Izuku is allowed to use the tv for one hour after dinner. Chizome tells him that the generator only has enough spare gas for that much, so if he breaks the rules there won't be enough power left for the lights. Any scenario where Izuku has to spend any more of his time alone in the darkness until Chizome comes back to the cabin with more fuel is one he's eager to avoid. He's usually very careful to never go over the allotted time, though there are some bad days when he doesn't bother to pay attention to the minutes ticking by or even watch whatever it is he's turned on. He'll just lay on the ground in front of the tv, staring blankly at the ceiling and only turning it off once he feels himself calm down. He mostly focuses on his breathing on those days, enjoying the background noises. Just the sound of voices besides the ones in his own head and the flickering colors are enough to bolster his mood and give him a sense of companionship, even if it is false.
Izuku isn't sure if Chizome did it on purpose or if the tv is just old, but it only gets three channels. The first is a kid's channel, where the only things they play are cartoons and commercials with smiling children shouting excitedly about yogurt or the newest toy on the market. He likes the Super Friends Show the best, but he misses it sometimes because he doesn't have a clock and just has to guess when it will be on.
The second channel is a news station he thinks is probably based somewhere in England. He's mostly theorizing about the location because he's pretty sure the hosts are speaking English, but their accents don't really sound like All Might's did on the few occasions Izuku's heard him speak it on tv. They instead sound like some of the English speaking villains do in the movies. He doesn't like watching that channel too much because it seems like the only things they talk about either have to do with business and numbers that don't make sense to him or tragedies he doesn't like to think about. He never has that channel on when Chizome is home, mostly because he knows his mentor well enough to know that the news stories are going to set him off on a three hour rant about the state of the world and Izuku hasn't been in the mood lately to listen to those anyways.
The third channel is by far his favorite one – it shows nothing but documentaries. He's watched specials about everything from the rise and fall of the Incan empire and a half-hour exposé on the glass blowing industry, to the march of penguins and the life cycle of tapeworm-infested ants, and he's loved every second of every one of them. When it is summertime and the daylight lasts longer, he's hoping he can convince Chizome to let him watch another hour of tv if he promises to only watch documentaries. He'll even write a report on what he learned so it can count as school work, if he has to!
It's one night when he's flipping through the channels between commercials that he sees something that stops him cold, finger hovering above the remote's button. He stares at the screen, words on display that he can't understand and a woman's voice speaking nonsense in a sympathetic tone. He doesn't know what's being said, but he recognizes the faces on the tv. A candid photo of Ingenium, smiling brightly beneath white bandages as he lifts one hand in a wave, and a drawing of what can only be Stendhal. It's not exactly right, but it's close enough that Izuku can identify him easily. He wonders if anyone else can, and he's not sure if the tight feeling in his chest is excitement or terror at the thought of his mentor being caught.
The woman says something with a firm, somber tone as red letters he can't sound out fast enough to potentially guess the meaning of flash across the screen. Without any further warning, the pictures disappear and are replaced by a video that it takes him far too long to realize he recognizes. The face in the video doesn't look like the one he sees in the mirror, and he hadn't realized that he'd looked so scrawny buried beneath the oversized coat, but once he knows what he's looking at the situation is jarringly familiar. After all, Izuku would know Stendhal's movements anywhere. He watches with sick fascination as his mentor tears through the frame, too fast for even a hero whose whole career was built upon his speed to keep up. The news has pixelated the wounds themselves, but they made no effort to disguise the blood that spills from them and stains the ground beneath him. Stendhal's movements were calculated and ruthless. Izuku wonders if he even knew at the time that he was attacking a hero, or if his mind was still so messed up that he didn't care that he was.
It's scary, watching in slow motion the way Stendhal does not hesitate between making Ingenium bleed and scooping Izuku into his arms. Izuku hadn't realized at the time just how close the bloodied blade had been to his own back, though he knows it wouldn't have made any difference if he had. Maybe Chizome was just that good; he had never felt like he was in any danger of the man hurting him by accident, even when he was all weird and scary. The ruthless stranger in this video is not the same man who taught him to fight, who made him food from fond childhood memories, who wrapped the wounds from Izuku's training, praised his hard work, and encouraged his interests.
