TACO Run

Chapter 4

Alfyn stared up at the broad blue sky. At least that's the same. Everything else was so different here, though, that even puffy white clouds were small comfort. The roads weren't hard-packed earth, or gravel, or even cobblestones, they were some kind of hard, tarry, resilient substance that had been laid out and then smashed flat, and then had lines painted on it. Tall poles—some wooden, but most of them metal—were spaced out along the side of the road at regular intervals, twisted-metal cables of some kind strung between them like the velvet ropes of a theater marquee. The air smelled faintly of smoke—not woodsmoke, or even coal smoke, but an odd, oily, bitter kind of fume that didn't seem poisonous exactly, but didn't seem healthy either. Every now and then a vehicle would rumble by, moving under its own power somehow, and the smell would get stronger.

Maybe those things are passin' gas, Alfyn mused, finding humor in the idea. The first time one had gone by, faster than a horse at a canter and growling like Linde in a bad mood, he'd yelped and reached for his axe from pure monster-fightin' reflex, only to overbalance and tumble back down the short hill he'd just walked up and land flat on his backside. Good thing I didn't have my axe on me, he acknowledged ruefully, or I'd probably be short a couple fingers. He'd taken the axe out of his belt at Cyrus' place, seeing as it kept getting stuck in the back-slats of his chair.

Thankfully, he'd still had his satchel slung over his shoulder when that spell went off—and boy, was he ever going to give Cyrus a hard time over that one once he found him again! 'Needs a ritual', hah!—so he could still patch himself up if he got hurt somehow.

He'd taken a moment to refill his waterskin at the river the hill rose up from—a weirdly straight slope, really, almost like it'd been planned that way, instead of worn down by time and water—and then trudged back up and started following the odd road, hoping to find civilization a bit quicker.

Well, he'd found it. Lots of buildings, most of 'em made out of brick and mortar, a lot of 'em taller than he was used to, with big, wide windows of expensive glass. Back in Clearbrook, only the inn had been able to afford glass windows, and they'd been small, foursquare-paned things. The ones here were larger and clearer than any he'd seen before—though not as pretty as the stained-glass windows of the Flamesgrace Cathedral.

Alfyn peered through the window of what he was pretty sure was a storefront, resisting the urge to tap the glass and make sure it was real. If he broke it, there was no way he could pay for it!

Yup, that's a store all right! It had shelves full of goods, mostly food he thought, though there were bottles in glass-fronted display cases along the back wall that he thought might be expensive drinks. Most wineries don't sell food though, do they? He'd have to ask Tressa, once he got back. All the stuff inside the store was wrapped in bright, eye-catching packaging, though, making it hard to pick out any one thing as special or worth attention.

The guy minding the counter looked more bored than Therion during one of Cyrus' history lectures, fiddling with something flat and rectangular on the counter. He'd glanced Alfyn's way once, lifted a pink eyebrow, and then gone back to what he was doing when it looked like Alfyn wasn't coming inside.

Pink's new. He'd talked hair dyes with Therion and Prim before. Henna would've made Therion's white hair look a more normal reddish-brown, but he was allergic. Maybe he used beet juice?

The sounds of a nearby scuffle caught Alfyn's attention, and he looked around for the source.

There. A little ways down the street, in a patch of grass beneath a big oak tree, a blond kid had just shoved another boy down, spitting out something arrogant and scathing.

Welp, guess that's the nail in the coffin of 'anywhere near home', Alfyn thought wryly, frowning with concern as he jogged that way. Whatever the blond kid was saying, he didn't understand it. It seemed to really get to the other kid, though, because he was shaking and barely holding back tears, and when he got out a protest in a voice that hadn't yet started cracking, blondie just got madder and yelled something, grabbing him by the collar and half-hauling him to his feet.

"Hey!" Alfyn called out, eyes narrowing as he dropped to one knee, hands planting on the ground to call up an Icicle between the kids, separating them by force. "Cool off!"

The blond kid yanked a hand back, releasing the other kid's collar with what sounded like a curse. His head jerked Alfyn's way, eyes narrowed in the kind of nasty glare Alfyn'd last seen on Mattias when Ophilia'd sermon-of-love'd her sister back out of his dark cult's brainwashing.

