Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The skin around Izuku’s right eye was tender, in that definitely-going-to-bruise sort of way.

It hadn’t bruised yet, of course. But it would. Kacchan had managed to squeeze in one last punch before school was over, a going-away present for the summer. Black eyes took their time fading when Kacchan gave them.

But Mom didn’t know about it yet, and the longer he could keep her from finding out, the better. Izuku had been staring out the car window ever since she picked him up from school to take them straight to Yakoto. Maybe, if he could keep her from looking at the right side of his face long enough, the bruise would fade before she ever noticed a thing.

He could only hope. With Dad gone and Mom’s new job pulling her every which way all at once, the last thing she needed was to worry about him.

Izuku let his mind wander as he stared out the window and watched the scenery pass by. The trunk of the car was packed with bags, and the paperwork for their summer-long house rental was tucked safely in the glove compartment. Mom had made arrangements with her boss to work from home. They had been planning this for weeks. Ever since the divorce papers went through, in fact.

He shook his head, determined not to think about that. If he thought about it too much, then he’d ruin the whole point of this vacation. So instead, he turned his attention to the world outside his car window.

It was a good world, in Izuku’s keen-eyed opinion. They had started their drive smack-dab in the middle of Musutafu, but now, hours into the trip, the cities and suburbs were long behind them. Yakoto was out in the countryside, a quaint little village tucked in the foothills of wooded mountains, and the rooms they were renting for the summer were right on the edge of it.

That had been non-negotiable, back when they were discussing this trip. Izuku wanted woods and fields, because what good was a vacation without adventure, and what good was an adventure without a proper wilderness to have it in?

As if in answer, the scenery on the side of the road opened out to a field, and in the center of the field stood a single dead tree, its bare dark branches twisted and gnarled from drying in the summer sun.

Deciding it was worth the risk, Izuku turned from the window to retrieve his notebook and a pencil. Mom turned to glance at him, then at the field and its lonely tree, and smiled as Izuku opened the book and began to draw it.

Forests were wonderful, but single trees in the middle of empty fields were interesting. You could do a lot with trees like that. There could be things living in them—or under them. Yes, that was it—maybe there was a cave underneath with a monster living there, poisoning the ground until the tree died and dried up.

Smiling to himself, Izuku flipped a page and started drawing what such a monster might look like. It definitely had to have more than two arms. Big, bulbous eyes and huge teeth. Poison, too—oh, but what if it was made of poison, dripping with toxic sludge?

Izuku was lost in thought, dreaming of dead trees and monsters and plucky heroes on quests to defeat them, when Mom let out a soft, “ah!” and pulled off the main road. Izuku tore his eyes away from his notebook and pressed himself against the window for a better look.

Little villages like this were the exact reason why words like “idyllic” and “quaint” was invented, he thought. Every house and dwelling was widely spaced apart, traditional, and charming. It was a far cry from the densely-packed urban sprawl of the big cities. The mountains loomed almost close enough to reach out and touch, dark mottled green with forests and fields. Izuku left smudges on the windows as he stared in delight at the buildings they passed by, before Mom took a turn in the direction of the mountains, and the road turned from pavement to dirt.

“Oh look, Izuku!” Mom cried out. “There it is!”

It was small, but it stood out in the distance because buildings were so few and far between in the fields and scattered trees of the foothills. Izuku gasped at the sight of it: a simple but pretty two-story building, like a small inn, tucked into a copse of trees.

It was perfect.

Izuku barely waited for the car to stop moving before opening the door to jump out, earning a squeak of startled laughter from his mom as she shut off the engine. Notebook in hand, he ran back and forth across the front of the old house, mouth open as he took in every detail. It had everything: trees hanging low overhead, plants everywhere, bonsai pots in the windowsills, a black cat napping in the sun just outside, a rock garden and a little water feature and a pathway leading around the back of the inn that he just knew was ripe for exploring—

By the time Mom caught up, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Ready to go?” she asked, and stifled a laugh when he couldn’t even form words to answer. “Alright then! Let’s go check in with the landlady.” With that, they left their shoes at the door and stepped inside.

The first thing Izuku did upon setting foot in the house was sneeze. It wasn’t that it was dusty; everything looked very clean and neat and well-kept, in fact. But there was an odd smell in the air that he couldn’t quite place. It reminded him a bit of the time he’d visited a farm on a class trip—maybe it was old straw?

Before he could ponder on it more, the sound of footsteps reached his ears, and a woman stepped out into the lobby.

She was pretty, Izuku thought. She was about Mom’s age, but taller and slender with long, silvery-white hair. She was dressed in a neat blue yukata with swirling patterns, the kind of design that you could stare at for hours.

“Welcome,” she said, with a polite and graceful bow. “I’m Yuuki Rei—we spoke on the phone…?” As she spoke, her eyes settled on Izuku.

He smiled at her. She didn’t smile back.

“Good afternoon!” Mom greeted, bowing back. “My name is Midoriya Inko, and this is my son Izuku. Thank you for having us for the summer.”

“I see.” Ms. Yuuki’s gaze was fixed on Izuku, and for the first time his excitement gave way to worry. Was something wrong? Was he not supposed to be here? “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I must have misunderstood. I thought you said your son was older.”

“I…” Izuku didn’t miss the way his mother faltered. “I said he was a teenager? And he is, he’s just turned thirteen this summer.”

“Oh.” Ms. Yuuki’s face was cold, even colder than his teachers looked whenever they talked to him. Izuku shrank back toward the door, worry growing with each second.

Mom’s arm was around his shoulders, squeezing his arm a little with her fingers. “I didn’t mean to mislead you, Ms. Yuuki,” she said. “This… this isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”

Ms. Yuuki opened her mouth to reply.

“Mother?”

Izuku jumped. There was someone else at the doorway where Ms. Yuuki had come out. It was a boy; more importantly, it was a boy who looked about his own age. He was dressed in jeans and a loose buttoned coat instead of a yukata, but he was just as striking as Ms. Yuuki, if not even more so. His hair was bleached and dyed, one side white and the other red, and there was a strange patch of off-color skin over the left side of his face, like a birthmark.

He looked like a character in a fantasy story, with fancy hair and deep eyes and a mysterious mark on his face.

Curioser and curioser, Izuku thought, remembering a line from a book he used to love when he was little. It was almost interesting enough to make up for Ms. Yuuki’s frosty reception.

“Are these the guests you told me about?” the boy asked, blinking at Izuku and his mother with a cool sort of curiosity.

“Ah, y-yes, Shouto,” Ms. Yuuki answered. She turned back to Mom, clearing her throat quietly. “There… won’t be a problem,” she said. “I’m sorry if I was rude. I was just caught off guard, that’s all. I didn’t realize your son would be… would be my son’s age. I don’t often rent to families with children.”

“Oh, well that’s a shame,” Mom said, with a smile at the other boy. “I hope they’ll get along, while we’re here!”

Ms. Yuuki smiled thinly. In the blink of an eye, she was perfectly calm and composed once more. “Of course,” she said kindly, very carefully not looking at Izuku. “Please, let me help you with your bags. Shouto—” she began, but her son had slipped away.

Izuku only realized he was fidgeting when his mother placed her hand on his shoulder. “Izuku, do you want to go and play? Sorry, explore,” she corrected herself when she saw Izuku’s halfhearted scowl. (Seriously, he was a teenager already, he didn’t go out and play like a little kid anymore.)

Of course, being a teenager meant being halfway to a grown-up, so… “It’s okay,” he said, following her back to the car. “I can go out later. We have lots of stuff to bring in.”

That made her smile, which made it worth it. She’d been smiling less and less ever since Dad stopped calling.

Izuku stepped into the room that was to be his own and stopped short.

Mom had been very careful to make it clear to him that they weren’t staying in a hotel. A hotel all summer would have been expensive, and the price was already amazing for what they were getting. He knew he shouldn’t complain. This vacation was for him just as much as it was for Mom, maybe even more so.

But the musty smell in the entryway only grew stronger the further he went into the house, and at the same time, the pretty rustic appearance of the outside faded. By the time he got to his own room, he was looking at bare walls, rough floorboards that creaked underfoot, and a squeaky bed with a stiff mattress.

At least it isn’t dirty, he thought, eyeing the floor. The wood really was rough, and a couple of the boards stuck up at the corners. He tried to imagine walking barefoot in here, and shuddered. So many splinters.

He placed his suitcase on the bed, smoothing out the old comforter thoughtfully. Maybe if he folded it in half, he could use it to cushion the mattress. He could still be comfortable if he made the best of it. And besides—since when were the lodgings the best part of any vacation? There was a whole world outside to explore! All he had to do in this room was sleep. The rest of the village, and the fields and woods beyond it, were sure to make up for all of it. And if they didn’t, it’d be nice just to spend some quiet time away from home. Far, far away from home.

Comforted, Izuku stood up and turned around to go find Mom and see what they were doing for dinner tonight.

Ms. Yuuki’s son Shouto stood in the doorway of his bedroom, watching him quietly.

Izuku yelped. “O-oh! I’m sorry! Were you trying to talk to me, or get my attention… I-I was thinking about somet hings, that’s all, and I didn’t mean to ignore you. It’s nice to meet you! Your name’s Shouto, right? I’m Izuku, and I hope we can… get along…” The other boy continued to stare at him in silence, and his nervous rambling trailed off.

After a moment, Shouto finally replied, “Are you done?”

“Done what?”

“Talking,” he said bluntly. Izuku fidgeted in embarrassment before Shouto added, “What happened to your eye?”

“H-huh?” On instinct, Izuku’s hand rose to his face. His fingertips bumped the growing bruise, and he winced at the pain. Kacchan never did pull his punches. “Oh, this eye? Um, I fell down, at school. B-but it’s okay because—”

“So either you’re clumsy or you’re a bad liar,” Shouto said. The corner of his nose wrinkled with something like scorn.

Izuku’s heart sank low in his chest, and he hugged his notebook under his arm. They’d come here to get away from bullies. Of course with his luck he’d wind up meeting a new one. “I-I have to find my mom,” he said, shuffling past him. “Excuse me.”

“She looked busy,” Shouto called after him, and Izuku jogged to get away from him faster.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. Mom was on the phone when Izuku reached her room down the hall, and she gave him an apologetic smile when he looked in on her. Izuku lingered at the doorway, not sure what to do, until she apparently reached a lull in her conversation and covered the receiver with her hand.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she stage-whispered to him. “One of my coworkers calling about a crisis—why don’t you go exploring? I’ll come get you when it’s time to go find dinner.”

Izuku answered with a smile that he didn’t quite feel, and backed out of the room again. Their vacation had only just started, and they were already being interrupted. His only consolation was that Shouto had already left; if Shouto was anything like Kacchan or Tsubasa or the other kids at school, he would have laughed and rubbed it in Izuku’s face.

Izuku set his jaw. This wouldn’t do at all. He was going to have fun or die trying. And if inside couldn’t do that for him, then he might as well go outside instead.

It was still light out when he thumped his way down the stairs and out the front door. As soon as he was outside, he breathed in with a sigh of relief. The musty smell was gone, and he didn’t feel like sneezing and itching every few seconds. The path was exactly where he remembered it, winding around the side of the house and into the surrounding trees. Eager and ever-hopeful, Izuku tucked his notebook against his side and followed it.

Izuku had never had a backyard before. He’d grown up in the same apartment all his life, and the closest he ever got was the little courtyard outside the complex. It was very small and neat, a well-kept green lawn with a few bushes and cement paths and a couple wooden benches. He’d done his best when he was little, but there weren’t an awful lot of adventures to be found in a place like that.

Around the back of the house, Izuku found everything the little courtyard had ever denied him.

It wasn’t neat and it wasn’t well-kept. It wasn’t even perfectly flat. The ground was uneven with tree roots and stones and mounds of earth, overgrown with plants that weren’t trimmed and shaped and watered, but planted sometime years ago and left to grow as they saw fit. Everything was tangled and unkempt and chaotic, and the sight of it was enough to bring Izuku his hopes back.

The copse of trees stretched beyond it, the wildest backyard Izuku had ever seen, and the path led him on a winding journey through it all. If he looked up, he could see the curve of the foothills and the outline of mountains beyond, set against the deep turquoise sky. In the height of summer most of the blossoms and flowers were gone, but everything was warm and strong and green, and the air buzzed with cicada songs.

Something snapped softly nearby, and Izuku jumped and turned around to look. Finding nothing, he kept going.

The path turned a corner around a small rise, and Izuku jumped. Further up on the rise overlooking the path was an old tree stump—but it didn’t look like a tree stump at all. It was almost shaped like an animal, bent and gnarled and extra-shaggy with all the moss and lichen growing on it.

Izuku waved to it. It just seemed appropriate. He checked the time, shrugged, and opened up his notebook to draw it. He added eyes and a mouth in his recreation of it, and turned one of the protruding knots into a twisted horn. It almost looked like a unicorn, or a kirin.

Eventually he finished sketching and straightened up to move on again, only to find that the path ahead grew less and less clear. Frowning, Izuku followed the blurry outlines of the path as best he could, until finally there was no path at all. The walkway ended here.

Because there was no one around to see, Izuku pouted. He wanted to explore more, but now the only way to follow the path was to go back.

Izuku turned on his heel, ready to trudge back and see if Mom was done on the phone yet, and found another familiar face watching him.

The cat from the windowsill was sitting on the path behind him, watching him with unblinking blue eyes. From far off it had seemed normal, but up close Izuku could see how ragged and skinny it was. Its tattered ears flicked, and its tail switched from side to side, crooked and broken in at least two places.

“Hello,” Izuku said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The cat continued to watch him.

“I was just exploring,” he explained. “I’m gonna be here for the whole summer, you know! Maybe we can be friends?” The cat blinked wordlessly. “I’m a little disappointed, though. I didn’t want to have to stop so soon, but… there’s no path. And people always make paths so they know where to go, and if there’s no path, then how am I supposed to know where there are interesting things to see?”

The cat regarded him imperiously, then yawned wide enough to show sharp white teeth and a pink tongue. Izuku nearly smacked his forehead. “Of course, what am I thinking?” he asked. “It’s like in stories! Stories only ever started when you get off the path. I guess…” He glanced up toward the sky. It was late afternoon already, so he had a couple more hours of light. “If there’s anything interesting to see around here, I’ll have to find it myself. Unless you know where it is?”

The cat stared at him, and made no move to get up or lead him anywhere.

Well, he could choose a direction and follow it until he found something. But how to pick?

Izuku cast around for something to use. Maybe if he could find a stick, he could spin it and decide that way. But there weren’t any good sticks, or any good places to spin one even if there were. The only things he had were his notebook and pencil.

“Oh! I know what to do!” He crouched down and opened his notebook to a fresh page, and proceeded to draw arrows on it. He drew them at random, dozens of them, all pointing in different direction and scattered all over the paper with no rhyme or reason. When he felt he had enough, he pocketed his pencil and stood up again.

“Here goes,” he said to the cat. “Ready?” Without waiting for an answer, he shut his eyes, and jabbed his finger on the page at random. When he opened them, his finger was on an arrow pointing ahead and slightly to the right. “Guess I’m going this way. You can come too, if you want, kitty.” The cat got up for a leisurely stretch, but made no move to follow him. Izuku marked the direction in relation to the hills and mountains ahead, and took off to where the arrow was pointing him.

The path—or lack of—took Izuku downhill, and he picked up speed and skidded down until the trees opened up into a small clearing. He slowed to a halt, a smile spreading across his face. He’d chosen well.

It was clearly a place meant for people; moss had grown over an old wooden table and benches, an ancient birdhouse hung from a low branch, and a few crumbling wood slats showed him where a wide box had once held spaces where plants and vegetables and things could grow.

He had found the remains of somebody’s garden.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, this is perfect.”

Izuku almost jumped when the black cat trotted past him without a sound, barely even a rustle in the leaves. It slowed to bump against his ankle, stretched, and padded further into the clearing. Wide-eyed, Izuku followed. He kept his hands in his pockets as he went, not quite trusting himself not to touch every interesting thing he saw—from the old birdhouse, to the dirty glass jars on the table…

…To the perfect circle of ancient dark wood affixed to the ground, in the very center of the clearing. It was about a meter across and Izuku only noticed it because of the ring of mushrooms encircling it—he kept his distance and didn’t set foot inside.

But maybe… if he just lifted it up? To see what was underneath?

Izuku crouched down to inspect his find. The cat sat across from him, watching.

There was a hole in the wood, Izuku noticed. A quick search led him to a pebble on the ground, and he reached out and dropped it through. Carefully, he bent down and over, kept his hands and knees outside of the circle, and lowered his head by the hole to listen.