He takes a few deep breaths, trying to untangle the messy knot of emotions in his chest. Chizome has raised him, and even if he doesn't always go about things the right way, Izuku knows he's doing his best. He only has good intentions. All he wants is to help people, and that includes teaching Izuku the skills needed to become a hero, right?
Izuku wishes it was as easy to believe that when he's with Chizome as it is to when he's alone.
He turns the tv off 30 minutes before he has to, staring silently at the black screen. His own pale face is reflected back at him, a dark blur of frizzy hair and lips pulled into a frown. Izuku takes a few more breaths and forces himself to smile, watching the hollow reflection do the same. A hero should always smile.
It's okay
It's okay
It's okay
He rises to his feet and walks his familiar route through the house, socked feet silent as he steps carefully over every squeaky floorboard, drifting through the space like a ghost. Sometimes, he worries that that might be all he is now; nothing left but the ephemeral shape of lonely memories.
He checks the closet, just to make sure that the coat Ingenium had draped over his shoulders is still hanging there. He had been planning to throw it away at first in an effort to keep the peace, but when he had actually gone to do so, the idea of parting with the memento of his first meeting with a real hero had stopped him cold. Chizome hadn't liked that he wanted to keep it, but he'd conceded when Izuku had pointed out that the cabin got cold and they wouldn't be able to afford another coat anyways.
His hands glide over the coat's smooth fabric before disappearing into the fuzzy warmth of the sleeves, pushing deeper, into a slit in the material and to the soft feather lining within. His fingers fumble, searching clumsily as his heart picks up speed, until they close around the paper inside. He breathes a sigh of relief, comforted by the knowledge that the envelope containing Ingenium's hero ID, Izuku's powered down cell phone, and the money that the strange girl who had invaded their apartment had given him haven't been discovered yet.
He doesn't know why he's kept their existence a secret from Chizome, but just touching the envelope hiding them away makes him feel a little bit better. A little less helpless. Maybe just a little less alone.
He waits until the frantic beating of his heart doesn't hurt as bad and his chest feels a little lighter before he withdraws his hand and lets the door hiding his secret creak closed.
.
"You're an hour late," Mari greets when Chizome walks through the door. He doesn't bother to acknowledge her cheerful admonishment, focusing instead on undoing his braid and pulling the loose strands of hair up into a neat bun instead to keep it out of his face as he cleans. He can feel her eyes on him, quietly assessing. She's been eager to figure him out ever since her mom hired him, always open with her curiosity in a way that reminds him a little of Izuku.
"You know, if you want, you could just tell my mom you were here on time but forgot to clock in. I do that sometimes, so I promise I won't tell anyone differently."
When he turns to look at her, Mari is wearing a cheeky grin. He stares for a long moment before allowing himself to return with a small smile of his own, dipping his head in silent gratitude. He supposes that the boss' kid taking an interest in him isn't the worst thing that could happen, though that statement only holds true if she doesn't get too nosy. It's not exactly glamorous work, but his janitorial-slash-security position is enough to pay for the piece of shit apartment he keeps in town and the few bills the cabin generates. Seeing as his usual work is…not so lucrative at the moment, he can't afford to lose this job just yet.
Satisfied with his response, Mari turns her attention back to the register, counting and sorting the bills and credit card receipts. There aren't too many this time of year, which explains the small shop's skeleton crew. It's a wonder they're able to stay afloat at all in such a small town, but he doesn't intend to think too deeply about the logistics of it, aware that he may not like the conclusions he'll draw. He's never been particularly business minded anyway, preferring a much more direct approach in any scenario, which is why he's more comfortable playing the role of a janitor instead of a cashier.