Alfyn just gave him a big smile back, rising to his feet. "C'mon, kid, that's no way to treat your neighbors," he said cheerfully, knowing his adult height gave the words a slight edge. "Pickin' on other kids? That's just not right."

The blond kid looked between him and the Icicle—already melting away—with narrowed, angry eyes. The kid he'd been picking on was sitting down again, shaking and wide-eyed, but when he started to say something the blond kid just snarled in his direction and turned to stomp off, shoulders tight and hands shoved in his pockets.

"Good riddance." Alfyn sighed, mouth twisting in a wry smile as he moved over towards the other kid. "You okay?" he asked quietly, dropping down onto one knee near him. "Looks like you took a tumble."

The kid sniffed and hastily scrubbed his face with a sleeve, a faint flush touching freckled cheeks as he babbled out something that Alfyn didn't understand, but experience interpreted as a boy's excuses-slash-reassurances that he was fine, it was no big deal.

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, kid," Alfyn chuckled, gently grabbing one waving wrist and twisting slightly, so he could get a better look at the kid's elbow, where the sleeve of his jacket was torn. From this close, he could tell that the kid's dark hair wasn't truly black, but kind of greenish. Weird. He doesn't look sick, not that I know any illnesses that turn your hair green… "Looks like you've got an injury there," he said. Kid had skinned his elbow in his fall. "Luckily for you, I know a guy."

Unslinging his satchel from his shoulder, he dug out bandages and a bottle of one of his less-ouchy wound-cleaning liquids. A few minutes later, the kid was patched up and looking a lot better, wiping his face with one of Alfyn's spare cloths and asking questions Alfyn couldn't rightly answer, since he didn't know what they were. He still looked worried, though—anxious, Prim would've said—and he fiddled at his sleeve-ends as though needing something to reassure himself he was safe.

Alfyn packed away his stuff, slung his satchel back onto his shoulder, and cocked his head to one side. "What's with the long face?" he asked. "Asshole's gone, and you're almost good as new! Gimme a smile, huh?" He demonstrated with a smile of his own.

Hesitantly, the kid smiled.

Aw, he's like a shy little bunny. "Bigger!" Alfyn encouraged, pointing at his own broad grin for emphasis. "I know you've got it in you!"

The kid bit his lip, took a deep breath—and then grinned so hard it had to hurt, somehow contorting his face into that of a middle-aged man in the process.

"Pffftahahaha!" Alfyn sat down hard, a startled laugh bursting out of him. "What the heck was that, kid?! I asked for a smile, not a terrifying rictus!"

The kid's face returned to normal, and he started sweating nervously, eyes darting embarrassed to one side as he scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair, mumbling. But he seemed a little better, and the small smile he'd shown before still lingered on his face.

Alfyn just grinned at the kid, raking a hand through the upswept part of his hair. "Guess it's true what they say, about laughter being the best medicine—huh?" His other hand had landed on a thin notebook on the ground nearby. "This yours, kid?" he asked, picking it up.

From the faster rush of babble and the way the kid practically snatched it out of his hands, blushing faintly, it was.

"Hey, hey now, it's fine, I'm not gonna steal it. I'm not Therion." Not that Therion would bother stealing a battered notebook from a kid, anyway. Sweets, now… those he considered fair game. "Mind if I take a look?"

The kid hesitated, as if unsure he'd interpreted Alfyn's question properly—or maybe just embarrassed?—but then nodded and held out the notebook cautiously.

"Thanks, kid." Alfyn beamed at him. "Let's see…" He flipped the notebook open to a random page, to see sketches of what looked like a very excited young lady with gloves like oversized cats' paws, a short, frilly skirt, and a midriff-baring top that probably wouldn't look too out of place on a dancer like Prim. There were lots of notes on the page too, with lines pointing at various parts of the sketch as if it were a specimen getting categorized. Turning the page revealed a similar set of notes, but this time the sketch showed a different young woman, with shorter, chin-length hair and what looked like a cat's tail popping out of the back of her skirt. Flipping through the rest of the notebook revealed more and more of the same—people in odd costumes, some of them weird enough that Alfyn was pretty sure they weren't actually human, but belonged to the local monstrous races. "Wow, got a budding scholar here, do we?" he said, reaching over to ruffle the kid's hair playfully. "Hey, what's this one?" He pointed at a picture of what looked like a walking porpoise in formalwear.