At first, nothing. And then, after an uncomfortably long wait—

Splash.

“It’s a well,” he said aloud. “There’s a well here.” The cat gave a slow blink. “...I’m gonna try and open it.” He reached for the lid.

“Get away from there!”

Izuku jumped, nearly stumbling into the circle. Somehow he managed to scramble to his feet and spin around, tense and ready to run.

Shouto stood at the edge of the clearing. The look on his face was… odd. Izuku couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t seem quite angry, but it certainly wasn’t happy, and whatever it was, there was enough of it gathered on the other boy’s face to leave Izuku speechless and stammering. His heart lurched when Shouto took a step toward him.

Behind him, the cat let out a raspy yowl.

To Izuku’s relief, Shouto stopped short, eyes widening as he spotted the animal on the other side of the ring. A moment later he scowled darkly.

“What did you bring that here for?” he demanded, and it took a moment for Izuku to realize that he was talking about the cat.

He grasped for words. “I-I’m sorry, is that your cat?” he asked.

“No. Mangy thing just shows up all the time and won’t leave.” Shouto scowled at him again. “Get out of there. That’s a well, and it’s deep. You’ll fall in if you aren’t careful.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Izuku shuffled away from the well. “I just thought—since it’s covered—”

“Just go,” Shouto snapped. “Your mother’s calling you.”

“Oh! Right! Th-thank you!” Izuku skirted Shouto and took off running through the trees, hurrying back the way he had come. Before long, he passed the creature-shaped stump and found the path again.

Sure enough, Mom was waiting out at the front of the house, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh! There you are! I was just about to try calling you. Are you hungry?”

“Yes!” His stomach was beginning to itch with emptiness. “I was just exploring.”

“Oh that’s good. Did you see anything interesting?”

“Yeah!” Izuku brightened. “First it was just trees, and a cool-looking stump, and a cat, but then I found a clearing with a garden and a well—” Mom’s phone chimed, cutting him off, and she checked it quickly.

“That sounds wonderful, you’ll have to show me later,” she said, putting her phone away. “Anyway—let’s go get some dinner together, and decide what we want to do tomorrow, okay?”

Izuku bounded to catch up with her, bouncing with excitement. “Can we go hiking in the mountains? I bet we could go in town and find some maps.”

“That’s a good idea!”

Side by side, they returned to the car. Mom had her phone out again, but this time it was just to check for any good places to eat nearby. It chimed again, but for now her attention was on Izuku.

Behind them, the tatty black cat emerged from the trees. The sun was going down. Soon there wouldn’t be any more warm spots to lie, and the doors to this house remained closed to it.

The cat stretched out its claws lazily, digging them into the loose earth. It turned in the direction of the town and took off, following the road to Yakoto.

Chapter Text

Izuku woke early to sunlight streaming through his window.

Just as he’d hoped, the comforter on his bed was soft enough to sleep on even though the mattress wasn’t. He sat up gingerly until he was sure he didn’t have too much of a crick in his neck, searched the floor around his bed for his slippers, and got up to find the bathroom. The house was quiet; Mom was probably still asleep. Izuku didn’t blame her, with how much her boss and coworkers hassled her—on her vacation, no less.

Once his teeth were brushed, he got dressed and shuffled his way down the stairs, and was surprised to find Mom already up and sitting at the kitchen table downstairs, frowning at her laptop screen.

“Mom?” Izuku said. “Is something the matter?”

She jumped, nearly knocking over the mug of tea at her side. “Oh! Izuku, you startled me. Good morning, sweetie, did you sleep well?”

Izuku met her eyes, and saw guilt. “Yeah, I did. Mom…”

“Izuku…” She sighed. “Im really, really sorry. I just—I woke up to three e-mails from Mr. Mera, and I’ve been trying to take care of a few things. If you give me a few minutes, we can go out and get breakfast.”

His heart sank. “Okay, Mom,” he said softly.

She couldn’t help it. He knew that. It wasn’t her fault. It was Dad’s fault for leaving all those months ago. If he hadn’t left, Mom wouldn’t need to work so hard, and Izuku…

Well. Izuku would still be a lonely loser with no friends and a black eye, but at least that would be the only thing Mom had to worry about.

True to her word, they managed a nice mother-son breakfast, but after that, the “few things” Mom had to take care of built and built, and Izuku found himself left to his own devices again. It was still morning. They were supposed to have an entire day to themselves.

“Izuku, why don’t you go exploring in town?” Mom’s smile was still encouraging, but starting to look a little strained. “Have a look around, see if you can find fun things for us to do later.”

He wanted to do fun things now, not later. And if they couldn’t, then he wanted to have her with him when he looked for things to do. It wasn’t fair.

“Okay,” he said at last, trying not to whine. Mom’s face crumpled, which told him he hadn’t done a good enough job. “Um, I’ll go look. I have my phone with me. Bye, Mom!” He hurried out before she could stop him.

It was a good thing he still had his notebook, or he would have had to go back for it. Going out without it was unthinkable, especially after it had helped him the previous day.

The cat was nowhere to be seen when he went outside, which was disappointing. Even more disappointing, Shouto was there, poking around in the front gardens. Despite Izuku’s best efforts to pass by unnoticed, the other boy glanced up and saw him.

“Where’re you going?” he asked, without sounding like he really cared what the answer was.

“Exploring,” Izuku said. “Goodbye.”

“You’re going into town?” Shouto called after him.

“Goodbye!” Izuku repeated.

“You’ll get lost.” Oh great, the other boy was following him. Izuku tried to walk faster, but Shouto caught up with him easily. “Are you listening? Is something wrong with your ears?”

“I’ll be fine,” Izuku said. His hands were sweaty, and he adjusted his grip on his notebook. “Thanks anyway.”

“No you won’t,” Shouto said flatly. “You were trying to open the well. It’s shut to keep dumb kids like you from falling in. If you can’t figure that out then you’re definitely going to get lost.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I really want to go by myself,” Izuku said tightly.

“No you don’t.”

Izuku froze where he was, losing what little ground he had gained. When he looked at Shouto, he was frustrated to find that he still couldn’t read whatever was on the other boy’s face.

“What do you mean, no I don’t?”

“You don’t want to go by yourself,” Shouto said. “You wanted to go with your mother, but she isn’t coming. If I don’t come, you’ll be alone. And you don’t want to be alone.”

I’d rather be alone than with you, Izuku thought but didn’t say. It wasn’t a nice thing to say, and even if Shouto wasn’t very nice, being rude back wasn’t the answer. Besides, maybe he was trying to be friendly now, by offering. Maybe he was just really, really bad at being friendly.

“Okay, you can come,” he said reluctantly. “If you tell me where everything is.”

For the first time, Izuku saw something recognizable on Shouto’s face as they started walking again—triumph. “I would, if there was anything worth seeing.”

“There’s plenty worth seeing,” Izuku said, feeling strangely defensive of Yakoto to one of its own residents. “It’s pretty here.”

Shouto snorted. “If you think this place is pretty, I pity you.” When Izuku didn’t answer, he rolled his eyes. “You’ll figure it out soon. It sneaks up on you. It’s too small and stifling and boring. It’s awful here.”

Izuku bristled, and didn’t try to talk to him again.

As a small mercy, Shouto didn’t try to talk to him, either. He seemed content to follow along quietly as Izuku explored the town. His presence prickled under Izuku’s skin, but he didn’t say anything or do anything that warranted telling him to leave, so Izuku was stuck.

A few times, Izuku stopped to write down an interesting street name or draw a quick sketch of a funny-shaped building. It would have been pleasant had he been alone, but in Shouto’s company it was a little bit awful. He could feel the other boy watching him, and it felt like he was being judged, somehow. But that was nothing new—at least Shouto didn’t tease him for it, or try to tear the notebook out of his hands like the kids at school did.

After nearly an hour of searching with no help from Shouto, Izuku struck gold. There was a library in town. It was tiny, and seemed to be set up in someone’s house, but it was a library.

And, best of all, Shouto hung back without following him in.

“Not coming?” Izuku asked, and couldn’t bring himself to pretend he was upset about it.

“They don’t like children very much,” Shouto said. “You should probably move on before they see you here. They won’t be happy.”

“Well, your mom didn’t seem happy to see me either,” Izuku pointed out. “And she turned around, didn’t she? I’ll be fine. Stay out here if you want.” Without waiting for an answer, he hurried in through the door.

It was much cooler in here, thanks to the spinning fans placed all throughout the room. Every wall was lined with books, and a few more shelves stood in rows across the floor. The library itself was only a little bigger than someone’s living room. A door at the far end of the room probably led to the rest of the building; from the looks of it, this front room was the only place for the public.

It wasn’t until Izuku wandered further in that he realized that he wasn’t alone. There was a man here, standing with his back to the door, calmly shelving an armload of books. From the back he was tall and angular with dark hair, dressed in a plain and comfortably worn suit jacket.

Shyly, and remembering Shouto’s warning, Izuku kept quiet and did his own quick survey of the shelves. If there was an organizing system, he couldn’t tell what it was.

Nothing for it then. Izuku approached the man from behind. “Um, excuse me? I was wondering if—”

The man whirled around, and Izuku startled back. He was just as thin from the front as he was from the back, and his dark hair was broken by a single pale gray streak, as if a lock of his hair had been bleached. There were marks on his neck, pale lines like old scratches and scars. Izuku couldn’t see his eyes past the dark glasses he wore, but they didn’t hide the look of thunderous anger that took over the surprise on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

Izuku flinched back, eyes instantly burning with the threat of tears. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt, I promise, I was just—I saw the sign for the library and I thought…”

The door opened, and another man stepped out. The first whipped around to face him and hissed out through clenched teeth. “Toshi. Look at this.” He pointed, and Izuku caught sight of more strange thin scars on his hands.

Izuku stood trembling as the second man—even taller and thinner than the first, with a wild mess of blond hair—turned to look at him. His mouth twisted with something that was so close to anger that Izuku nearly turned tail and ran.

He would have, if the first man hadn’t dropped his books roughly on the shelf and stormed away, vanishing through the door past the blond one. The door clattered shut, loud enough to make the other one—Toshi—wince.

“I-I’ll leave,” Izuku stammered out, fighting back tears. “I’ll leave, I’m sorry, I thought—”

The man took a step toward him, one hand rising at his side as if to reach out to him. But after a moment, he let it drop again.

“Young man,” he said.

Izuku frozein the midst of backing toward the door. “Y-Yes?”

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Toshi said. “Are you here to stay, or only visiting Yakoto?”

“J-just visiting. I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Where are you staying?” Toshi asked him.

Immediately, alarm bells went off in Izuku’s head. He’d been warned about this exact thing. “I’m—I don’t think I should tell you that. I don’t know you.”

“Mm. It’s the house in the foothills, isn’t it? With Ms. Yuuki.”

Izuku didn’t answer.

“He’s right,” Toshi said at length. “I’m sorry that he frightened you, but he’s right. You should leave, young man. As soon as possible.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” At last, Izuku turned and fled.

There were tears trickling down his face as he stepped back outside and found Shouto waiting for him.

“Told you,” was all the boy said before they moved on. Izuku didn’t bother trying to think of an answer.

By the time they reached the far end of the town, Izuku had more or less consoled himself. Of course, it was only then that Shouto spoke up again.

“You shouldn’t go any further.”

Which, of course, only made Izuku want to go even more. “You don’t have to come with me,” he said. I’d be happier if you didn’t.

“It’s not that,” Shouto said, nodding toward the last house there was to see. It was small, even smaller than the library building had been, surrounded by a ramshackle fence and a disorderly garden. It was a nice house to look at, in Izuku’s opinion. “It’s just somebody’s house. She isn’t much nicer than the others.”

“Oh,” Izuku mumbled. He was about to follow the other boy’s advice and turn back when something caught his eye: a dark spot by the fence around the house.

A cat. The cat.

Izuku considered his options for a moment before heading toward the house. Shouto didn’t try to follow him or stop him, which suited Izuku just fine.

The cat was sitting by the little gate, paws tucked under it as neatly as an animal like that possibly could. It was definitely the same cat; it had the same scars, the same ears, the same kinks in its tail. Ever hopeful, Izuku offered it his hand to sniff.

The cat stared at him for a moment, then began to scream.

Izuku jumped back, but luckily the cat didn’t swipe at him or try to bite. It just sat there at the foot of the fence, yowling at him like something had bitten its tail. Izuku was about to leave when, to his utter mortification, the front door to the house swung open.

“What is it this time, you bitter old thing?” A woman came striding out of the house, as much as a tiny silver-haired old woman could stride. She only came up to Izuku’s chest, but she had speed on her side and barely seemed to need her cane to walk. At the sight of him, she stopped short.

“Don’t tell me.” She squinted at him, and what little hope in Izuku’s heart died when he saw that she was no happier to see him than anyone else in this town. “You’re staying at that damnable house, aren’t you?”

“Just for the summer?” Izuku said awkwardly. “I won’t be here for long. I’m sorry to bother you, I just—”

“You shouldn’t be here at all,” she muttered. “But I suppose that isn’t your fault.” Izuku’s shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “This is no place for a boy your age, especially that house. Isn’t there the smallest chance you’ll leave?”

For a wild moment, Izuku wanted to stamp his foot or hit something—he didn’t, because he was thirteen and not a baby anymore and hadn’t had a tantrum since he was small. But his temper was up, and his frustration was finally boiling over. “No, there isn’t. Why does everyone keep saying that? You don’t even know me and you’ve decided you don’t want me around. I have just as much of a right to be here as anyone else.”

“It’s not about rights, you foolish child,” she sighed, more resigned than angry. “It’s just—” her voice trailed off. “Well. I’m afraid I can’t say too much right now, except… don’t you be foolhardy. Don't trust anything if you don't know where it comes from.” She poked him lightly with the end of her cane. “And if you can help it, don’t stay in that house any longer than you need to, understand?”

“Why not?”

“Black mold in the walls,” she answered glibly. “Get lots of fresh air. Go for hikes in the mountains. Pop by the library.”

Fat chance of that, Izuku didn’t say.

“I’m afraid you won’t get much of a welcome here,” she said bluntly. “We don’t get many children around here besides Yuuki’s boy, and we’ve got reasons we don’t want more. I’m only sorry you had the misfortune to come here.”

Izuku fidgeted uncomfortably. She wasn’t explosively mean to the point of being scary, like the man in the library, but she still wasn’t happy with him being there. “It’s just for summer vacation. I’ll be gone before you know it.”

The old woman winced, and made a vague gesture in the air that he didn’t recognize. “Careful what you say,” she said. “Be off with you, now. Stay in your bed at night, and keep the door closed.”

A chill ran up Izuku’s spine, and he suppressed a shudder. Turning, he hurried away.

Shouto was waiting for him, again with a knowing look on his face. “I told you more than once,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Izuku muttered.

“You really should be more careful,” Shouto said. “Mother said it’s bad to talk to people you don’t know.”

Izuku squinted at him, not sure whether or not he was being made fun of. “You live here,” he pointed out. “Don’t you know them?”

The other boy snorted. “Do you really think they’re any better with me than they are with you? They’ve been running me back and forth since they first laid eyes on me.”

“Why is everyone so weird here?” Izuku asked. “They’re either mean, or they say things that don’t make sense.”

“It’s no use asking me,” Shouto told him, without looking back. “No one ever tells me anything. All I can do is watch and see for myself, so you might as well do the same.”

Shouto vanished after they returned to the house. Izuku had managed to find an area map on the way back, so at least the trip hadn't been a total loss. Mom was waiting for him with food ready; rather than looking for somewhere to eat, she had gone out to the nearest market while he was out. Upon his return, Izuku found lunch and a hug waiting for him.

“I looked over the map I found,” Izuku said through a mouthful of food. “There are trails in the woods, and there’s a pond pretty close. Can we go see the pond? Maybe tomorrow?”

“Oh, that sounds like fun! I’ve got an idea.” Mom leaned closer. “We can make ourselves a picnic lunch, and spend tomorrow by the pond. Maybe we’ll see some animals around.”

His earlier troubles were fading when Izuku inhaled the rest of his lunch and ran back to his room. There were other things he had brought for the trip—a sketchbook, in case he just wanted to draw things without taking up space in his notebook, a couple of books on birds and wildlife in this area of the country, a pair of binoculars, a small day pack to put everything in—and he might as well get everything ready. Maybe if they got started fast enough, they could leave before Mom’s work could catch up and pull her away again.

He almost missed it, when he reached his room. He was distracted, all his thoughts focused on getting ready for a day trip to the pond tomorrow, and because of that, he nearly walked right by his bed without seeing what was on it. Sunlight from the window flashed in the corner of his eye, and he looked over to see what had dazzled him.