The mellow background music is shut off once the front doors are locked, and he can hear his young co-worker heave a sigh of relief. He doesn't blame her; the music only plays for the first half hour after he starts his shift, and the repetition is still enough to make him want to peel his own fingernails off. He would hate to know how he'd be feeling after a full day of listening to it.
He is bent down plugging in the vacuum cleaner when he hears a commotion just outside the glass front of the shop. Several people are yelling as loud bangs echo on the street outside. Mari lets out a startled little yelp as the doors rattle and Chizome straightens up, one hand resting on the blade hidden beneath his jacket but not yet drawing it. When he sees the gaggle of teenagers whooping and running past, pounding on display windows and trying door handles, he lets himself relax a little. His fingers do not loosen their grip around the hilt of his weapon, though.
"Friends of yours?" he asks, and Mari looks briefly surprised at the sound of his soft voice.
"I wouldn't say friends," she says quickly. She seems vaguely embarrassed about it. "I do recognize them, though. I think they're underclassmen at my school."
Chizome grunts and is about to turn his attention back to his work when another figure passes by. He is moving at a clipped jog and every tight line of his body screams annoyance. The silver domino mask, pointed and curling over his brow, and the blue and silver bodysuit makes his status as a hero almost embarrassingly apparent. Chizome watches warily as he passes, shoulders relaxing a little when the man doesn't spare the storefront so much as a glance.
"Heroes seem to have a lot of free time around here, if he's going after a bunch of teenagers."
Mari snorts, caught somewhere between laughter and exasperation, and nods.
"Nothing ever happens around here. I'm not sure why we even have heroes. I overheard my mom say that somebody must have owed the guy who started the agency a big favor. Sky Sword was a guest speaker at my school assembly a few months back, and he had a massive stick up his ass the whole time. You can just tell he thinks he's too good for us or something, like he didn't grow up here the same as everyone else."
Chizome scoffs, shaking his head at the stupid name and the frankly embarrassing picture she's drawing of this asshole's priorities. She leans a little closer then, smiling like she's revealing a secret as she says, "I heard he applied to a ton of the big city agencies right out of college and none of them wanted him, so that's why he had to come back here. It would be funny if it wasn't so ridiculously pathetic."
"Huh. Sounds like a real loser."
"Oh, he definitely is," Mari agrees, grinning broadly. She seems pleased that they're having an actual conversation, though seems to resign herself to whatever moment she thought they were having dying a silent death once Chizome slips back to his customary reclusive tendencies, offering only grunts in response to her many questions and stories.
He tunes her out for the most part, only relaxing once she is waving goodbye from beyond the front window. He doesn't wave back, focusing instead on wiping away fingerprints from the glass and cursing grimy hands as he does. He lets his mind wander back to the hero that had stomped his way past the store, shiny and gaudy and stuck up in ways that makes derision coil in his gut. He looked like a try-hard wannabe. There was hatred for his position in every stomp of his feet and in his pinched expression. It's obvious that he's only interested in heroics for the glory of it: for the money and the fame. No wonder none of the agencies wanted anything to do with him. Chizome's fingers curl into fists as he slinks deeper into the store, heading towards the small attached greenhouse at the back, absentmindedly flipping the lights off as he goes. A fake like that man shouldn't be given the same title bestowed upon someone like All Might.
He imagines slicing the pathetic false hero to ribbons, tearing through skin and gristle and muscle and bone, peeling back the layers until there is nothing left but the quivering, filthy core of him. He wants to tear the ridiculous mask away, stare into his eyes as he pushes the sword deeper, drinking in the pain as blood bubbles at the fake's mouth and all he can taste is his own death. Chizome's mouth waters at the thought….
But he forces himself to stop those fantasies in their tracks. He can't allow himself to lose control, not when doing so would compromise their tenuous life here. Maybe when they're ready to move on to the next safehouse he can reconsider, but in the meantime he can't risk drawing any attention to them. As much as he might yearn to cleanse the world of another person tarnishing the title of hero, this particular fool simply isn't worth it. Not yet.
.
