Chapter Text
Izuku had never before given much thought as to how he would die.
He was young and sheltered, newly seventeen, and Japan was one of the safest countries in the world. He looked both ways before he crossed the street, had always been relatively healthy, and never undertook any particularly dangerous hobbies. He didn’t play contact sports, he didn’t smoke, didn’t even ride a bike for fear of crashing it.
So, needless to say, Izuku never expected to go out like this.
It happened in slow motion, like every movie cliché, with his life flashing before his eyes. Izuku stared across the room and into the eyes of the beast, dark, with pupils blown-wide. He thought of his mother holding him as a baby, and what it would be like for her when she found his body. The beast looked back at Izuku, appreciatively, and he thought that maybe it’d be okay if his mother never did find him. He hoped that there would be nothing left of him.
In the back of his mind, Izuku thought of how this all began. He knew that if he’d never chosen to go and live with his father in Wakkanai, then he’d never be in this position. But, blameworthy as that decision was, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He wasn’t sure that if he could, he would go back in time to choose differently.
For the first time in his life, Izuku had been able to reach for a sort of dream so far beyond his comprehension and expectations. It was certainly greedy of him, but he could not bear to give up his new preternatural reality in exchange for his old, useless normal. He had lived and loved enough in the last few months to last a lifetime.
Before him, the beast advanced.
Izuku’s mother escorted him to the airport as far as she could before she herself had to go. In Haneda’s departures area, they made quite the scene; she was sobbing and he was, well, also sobbing. He’d never spent much time away from his mother. After the divorce, she’d gotten sole custody, and he hadn’t gone to visit his dad alone in a long while. He barely even remembered Wakkanai.
“You’ll call me at least once a week?” she asked, cradling his face like he was precious glass, and Izuku laughed through his tears and stuffy nose.
“I’ll call you every day,” he responded, “I’m gonna miss you so much.”
His mother smiled sadly and kissed him on the forehead. He would need to leave, to go and board soon, and she needed to pack for the move. She was leaving Tokyo to go and live with Izuku’s stepfather in America, where he was working abroad. “It won’t be too long, I hope,” she said. “You’ll come and visit for winter vacation.”
And really, he couldn’t wait for that.
Of course, it wasn’t as if he hated the idea of living with or spending time with his dad; he and Toshinori talked on the phone semi-frequently, and growing up, Izuku had always thought his dad was amazing, like a superhero. Toshinori was the chief of police in Wakkanai, the capital city of the Soya subprefecture in Hokkaido. And, like the rest of Hokkaido, Wakkanai was cold and dreary, under a near-constant cover of clouds. So, it wasn’t so much that Izuku disliked the idea of being with his dad. He just wasn’t so sure he’d like to be in Wakkanai long-term.
He’d grown accustomed to the sunlight of Tokyo, the heat of the summer, the reliability of the rainy season… he feared he’d take one step in Hokkaido and develop vitamin D deficiency, drain the tan from his skin, lose all his freckles. Izuku liked his freckles. Wakkanai got a measly thousand-and-a-half hours of sunlight per year, compared to Tokyo’s nearly two thousand. Izuku loved Tokyo; it was massive, it was loud, and it was stressful, but there was a place for everyone.
The same could not be said about Wakkanai.
“I love you,” Izuku told her. Her eyes were a mirror of his; large and green and full of fear. He looked so much like her that one of the only traits he had in common with his dad was the unruly texture of his hair.
“I love you, too, my beautiful boy. Tell Toshi I said hi.”
“I will.”
They hugged for another whole minute, and then Izuku ran off and boarded his flight.
It was two hours in the air from Tokyo to Wakkanai’s own airport. After that, his dad’s house was about a 20-minute drive from the airport. Izuku wasn’t particularly worried about running out of things to talk about, though sometimes his dad did get a bit awkward in conversation. Toshinori had never gotten to grow accustomed to parental small-talk the way Inko had. However, he seemed genuinely excited that Izuku was coming to live with him on a sort-of permanent basis.
Toshinori had taken it upon himself to get Izuku transferred to and registered for Hokkaido Wakkanai High School. He had gotten Izuku’s bus pass, his school uniform, set up a bedroom, anything to make Izuku’s life easier. He probably knew that Izuku wasn’t particularly excited to move, and was probably surprised that Izuku didn’t follow his mother. Izuku would do his best to thank him for all that he’d done.
When the plane landed, it was raining. Izuku nearly laughed, because of course it was; it was September. It wasn’t as humid as it was in Tokyo, which was nice, and for one of the hottest months of the year, it was a decent fifteen-something degrees. Toshinori was waiting for him in his police cruiser.
His dad gave him an awkward, one-armed hug when he pulled out onto the curb with all his luggage. Toshinori had grown skinny over the years, a sign of his declining health, but he was still active and strong in many ways. Izuku’s mother still worried over him, despite their divorce and distance. “It’s so good to see you, my boy,” his dad told him, with a big grin. Izuku couldn’t help smiling, himself, despite being pelted by the rain. They made quick work of getting his suitcases in the car before clambering inside and wiping off with spare towels that Toshinori just happened to have lying around. Fair.
“You haven’t changed much since last year,” Toshinori said, and Izuku wondered if that was a dig at his height. “How is Inko?”
“Mom’s good,” Izuku told him. “It’s so good to see you, too, Dad. You look good.”