There, resting in the center of his pillow, was a key.

It wasn’t like a house key, or the little key to his bike lock. It was a heavy, old-fashioned thing made of metal that was nearly black. Mystified, Izuku picked it up to inspect it. He went to his door to test it, but the lock didn’t match the key. Clearly this wasn’t just a spare key left by the landlady.

Who had left this on his bed, then? And why?

He wandered back downstairs with the key in his hand, perfectly prepared to ask Ms. Yuuki where the key had come from and what it was for. But as he descended each step, he remembered her impatience and unhappiness with his presence. Maybe it was best not to bother her over something so silly. And besides, he was smart. He liked a good mystery. He could always just find the right lock himself.

There were two mysteries here, actually. What lock did the key open, and who left it on his bed in the first place?

Maybe, if he solved the first one, then he could solve the second.

His first order of business was to try the key on as many locks as he could. He wasn’t altogether sure he was allowed to do it, but he could neither ignore this mystery, nor muster up the courage to ask permission from Ms. Yuuki. For one thing, he was sure she would say no. For another, she’d probably be angry and take the key and—oh, what if she accused him of stealing it? Would she even believe him if he said the key just showed up on his pillow? And if she didn't believe him, then that might get Mom in trouble for bringing him—

And of course, all this meant that he was doing something that he knew he probably wasn’t allowed to do.

Maybe if Kacchan could see me now, he thought, he and the other kids wouldn’t think I was such a loser.

Most of the keyholes in the rooms on this floor were about the same size. Izuku was willing to bet there was a master key for them. Izuku did his due diligence trying the key on all the locks, and was disappointed each time.

Except… no, he wasn’t all that disappointed. If all this mysterious key did was open a random door to a room on his floor, well, that wouldn’t be very exciting, would it?

Eventually, Izuku ventured downstairs.

Here was the tricky part. Izuku wasn’t sure where Ms. Yuuki’s room was, but so far he had only ever seen her downstairs. If he wasn’t careful, then she might catch him snooping. Or Mom might catch him snooping, which was almost as bad. She’d make him give the key back for sure.

Or maybe, he thought bitterly, she’ll get another phone call or e-mail. The moment the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head furiously. That was wrong. It wasn’t Mom’s fault her boss kept calling her when they knew she was away.

Footsteps nearby made him duck around a corner, thankful that his socks made no sound on the smooth wood floor. He could hear the silky sweep of Ms. Yuuki’s yukata—she must have been close—before her footsteps faded and he ventured out again.

Wait. Wait, this was stupid.

What was he sneaking around for? Ms. Yuuki had never told him anything was off limits downstairs. As long as she didn’t see the key, he wouldn’t get in trouble. If she saw him sneaking around, she'd definitely know he was up to something, but if he acted like nothing was wrong, then she'd have no reason to think there was.

Sure enough, moments later, he nearly ran into Ms. Yuuki herself. She stopped short at the sight of him, and even with her pretty clothes, Izuku could see the way her whole body tensed up when she saw him. He stopped, and his earlier confidence failed him when he saw something like anger flicker across her face.

But before he could even stammer out an apology (for what, he wasn’t sure) she turned on her heel and strode away in the other direction. Half-hidden in her sleeves, her pale hands were clenched into fists.

Once she was gone, Izuku breathed a sigh of relief and kept moving.

There were plenty of different rooms on this floor: the kitchen, the bathing area, a couple of toilets, and a laundry room. But nowhere could Izuku find a door or lock that matched his mystery key.

He was about to give up when he finally spotted the last door at the very end of the last hallway. This one, unlike all the others, stood ajar. There was light coming out of it, probably sunlight coming through a window. After a moment’s consideration, Izuku went to check it.

The room beyond it was empty.

Four walls, a single window, and a cleanly swept floor greeted him when Izuku pushed the door open. It was strange; there was no trace of dust or mildew, and not even the wallpaper was peeling. It looked like this room was cared for regularly, but there was nothing here.

Izuku stepped further in, keeping a wary eye out for loose nails or bugs, but it really was pristine. There was nothing in here, just four walls and air.

It was when he was turning around to leave that he spotted it. And maybe he could forgive himself for almost missing it in the first place, because it had been papered over, and the lines where the wallpaper had been cut were hard to spot from the other side of the room.

In the far wall of the room, just outside of the spread of sunlight from the window, was a door.

Not a door like the one he was currently standing by. This one was small enough that he would have to crawl through, like in Alice in Wonderland. Cautiously, Izuku ventured closer for a better look. Both the panel and the hinges were hidden behind the plain wallpaper. There was no knob, only a hole punched through the paper to reveal the keyhole.

A very large keyhole, in an encouragingly familiar shape.

Izuku looked back to the doorway he’d just come through, and drew the key from his pocket. It fit perfectly into the hole, and the rattle and click of the lock was like music to his ears.

Gently, Izuku pulled the door open—

And was met with old, pitted bricks.

His mouth fell open in shock, then pressed shut again so he could bite back a cry of frustration. Futilely he pressed his hand to the brick wall behind the door, but it was cold and firm and not about to crumble at his touch.

A fantastic mystery come to an end, with no treasure to be found.

“It was bricked up years ago.”

Izuku actually yelped, scrambling to his feet to face the door. Ms. Yuuki stood there, one hand on the door knob. Her knuckles were white.

“I-I wasn’t…” His voice faltered. “I-I didn’t, um…”

“I’m not angry,” she said, but it took enough of an effort for her to say it that Izuku didn’t believe her. “There’s nothing to hide, nothing to see. It’s an old crawlspace that had to be sealed off. Mold damage.” Her grip on the door didn’t loosen for a second. “Where did you get that key?”

“I found it,” Izuku said. “I was just… I was just wondering where it went. I’m sorry.”

“Now you know,” she said. She looked like she wanted to say more, but was holding herself back. “Don’t come into this room again. We don’t use this room. It isn’t safe.”

“It was just—it was clean,” he said. “And the door was sort of open. I didn’t know.”

“As I said, now you know,” she told him, her voice cold and shaking with—something. She’d said she wasn’t mad, but Izuku was willing to bet she was lying. “Please leave, and don’t come in here again.”

Izuku fled.

He didn’t stop until he was in his room again, shutting the door behind him and hiding under the comforter. Hot shame and embarrassment twisted up inside of him, as he tried to scrub the memory of the past few minutes from his mind.

He thought of happier things. It was only the second day. He had weeks of summer to have fun. He had fields and woods and a black cat and an old garden that he might visit again. He had Mom. They had a picnic lunch by the pond tomorrow, and bento to prepare for it today.

It didn’t have to be awful. Just because most other things in his life were, like school and Kacchan and Dad leaving, it didn’t mean that this had to be awful, too.

He just had to make the best of it, and look on the bright side. If nothing else, all of this would make for some interesting stories years from now.

Izuku woke up the next morning with the sun on his face, and raced downstairs to the kitchen, ready for a day of hiking and picnics and skipping stones on the water. He found his mother at her laptop, her phone close at hand as if she was waiting for a call. When she caught sight of him staring at her, her face crumpled up with guilt and sadness and the same silent apology that Izuku had been seeing since the day Dad walked out the door and never came back.

Chapter Text

“You should go,” Mom told him. “On the picnic. Just because I’m stuck here helping Taguchi-san catch up on her workload doesn’t mean you have to be stuck inside all day, too. It’s so nice out.”

“I don’t want to go by myself,” Izuku said quietly. “I want to go with you.” He was whining. He knew he was whining and he knew it wasn’t fair, but it was the third day of their vacation and they hadn’t done anything together yet and it was getting harder to hide the purple around his eye from Kacchan hitting him, and none of that was fair, either.

He still regretted it when Mom’s face crumpled. “I know,” she said softly. “I know you do. I do, too. I’m so sorry, Izuku.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t say anything at all. No excuses, no promises, no bargaining—just an apology.

Guilt soured in his stomach,and the bitter taste crawled up his throat. “I could take pictures,” he said. “Or… maybe not. If you have time later, you could see it yourself, and…”

“You should still take pictures,” Mom told him. “You have a wonderful eye, you know that? I like seeing how you look at things.”

After a moment, he nodded. He wanted to do more, like hug her, or apologize, but his tongue wouldn’t move and his arms felt heavy. He was still upset, and the sorries weren’t ready to come out yet.

“Oh, you know what?” Mom sat up a little straighter. “You know what you could do? See if Shouto wants to go with you.”

Izuku balked. “Um…”

“He does live here, so maybe he’s been there before,” Mom went on hopefully. “He could show you the way, make sure you don’t get lost. And besides—we did make two lunches.”

Izuku pulled a face, then forced it away. But Mom’s eyes were quick.

“Is he mean to you?” she asked. She was the picture of seriousness now, with the corners of her mouth turned down and her eyes locked on Izuku’s.

“Um…” Izuku thought hard. And no, Shouto wasn’t… he wasn’t mean, not like Kacchan and his friends were. He didn’t call Izuku names, except that one time he said he was clumsy—but it wasn’t his fault Izuku lied about where his black eye came from, so maybe that didn’t count. And speaking of black eyes, Shouto hadn’t even hit him.

Yet, Izuku thought, then shook his head. Shouto didn’t seem like the kind of person who hit people.

“He’s not mean,” he admitted reluctantly. “He’s just… I dunno. He’s weird.”

Mom smiled ruefully, the corners of her eyes creasing. “Oh, Izuku. Isn’t that something cruel people have said to you before?”

Izuku was so startled at first, that all he could do was stare at her and blink.

“They’re wrong, of course,” she went on. “You aren’t weird. You make perfect sense to yourself, and that’s all that matters. Just… try to be more understanding, okay? If he’s mean, if he calls you names or hits you or tries to take things from you, then absolutely stay away from him. But if not… well, I haven’t seen many other children around here, have you? He might just be lonely.”

Izuku pursed his lips. Not having other kids around had always been Izuku’s idea of a good time. But other people tended to be different. Maybe Shouto was different, too.

“Invite him,” Mom urged. “Just see how it is. Maybe you’ll make a friend—you don’t want to miss out on a chance like that, do you?”

“No,” Izuku admitted. “I don’t.”

“Okay, then.” She smiled softly, and patted him gently on the arm. “I’m sorry I can’t come like we wanted. First chance I get, we’ll do something together. I really don’t like breaking promises to you, sweetheart.”

“I know.” He did know. He knew that her job was hard, but it was all she had, and the checks from Dad made things a little easier but they weren’t always enough. He knew she had to work, or they couldn’t afford things like new books and clothes and summer vacations.

He just didn’t like it, that was all.

"Izuku," she called after him as he was hurrying away.

He paused. "Yeah, Mom?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I just... your eye, dear. Did something happen?"

Izuku's throat tightened. He should have known it would be impossible to hide it; he couldn't wear sunglasses or face away from her forever. Maybe he hadn't fooled her at all, and she'd simply been waiting for him to talk about it all this time. Only he hadn't, so now she was saying something instead.

He forced a smile. "Ran into a door," he said. "I got excited while I was exploring. I'm okay." He hurried away before she could reply.

Shouto wasn’t hard to find, in the end. All Izuku had to do was wander around a little, and eventually he found the other boy outside, sorting through pebbles in the garden, wearing a thin cardigan that still must have been hot in this weather. As soon as he spotted him, Izuku took a deep breath before approaching.

“Do you want to hang out again?” he asked. “My mom, um—we were supposed to walk out to the pond and have lunch, but something came up and she’s busy, so we—I was wondering if you wanted to. Come with me, I mean. To the pond.” He bit his lip, cringing inwardly with embarrassment. “I have lunch? You don’t have to bring anything, we made two—”

“I’m not hungry,” Shouto said, without looking up. Izuku’s heart sank, though he couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or relief. A moment later, the other boy pocketed a few pebbles and stood up. “But I’ll come anyway, if you insist. When are you going?”

“I’m ready to go now,” Izuku replied. His day pack was on his shoulders, packed with a full water bottle, the two lunchboxes, his good camera, and both his notebook and sketchbook. It was a little heavy, but the pond wasn’t too far, and it would be lighter after he drank water and ate. “But if you’re busy…”

“Not really. There’s never anything worth doing here.” Abruptly, Shouto turned and walked away, heading back toward the road. He paused a short distance away. “Are you coming, or not?”

Izuku bit back a retort—he didn’t have to make this sound like a chore—and followed.

With Shouto in the lead, they followed the road to where it led to scenic trails further into the hills. With the town and the house behind them, Izuku could at least try to properly appreciate the scenery around them. There was plenty to admire; he and Mom had looked at pictures of the area, and they had chosen it because of how pretty it was. In the height of summer, the trees were strong and thick with foliage, the sun was warm and bright, and the world was blue above and green below. It was almost nice enough to forget his troubles entirely.

Not even the company could ruin it for him.

With his spirits lifting, Izuku felt bolder. “So what do you do around here for fun?” he asked. “I mean, I get it if this is all you do. It’s so nice here. I could run into the forest and never come out.”

“It’s boring here,” Shouto answered, his voice flat. He turned to look at him, briefly, then paused to let Izuku catch up and overtake him. “You lead the way.”

“But… I thought you knew how to get there?”

“It’s one trail,” Shouto told him with a trace of impatience. “Just follow it. Even you can’t possibly get that wrong.”

Izuku sighed. “Fine.”

“You’re the one who wanted to do this anyway, so you pick where to go.”

“Right. We were talking about what you do for fun around here?” Izuku looked back at him hopefully. “If it’s that boring, there must be something.”

“There isn’t. That’s why it’s boring.”

“Is there… is there anything you like?” Izuku asked, clutching on to his last strings of hope. “We could talk about that instead.”

At first, Shouto didn’t answer at all. From what Izuku had seen so far, this seemed to be in character. Then, finally— “Do you really want to talk about something just because I want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Izuku admitted. “I feel like you don’t like me very much, and I just—”

“I don’t know you enough to like you,” Shouto said bluntly, which might have been hurtful if Izuku hadn’t had far worse things said to him recently. “You could always tell me about yourself, and maybe I can decide then.”

“You… you want me to talk about myself?” Izuku asked. That was probably the nicest thing Shouto had said to him so far—or at least the closest to something nice.

“I’ll know that when you start.”

“O-okay! Well, um… I’m thirteen,” Izuku began.

“I know that already.”

“I-I know, I just wanted a place to start!” Izuku huffed in annoyance. “My birthday’s July 15, so it just happened. I’m in middle school. My first year. I started last spring.” He winced—that was probably pretty obvious too—but Shouto didn’t interrupt again. “Um. my favorite subject is history, and Japanese. I’m… not really in any clubs. I don't really like sports, and the kids in drama don't like me very much.” He laced his fingers together, twiddling them nervously. “I've always wanted to start a club myself. Like, um… like a writing club.”

“What kind of writing?”

“What?” Izuku almost jumped; he hadn’t expected Shouto to reply.

“What kind of writing?” Shouto repeated.

“Oh, well, um…” Izuku swallowed hard. “St-stories. L-like books, and novels, and f-fairy tales. That kind of thing.” As soon as it was out, he pressed his lips shut and waited. For—anything. Laughter, mockery, cruel words, just… anything.

There was a snap as Shouto kicked a branch out of the way. “What do you want to start a club like that for?”

“I… I like stories,” Izuku said softly. “Reading them. And making them up. It’s… fun.” When Shouto didn’t immediately insult him, Izuku pressed onward. “Mostly making them up. That’s the most fun. And really, if you think about it, anything can be a story. Like… that!” He pointed.

“Like what?”

They had just crested a small rise. The trail was dipping downward, the trees around them thickening overhead. Izuku’s pointing finger led to a huge, round boulder easily the size of a car, overgrown with thick green moss and half-buried in the earth.

“That big rock,” Izuku said. “I, um. I heard that in Europe, they have stories about big rocks, that are actually trolls! They’re sort of like giants. But they only go out at night, and during the day they fall asleep and their bodies turn to stone. S-so, don’t you think that rock over there could be a sleeping giant?”

“Not really,” Shouto replied. “It just looks like a rock.”

“Well, I know that, but… sometimes you just have to pretend. Or imagine if it didn’t.” At this point he was much farther along than Kacchan allowed, so he kept going. “Like on the way here, we passed this big open field, with a dead tree in the middle…” His voice grew stronger as he went, and the stuttering eased off as his excitement grew. He went on to describe the tree in the field, and explain the poisonous monster he’d invented. “...and just imagine, a brave hero finding the creature and stopping it before it can do any more damage,” he finished. “That’s the best part of any story—a hero. Or it’s the second best part, and the real best is the adventure. Everybody loves an adventure.”