"It's been three weeks," Izuku says the moment Chizome walks through the door, freezing him in place with one hand still on the doorknob and the other trembling with the weight of several grocery bags stuffed full of non-perishables. The kid looks so small, pale and fading in the scant light that sneaks its way through the hastily boarded windows. Chizome can only stare for a long moment while Izuku visibly begins to lose his patience, eyes showing his hurt and frustration as they burn toxic green within the shadows of his face, arms crossed and foot tapping a steady cadence against the groaning wooden floorboards. It reminds him, oddly enough, of the way his mother was waiting to ambush him when he was 13 and trying to sneak out for the first time.
"Did you run out of food?" he asks at last, heart twisting in his chest at the thought, though Izuku's cheeks do not have the hollow look of three weeks of hunger. If Izuku's red rimmed eyes and fidgeting are anything to go by, he has a pretty good idea what the problem is. Still, he intends to draw the moment out, playing dumb and letting the kid dig himself deeper into the pit of his own emotions.
"No, but you—"
"Did you run out of firewood? Or gas for the generator?"
Again, Izuku shakes his head. There is a flush to his face, anger and frustration and the first hint of more miserable tears rising high on his cheeks, dusting over the spattering of freckles. Chizome watches as he swallows, throat bobbing as he tries to clear it enough to speak around the tightness residing there.
"That's not – that's not the point! It was three weeks! You said you'd only be gone for two."
"I was asked to work on my days off," he says, watching how the muscles of Izuku's jaw clench. He wonders distantly if he should take the kid to a dentist, a little worried he might start cracking teeth if he keeps grinding them like that.
"That doesn't matter," the kid grits out, hands balled into tight fists at his side, eyes averted like he's trying to hide the emotions he wears so blatantly there. "You said two weeks, and you were gone for a lot longer."
Chizome doesn't speak, just waits and watches as the tears trembling on Izuku's lashes finally spill over, running down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. His voice trembles when he finally says, "I was lonely."
The confession hangs heavy between them until Chizome drops the groceries and opens his arms in silent invitation. Izuku rushes into them without a hint of hesitation, the impact so powerful it sends Chizome rocking back on his heels. His tiny body is shaking with the force of his sobs as he lets Chizome hug him tightly, bundled into the warmth of his old leather jacket. His face is squished into Chizome's ribs, tears wetting his shirt as he cries. Chizome hates seeing him like this, but knows it's a necessary evil. In order to be molded into the kind of person who can change the world, Izuku must first be broken.
"I'm sorry," he says, one hand cupping the back of his kid's head and burying itself into a mess of tangled green hair. He curls his fingers, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind them both that he is in control here. He's never liked seeing his boy cry, but Izuku has to know that Chizome is the only person left in the world that can shape him into the person he is destined to become. Izuku must be reliant on him. He has to trust Chizome implicitly, has to follow orders and stay where he is put, and allow his guardian to lead them toward the shining future of true heroes and dead fakes. He has to understand that everything Chizome does, he does for Izuku's sake.
"You did good," he tells him, trying to encompass everything he is thinking in those three simple words.
"Please don't leave me alone again." Izuku is pleading, voice muffled against the worn fabric of Chizome's shirt. His arms are wrapped tightly around Chizome, hands fisted in the back of his shirt like he's afraid the second he lets go he will disappear. "I can't stand it anymore."
"Okay," Chizome says, carding one hand gently through Izuku's hair, squeezing him tighter with the other, grounding him to right here and right now. Reminding him that he's not alone, because his guardian is with him now. "Town is a long way away, but I'll try to spend more time here. I won't make any promises I can't keep, but I will try my best."
Izuku sniffles, shaking his head, smearing snot and tears into Chizome's shirt. He can't be upset with the kid about it, not when he's so vulnerable and when things are going so very well. He hushes him, soothes him, comforts him and reminds him that he is there for him. Then, once the tears have dried up and Izuku's collected himself, they sit down together to create a new schedule for both of them. Maybe this time, Chizome will be able to stick to it.
