If Endeavor ever caught him and found out, he'd use Izuku the way he'd always used Shouto. As a weapon, or a tool. Shouto can't let that happen. He knows he should have told Izuku to stay away, for his own sake, because Shouto is dangerous and Endeavor is worse, but somehow he couldn't.
Shouto doesn't allow himself to want things, usually. He knows it's pointless and will only lead to disappointment. And yet, somehow, without him realizing it, he's come to want something.
He wants, with every fiber of his being, to see Izuku's smile again.
Raichō is the Japanese word for rock ptarmigan. Kosei is the Japanese word for Quirk. (If this story were written in Japanese, the latter word would appear in English.)
Both of these facts were taken from Wikipedia, so don't quote me on them.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I sure enjoyed writing it. I feel the need to ask you all to please not steal the concept idea from me. Obviously anything recognizable from BNHA is not mine, but the concept of an icy apocalypse is something I came up with on my own and may reuse for an original work in the future. Thanks!
Drop me a comment with your thoughts. I cannot tell you how much I love receiving comments. Plus, they fuel me towards the next chapter quicker so it's a win-win situation.