Izuku stopped, breathless, and realized then how dry his throat was. He pulled to the side of the trail and dug his water bottle out of his backpack, and found it still cold from the night it had spent in the fridge.

“Anyway, that’s why I like stories,” Izuku finished, putting his bottle back and starting off again. “I just think they’re fun. You never get bored that way, no matter where you are.”

“Oh,” Shouto replied, without slowing down or looking at him. “It sounds pretty stupid.”

Izuku flinched away, as if he’d been slapped. “It isn’t stupid,” he tried to protest, but his voice sounded feeble even to him. “Besides, you asked.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known you’d talk so much about something silly like that,” Shouto answered. “I thought maybe you had something interesting to say.”

“Stories are interesting,” Izuku said hotly. “Weren’t you listening? They’re important.”

He could trust stories the way he couldn’t trust people. They were there for him when he was alone, comforting him and teaching him things outside of school, in the safety and comfort of his room or the yard outside. Books were like presents he could open over and over again, and the characters inside them were better friends than Kacchan or Tsubasa or… or Shouto.

“So if you think that’s so stupid,” Izuku went on. “Then do you have anything better? I bet you have loads important things to think about all day, out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Plenty,” Shouto answered, leaping lightly over a log in the path without looking at it. “Mainly food. And freedom. Escape.”

Izuku rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah? Escape from what?”

“Here. Anywhere. I want to go somewhere that isn’t here.” Shouto barely even shrugged. “Somewhere the people don’t keep secrets and my mother doesn’t look at me like I’m a monster.”

Izuku tripped over a jutting root. He didn’t fall, but he came close. “Y-your mom? What do you mean…?”

“She hates me,” Shouto went on, as matter-of-fact as discussing the weather. “She resents me for something, but she won’t say why. She never tells me anything, even when I ask. She hardly talks to me, if she can help it.” He paused to kick a pine cone into the bushes. “And I guess that’s better than yelling and crying like she used to. In my earliest memories, she was always crying. Whenever she saw me, she’d cry.” He said it so plainly, as if it didn’t even bother him.

Izuku did that too, sometimes, when he couldn’t avoid telling Mom about Kacchan hitting him and his teachers pretending they didn’t see. Maybe Mom had been right, about him and Shouto having things in common.

“You… you know what?” Izuku said cautiously, trotting to catch up. “Um… stories can be good for escaping.  I-I know it’s not as good as just… getting away. But if you can’t get away, it can still help.”

He was almost shocked when Shouto actually stopped walking and turned to look at him.

“I just mean,” Izuku went on, emboldened, “they can take you lots of places, even if you’re just sitting in your room. It depends on the story, but it can take you all over the world. And to worlds that aren’t even real.”

The other boy was quiet for a moment, as if letting it sink in.

“But they can never get you out of your room, can they?” he asked, and walked on.

Izuku had a problem with rambling, he knew. People were always happy to tell him so. They got annoyed when it happened; teachers, classmates, strangers at the bus stop, there was hardly anyone he’d ever met who hadn’t broken through a stream of mumbling to inform him that he was talking a lot and maybe he ought to stop. The only person who didn’t get irritated was Mom.

He couldn’t help it, most of the time. He just got so many ideas in his head that they all rushed out in a continuous stream, faster and faster as he got excited and more ideas poured in and then out again.

But for the rest of the walk, his mind was blank and his tongue was still. They reached the pond and stayed there for the afternoon, Izuku offered food that Shouto turned down, clouds rolled in overhead, pictures were taken and skies were watched but no words were exchanged. He didn’t ramble, not even to himself under his breath.

He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“So, what do you think of Shouto?” Mom asked, later that night. They were inside, bellies still full from dinner a few hours ago, huddled up in Mom’s room while rain pattered gently against the roof. With nothing more exciting to do, they were curled around a crossword puzzle book together. “You spent the afternoon with him. Is he still mean?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku said, pretending to be absorbed in the puzzle. “Maybe? I guess not.”

“Goodness, it sounds like it’s turned into a conundrum.”

Izuku shrugged. “He’s weird. I can’t tell if he’s mean or not. If he was like Kacchan it’d be easy to tell, but he’s not. He says things that—they’re not nice, but I think he says them because he’s…”

“He’s…?” Mom prompted.

“I don’t know. I guess he’s just not happy.” The answer to a clue came to him, and Izuku carefully marked it into the boxes. “He seems… kind of sad, Mom. Like he wants something but he’s never going to get it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, a small sympathetic noise just for Izuku to here.

“Maybe he just says mean things, but he’s not actually a mean person,” Izuku went on. “If that makes sense.”

“Perfect sense,” Mom assured him. “I’ve met people like that. Especially young people. They haven’t figured things out yet, and it makes them a little rough around the edges.”

“Mm.” Izuku put down his pencil and yawned. “Think I’m gonna go to bed, Mom.”

“So early,” Mom remarked, kissing him on the head. “That’s very responsible of you. Good night hug?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled him into her arms. “Night, Izuku.”

“Night, Mom.” Izuku padded back down the hallway to his own door, slipped in, and shut it behind him.

He hadn’t found anything on his bed since the key, which he hadn’t gone back for after running out of the room. Ms. Yuuki had probably taken it back and put away somewhere. That was all right. There hadn’t been much adventure to the key after all, just disappointment.

With another yawn, Izuku crawled into bed and curled up. After the first restless nights he was finally used to the bed, and the musty-straw smell that had bothered him when he first arrived barely even registered anymore. And if his opinion of his room could improve, then surely the rest of this vacation could only go up. Shouto and Rei could get used to him, maybe some of the people in town could get used to him too (or be avoided). Mom’s boss and coworkers couldn’t bother her forever.

They had the whole summer here. Surely he could have one good day.

That was his last thought as his eyes slid shut. One good day. He drifted in the comfortable darkness that floated around proper sleep. That’s all I ask. Just one good day.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, waiting for dreams to come, and he wasn’t sure why he opened his eyes. But he did, and found the house dark. He blinked in the black, faintly surprised. He didn’t remember hearing Mom go to bed or Ms. Yuuki turn out the lights. He must have fallen asleep without realizing it. With a soft sigh, he settled back down and closed his eyes to sleep again.

On the other side of his eyelids, something flickered. A warm presence brushed against his face, as if someone stood over him with a lantern lit.

Izuku opened his eyes and gasped.

There was light—but not a lantern. There were three of them in all, yellow-orange orbs the size of Christmas ornaments, darting and bobbing in the air as if they floated in invisible water. They glowed softly, chasing back the darkness in his bedroom.

Without thinking, Izuku reached out to touch one. It sparked against his fingertips, filling him with a gentle warmth. As soon as he touched it, the lights darted away from him and toward his bedroom door, which stood ajar. Two of the lights slipped through the space, while the third remained behind as if waiting for him.

Izuku sat in bed, fingers working in the comforter. Lights could mean a lot of things. Light was good and dark was bad in most stories he’d ever read. But there were also mysterious lights that led lost travelers to drown in swamps.

Well that’s impossible, he thought. I’m not lost, and there aren’t any swamps around here.

Izuku pushed back the covers and got up to follow.

The first two lights hadn’t gone far, and were still in the hallway when Izuku left his room. The third rejoined them, and for a moment they swirled around each other as if reuniting, then continued down the hall.

Following, Izuku crept to the next hall, around the corner, and down the stairs. He kept to the edge nearest the banister, not wanting to the steps to creak. The last thing he needed was to wake up Mom or Ms. Yuuki or Shouto. Mysterious dancing lights were usually the sorts of things that vanished when other people came to see what was going on.

As the lights took him down another hallway on the ground floor, Izuku realized with a jolt that he had been this way before. They were going past the laundry room and the kitchen, past the toilets and the bathing area, all the way to the end of the hall and…

No, Izuku thought, his heart full of hope. It couldn’t be.

The lights took him into the empty room at the end of the hallway. Standing in the doorway, Izuku watched as they floated across to the little door in the wall, passed through it, and vanished.

The key was still in the door. Izuku dropped to his knees, grasped it, and pulled.

The door opened, and a soft wind swept past his face, stirring his curls. For the first time since he first arrived, Izuku noticed the musty-straw smell again, only because the wind that blew in from the little door smelled clean, like a warm kitchen and fresh growing things all rolled into one.

There were no bricks beyond the door. Instead, Izuku found a tunnel that glowed a gentle shade of orange. It stretched on before him, beckoning him onward with the promise of warm light at the end.

It was everything Izuku had ever wanted, and everything he had so far been denied. Something new, something magical, something entirely unknown. An adventure. A story of his very own.

Izuku looked back. The house was still dark, still old and musty-smelling and owned by a woman who didn’t want him around.

Without another thought, he crouched low and crawled through the door.

The tunnel was comfortable beneath his hands and knees, light and springy instead of stone or dirt. The fresh smells surrounded him like the softest blanket, coaxing him onward to whatever lay on the other side. Before he knew it, he was already there, pulling himself out of another little door, onto another smooth hardwood floor.

Izuku looked around, confused. He had emerged into another room, but the room looked an awful lot like the one he had just left. Except…

Well, it wasn’t empty, to start. It was a sitting room, furnished with comfy-looking couches and chairs, with paintings on the walls and—best of all—a fully stocked bookshelf. Izuku went to it first and ran his hands over the smooth shelves.

First of all, it was a nice bookshelf. It was decorated with carvings of animals and leaves and vines, and polished and stained a rich dark reddish-brown. And the books—

Izuku’s mouth dropped open as he pulled out the first one he saw. It was Grimms’ Fairy Tales, but not just any Grimms’ Fairy Tales. He owned this one—not just this edition but this exact copy, right down to doodles he’d made on the flyleaf when he was little. It was one of the books he had brought with him, buried under mountains of clothes in his suitcase.

There was one difference, though. His copy was battered and well-read and loved to pieces, some of the pages detached from the spine by time and wear. This one was all in one piece, as pristine as his copy must have looked when it first came off the shelf, aside from the doodles and notes written in his own handwriting.

Something clattered in the distance, and Izuku jumped. There was a hallway beyond this room, well-lit and warm. Somewhere on the other end of it, someone was humming a cheerful tune.

It was a voice that Izuku knew.

Mystified, he put the book down and ventured beyond the room. Sure enough, the hallway was almost exactly like the one he had already been in. But it wasn’t quite the same. It was too new, too nice, with not enough wear and dust to be totally familiar.

The tune of the humming changed, shifting almost seamlessly to a song that Izuku loved. The voice was almost unmistakable, and the smell—

Pancakes?

Izuku crept up to the kitchen door, tiptoeing as soft as his socks would allow, and peered in.

Mom stood at the stove with her back to him, her dark hair done up in a messy bun, swaying slightly in time to the tune she was humming. On the counter by the edge of the stove was a large plate, piled high with fluffy, golden-brown pancakes. The kitchen was warm, and the air smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Mom?” Izuku blurted out. “What’s going on? I just…”

“Oh! Izuku, I didn’t see you there!” She turned around, spatula in one hand as she smoothed her apron in the other. “You’re just in time—pancakes are almost ready.”

Izuku didn’t answer, because he was too busy staring openmouthed at his mother’s face.

It was her face. The roundness of her chin, her dimples, even the way her dark hair fell over her forehead, were exactly as his mother’s face should have been.

Only her eyes were different. She had no eyes at all, only dark black buttons where eyes should have been. She looked like a doll given life by a magic spell.

“You’re… not my mom,” Izuku said, a little stupidly.

She couldn’t blink with button eyes, but she did tilt her head to the side with a small, fond smile. “I suppose I’m not,” she said. “I’m your Other Mother, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know I had another mother.”

“Everyone does,” she said, turning back to the stove. She lifted the pan off the stove and added four more round perfect pancakes to the stack. “It’s just a matter of finding them.” She turned back, still smiling. “Not everyone’s clever enough to find their way to an Other World. Oh!” She clapped her hands together excited. “We’re so lucky! We’re thrilled to have you visit, Izuku.”

“We?” Izuku echoed.

Before his mother—his Other Mother—could reply, the sound of a door opening and closing reached his ears. It must be the front door; Izuku could hear shoes shuffling on the floor before their owner slipped them off.

“Inko? I brought more eggs, and some butter.” Another voice spoke up from the hallway, getting closer, and Izuku spun around and froze where he stood.

He knew the man stepping into the kitchen, of course. He’d seen him before almost every day of his life—in photographs, maybe, but it was still enough to memorize his face. Mom used to insist that she could see pieces of him in Izuku—his curls, his freckles, the shape of his nose. She’d stopped saying that after the fifth lonely birthday.

It took a moment for Izuku to find his voice. “D-Dad?”

Midoriya Hisashi stopped in his tracks. His eyes didn’t widen—buttons couldn’t widen, after all—but the rest of his face made up for it. Surprise and pleasure spread across his features, handsome like Mom always used to insist, and Izuku’s father gave the biggest grin that Izuku had ever seen.

“Well! You’ve found your way to us at last!”

“He did,” Other Mom said proudly, sweeping past Izuku to take the bag from his father’s hand and kiss him on the cheek. “And just in time for pancakes. I’ll go get the table ready.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Izuku said. “You—Why are you here?”

“Well, having an Other Mother wouldn’t be complete without an Other Father, wouldn’t you agree?”

“But—I shouldn’t have an Other Father.” Izuku’s throat felt thick. His eyes burned—was he going to cry? “I shouldn’t have one.”

“Oh?” A frown, a tilt of the head. “And why is that?”

“Because I—” Izuku blinked, quickly, several times. “I don’t have a—a regular father, anymore.”

“Ah.” The man with his father’s face bent down to his eye level. “Well, if anyone deserves a father at all, it’s you. I’m so, so sorry you’ve been lonely.” His face creased in another smile. “But I’m here now. You’ve found me, all on your own.”

“I-I…” Embarrassingly, he sniffled.

“We can worry about the details later,” his Other Father assured him. “For now—there’s your mother’s pancakes. Your Other Mother, rather.” He tilted his head in a way that suggested a wink. “Looks like she made enough to feed an army, or at least our hosts. Actually, Izuku, could you do me a quick favor?”

“Um, okay?” Izuku rubbed his eyes quickly, hoping his Other Father wouldn’t notice why.

“Looks like she made too many. Could you go find Ms. Yuuki? She and Shouto might want some.”

“Are you sure?” Izuku asked. “They don’t… really like me.”

“Perhaps the ones you know don’t.” His Other Father gave him an encouraging smile. “But sometimes people can surprise you, so you might as well give it a try. Go on—I passed them just now in the garden.”

“Good luck, sweetie!” Inko called from the other room.

“O-okay! I’ll… be right back, then.”

Izuku’s head was spinning as he left the kitchen. He was in a familiar house, surrounded by familiar people—but everything was different. Everything. And maybe it was only a little bit different, but there wasn’t a single thing here in this world that was exactly the same as the one he’d come from. From buttons in his parents’ eyes to the color of the wallpaper, everything here was familiar and new all at once.

Well, he’d wanted an adventure, and he’d gotten one. Izuku found himself reaching for a notebook that wasn’t there. Just his luck; he should have known to grab it before he chased those lights out of his bedroom.

It had been night when Izuku went through the little door, and it was still dark out now. But it was perfectly easy to see with all the colored lanterns strung around the front of the house. As Izuku stepped out onto the porch, his mouth dropped open again.

Beyond the front door, the yard and gardens around the house were lush and bursting with color. Flowering bonsais decorated the windowsills. There was a proper path leading from the door to the main road, lined with smooth polished stones. A flower garden surrounded the front of the house, with blossoms of every size, shape, and color that Izuku could possibly imagine. The centerpiece was a sprawling rosebush with blossoms of every color of the rainbow. Beyond the path, the ground was carpeted with soft green moss and grass, and the air smelled of perfume.

He had only ever seen gardens like this in paintings.

Ms. Yuuki was at the window, pruning one of the potted bonsai trees with a small, delicate pair of shears. Her son stood beside her, carrying a basket filled with trimmed flowers. As Izuku stepped off the path to approach, they looked up almost in unison. Their black button eyes glinted in the lantern light, and their smiles stretched wide.

“I thought I heard a new voice,” the Other Ms. Yuuki said, with all the warmth and welcoming that the first Ms. Yuuki had never shown him. “Hello, Izuku! It’s good to see you.”

“It is?” Izuku blurted out.

The Other Ms. Yuuki laughed, her voice ringing clear as a bell. “Of course it is. We were hoping you’d come, weren’t we, Shouto?”