.
During their outdoor training time, the throwing knife misses its mark and goes soaring past the treeline to disappear into the surrounding forest. Izuku pouts when Chizome admonishes him and points out that it's hardly his fault since it's cold out and his hands are shaking after two hours of training. He loses that argument, and ends up being the one who has to wander into the creepy dark woods to comb through the snow and the dead underbrush to try to find any trace of the sliver of silver.
He grumbles to himself, pushing deeper into the woods, annoyed at the task but also a little relieved for the break. Chizome had insisted that he start going for kill shots during training. Every time Izuku threw or slashed or swung, his mentor's voice would ring through the clearing with a sharp reminder of his new focus points.
The neck, the chest, the back, the thighs. Aim for the major veins and arteries: carotid, jugular, axillary, femoral, popliteal. Cause as much blood loss as possible, go deep, deeper, until the wound can't be healed or the bleeding stopped before emergency services arrive. The base of the skull, through the vertebrae, severing the spinal cord. Blade flat, sliding through the ribs, straight to the heart, lungs, liver, or kidneys. Through the eye, into the brain, weapon twisting until there is too much damage to ever recover from. A fate close enough to death to satisfy Chizome.
Run the drills again, even while Izuku whines and cries because he doesn't understand why he has to learn these things. He doesn't like having to imagine killing anyone. It makes him feel icky.
And run them again, once the tears he's shed have dried or frozen on his face.
And again, until new blisters burst and new calluses form.
And again, until each movement is practically instinctual, until he doesn't have to think about where each vulnerable point is anymore.
And again, until killing is muscle memory, easier than breathing. In theory, anyways, because the dummies are just dummies.
They're not real, but Izuku still hates it.
But he does as he is told, because having another person here to correct his form and give him tips on how to better achieve the task set before him is so much better than day after day after day of silent drills. He accepts the grisly lessons, memorizes all the most vulnerable points on the average human body, and learns how to kill because it is better than the slowly creeping madness he begins to feel biting at his heels after just a week of being completely by himself.
Besides, he assures himself, it's not like I'll ever have to actually use it. It's just a skill just like any other. He knows how to pick locks and he's never done that, has he? He knows where Chizome hides his beer and his coffee and his cigarettes, but he's never once been tempted to try them. Just because he knows something doesn't mean he has to use that knowledge if it's going to hurt himself or others.
He finally finds the errant knife and heaves a sigh of relief. His breath fogs the air in front of him and when his shaking fingers reach for the knife he can barely bend them enough to wrap around the hilt. Still, as Izuku crouches amongst the bare bushes he can't help but smile. The forest around him is pretty, covered in a layer of glittering snow, practically silent compared to the echoing ruckus of the training ground. It's nice to get the chance to catch his breath and quiet his mind. The quiet is so different when Chizome is home, comforting rather than stifling, that he sometimes finds himself missing it.
Then, as if summoned by his musings, a soft scratching of disturbed shrubbery breaks the silence and his fingers go tight around the hilt of the knife. Knuckles screaming with pain and heart hammering in his chest, he lifts his gaze and finds himself face-to-face with a pair of bright blue eyes. The scream for Chizome bubbling in his throat dies upon his lips.
"Mrah?" the little grey cat says with a voice like a lifetime chainsmoker, and Izuku's brow creases.
"Hello?" he says back, and the cat croaks another not-meow, watching him warily. There is snow caught in its fur and snot frozen beneath its nose, and its flicking tail looks a little crooked. Every muscle is tensed, fur ever so slightly bristling, ready to run at the first sign that the human before it is a threat. Izuku smiles. The cat sneezes once, twice, and then a third time. Its breath wheezes a little as it regards him.
"Hey, it's okay," he soothes, voice low and gentle. He doesn't want to scare it away. A feeling that's a little like excitement and a little like anxiety is twisting his stomach into knots. Moving slowly, he settles down into the cold snow and waits for the cat to emerge.
.