The kid perked up, and started babbling a league a minute, eyes shining with enthusiasm.

Yep. Scholar, definitely. Alfyn's smile turned a little wry. The kid could give Cyrus a run for his money. So that thing's called an 'Oruka'. At least, the kid had used that word the most often, and pointed at the picture when he did. Maybe those girl-cat-things were the local version of Caits? Nah, they'd looked too human for that. Maybe they were mummers, though, dressing up like the local Cait variants?

A tug on his sleeve caught Alfyn's attention, and he looked down to see the kid staring up at him with shining eyes. Darker green than Therion's. Brighter than basil, but darker than clover, too blue for olive, and not blue enough for menth. The green of myrtle leaves.

The kid pointed over at the last vestiges of the ice Alfyn had called, asking an eager question.

"It's just an Icicle, kid," Alfyn chuckled. "Nothing impressive, y'know."

"Icicle?" The kid asked with sudden intensity.

"Yeah, an Icicle," Alfyn confirmed, puzzled.

"Icicle, Icicle, Icicle." The kid muttered the word over and over to himself, slowly spiraling off into a world of speculative mumbling, digging in his bag for a pointy stick—wait, was that graphite sheathed in wood? Clever!—and starting to rapidly scribble in the last blank pages of his notebook. Alfyn peered over his shoulder, and was surprised to see that a rough sketch of himself was taking shape. There were little emphasis lines poking off from his bag, his apothecary's coat, and his grin, and what looked like numbers near the sketch's head. Was the kid guessing how tall he was?

The kid finished the first sketch and started on another, still muttering to himself. This one was even rougher, no more than an outline kneeling on the ground, hands outstretched, a rough spear of ice erupting from the ground a distance away. Lots of notes surrounded that sketch, though, including what looked like an estimate of how far away Alfyn had been when he'd called the ice into being.

Huh. Is he trying to analyze the spell? I thought scholars were taught better magic to begin with. Though maybe that was just Cyrus? Or maybe this place taught scholars differently. The kid was young enough that he might not have learned any magic at all yet. Probably isn't more than eleven, twelve years old.

When the kid coughed, throat dry from all that talking, Alfyn untied the waterskin from his belt and handed it over. "Here you go, kid; no use gettin' parched, right?"

The kid stared at the waterskin as if he had no clue what it was or how to use it. After a second though, it was like the Sacred Flame shone a light on him, because he brightened and took it, twisting off the metal cap and guzzling the water inside greedily. He dribbled some of it down his shirtfront, and wiped it away awkwardly, handing the skin back to Alfyn with what sounded like a thank-you.

"Don't worry about it, kid," Alfyn chuckled. "Show me what else you've got in your notebook? If there's nasty monsters around here, an apothecary's gotta be prepared." Especially an unarmed one.

That perked the kid right back up, and he was back to babbling, pointing to various pictures and practically bouncing in place in his excitement.

Cute kid. Alfyn smiled tolerantly, and paid attention as best he could even though he couldn't understand the words. The kid talked, and talked, and talked, digging out a second notebook, and a third, babbling excitedly about one sketch that looked like a humanoid tree, another that looked like some kind grinning dumpling with arms and legs, and a third of a clean-cut, handsome guy in shiny white armor who might be one of the local knights.

At some point, the two of them moved to sit under the tree, resting back against its trunk, the kid leaning against Alfyn's side for support as he rattled on and on.

Sheesh, you'd think no one had ever listened to him before.

Maybe they hadn't, though, because you didn't get that kind of desperate excitement from someone unless they'd been wanting to share for a long, long time.

It was at least an hour before the kid started winding down, and he finished off Alfyn's waterskin in the meantime. A kind of buzzing sound startled them both, and the kid jumped, scrambling at his pocket until he pulled out a flat rectangle kind of like the one the store-minder had been fiddling with. A poke at its shiny surface, and a voice came out of it, making Alfyn jump.

That's a ma, Alfyn realized after a moment, recognizing the worried tone as the kid made hasty, apologetic noises back at the rectangle, scrubbing his free hand through his hair. So those things let people talk to each other from far away, huh? He suddenly, fiercely wanted that ability for himself. Some way to get a hold of the others, and get back home. This place was interesting, but it was strange, and he didn't know where he was, or how far he'd have to walk to reach people he could talk to again, and Zeph was expecting him back in a couple hands of days. I can't even send him and Nina a letter.