The Other Shouto didn’t say anything at all, but smiled brightly and nodded in agreement.

“O-oh.” This wasn’t what he was used to. People were never this happy to see him. He just wasn’t the sort of person worth getting excited for; that was what everyone thought.

“Did you need something?” Other Ms. Yuuki asked.

“Oh, right! Sorry. My, um…” His tongue wavered on “Other Mother” and “Other Father” still. “There’s, um. Pancakes? And there’s enough for everyone. So…”

“Oh, wonderful!” Other Ms. Yuuki clapped her hands in excitement, with Other Shouto mirroring her again. “We’re just finishing up here—would you mind helping? It’ll make this go by much faster.”

“Sure, I don’t mind,” Izuku answered. “What do you need?”

“Well, I’m nearly finished pruning, but Shouto is picking out flowers to decorate the house. Could you give him a hand? We just need enough to fill that basket.”

“O-okay.” Nervousness made Izuku’s voice crack. But when he looked at the Other Shouto, he could find none of the cold indifference he always saw in the real world. Instead, the button-eyed Shouto offered a pair of shears to him with a reassuring, if awkward smile.

It should have been a simple task, but when Izuku took a closer look at the flower garden, the choice seemed impossible. Blossoms of every possible color were piled high in the flower bed, and each of them was spotless and perfect. How was he supposed to choose?

“Just pick the ones you like,” Other Ms. Yuuki said. “I’m sure whatever you choose will be wonderful.”

Cautiously, Izuku picked out a bright red blossom—you could never go wrong with red flowers, could you?—and sneaked a glance at Other Shouto. The other boy smiled and showed him the deep blue flower he’d just cut.

“Oh.” He was relieved, more than anything else. It felt like a peace offering, or an assurance. “That’s a pretty one. I mean, they’re all pretty, but…”

“You seem nervous,” Other Ms. Yuuki spoke up. Other Shouto ducked his head without saying anything.

“I am, sort of,” Izuku admitted. “This is all really new, and strange. I mean, I guess I’ve read about things like this, but they were always just stories…” His voice trailed off for a moment.  “Like… you guys, for example,” he said cautiously.

Other Ms. Yuuki didn’t turn away from the bonsai, but Other Shouto was watching him curiously. It was an odd look for him, because the normal Shouto never seemed curious about anything.

“You all have button eyes,” Izuku went on as he poked through the flowers. “Like living dolls and toys, almost. L-like Raggedy Ann, or the Steadfast Tin Soldier, or the Nutcracker, or…’ His voice trailed off again when he looked up to find Other Shouto staring blankly at him—and that was saying something, because his eyes were already buttons. “You… don’t know what I’m talking about, do you.”

Other Shouto shook his head.

“I could… tell you about the Nutcracker? Raggedy Ann’s for little kids, and the tin soldier has a really sad ending, but the Nutcracker’s okay.” Other Shouto’s face stayed blank, and he didn't nod or shake his head, but the curiosity was still there.

Hesitantly, Izuku half-mumbled out the story as best he could. He wasn’t used to getting this far; most kids told him to shut up by this point. But Other Shouto listened as they filled the basket with flowers, as Izuku told him about Christmas presents and dreams and broken toys. By the time he got to the part about Clara and the Nutcracker’s victory over the mouse king, the basket was full and the Other Ms. Yuuki was turning away from the bonsais.

“That’s done,” She announced, and Izuku startled midsentence. The cheerful smile returned to Other Shouto’s face. “Come along, boys, and bring the basket.” Her son took the flower cuttings and followed her inside.

It only occurred to Izuku at that moment that Other Shouto hadn’t spoken at all yet.

He let himself be pulled along back to the kitchen. A chair was pulled out for him, and a big stack of pancakes set on the plate and topped with a slab of melting butter and a generous helping of syrup. Izuku’s mouth watered.

Tearing his eyes from the tantalizing food, he looked up to find everyone else tucking in. Other Father, seeing his hesitance, gave him another encouraging smile.

“It’s all right, Izuku, they won’t bite.”

“Just try them,” Other Mom added. “Remember, you just have to try new foods once. If you decide don’t like them, then you don’t ever have to eat them again.”

Izuku hesitated a moment more. Mom—his real mom—always said not to take food from strangers. But… these weren’t strangers, were they? He knew all of them, they just looked a little different, that was all. And besides, they were just pancakes, weren’t they? And he was a little hungry. Dinner had been hours ago, and his stomach was grumbling again, so it couldn’t possibly hurt to just…

Hesitantly, he cut a small bite and tasted it.

Sweetness burst in his mouth, vanilla and cinnamon and maple sugar mixed together in light, fluffy softness. Izuku took another, bigger bite, and couldn’t hold back his happy little hum.

This was like a dream, he realized. Maybe it was. Maybe he was dreaming this whole world, the people and the house and the garden and the food. If he was, then it was a good dream.

“Sounds like they’re a hit!” Other Dad laughed.

“They’re really good,” Izuku mumbled shyly.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Other Mom said. “I worked so hard on them for you, sweetheart.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Izuku said, swallowing. “Um, I could help you clean up.”

“Nonsense!” Other Mom waved him off. “I’ll handle the mess. You just eat up. You’re a growing boy, after all.”

Izuku made it through about half the portion on his plate before he started to get full. He glanced around, a little self-consciously, and saw that he had eaten more than any of them—even the Other Shouto had hardly touched his, in comparison.

“Um, do you like them?” he asked hopefully. He might have only met Other Mom just tonight, but he still felt the need to support her cooking.

Other Shouto turned to him, nodded with a smile, and went back to eating.

“I’m so glad you two get along,” Other Ms. Yuuki remarked.

“We do?” Izuku blurted out. “I-I mean! Sorry, I just… he hasn’t said anything yet, so I wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, well…” Other Ms. Yuuki began.

“We don’t get a lot of news from the outside in here,” Other Dad said ruefully. “But we have it on good authority that you’ve been having some trouble with the Shouto out there. Sounds like he has a bit of a rude mouth. But, things here are always better. That’s how it works.”

“How what works?” Izuku asked. He was beginning to feel a little slow. Most of the things he’d said since coming here were either questions or echoes of what others had said.

“An Other world,” Other Dad explained. “It’s why they exist, you know. To make things better, especially for those clever and brave enough to find them. Especially for those who need a world like this. Children like you, Izuku.”

“Me?” Izuku looked around, and found all of the Others watching him, smiling at him. “I… I need a world like this?”

Other Dad’s face softened for a moment. He reached out slowly, pausing when Izuku flinched back instinctively. His fingertips brushed the side of Izuku’s face, just under his black eye. His touch was strange, warm and gentle but with a tiny spark to it, almost like static electricity. “You tell me, son.”

Izuku shrank back, and his Other Father let him. He lifted his hand to his face, probing gingerly at the still-tender bruise. “If—” He stopped, trying not to stutter. The Others watched him, patiently waiting for him to continue. “Would Kacchan be nicer to me here?” he asked. “Is he here?”

“Well, that depends,” Other Dad replied. “Do you want him to be?”

He asked it casually, as if he was only asking because he was interested, but something about the question weighed in the air, as if Izuku’s answer really did matter.

And Izuku thought about it. He thought back to the years when he and Kacchan were friends, all the way back when they were little and growing up together. Back when he didn’t flinch at the sound of Kacchan’s voice, or jump when Kacchan appeared too suddenly near him. Back when he didn’t duck whenever he saw Kacchan lift his hand. If this world was better, then it should happen, shouldn’t it? He should be able to go back to that, if that was what he wanted.

And that was all very well, but…

“No,” He said softly. “I don’t think I want that. I don’t…” His throat grew too thick to speak, too thick to fit more bites of pancake, no matter how delicious they were. “I don’t, um. I don’t really know… this is a lot. This is really, really a lot.”

“I know,” Other Dad said sympathetically. “It’s a lot to take in, I’ll bet. I hope the pancakes helped, though.”

“They did.” In spite of himself, Izuku couldn’t help but smile again. “They’re good. I’m full right now, but they’re really good.”

“There’s plenty more where they came from, if you ever get hungry again.” Other Dad squeezed his shoulder gently. “This can be your home away from home, whenever you like.”

“I…” It was so much. It was all so much. It was wild and unbelievable and magical, and part of him had always known that magic was real, because he needed to know that, needed to believe that, or else the stories he heard and scribbled in bits and pieces in his notebook, might not have protected him the way they did. This was unbelievable, but it was unbelievable in a way that he could trust, because he’d heard it told a thousand times. Lonely people, sad people, finding magic or stumbling into a different world and finding happiness and adventures and friends most of all—it was a story Izuku knew well. One that he’d only ever dreamed of being a part of.

But it was one thing to see magic in ordinary things, or to hear stories told. It was another to be in one and see the magic happen right in front of him.

“I should… I should go home soon,” he said. “I mean! Thank you. Thank you for being so nice, and so welcoming, but… I don’t know what time it is, or if… is this one of those things where if I stay here for just a few minutes, I’ll go back and find out a week has gone by?”

His Other Father threw back his head and laughed. Other Ms. Yuuki chuckled softly behind her hand, and Other Shouto made no sound but smiled wider.

“No, no, nothing like that, dearest.” Other Mom breezes back in, wiping her hands on her apron. “Going back is all very simple.”

“I just… go back through the door and the tunnel, right?” Izuku was surprised by a yawn. He remembered, rather abruptly, that it was the middle of the night. And he’d just eaten pancakes. Of course he’d be sleepy.

“You could do that,” Other Father said. “But you look tired, son. Why not sleep instead?”

“I have to go back,” Izuku said. “If I’m not there in the morning, Mom’ll get worried…” He glanced at Other Mom. “I mean, um… my first Mom.” My real mom, his sleepy mind supplied, but that seemed rude to say.

“Don’t worry,” Other Mom assured him. “You’ll wake up right in your own bed. You won’t have to worry anyone at all.”

“R-really?” Izuku swallowed another yawn, and frowned. “But then… how will I know this wasn’t just a dream?”

“How do you know it’s not a dream now?” Other Father asked.

“Oh, that’s easy, I just…” Izuku paused. He even pinched himself, but the pain felt… muffled somehow. He still felt it, distantly, but it didn’t bother him the way pain normally did. Everything’s better here. “I guess I just… I know it isn’t. It can’t be. I’m right here, and I know I’m here.”

“You believe,” Other Father corrected him. “So if you try your best, you might keep believing even when you wake up. Can you do that for me, Izuku?”

“I’ll try my best,” Izuku promised.

Other Father smiled again. “Good boy. Now, let’s get you to bed. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?”

“Good night, Izuku,” Other Ms. Yuuki said, as Izuku followed his Other Parents out of the dining room. Beside her, Other Shouto smiled wide and waved.

The stairs didn’t even creak as they climbed them. The wood was smooth and polished all the way to the next floor, where it turned to soft carpet. More pictures and paintings hung on the wall; Izuku recognized the pond in one of them, the water and trees lit with the soft colors of sunrise. His Other Parents guided him to his room, and Izuku stepped inside and gasped.

Gone were the barren walls, the empty floor, and the sparse furnishing. His room was alive with color, the walls painted with forests and the ceiling painted with stars. Packed bookshelves lined one wall, and a beautiful desk sat at another, covered with fresh notebooks, pens, and art supplies.

His bed was bigger, the comforter thick and fluffy and embroidered with shining pictures of animals, real and imaginary. The first thing Izuku did was flop down and lie on it spread-eagled. His fingertips couldn’t reach either edge. It was almost as big as his mom’s bed back home.

“Comfy?” Other Mom asked.

“It’s so soft,” he sighed. Not even his mattress back home was this good. It was old and a little flattened at the middle, and Mom couldn’t afford to buy a new one yet.

“Dearest, you haven’t even gotten in yet,” she laughed. Izuku crawled under the covers, fighting his drooping eyelids more and more each second. When he was finally settled, she moved to tuck him in.

“Oh, I forgot,” he mumbled. “Good night hug?”

She brushed his hair out of his face. “That’s all right. You just sleep now, dearest.”

“I’m so glad that you found us, son,” Other Dad told him. Izuku tried to look, but his eyes were drifting shut. He was tired, and the bed was soft. It was too easy to go to sleep like this. Already he could feel himself drifting. He thought he might have mumbled a goodnight, but he couldn’t be sure.

As he sank down into the softness surrounding him, and further down into sleep, Izuku thought he heard a chorus of distant voices—Mom’s, Dad’s, and Ms. Yuuki’s—murmuring to him from all around.

“See you soon.”

Something was rattling furiously, disturbing the dreamless fog that Izuku had fallen into. Rattling, banging, scratching—it started in the distance and crept closer every second, tearing through the cotton and silk until it sounded too close to his ears to ignore.

Izuku opened his eyes and breathed in the smell of old straw. The mattress beneath him was stiff, cushioned by the comforter he had wrapped himself in. Early morning sunlight streamed in through the window, touching the bare walls and hard floor of his familiar barren room.

It took a moment for Izuku to realize that the rattling had followed into the waking world. A shadow moved in the light from the window, and Izuku struggled to sit up and see.

Standing on the window ledge outside, front paws braced against the rattling window, was the scarred black cat. Izuku froze, and the cat went still. For a few seconds they stared at each other from opposite sides of the glass. Finally, the cat lowered itself to all fours again. Its thin, crooked tail switched from side to side, and it turned away and vanished from his window.

A split second later Izuku was throwing back the covers, because he was on the second floor.

Izuku slid to the ground and winced when his bare feet touched the floor. The soft carpet in the Other World was still a fresh memory, and the rough wood under his toes felt like a mockery of what he’d left behind.

He went to the window and lifted it. Fresh air swept into his room, driving back the staleness in his room. He stuck his head out and twisted this way and that, trying to see where the cat had gone. It wasn’t too far to the ground, especially for a cat, but it was still high enough to worry.

He looked and looked until his neck ached from turning it, but the cat had vanished.

With a sigh, Izuku closed the window and left his room, picking his way carefully to the bathroom. Images of the Other World flashed in his memory, still bright and strong and clinging. He held on to them tightly, unwilling to lose them to the light of morning.

He stepped into the bathroom, caught sight of himself in the mirror, and stared.

The bruise beneath his eye had vanished.

Chapter Text

It hadn’t been a dream at all. Izuku was sure of it now. He had a special section in his notebook saved for writing dreams. The handwriting of every entry was atrocious, because the only time he could ever remember enough of his dreams to write them down was right after he woke up, with the last strings of sleep still clinging to him. And even then, he could only catch bits and pieces, disjointed details and images that made no sense when he read them later.

But now here he was, sitting out in the front garden well after breakfast, writing down his time in the Other World moment by moment. It wasn’t a dream, he thought excitedly. Dreams didn’t stick in his mind like this. He could see it in his mind’s eye, almost as vividly as he could see the garden he was actually in.

Movement in the corner of his eye made him look up. The cat was back, watching him from a distance and looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“What do you want?” Izuku asked. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”

The cat kept staring at him without blinking.

“Are you talking to the cat?”

Izuku jumped, scratching a line on the page, and turned to frown at Shouto’s approach. Except it wasn’t really an approach because Shouto was already there, spying over his shoulder. Instinctively, Izuku slapped his journal shut. Nothing good had ever come of letting other kids read what was in his journal.

“So what if I am?” he retorted.

One of Shouto’s eyebrows twitched upward. “It’s a cat,” he said slowly and emphatically, as if he were talking to someone very stupid. “It’s not going to talk back.”

“I wish you weren’t going to talk back,” Izuku muttered without thinking, then winced. “Sorry.”

“You apologize too much,” Shouto told him. “That makes you look weak, you know. That’s probably why people push you around all the time.”

Izuku shut his eyes and breathed slowly, counting to himself. It was mean, it was so mean and he wished he didn’t feel like this, but he could sort of understand why the Other World’s way of making Shouto better was by making him stop talking.

“I don’t want to hang out with you right now,” he said. There was no polite way to say it, but the best he could do was be honest. “Sor—” He stopped. “Maybe later?”

“That’s assuming I would want to,” Shouto answered. “What are you writing?”

Izuku pressed his mouth closed and didn’t answer. Instead he scooted away and cracked open his notebook again to continue writing, angled away from Shouto so that he couldn’t read over his shoulder.

“Is it another story?” Shouto pressed, leaning over anyway. “I hope it’s better than the one you told me about rocks.”

Izuku liked to think that, whatever else he lacked, he at least had patience and endurance on his side. He had to, with Kacchan and his friends always hounding him. He had started soft and weak, but over the years the almost endless barrage of insults and harsh words and harsher blows had built up the thickness of his skin.