Toshinori laughed. “I feel fantastic,” he replied. “Do you remember the Bakugous?”
“You mean Kacchan?”
His father nodded. “Yes, young Katsuki. Your mother was good friends with his parents, though they’ve lost touch in recent years. His father works with me. They take good care of me, bring me meals, make sure I'm eating right. And there’s Tsukauchi.” The windshield wipers were like a metronome as he spoke, somehow a happy sort of rhythm despite the gloom of their surroundings. He’d never heard his dad this happy.
“I haven’t seen Tsukauchi-san in a long time,” Izuku said. Tsukauchi Naomasa was a detective, and his father’s closest friend. After the divorce, Izuku was half-convinced that Tsukauchi and his dad were in some sort of romantic relationship. “Do the Bakugous still live out in the boonies?”
“Mitsuki—that’s Katsuki’s mother—her family has always lived out there.” From what he could remember, Izuku’s childhood friend and his family had lived in the forested outskirts of Wakkanai with several other families. It was like its own little village. They had to park their cars a mile or so away from their homes in the winter because they’d get so much snow and couldn’t shovel it without help from the city, who wouldn't go that far out with their plows. “They own the land.”
“Huh. That’s cool.”
“Did you get enough winter clothing? You’ve never been here for the snow.”
“We got enough, I think!” Izuku told him. “Hisashi paid for some of it, so I was able to get a good amount.”
“That was very kind,” Toshinori smiled. “I got you some things as well, as a homecoming gift. I think you’re really going to like your room, too.”
Izuku felt like crying, listening to his voice. Toshinori had worked really hard to make him comfortable. Izuku knew that his dad wasn’t rich, not like Hisashi, and he must have worked so hard to do all of this. He would actually, definitely cry when he saw whatever Toshinori had in store for him. He had too many emotions that day. “You didn’t have to do that, Dad. I’m happy just to be with you.”
“Nonsense. I’m just glad you’re here.”
“Thank you, then,” he said, tears gathering, threatening to spill.
“You’re welcome, son.”
The drive went faster than he thought it would. He spent the rest of the time exchanging comments about the weather with his dad and staring out the window in awe; despite the rain, it was beautiful. The ocean was so close, and Toshinori house, which was right outside the city limits, was shrouded in green. He wouldn’t have to worry about hearing his upstairs neighbors stomping around in the morning. It was peaceful.
Toshinori and his mother had bought the small, two-bedroom house in the early days of their marriage. It hadn’t changed since Izuku could last remember it; a thin layer of moss clung to the concrete staircase, the wood was painted a creamy tan, the gutters were a bit rusty, and the shutters were perpetually open. A couple of shingles had fallen off the roof and rested in a pile next to the door. Toshinori helped him bring in the suitcases.
He left his wet sneakers in the muckroom and helped Toshinori carry the bags up the stairs. Pictures from ages past lined the walls, and all the furniture was well-used. It wasn’t the cleanest, but Toshinori absolutely lived in this house. His touch was everywhere, and that was comforting to Izuku. It took some of the edge off moving.
Izuku had the west bedroom, which overlooked the backyard. Toshinori opened the door slowly, as if to build anticipation, and it was well worth it; the room was decked out in pictures and posters from his apartment. How his mother had sent them that fast was a mystery to him. There were other pictures that Izuku did not know existed; several with him and Kacchan, some with his dad, and a couple of them all together. The bed was a comfy-looking full size, piled high with warm blankets and what looked like a homemade quilt. There was a bench of sorts at the end of his bed, a desk on the wall under the big window, and a huge flat-screen television mounted on the wall across from his bed.
“Dad!” he blinked, unable to form words. He didn’t even have a television in his old room. There was a playstation there, too, sitting atop the bookshelf underneath the TV. It was so nice, he didn’t know what to do. He started to cry. “Thank you so much, oh my god.”
“You’re welcome,” he said with another classic Toshinori grin. He handed Izuku the box of tissues that had been set on the nightstand beside his bed. “Your closet has your uniforms in it as well as some of the clothes I bought for you. There are shelves and drawers built-in.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Izuku said. “Would it be annoying if I thanked you again?”
His dad laughed. “Not at all. But don’t thank me too much, yet; we still have to share a bathroom.”
“That’s okay,” Izuku said. “Thank you so much, Dad.”
Not one to hover, Toshinori left the room when Izuku started to unpack and get settled. Izuku could hear the clatter of life downstairs, and he relished in the time he could spend alone, to finish crying and gather his thoughts. Izuku was anxious and emotional by nature, and a decent amount of bullying in his middle school days had urged him toward introversion. He needed time to cool down, especially when he would be starting his new school the next day.
Hokkaido Wakkanai was not as large as Orudera High, where he’d gone in Tokyo, but it was scarier in another way; all of these kids had grown up together. Izuku would be l’intrus, new and strange in a way he was absolutely afraid of. He would probably crumble if he had to endure bullying again; there weren’t many schools to transfer to in the area. He worried that people would want too much from him, expect the kid from Tokyo to be gregarious and popular and worldly, but Izuku was small in more ways than his stature. He had bug eyes and messy, thick hair, and in some ways, he was skinny and ungainly. He’d picked up running at sixteen, which had put lean muscle on his bones, but he was still, honestly, below-average.
There was nothing he could do about it, now.
No matter how much he wanted to press pause and rewind, there was no turning back. Tomorrow would be just the beginning.