Alfyn was distracted from his morose thoughts by a thunderous growl emanating from his gut, and he flushed, giving the kid an embarrassed, apologetic grin when he turned a wide-eyed stare his direction. "Sorry 'bout that, kid. S'been a few hours since lunch, and jammy-bread's good, but it doesn't last too long in the insides, y'know?" He'd be fine, though. He was no H'aanit, but he could forage well enough out in the wilderness if he had to.

The kid blinked at him rapidly, a worried frown on his freckled face, and then started talking to his ma again, words coming out even more rapidly than before. Several furious nods later, and he poked the rectangle and shoved it back in his pocket, seemingly finished with his conversation. He turned back to Alfyn and babbled something else, starting to gather up his scattered things.

"Time to go home, huh?" Alfyn grinned at the kid, chin propped on his hand. "Here, let me help with that." It was the work of a minute to scoop all of the kid's belongings back into his backpack, and then the kid slung it over his shoulders and tugged Alfyn's sleeve.

"What, you want me to come along?" Alfyn blinked at the kid. "What'd your ma say?"

From the kid's firm, eager response and insistent tugging, she'd probably told him it was alright.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" Alfyn laughed, slinging his satchel over his shoulder again and straightening up. "Show the way, kid."

Izuku gripped his backpack's straps, fingers squeezing tight with excitement at bringing someone home with him.

He hadn't known what to make of the stranger at first. Kacchan had been mad at him again, and yelled at him, and pushed him down, but then when Kacchan dragged him to his feet by the collar he'd heard someone shout, and then a jagged spear of ice had thrust up from the ground between them and made Kacchan let go.

They'd both looked over to see a strange adult just rising from where he'd gone down on one knee, and he'd obviously created that ice, and then he'd crossed his arms over his chest and said something cheerful in a funny language, eyes on Kacchan in a way that said he thought Kacchan needed to leave, no matter how nice he was making himself sound.

And Kacchan had left, even if he'd spat out some rude words first, leaving Izuku hurt and embarrassed and confused behind him.

Izuku didn't know when Kacchan had started hating him, and he didn't know why, but the lingering memories of their friendship, his admiration for Kacchan's self-confident courage and drive to win even when much bigger kids picked fights, left him torn between wanting to do anything, anything to mend their relationship, and wanting to run and hide whenever Kacchan started spitting sparks.

Kacchan had never used his Quirk on Izuku directly. On his stuff, or on nearby walls or branches or old soda cans to scare him, but that was it. Kacchan was going to be a Hero, a Hero like All Might, and Heroes didn't use their Quirks to beat up anyone but Villains. Kacchan might bully and intimidate him, might say things that twisted his guts into knots and left him choking back tears, might shove him into a wall or tree to make his point… but he wouldn't actually beat him up. So Izuku had never gotten more than scrapes and bruises from Kacchan. Little things that could be explained by tripping over his own clumsy feet, or falling down when he got surprised.

He did hate making his mom worry, though, so he'd gotten pretty good at hiding little injuries like that.

The stranger hadn't let him pretend he was okay, though. He'd just grabbed Izuku's wrist and very gently taken a look at his skinned elbow. And then opened up his bag and pulled out bandages, and a bottle of something that fizzed and stung in his scrapes but left them feeling clean and much better afterwards, and by the time he was done Izuku's tears had mostly dried up and he could wipe his face with a spare cloth.

And the stranger had smiled at him, and teased him into smiling back, and laughed at his All Might Vinegar River Grin, and just been so nice that Izuku couldn't help but feel better despite everything.

Then the stranger had found Izuku's Hero Note Number Six, and the crushing fear of ridicule had made him snatch it away, terrified that it would get damaged, or made fun of, or—

But the stranger hadn't teased him. Had just asked, nice and polite, if he could see the notebook—Izuku didn't need to understand his words to know that—and his smile was warmer than sunshine, almost as bright as All Might's, and Izuku had thought that maybe, just this once, it would be okay.