But this was a very different sort of challenge. Shouto wasn’t harsh with his words, just casually blunt and careless. It was less like having rocks thrown at him, and more like having gritty sand in his shoes, scratching his skin and getting between his toes. It didn’t hurt, but the persistent low-level irritation kept at him the same way the house’s musty smell itched at his nose.

Finally, fed up and not knowing how else to make him go away, Izuku shut his notebook again. “I went through the door last night.”

He didn’t look at Shouto, but he could feel the other boy’s eyes on him.

“The little door, in the room at the end of the hall, on the ground floor,” Izuku went on. “And yeah, I know it’s bricked up. But when I opened it last night, the bricks were gone and there was a tunnel instead. I went through it.”

He went on from there, describing his strange adventure. He left out a few key details, like the fact that his real father wasn’t around, and the fact that Shouto’s Other World self didn’t talk, but he kept it as truthful as he dared. As he talked, Shouto never interrupted, not even to comment or ask questions.

“So anyway, I’m writing it down now,” Izuku finished. “It wasn’t a dream, and I know it wasn’t a dream, but I don’t want to risk forgetting it. So that’s what I’m doing. Happy?”

Shouto was silent for long enough that Izuku finally risked looking up at him. Not that it did much good, when the other boy’s face was as unreasonable as ever. Finally, he snorted and turned away. “You must be pretty bored to make up lies like that. And you’d have to be pretty stupid to think anyone would believe them.”

“Okay,” Izuku said flatly. “Hope that answered your question.”

That afternoon brought with it a small miracle. Mom was free, enough to risk turning her phone off and going into town with him for a nice lunch at one of the restaurants Izuku had scouted out. He almost grinned when he saw pancakes on the menu.

With their bellies full, they went for a walk in the foothills and admired the woods, Izuku snapping pictures and wishing he hadn’t left his notebook in his room that morning. He chattered as he went, about observations and stories he’d thought of, and even told her about the Other World.

“Another me?” she asked, sounding amused. “One who makes you pancakes after dinner? I hope she isn’t a better cook than me.”

“Never,” Izuku said. “Dad was there, too. Only… different. He actually wanted to be there.” The moment he said it, he sort of wished he hadn’t, so he hastened to continue. “Ms. Yuuki and Shouto were in the garden, only it was the most amazing garden I’d ever seen…”

Mom listened attentively in fond amusement, and Izuku didn’t press her to believe what she was hearing. If she heard all of it and thought he was only describing a dream, well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Upon returning to town, Mom paused on the way back. “Oh, Izuku!” she cried in delight, smiling at a familiar little building. “Is that a library? You never mentioned it—don’t tell me you missed the library when you went out the other day!”

Izuku winced. “Oh, uh, no,” he said, stammering a bit. “It’s just—I mean it’s small, so all it took was a quick look around, and there wasn’t much to see. Or talk about. That’s all.”

“Oh, Izuku,” she fussed a little, brushing a stray curl out of his face. She sighed, and her voice dropped a few volume levels. “I know you get embarrassed, sweetheart. But you don’t have to, with me. I know you love stories, I know you love to read, and I know you love libraries more than most kids your age love the mall. It’s okay.”

Izuku pursed his lips, torn between gratitude and embarrassment.

“Come on,” Mom said gently. “Let’s have a look around. I know you, dear, and I know you’re bound to find something you’ll like.”

Maybe it would be better, he reasoned as he followed her to the door. Shouto had said they just hated kids. Maybe if his mom was with him, they’d be a little nicer.

Something moved in the overgrown grass surrounding the little library. A dark patch stirred amid the green and yellow, and Izuku recognized the cat crouching low in the weeds, watching them pass. The unblinking blue stare unnerved him, and he hurried on to the door.

The bell jingled softy. Izuku stepped inside, and his boldness vanished when he spotted the dark-haired man in the tinted glasses. He was bent over an open book on one of the tables, running his fingers over the page, but at the sound of the bell he looked up.

Izuku stopped short. “U-um, hello,” he said meekly. “It’s me again, I brought my mom—”

The book snapped, and the man turned and left the room. The door closed roughly behind him.

“Well,” Mom said after a moment. “That was awfully rude.”

Before Izuku could reply, even to agree with her, the same door opened again and the other man, the tall knobby-looking blond one, stepped out.

“Er, hello,” he greeted. His smile looked a little strained. “Welcome. How may I help you today?”

Mom wavered for a moment, still off-balance from the first man’s abruptness, but eventually settled on being pleasant. “Just browsing,” she replied. “My son loves to read, you see.”

“Ah.” The man’s shadowed eyes turned to Izuku, who fought the urge to hide from them. “I see.”

“So, don’t mind us!” Mom went on. “We’re just visiting, you know. You have a lovely library.”

“Thank you.” All his answers were so robotic and stiff. Couldn’t Mom see they weren’t wanted?

No, that wasn’t it, Izuku realized, seeing his Mom square her shoulders even as she smiled politely. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see it. She just wasn’t letting it scare her off.

Of course, he thought, standing taller. Why let someone else’s bad mood ruin his day? This was a public library and he had a right to be here.

Eventually he split off from his mother, as she found a section on cozy mysteries and he spotted a shelf full of nature guidebooks. There might be more ideas for what to do for fun, and if there weren’t, at least the pictures would probably be nice. After a few minutes, soft music began to play from speakers that he couldn’t see. It would have made for a cozy atmosphere, if Izuku hadn’t already been chased out before.

For some reason, he wasn’t surprised when the lone librarian circled around to meet him. He was trying to be stealthy about it, but it didn’t work very well when he was that tall. Izuku turned as he approached, preventing the man from coming at him from anywhere but the front.

Izuku braced himself. “I just want to look at books,” he said quietly, chin jutting out in what he hoped was a show of defiance. “That’s all. You are a library, right?”

He was surprised when the man faltered at this. Sure, he was skinny-looking and seemed sort of tired, but he still towered over everyone and everything in the room, and it should have taken more than one skinny thirteen-year-old to spook him.

The man cleared his throat after a moment. “I believe I owe you an apology, for earlier,” he said softly, with a glance toward Mom. “I’m sorry, for frightening you.”

“You didn’t,” Izuku said. And he really hadn’t. The dark-haired man had, a little, but this man’s words had simply been hurtful. He could have taken them by themselves. It wasn’t like he was the first one to not want Izuku around.

The man’s gaunt face crumpled, and Izuku realized abruptly that he’d said the thought out loud. “I do apologize,” the man repeated. “Not for my intent, but for my actions.”

Izuku frowned, not sure if that was reassuring or not. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Let me start again.” The man shook his head as if to clear it. “First, you may call me Toshinori, if you like.”

“I’m Izuku,” Izuku replied warily.

“It’s… difficult to explain,” Toshinori went on, with another quick look toward Mom. “But… well, I noticed you having a look about, so you must have noticed how… sparse this town is. No schools, no places for children.”

“I’m a teenager,” Izuku said testily.

“Right, of course,” Toshinori said. “But, still. There are reasons for this. Yakoto isn’t a good place for the young. When I told you that you should leave, it wasn’t because I find fault with you. It’s because I don’t think that you’re safe here.”

“I think Shouto at the inn is even younger than me, though,” Izuku pointed out. “Are you trying to run him out of town, too?”

“Young Shouto is a special case,” Toshinori said, and explained no more than that. “But you… I’m afraid that you are not. I’m sorry, Izuku. You seem like an upstanding young man and I would be happy to get to know you, but… if you could talk to your mother and explain to her—”

“How can I explain anything to her when you haven’t explained anything to me?” Izuku hissed, his voice nearly rising. Toshinori shot another nervous look at Mom, and Izuku took a step back. This was getting to strange, too awkward, too uncomfortable. “It’s not like I’m even staying forever. I’ll be gone by the time summer’s over and you won’t have to worry about me ever again—”

He had to stop talking then, because the sound of glass shattering on the other side of the door was loud enough to make him jump. In an instant, the nervous, twitchy Toshinori had gone ramrod straight, looking toward the door with growing dread.

“I have to go,” he said. “Please—please, for pity’s sake, think about what I said.” With that, he rushed to the door, slipped into it, and shut it behind him.

Or at least, he tried. The door didn’t close all the way, and when Izuku squinted to look for the reason why, he spotted the cat crouching at the foot of the door frame. The music continued to play.

“Well, that was a strange,” Mom remarked, looking up from the book she was thumbing through. “Someone must have dropped something.”

Izuku barely heard her. His eyes were on the cat, and the cat’s eyes were on him, leaning against the door as if to hold it ajar. The crooked tail switched from side to side, as if beckoning to him.

He really shouldn’t be doing this. Just because they’d been rude to him didn’t give him the right to snoop on their business.

Izuku shot a glance at Mom. She wasn’t paying attention, still flipping through the book in her hand. With such a clear opportunity before him, curiosity overcame him. There were shelves close enough to the door that he could go back to them if Mom noticed; just one peek wouldn’t hurt.

As he sidled closer, the cat rubbed against the door in a way that pushed it further open. Izuku crept to the widening gap and peered in.

Immediately beyond the door was a short hallway, carpeted and clean with a few scattered photos on the wall. The nearest doorway, standing open just within Izuku’s view, led into a kitchen. There were voices coming from within, and shards of a broken dish were scattered across the floor. Toshinori’s gangling figure was just visible beyond the open door, so Izuku leaned in as far as he dared.

Toshinori was kneeling in front of the other man, who sat hunched in on himself with his back to the cabinets. They were holding each other close; the dark-haired man gripped handfuls of Toshinori’s shirt, while Toshinori ran his fingers through his hair and spoke too softly for Izuku to make out the words. A pair of dark glasses lay amid the pieces of the broken plate. With Toshinori’s back to him, and the other man’s face hidden in Toshinori’s chest, neither of them saw Izuku watching.

The brush of fur against his ankle made Izuku look down. The cat was watching him again, tail sliding against his leg. Izuku could have sworn the animal looked satisfied.

Voices rose from beyond the door.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it just—”

“I know, Mirai, I’m here.”

“Hurts, it hurts—”

Izuku nearly tripped as he retreated to the shelves. He wasn’t meant to see that, he knew he wasn’t meant to see that, but he had and he wasn’t sure what it meant. Was there something wrong with that man—Mirai? Was he sick, or hurt? Was that why he’d been so sharp when he first saw Izuku? Maybe he was just embarrassed—Kacchan hated it when anyone saw him hurt. He hated it even more when anyone saw and tried to help him. It still turned his stomach, the thought that he’d find someone like Kacchan this far from home, but at least it made a little bit more sense.

They left soon after, without borrowing anything or seeing either of the men return. If Mom was put out by this, she didn’t show it.

“Oh, Izuku, look,” she spoke up. “You never mentioned there being a tea shop.”

Izuku looked up. They had only gone about a block away from the library, where a cozy-looking building sat on the street corner. It looked familiar; he was sure he’d seen the building while walking before, but for some reason his eyes had passed right over it without noticing that it was someplace interesting.

And it was interesting. With a name like the “Thousand Years Tea Shop,” it had to be worth looking into.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see that,” Izuku said faintly.

“That’s all right, I almost passed right by it myself,” Mom admitted. “I wouldn’t have noticed it at all, but then I saw—look who it is, Izuku!”

Confused, because there was no one else walking around besides them, Izuku followed her pointing finger to the little shelf outside the front window.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he blurted out. The time of day was just right for the sun to shine directly down on the shelf. It was the perfect warm spot for the cat currently sunning itself by the window. It wasn’t looking at them this time; the only movement Izuku could spot was the twitch of its ears.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was following us,” Mom remarked on the way inside. “I wonder if he belongs to anyone.”

Izuku could have sworn he saw one of the cat’s eyes open and shut again, as if it were winking in reverse.

The herbal scents inside the shop made Izuku sneeze, but it was a far cry from the musty smell at the house. The inside was just as cozy as the outside; the tables were small, the chairs plush, and the walls behind the low counter were lined with jars and boxes and polished, decorative tins. Rows of shelves carried more containers, neatly labeled with descriptions of the teas and blends.

“Oh, this is nice!” Mom exclaimed, right before the clack of a cane heralded the shop owner’s arrival from the back room.

“Well, look who it is.” The old woman halted at the gap in the counter—and no wonder it was so low, when she was so tiny. “Our visitors in the house at the end of the road. Hello again, young man.”

“Oh, Izuku, do you know her?”

“I met her before,” Izuku said, then added hesitantly, “She’s nice. I didn’t know she owned a tea shop.”

The old woman laughed, and her cane clacked louder as she approached them. “I’ve got to do something with my time. Can’t carry the world on my shoulders every day—sometimes I just want to share a nice cup of tea with a stranger.” She smiled, and the wrinkles in her face deepened. “Would you like a sample, my dears? On the house for new guests.”

Mom’s face lit up. “That would be wonderful, thank you!”

It made Izuku’s head spin, being ushered to one of the neat little tables. This was the opposite of the receptions he was used to in Yakoto; even this exact same old lady had been cold to him just the other day. She’d been slightly less rude than the men at the library, but even that had felt like a half-hearted consolation for the fact that everyone wanted him gone.

Izuku watched her now, smiling and rosy-cheeked as she charmed Mom with pleasant small talk over the pot of tea she was pouring into their cups. It rankled him; why was she only nice when Mom was around?

The old woman only moved away from them once, and that was to set out a dish for the cat when it wandered in. Izuku craned his neck to see what was on it—grilled fish, maybe.

“Is that your cat?” Mom asked politely. “I keep seeing him everywhere.”

The woman snorted and stepped back without so much as touching the animal. “Heavens, no. He doesn’t belong to anyone but himself.”

Izuku was half-finished with his tea by the time Mom emptied her cup, and she got up to explore the shop and have a closer look at all the jars and tins and pretty boxes. Izuku stayed where he was as Mom moved out of immediate earshot, and leveled a sullen look at the old woman.

She sighed, as if she knew he would be upset, and why.

“It’s fine,” Izuku said, a little defiantly. “People are always nicer to me when my mom’s around.”

“It’s not that.” She nudged a chair over with her foot and sat in it. “But I got off on the wrong foot with you. It’s been some years since a new child came here—” She stopped short, lips pressed together in a sharp line.

It was too late, though, with Izuku’s curiosity piqued. “What does that mean?” he asked. “Were there kids here before?”

“Yes, they—” Again she stopped. “They aren’t here anymore.”

“Nobody will tell me anything.” Izuku fought to keep his voice under control. “Everyone wants me to leave but they won’t tell me why. And then the two in the library were acting weird, and—” He sighed sharply and sipped his tea as angrily as it was possible to sip tea. “Nobody tells me anything. Not even why they have a problem with me.”

The old woman sighed again. “Don’t know why we bother. It’s obvious nothing’s getting you out of here before summer’s up.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe you’ll stay out of trouble by then.”

Izuku snorted. “You keep secrets and act mysterious, and you want me to stay out of trouble? That’s just asking for it.”

“Asking for what?” the woman asked, squinting at him.

“Loads of good stories have mysteries,” Izuku said with a shrug. “I’ve never gotten to solve a mystery before. I’ve always wanted to try it.”

For a moment, the old woman simply stared at him. The corners of her eyes deepened, and Izuku thought she was going to scowl at him, but instead she smiled again. It wasn’t a happy smile, but it seemed a little more real than her previous one.

“A mystery, eh? Those can be tricky, do you know why?”

“Of course they’re tricky, they’re mysteries,” Izuku said, because this was obvious. “There’s always twists, and clues that don’t mean what you think they mean, and clues that aren’t actually clues, and things that you think aren’t important but actually are.”

“Exactly.” To his chagrin, he tapped the end of his nose with her finger tip. “Don’t you forget that, young man. Most important part of a mystery, the twists.”

Izuku felt something settle within him. So far, that was one of the nicest thing anyone here had said to him—outside of the Other World.

“And I suppose it’s a bit too late to tell you not to go through the little door in the downstairs room?” the old woman went on.

Izuku almost dropped his teacup.

Another sigh. “It would’ve been too much to hope for.” She met his eyes briefly, only to look away. “It’s always too much to hope for.”

“Wait, what do you know about the door?” Izuku asked. “The Other World?”

“More than I can say.” She stood up and went to the counter, where she rooted around in the cabinets behind it until she produced a glass jar, stuffed with wrapped candies. She selected two of them, returned to the table, and placed them in front of him. “Take these. Keep them on you if you can. Eat one when you start to wonder.”

“Wait, what does that—”

“Excuse me?” Mom said, emerging from her hunt through the shelves. “I just found one of my favorite blends, and I was wondering how much this was?”