"Did you get lost or did you just need a break?" Chizome calls dryly when Izuku emerges from the trees, eyes not lifting from the book in his lap. The little cat stiffens in Izuku's arms at the sound of his voice and digs her claws deeper into his shirt, but he keeps a firm and gentle hold on her until she reluctantly relaxes again.
He picks his way across the training field, careful not to kick anything that would make a noise, until he is standing just before his mentor. He makes sure to stay just out of arm's reach, just in case Chizome doesn't take kindly to his new friend, and waits silently. Eventually, Chizome finishes his chapter and shuts the book with a soft sigh.
"Listen, kid. You can't just wander off like that. We've got way too much—" and then he lifts his eyes and his words abruptly stop as he locks on to the little silver and grey bundle in Izuku's arms. Blue eyes stare back, slitted pupils contracting as the cat regards him suspiciously. She sneezes in his direction. Chizome lifts his gaze a little higher and finds a pair of wide green eyes giving him the most desperate puppy dog eyes he's ever seen in his life. He's pretty sure that the kid hadn't looked so pleading even in those first few days after he'd brought him home, back when he was still begging to be taken back to his mother.
"No," Chizome says. His voice is stern, but he doesn't sound angry. Izuku feels a spark of hope ignite itself in his chest.
"Pleeease?" Izuku says back, drawing the word out in the most grating voice he can manage. The little cat makes a sound like the final groan of a dying car engine, and her claws prick his skin as she readjusts herself in his grip. She is stiff, but hasn't fought to free herself yet.
"You can't take care of a pet. What are you even going to feed it?"
Izuku chews his lip, head dipping in embarrassment as he mumbles, "Well, I was hoping you'd buy her some stuff next time you go to town."
"Kid, it's going to be another week before I can bring back any more supplies. You know that."
Izuku's head snaps up to meet his gaze at that, green eyes flashing with determination and a spark that's been absent since the move to the house in the woods.
"Then I'll share my food with her!" he declares, cradling the cat closer as she squirms and hisses and wheezes before resettling herself a little more comfortably. The quiet rumble she emits a moment later could, arguably, be called a purr. Her ears perk forward as she scrubs her round cheek against Izuku's shirt.
"Anything is better than leaving her all alone in the woods. Look at her, she's all sticks and bones!"
"I don't think that's how the saying goes," Chizome grumbles, but Izuku can see that he's wavering on the edge of giving in. He lets the tears build in his eyes and his bottom lip trembles as he tries for one last push.
"Please, Chizome? She can keep me company while you're away."
For a long moment, the three of them just stare at one another in a silent battle of wills. Then, Chizome groans loudly and lets himself fall backwards, book falling off his lap in the process. His head thumps against the rotting wood of the house's engawa, and he raises both hands above his head in defeat. Izuku knows when he's won, and his tears are miraculously wiped away as he grins like the sun and steps over his mentor's body to bring his new friend inside. She's a little wary right now, but Izuku knows from experience that she'll learn to love it in no time!
Izuku has been eating a lot of arroz caldo aka rice porridge. It's great because it's low cost, requires very few ingredients, and you can make a whole bunch of it at once. Here's a really super simple recipe that even I, someone who burns hotdog water, can make.
1/3 cup of rice (make sure you wash it thoroughly)
4 - 5 cups of water
Start the process of boiling the hell out of the rice
Add in sliced ginger, garlic power, onions, and some pre-cooked chicken if you want.
Once the rice reaches a porridge consistency and the ginger is cooked, turn off the heat. Add some sliced green onions, a tiny dash of sesame oil, and calamansi or lime juice and enjoy. There's a lot more you can do to make it even better, and everyone has their own recipe, but this one is super simple and has saved me a few times when I just wanted something low effort and comforting.
Izuku's new buddy is based off of ThePurpleCow's cat, Stella. I love her, and if you want to see pictures of the real life inspiration then come join the discord!
As always, I owe it all to my wonderful betas, TheFoxyPirateFox and Shaegal, and to my incredible readers.
I'll see you next time!