And it had been. The foreigner—he didn't speak any Japanese—had just sat down cross-legged and thumbed through Izuku's notebook, pointing at the sketches and asking questions Izuku couldn't answer because he couldn't understand what he'd asked. But when Izuku had started talking, gushing about Gang Orca, the Wild Wild Pussycats, Turbo Hero Ingenium… that had been okay too. Because the stranger hadn't gotten bored, or annoyed, or weirded out, and it was almost like the language barrier didn't matter, because Izuku could just talk, and tell him how amazing all of the Heroes he admired were, and the stranger would just listen and smile and point at pictures and ask more unintelligible questions and Izuku had never had someone listen to him like that in his life, except maybe his mom. And he'd shared his funny leather water-bottle thing when Izuku's throat got dry, and ruffled his hair, and maybe he was a Hero, because he'd used his Quirk to save Izuku, and that was what Heroes did, they saved people, and maybe Kacchan wasn't a Villain, but the foreign Hero couldn't know that, and anyway bullying was wrong even when Kacchan was doing it, and the Hero had seen that and put a stop to it!

So of course, Izuku had had to add him to his notebook, and it had been kind of embarrassing to realize that he was doing it while the Hero was right there, but he hadn't seemed to mind at all, so that was okay. And then they'd talked more, and the next thing Izuku knew his mom was calling wondering where he was and if he was going to be home in time for dinner.

Izuku had been really, really sorry for worrying her, and apologized a lot and explained where he was and why he wasn't home yet. Though he left out the part about Kacchan pushing him. And then the Hero's stomach had growled, loud enough that Izuku's mom had heard it over the phone and asked him what that noise was. The foreign Hero had been pretty embarrassed, but if he really was foreign and didn't speak Japanese, it was probably really hard for him to order food, and maybe he didn't have much money on him, because there was a convenience store right there but he hadn't bought anything from it, not even drinks. So Izuku asked his mom if they had enough dinner for a guest too, and after a lot of talking and explaining, she'd said it was okay if he brought him along.

Then he'd just had to explain things to the foreign Hero—who was probably on vacation in Japan, since he didn't seem to have a costume, so he probably shouldn't've used his Quirk before—and make sure he followed him home.

Now they were almost at Izuku's apartment, and the foreign Hero made a low whistling sound, as if impressed for some reason, which was weird, because it was just a normal apartment complex, even if they did live on the second-highest floor.

"Sorry about all the stairs," Izuku said once they were halfway up, but the foreign Hero just laughed and waved him onward, not even a little winded. Wow, he had a lot of stamina! Well of course he would, Heroes had to have stamina to deal with lots of problems every day. I wonder what his Hero name is? He uses an ice creation Quirk, but he doesn't look or act like cold's his theme, so maybe his Hero persona is completely separate from his civilian one? Maybe he's even an Underground Hero! There were Heroes like that, who avoided the press and public attention.

"Mom, I'm home!" Izuku said, pushing open the front door and hopping forward on one foot, tugging off his shoes.

"Welcome home, Izuku," his mom said, hurrying out of the kitchen with her apron still on. "And welcome to our home, mister… oh, Izuku, you never told me what his name is!"

"Oh! Sorry, mom, I—" Izuku blinked, and flushed when he realized he'd never actually asked for the foreign Hero's name, or even introduced himself to him. "I, um, I forgot to ask."

Apparently, the Hero caught on to what had happened, though, because he just stepped forward, still with that sunshine-warm smile, and grabbed Izuku's mom's hand in both of his, bowing a little and saying what Izuku was pretty sure was his name.

"Alfin?" Izuku's mom tried, and got a rapid nod and a beaming smile in confirmation. "Mister Alfin, then. I'm Midoriya Inko, and of course you've met my son, Izuku…"

It took a few tries to make sure mister Alfin got their names right, and not long after that his stomach growled again like some kind of angry lion, making him laugh and rub the back of his head in embarrassment.

Dinner was rice, salad, and omelet rolls. Mister Alfin seemed to enjoy it a lot, even though he didn't know how to use chopsticks so Izuku's mom had had to dig a fork out of the back of the drawer for him. He'd helped Izuku set the table, despite his mom's protests that he didn't need to, really. He'd gotten the cups down off the shelf Izuku couldn't quite reach yet, and bowed his head when they did for itadakimasu, and then dug right in.