Izuku sat back, quietly dismayed, as his mother diverted the old woman’s attention. Once more left to his own devices, he looked down at the candies in front of him. After a moment’s deliberation, he put both in his pocket.

A sharp, prickly weight landed in his lap. The cat had leapt up from the floor, claws catching and digging into his pant leg. Scarred blue eyes flashed at him before the cat sprang off again.

He could have sworn he saw the cat wink at him again.

Izuku collapsed onto his bed in the early evening, burying his face in the pillow in an attempt to escape the old-straw smell. It was annoying—usually he got used to weird smells if he put up with them long enough, but this one just wouldn’t stop coming back and bothering him.

All in all, the day hadn’t been bad. He’d spent the whole thing with Mom, exploring the town and hiking in the woods. Already the disappointment of missing their planned pond picnic before had faded away. If this kept up, then he could still have a great summer in spite of the early hiccups.

Especially, he thought, if the door opens for me again.

The only downside to today was that he’d forgotten to bring along his notebook. Luckily, the events of the day were still fresh in his mind, and there were a few good things to write down. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he leaned over to retrieve his notebook from where he’d left it.

His hands grasped empty air.

Grumbling, Izuku scrambled up to his hands and knees and peered over the side of the bed, to see if it had fallen to the floor somehow. He got off the bed to poke around beneath it, then checked the side table, then went to dig through his suitcase.

His notebook was gone. He found his pen on the floor, just under his bed, but not his notebook. It had to be here—he’d left it this morning before he and Mom had gone out.

Izuku checked and double checked every possible place in his room, then went to Mom’s room to see if she had it. It was gone.

With growing dread, Izuku retraced his steps through the house. He checked the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the laundry room, but nothing came of it. Out of desperation he checked the room with the little door, but it stood just as clean and bare as it ever had.

“Looking for something?”

Izuku jumped, and whipped around to see Shouto watching him from the hallway. His hands were empty, but that didn’t mean much.

“Did you take it?” Izuku gritted out.

“Take what?”

“My notebook.” His hands balled up into fists. “I was writing in it this morning, remember? I left it here before Mom and I went out, and now it’s gone.”

“Your notebook? You mean the one with all the silly stories in it?” Shouto’s face barely changed, except when the corner of his mouth twitched. “What would I want it for?”

Izuku’s temper flared. Kacchan had said something like that once, and Izuku had found his notebook later in the afternoon, floating in the school fountain with most of its pages scorched black. Just because he didn’t want it didn’t mean he wouldn’t take it. “Give it back,” he gritted out.

Shouto rolled his eyes. “I don’t have your notebook,” he said. “Just because you were foolish enough to lose it doesn’t mean—”

“People have played dumb pranks on me before,” Izuku gritted out. “Give it back now and I won’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I can’t, because I don’t have it,” Shouto said impatiently. “What are you going to do about it—tell your mother? What good do you think that would do—especially since, again, I don’t have it?” His lip curled. “You’re just like everyone else, aren’t you? Always blaming me every time something goes wrong—and you wonder why everyone’s unkind to you?”

Izuku shoved past him roughly. Tears pricked in his eyes by the time he made it to the stairs. Once in his room, he shut the door and let himself cry. He thought about going home.

And so, naturally, when the floating lights came for him again that night, he got out of bed and followed.

The house in the Other World was exactly as it had been before—similar in size and shape to the house he had just left, but different and better in almost every way. He breathed in deeply as he left the tunnel, reveling in the smell of fresh cooking food that cleared the mustiness left by the stale air in the real world.

That definitely smelled like katsudon.

The scene was startlingly similar to the one he had found the last time he was here, if a little further along. Other Mom was at the stove again, sending delicious smells wafting through the room and the house beyond. Other Dad was at the table, reading a newspaper. Other Ms. Yuuki wasn’t there, but Other Shouto was, standing at the sink and washing dishes as Other Mom finished with them.

The first to notice him was Other Dad (and that never happened in the real world, where his father only noticed him if forced) and set aside his folded paper with a bright smile. “So, you came through the rabbit-hole again! I knew you would!”

“Oh, wonderful!” Other Mom sang out. “I made your favorite!”

“I-I know.” Slowly, a smile spread across his face. There wasn’t an awful lot that katsudon couldn’t fix—even stolen notebooks. “It smells wonderful.”

He went to hug her, but she surprised him by turning to pop a bit of pork cutlet into his mouth. “Just a moment, dearest,” she said, beaming. “How does that taste?”

“It’s good,” Izuku mumbled. Flavor burst over his tongue, and he savored it for as long as he could before he swallowed. “It’s so good, um, Other Mom.” Dinner had been hours ago. Even if it hadn’t been, he could certainly make room for a meal this good. “Should I set the table?”

“Oh, that’s all right! Shouto, dear, would you mind getting the bowls out?”

Other Shouto paused in the middle of drying a dish. He was still smiling, but it looked a bit blank.

“If you don’t mind,” Other Dad added. “We need an extra set of hands, and we wouldn’t want to bother your mother. Would we, Izuku?”

“Uh, nope,” Izuku agreed. “Is she busy in the garden again?”

Other Shouto nodded as he brought out a stack of bowls, which he set within Other Mom’s reach. With that done, he took out cups and sets of chopsticks and went to arrange them at each table setting.

“Oh, here, I can help,” Izuku offered, and took the cups off his hand. Other Shouto stared at him blankly for a moment, then smiled again and carried on as if nothing had happened.

“Such a good, polite boy,” Other Mom said. “Thank you, Izuku. And Shouto says ‘thank you’, too.”

“You’re welcome!” Izuku said brightly.

Other Mom served up the katsudon for everyone, and Izuku sat down and barely remembered to say thank you before tucking in. It smelled heavenly and tasted even better, as if the vague dream of how perfect katsudon tasted was plucked from his head and served to him in a bowl. Izuku’s eyes watered as he ate, and he wiped them before anyone could notice him getting teary over food.

As soon as he was one, he got up to put his dirty dishes in the sink, with his Other parents’ thanks and praises ringing in his ears. His belly was warm and full, and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to lie down and nap, or go outside and see what this Other World had to offer.

“I was thinking,” Other Mom said. “It’s a lovely night for a hike, don’t you think? Izuku, why don’t we go out and see the woods? They’re so beautiful, I know you’ll love them.”

“R-really? You’re not too busy?” Izuku tried not to bounce on the balls of his feet.

Other Mom cupped the side of his face affectionately. “Don’t be silly, Izuku, why would I ever be too busy for you?”

“O-oh. I don’t know. No reason.” His voice trembled with the threat of tears again. “I mean, yes! Of course I want to go out. The woods are already so nice in the real world, so…”

“The forest here puts them to shame,” Other Dad told him. “You can be sure of that. Shouto, why don’t you go with them?”

Other Shouto blinked at him, then smiled and nodded.

The jolt of discomfort was purely instinctual, and Izuku shrugged it off. It couldn’t be too bad, he reasoned. Other Shouto might be sort of quiet, but he was also much nicer than the one back in the real world. Hanging out with him would probably be better, if everything was better here.

The crickets were singing when they went out. Izuku turned his eyes skyward, marveling at the expanse of inky blue-black, shot through with swaths of winking white stars. Izuku only realized he’d stopped walking when a light touch came to his arm. Surprised, he found Other Shouto looking at him expectantly. Other Mom was already ahead of them, leading the way down the path to the woods.

“Oh! Sorry.” Izuku started walking again, though he kept his face turned upward. “I was just wondering if the stars were different here, in the Other World. Other Stars? That would be weird. Can you imagine buttons in the sky?”

He laughed at the thought. Other Shouto didn’t laugh, of course, but he smiled at the joke, even though it wasn’t really that funny.

“But anyway, I guess the stars are the same. Just… brighter. And I think there are more of them? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen this many stars.” He stopped again. They were heading into the forest, and it might be harder to see the sky through the treetops. He could swear the sky was brighter than usual; stars and galaxies twinkled where, normally, Izuku could only ever see darkness. “I guess if this world is better, then it doesn’t have light pollution. I mean, look, you can see the whole Milky Way. You know the Milky Way, right?”

Other Shouto gave him a blank stare, made even blanker because his eyes were already buttons.

“It’s that band of lots of stars, see?” Izuku pointed up and traced the band with his finger. “It’s the same back in the real world.” Other Shouto tilted his head, then looked up to follow his finger. “That’s the Milky Way galaxy. That’s the one our solar system is in. Oh, and—there’s Altair and Vega!” Another blank stare. “Those stars, see? The two really bright ones, on either side of the Milky Way. See them?”

Other Shouto looked, and nodded.

“Izuku! Shouto!” Other Mom called from further down the path. She waved to them. Izuku recognized the boulder she was standing next to; he’d seen its copy in the real world just the other day.

“Oh, we’d better go.” Izuku started walking again, with Other Shouto falling in step with him. “Um, anyway, I uh… I don’t actually know all that much about stars? I just know those ones because they tell a story.” He pursed his lips. This was definitely the part where the real Shouto would tell him he was being silly, or walk away to find something better to do. But this was the Other World where everything was supposed to be better, so… “Do you want to hear it?”

Other Shouto stood up straighter, but hesitated for a moment. He looked up to the stars again, then at Other Mom’s back. Finally, he nodded.

Izuku’s pulse stuttered, either with excitement or relief. “Okay, well, it’s about a star who’s a princess, see? Vega is Orihime, the weaving princess, who wove beautiful cloth for her father by the bank of the river—that’s the Milky Way. But she was sad, and lonely, so her father let her meet Hikoboshi the cowherd on the other side of the river—that’s Altair. So they met and fell in love and even had children.” His voice dropped. “But because they were busy being a family, Orihime didn’t have time to weave, and Hikoboshi let his cows wander.”

He looked to Other Shouto, and found him listening with rapt attention. It was a little off-putting, because that never happened when Izuku tried to tell other kids stories.

“Orihime’s father wanted his daughter to weave him beautiful things again, so he forced the lovers to separate across the river, with Orihime on one side and Hikoboshi and their children on the other.” Other Shouto’s face fell, and Izuku winced. “Yeah, not all stories have really happy endings. But there’s actually sort of a silver lining to this one. See, Orihime was so sad that her father took pity on her, so he said she could see her lover once a year, if she finished her weaving. And every year, all the magpies in the world fly up and make a bridge across the river, so they can reunite and be a family again for one day.” He fell silent. “I-it’s only sort of a silver lining. Because… one day a year isn’t a lot… I mean, if I was separated from my mom and I could only see her for a day… I’d be really sad…” His voice trailed off. “So anyway, Vega and Altair used to be called the Weaver Star and the Cowherd Star, because of that story. And, the day they cross the river to meet each other is the Tanabata Festival. Have you ever been to that?”

Other Shouto shook his head.

“That’s too bad!” Izuku perked up. “Actually, the next festival is going to be in August. And if the Other World really is better than the real world, then it’s got to have festivals. Right?” He looked to Other Shouto.

“Of course it does!” Other Mom called back. “And we can’t wait to show them to you. They’re so much fun! But for now—come on, Izuku! We’re here!”

Izuku broke into a run. “We’re where? What is it?” He caught up to her right where the path broke from the thicker woods and into a clearing ringed with moss-swaddled trees.

His mouth dropped open. It was the pond—only it couldn’t be, could it? The walk to the pond had been much farther when he took it in the real world. Of course, taking it with the real Shouto probably made it feel longer, but this had hardly taken any time at all.

“Just watch,” Other Mom murmured to him. “We’re just in time.”

“Just in time for what?” Izuku was nearly breathless with excitement. He looked around, searching for whatever he was supposed to be looking at. The plants were thicker than he remembered; the moss and grass looked as soft as plush carpet, even with the stalks of unopened buds that poked through. There were no flowers to be seen, probably because spring was long over. Izuku turned his attention upward again, still awed by what he saw. The stars seemed brighter, as if the very sky itself was closer to the earth. They weren’t pinpricks here; they glowed as big and bright as polished coins, bright enough that he could tell the difference between yellow and blue and white and red. The Milky Way really did look like a river, and Izuku could swear that the stars themselves were flowing through the sky like sparkling water. And, speaking of water—the surface of the pond was as smooth as glass, so clear and still that Izuku could see the sky reflected perfectly.

Izuku was watching the reflection when the lights in the sky flickered and blazed, and for an instant it seemed bright enough to be daylight. Izuku turned away, blinking away the spots, and found more light waiting for him beyond the pond.

It was the buds, he realized. They were opening, blooming into flowers that gave off their own starlight. Before him, the clearing was coming alive as blossoms burst open, scattering motes of light like glowing pollen.

It was like a scene out of a fairy tale, he thought. He wished for his camera. He wished for his notebook. But he had neither, and it seemed even the wonderful Other World couldn’t give them to him, so he simply stood and drank it all in, trying his best to lock it in his memory forever.

“I knew you’d like it,” Other Mom whispered beside him. “You do like it, don’t you, Izuku?”

“I love it,” Izuku choked out, surprised by the tightness in his own throat. “It’s so beautiful. It’s like magic.” He turned, eyes watering, and threw his arms around her.

He tried, rather. Other Mom caught his hands in hers before he could hug her, crying out, “Oh—oh, look! Izuku, look, before you miss it!”

Izuku looked, just in time to see something sleek and glittering burst up from the depths of the pond and splash back down, scales flashing with a rainbow of colors. “What was that!”

“The koi,” Other Mom told him. “Our koi. Are they that pretty, where you’re from?”

“Um…” Izuku hesitated, because koi were pretty. He liked looking at them, especially the ones in black and white and red, like calico cats. But he’d never seen a rainbow koi. “They’re pretty. But… if everything’s better in the Other World, then maybe it’s not fair to compare them.”

“I guess not, dear,” Other Mom laughed. “Now, why don’t you and Shouto go exploring, hm? There’s so much to see around here.”

“Okay!” Izuku said eagerly. “But… don’t you want to come?”

“I’ve got to help your father with something,” Other Mom answered. “I just wanted to show you this, and… well. I know you haven’t had a lot of time with your mother in the world you came from, so I thought you might like to see the night blossoms bloom with me.”

“Th-thank you,” Izuku said. “It was really, really nice.”

“I’m sorry to run out on you again.” She kissed him on the head, and her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “But don’t worry. I think you’ll like what your father and I are planning. It’s a surprise.”

“This wasn’t a surprise?” Izuku said, half-joking.

“There’s so much more this world has to offer,” she told him. “Now, you go and have fun. And don’t worry—Shouto knows the way back.” She gave him another kiss, and then she was off.

“Well…” Izuku said, and turned to Other Shouto. The boy was standing off to the side, watching him patiently with unblinking button eyes. (The buttons were growing on him, Izuku realized. They’d been weird before, but now he could sort of see the charm to them.) “Let’s go walk around the pond?”

Between the stars and moon above, and the glowing flowers on the ground, there was plenty of light to see by. It was no wonder Other Mom hadn’t been worried about leaving them alone. Izuku discovered, to his delight, that the flowers kept glowing after they were picked, so they’d even have something to light their way back.

He also discovered, about a quarter of the way around the circumference of the pond, that the Other World had another thing the real one lacked: a neat little wooden dock that extended from the shore of the pond to the deeper water. Without thinking, Izuku grabbed other Shouto’s hand and pulled him toward it.

A split second later he realized what he was doing and let go, embarrassed. “S-sorry about that,” he said, wincing. “I just got excited, I didn’t mean to grab you.”

The other boy couldn’t talk, of course, but he didn’t even look annoyed about it. He simply gave Izuku a reassuring smile and kept following him.

(Izuku got the feeling that the real Shouto would have yanked his hand away and yelled at him.)

At the end of the dock, he slid down to sit with his feet dangling just above the water. Sitting on wood was usually a gamble, and a good way to get splinters in your butt even through jeans, but this dock was smooth and comfortable. When Other Shouto hesitated, Izuku patted the spot beside him until his new friend sat down as well.

He had just gotten comfortable when something moved in the corner of his eye, across the water against the light of the stars and night blossoms. Izuku squinted at it, then gasped and laughed when he recognized the boulder—the same one that they had passed before, the same one that he had shown Shouto in the Real World. Only now, it had grown arms and legs and even a long nose.

Izuku pointed so that Other Shouto wouldn’t miss the sight: a troll, lumbering through the trees on the other side of the pond. The two of them held still in silence until it had shuffled out of sight.

“Oh, I could sit in a place like this for hours,” Izuku said, swinging his feet off the edge of the dock. “I guess most people would think that was boring.” Self-consciously he shot a glance at Other Shouto, but Other Shouto’s unchanging smile assured him that he wasn’t ‘most people’. “I guess… my mind does a lot of weird stuff, you know? Just by itself. I can sit, and think about things, and I don’t get bored as long as I have something to look at, or think about. Most people think it’s weird. Even Shouto. Not you,” he added quickly. “The, um. The first one. The one in the real world. I don’t like talking to him, because he thinks everything is stupid. But you…” He stopped.