He'd eaten a lot, so Izuku was glad his mom didn't mind making more omelet rolls. In fact, his mom really seemed happy about it. Probably because mister Alfin was so nice. It really didn't matter much that they couldn't understand each other, because his face made it really obvious how much he liked the food, and he'd brushed off Izuku's mom's thanks for taking care of Izuku's scrape, and they'd talked for a long time about nothing in particular, and he helped clean up the dinner dishes too.

After dinner, Izuku started on his homework on the living-room floor, and mister Alfin flopped down on his stomach beside him, chin propped on his hands, watching him do algebra with a kind of interest that Izuku wasn't used to, but didn't really mind. By the time Izuku was done with his homework, it was dark outside and his mom was calling him to get ready for bed.

"Okay, mom!" Putting his books away, he scrambled to his feet. "Um, mom? What about mister Alfin?" The foreign Hero hadn't made any attempts to get up off the floor, just smiling up at him a little sleepily. "I don't think he has a hotel yet."

"Well, I suppose he can use the couch for tonight," his mom frowned. "Although he's a little tall for that…"

Izuku lit up. "He can stay in my room!" he said eagerly. A real, live Hero spending the night! "I cleaned it up yesterday!" And he hadn't made a mess in it today.

"Well, I suppose, if he doesn't mind…"

"Yesss!" Izuku grabbed mister Alfin's hand, pulling him to his feet. He'd been looking back and forth between Izuku and his mom curiously, as if he knew they were talking about him, he just didn't know what they were saying. "Come on, mister Alfin! I'll show you where my room is!"

Mister Alfin went along willingly enough, and Izuku had a moment to be embarrassed by the All Might memorabilia papering his walls and ceiling. Mister Alfin stared at one of the posters, and then looked at Izuku with a laugh that wasn't even a little mean and grinned broadly, pointing to the poster with one hand and Izuku with the other.

"Heheheh… yeah, that was All Might's face I was doing before," Izuku admitted, scrubbing at his hair.

"Izuku! Don't forget to take a bath!" his mother called down the hallway, arms full of the spare futon, which mister Alfin quickly took from her.

"Yes, mom. Oh! Do we have anything for mister Alfin to wear to bed?" His clothes didn't look comfy for sleeping in, even if he had taken off the big leather boots.

"I think I have some of your father's old pajamas," his mother said thoughtfully, kneeling to help mister Alfin spread out the futon and blanket on the floor. "They might be a bit short, but they'll fit well enough."

"Okay! Come on, mister Alfin! I'll show you where the bathroom is."

Western bathrooms must have been really different from the ones here in Japan, because mister Alfin had gotten pretty surprised when Izuku showed him how the toilet and tub worked. Once he figured out the sprayer, though, they'd had a brief water fight that left Izuku shrieking with laughter and his mom asking if they were all right in there.

Mister Alfin had lots and lots of scars.

Wow. Are all of those from fighting Villains? All Might didn't seem to have any scars, but he was the best, the Number One Hero, so he didn't even let the Villains touch him.

When mister Alfin saw Izuku looking, he just smiled—warm and soft and somehow a tiny bit sad—and ruffled his hair so vigorously that Izuku yelped and flailed and splashed in the bath until he let go. Then he'd let Izuku ask questions, and even if Izuku couldn't understand the answers, he got a vague impression of something with teeth for one scar, and a whole bunch of bad guys with knives for some others, and there was one splash-shaped one on his right arm that he was pretty sure mister Alfin said had been caused by acid.

By the time they got out of the bath, they were both pink and wrinkly and ready to fall into bed. The old pajamas Izuku's mom had scrounged up for mister Alfin were definitely too short, and a little bit tight in the shoulders, but he left the front unbuttoned under a jinbe and seemed okay with the results.

Izuku thought he'd never fall asleep, too excited by the prospect of having a real Hero in his room! But his mom had barely turned off the lights before his eyes got heavy, and he was asleep before he knew it.

A/N: For those not aware, itadakimasu is a common phrase said before eating a meal in Japan, basically boiling down to 'I receive this (gratefully/humbly)'. It doesn't really translate well into any other language, most often given as 'let's eat' or 'thanks for the food', which isn't really accurate.

A/N: A jinbe is a kind of short jacket thing worn like a housecoat or shawl in Japan, usually over pajamas.