Other Shouto kept watching him, smiling away.

“I, um.” Izuku fidgeted awkwardly. “Actually, I don’t know what you think. You can’t really say, can you?” Other Shouto shrugged, and his smile turned lopsided. “I kind of wish you could talk. You’re a good listener, I bet you’d be a good talker, too.” He frowned, turning back toward the sparkling, star-studded pond. “Other Dad says this place is always better, always full of things that will make me happy. Do you think if I wish hard enough, you’ll be able to talk?”

The smile stayed on Other Shouto’s face, almost frozen as if in confusion, but the other boy didn’t answer. Maybe Izuku just didn’t want it enough.

“I’ll work on it,” Izuku assured him.

When they returned to the house, Other Shouto hurried to the door, only pausing to look back when Izuku didn’t follow.

“It’s okay,” Izuku said. “You go on, I’m just gonna stay out here for a minute.” In the back of his mind he thought, the real Shouto would go in without a word. The real Shouto wouldn’t have stopped to wait for him at all.

Other Shouto hesitated, one hand on the open door. He wasn’t smiling as wide for once, and his eyebrows were drawn together with uncertainty, but Izuku waved him on until he finally went inside.

Izuku turned his face upward. The air still smelled of fresh perfume, and the sky was just as close and bright here as it had been in the woods. The air was cool, with a comfortable breeze keeping the summer heat at bay.

Nearby, something meowed.

Izuku perked up, turning from the beautiful sky to the little garden around him. Of course—the cat would be here, too. And if this was the Other World, then the Other Cat must be nice. Sleek and glossy fur, an unbroken tail, ears in one piece… maybe it would be a different color? Izuku hoped not; black cats were always so interesting to look at. His heart leapt with excitement when a shadow detached itself from the darkness against the wall and padded closer, tail erect and curling at the tip.

At least, it was almost erect.

Izuku frowned as the cat approached, every bit as scarred and battered and skinny as he remembered it. Its eyes, still not buttons, glinted cold blue in the starlight.

“Huh,” Izuku said. “I… you know what? That’s fine. Yeah. The cat’s already just fine the way he is. So it makes sense you’d be the same, if you’re the Other Cat.”

The cat gave a slow, languid stretch, claws flashing in and out of their sheaths. It blinked slowly, and gave a yawn that showed white teeth and a pink tongue.

“Really?” it said. “Well, I’m very glad you think so.”

Izuku’s mouth dropped.

It—he—the cat talked.

“You talk.”

“Do I?” The cat seated himself and gave his bony shoulder a lick. “I hadn’t noticed. Thank goodness you’re here to tell me these things.” He regarded Izuku with an expression that he could only describe as impatient. “And before this goes any further, I am not the Other anything.” His teeth flashed again, almost a grin. “It’s like you said. I’m just fine the way I am. There’s nothing to improve on, so he’s not even going to try.”

“So… you crossed over, like me?” Izuku said. “Is that why you don’t have buttons for eyes?”

“Wrong,” the cat said. “I crossed over, but not like you. I have my own ways of coming and going.” He stepped behind a geranium bush and vanished.

“Hey, where’d you—”

“Like so,” the cat went on, from the bonsai pot on the shelf behind him. “Nothing keeps a cat from going where he wants to go. Especially when that cat is me.”

“So, what are you doing here?” Izuku asked. “Are the mice fatter here, too?”

“No,” the cat said flatly. He stepped around the bonsai, squatted in the potted soil, and—

“Hey!” Izuku wrinkled his nose. “You—that’s gross.”

“What’s the matter?” The cat stepped demurely out of the pot. “Spoiling the perfect world, am I?”

“You could stand to be a little nicer,” Izuku snapped. “Everyone else here is.”

The cat’s ears went back. His crooked tail lashed from side to side. “I suppose they are,” he said. “Do you know why that is?”

“Because the Other World is—”

“Perfect? I can see how you might think that.” The cat twisted around to swipe his tongue down his own back. “The old dog has gotten better at making himself and this place presentable. You probably think this place is a dream come true, don’t you? It’s not.”

“What… what do you mean?” Izuku asked.

“Come now, you like stories, don’t you?” the cat asked him. “What usually happens when you follow the twinkling lights in the deep, dark woods?”

Izuku froze. “That… that’s different,” he said. “I saw the lights in the woods. Other Mom and Other Shouto showed me.” The cat’s hackles rose, but Izuku pressed on. “They were flowers, and they were harmless. Just like everything else in this world. It’s better than harmless. It’s beautiful here, and it’s full of people who actually want me around.”

“Oh, yes, it’s very pretty,” the cat agreed. “The cover is always the prettiest part of the book, after all. And what is it they always say about covers?”

Izuku was about to answer then the cat froze where he was, bristling. Without another word, he darted behind a flowerpot and disappeared again.

The front door opened. “Izuku?” Other Dad called to him. “What are you doing out here, little rabbit? Your mother made dessert.”

“Nothing, just…” The truth snagged in Izuku’s throat. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just spit it out; what harm could there be in talking to a cat? “I was just admiring everything, I guess. I can’t get over how—how breathtaking it is.”

His not-quite father ruffled his hair fondly. “Such a way with words,” he said. “Now, come on, before the ice cream melts.”

“Does ice cream ever melt in the Other World?” Before Other Dad could answer, Izuku shook his head. “Of course it does. Drinking the ice cream soup at the end is half the fun.”

Other Dad laughed aloud and led him inside. “I suppose you’re right. Let’s go find out for ourselves, shall we?”

Izuku woke up the next morning to the familiar smell of musty straw, mourning the loss of vanilla and chocolate on his tongue. He rolled over to burrow deep into his blanket, desperately chasing the fading dream.

It slipped from his grasp. Morning had come, and he was back in the real world to stay.

He went to bed eager the next night, but the floating lights did not come for him.

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand,” Izuku said. “Mom, we’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“I know.” She looked almost as miserable as Izuku felt—at least there was that. “I know, Izuku, and I’m sorry. But I…” She bit her lip, and for a moment she looked so sorry that Izuku felt terrible for speaking up at all.

But he couldn’t help it. After the first night of no lights came another, and another, until a week had passed without a single visit to the Other World. He was tired in the mornings from waiting up at night, wide awake in his dark room as he waited for the lights to appear.

Nothing. There was no Other World to visit at night, and during the day…

“You said we’d spend the summer together,” he said quietly. “Just the two of us. You promised, Mom.”

“I tried.” Izuku only realized he’d started crying again when Mom wiped a tear from his cheek with her thumb. “I talked to my boss about getting time off, but… but the best they could offer was to let me work remotely for the summer. And I thought—I thought that would mean we’d have time to do things together. And we have, haven’t we?”

“A-a little, but…” One week without visiting the Other World, and four days of Mom being too busy or worried about missing a call or message to go out and do things with him.

(And what would even be the point, part of him thought. He’d been to the pond already, and the one in the Other World was so much brighter and more beautiful and magical and—)

“But you’ve had fun here, haven’t you?” Mom went on. “You were so excited last week. You looked the happiest I’ve seen you in so long.”

Izuku’s face crumpled. “I’d be happy just doing stuff with you.” He was whining. Even to his own ears, it sounded like whining.

“I can’t.” Her voice was firm. “Izuku, I wish—I wish I could devote every minute of every day to you, like I used to. But I can’t anymore. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore, because I do. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly.

“Okay.” She smile bleakly at him and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “The project I’m helping with is almost finished. Once it’s over, I’ll at least get a breather.”

A breather, he thought. That was all she could offer, a maybe-breather at some unknown point in the future. More promises to do things later, with no real idea of when “later” would actually happen.

Izuku left the room, because if the conversation went on for any longer then it might turn into an argument. And then he left the house, because with lunch over and his notebook gone and Mom still busy and the house still stinking of moldy straw, there was nothing keeping him there. He stepped out into the garden, stubbornly ignoring the ache in his heart as he remembered the fuller, prettier garden in the Other World, and tried to decide what to do next.

“You know what your trouble is?”

Izuku tensed. His mood was already the lowest it had been in a while, and just the sound of Shouto’s voice was enough to press it down even further. “I don’t—”

“You cling to your mother too much,” Shouto went on. “I guess it’s not your fault. If she were a little more like mine, then maybe it would be easier to let things go.”

Izuku walked away before the ache of missing the world beyond the little door and tunnel could grow so much he did something embarrassing, like cry again.

He found his steps taking him down the path he had found the first day: the one that wove through the trees and eventually tapered off and vanished. He still remembered the way beyond that, past the stump that looked like a creature, all the way to the garden, and the well, and the—

“Cat,” Izuku blurted out as soon as he set foot in the garden. Sure enough, the ragged animal was waiting for him when he arrived, sitting in the middle of the ring of mushrooms that surrounded the sealed well.

The cat didn’t answer. He barely moved at all.

“Nothing to say?” Izuku huffed. “I hope you’re happy, because you got your wish. I haven’t gone back since. Not because I didn’t want to, I just… can’t.”

The only reply he got was several slow blinks.

“What’s the problem?” Izuku asked. “You can only talk in the Other World? Or you just won’t talk?”

He probably looked crazy, standing in a run-down garden in the woods, complaining to an animal that wasn’t about to answer back. That was what Kacchan would say if he were here—crazy, stupid Deku, talking about stupid things that don’t matter even though no one cares and no one listens and he should just shut up before somebody else made him shut up. Maybe if he learned to shut up then kids wouldn’t hit him or take his things, maybe Dad would have stuck around and Mom wouldn’t have to work all the time, maybe real people in the real world would want him around again—

“Who are you talking to?”

Izuku stopped, his throat bone dry and aching, and realized he’d been talking out loud. Shouto was there—Shouto had followed him to the garden and was standing there, just outside the clearing, watching him mumble like an idiot.

He turned to glare at him, mortified when his traitorous eyes stung and watered. “Nobody,” he retorted. “Not you.”

Shouto leaned to the side, frowning. “The cat,” he said. “You’re talking to the cat again?”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Izuku stormed past him. He wrinkled his nose; the musty smell from the house still clung to his clothes. That smell didn’t belong in a place like this. “I don’t care what you have to say and I don’t want to hear it.”

“If you’re that lonely you could have just said,” Shouto called after him.

“Leave me alone!”

“I’ve been doing that,” Shouto said, nearly catching up to him. “And now you’re standing around in dirty old ruins, rambling at stray cats. I’m not heartless. If you were that bored, you could’ve said.”

“And what, you would’ve talked to me?” Izuku shot back over his shoulder. “I’d rather talk to the cat!”

“It’s a cat,” Shouto said scornfully. “It’s an animal. It’s not like it’s going to answer you.”

“I know,” Izuku gritted out. “You should try it sometime.”

“And you wonder why no one wants to be around you.”

Izuku turned around and hurled a piece of bark at him. He threw it to miss, but it bounced off of Shouto’s forehead anyway. Mortified, Izuku broke into a run.

He sprinted the rest of the way back to the house—and he knew he wasn’t slow, he had enough practice running away from Kacchan’s friends—but when he turned around again, Shouto was still there, barely even breathing hard. Izuku scowled at him helplessly. Couldn’t he take a hint?

“You know what I don’t get?” Shouto went on. “I don’t know get why you thought this was a good place to spend the summer. It’s awful here. I could’ve told you that. I did tell you that. Everyone’s miserable, everyone keeps secrets, and there’s nothing here.”

Not for me, Izuku thought. I have a whole other world to explore.

“Unless you make something up,” Shouto said pointedly. “I guess that’s the only way you can possibly have any fun.”

“It’s not—” Izuku said, and broke off.

“What? It’s not made up? Of course it is. There’s nothing behind that door but bricks, and Mother won’t even talk about what used to be there.”

Izuku turned around and walked away, almost stumbling over the single porch step in his haste to get away. Today had already started out rotten—he’d hoped walking to the garden would cheer him up, but then Shouto had to go and ruin it.

“If you wanted it to be convincing, you could’ve tried harder to make up something that made sense,” Shouto went on, still following him. “There are plenty of things that would’ve made way more sense than an imaginary world where everyone magically loves you for no reason—”

Izuku’s fraying temper snapped. He whirled around, hands flying out to shove Shouto back and away from him. “Just leave me alone—”

Shouto stumbled and fell back. The push had sent him to the edge of the step; he had farther to fall than he would have otherwise.

Before Izuku had time to form a thought, a firm hand thrust him back, and he looked up to find Ms. Yuuki’s thunderous face glaring back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

Izuku’s heart plummeted to his stomach. Shouto was still on the ground, gingerly rolling over to try to get up again. For a moment his dazed, shocked eyes met Izuku’s.

His nerve failed him. Izuku turned and ran inside.

It didn’t take long for Mom to find him hiding in his room, and from the look on her face, she hadn’t been busy enough to miss what had just happened.

“Izuku.” He hated when she had that tone. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even annoyed. She wasn’t even disappointed, she was just… worried. He hated making her worried, but he’d gone and done exactly that.

“Mom, I—”

“I know it’s been hard,” she said quietly. She closed the door behind her and came to sit with him on the hard, uncomfortable bed. “I know this—all of this just, isn’t what we hoped it would be. And even before then, with your father, it just… it’s been hard. For me, and for you. I know, Izuku.” Her frown deepened. “But you could have really hurt him. You know that, don’t you?”

“I just wanted him to go away,” Izuku said, his voice muffled into his crossed arms and drawn-up knees. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t mean to push him off the step.”

“Well, you should tell him that, and apologize.” Mom patted his knee. “Go on. He’s out in the kitchen—I’ll wait here, and you can come back and we’ll keep talking.”

Reluctantly, Izuku dragged himself off the bed and trudged down the stairs to the kitchen. Shouto was already there, sitting hunched over the table, still battered and dusty from his fall. He looked up at Izuku’s approach, and Izuku forced himself to speak before Shouto could get a word in first.

“I didn’t mean to push you off like that,” Izuku said. “But you wouldn’t leave me alone, and I just…” His throat ached, again. He’d lost count of how many times he’d felt like crying since this vacation started. “I’m sorry. But… next time… please leave me alone? I won’t push you again. But sometimes I want to be alone, and if you keep following me, I just…”

“No you don’t,” Shouto said flatly.

“W-what?”

“You don’t want to be alone,” he went on. “Deep down, you’d rather be bullied than alone.”

“That’s not—I don’t—” Izuku spluttered, then stopped. “It doesn’t matter what you think I really want. If I’m walking away and telling you to go away, then it means I don’t want you to follow me. I”m sorry I pushed you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Shouto said with a shrug. “Mother panicked, as she always does, but I doubt you could hurt me even if you wanted to.”

Izuku wasn’t sure how to answer that. It should have been reassuring, but it sounded more like an insult. Lately everything Shouto said to him sounded like an insult.

True to her word, Mom was still waiting for him when he returned.

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” Izuku said shortly, which made her sigh. “There’s nothing else to say, Mom!”

“Clearly there is.”

“Well, every time I try to tell you anything, your phone rings again,” he retorted. “Every time I find something fun, it gets ruined or I lose it. I still can’t even find my notebook, and I know someone’s taken it. I can’t even go back to the Other World anymore!”

Mom went quiet, pursing her lips. Izuku knew the look on her face, and he hated it. “Izuku—”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“Izuku, they’re just dreams.”

“And they’re still the most fun I’ve had since we got here,” Izuku snapped.

Mom sighed. “I’m sorry about your notebook,” she said softly. “I’m sorry things haven’t gone our way. But I’m trying. I don’t know what else to say. I love you so much, Izuku, and that means I want you to be comfortable and happy and I never want you to have to worry about—”

“I’m not happy,” Izuku blurted out before he could stop himself. “And I’ve been worried all the time since before this stupid vacation even started! You’ve missed almost everything I’ve done since we got here! You’re still working all the time and I’m still by myself—what was the point of even coming here? It’s worse being here than it is being at home!”

It was the wrong thing to say. It was the worst thing to say, and Izuku knew this because he could see his mother’s heart break just by looking her in the eye.

She didn’t argue with him. She didn’t say anything at all. She simply drew him into a hug that lasted a little too long, then let go of him and left the room. Izuku thought about calling after her. He thought about taking it all back, rewinding away his words until they were somewhere safe and familiar again.

He thought about doing all of these things, but he couldn’t think of how or what to say.

It had all gone wrong, right from the start, the moment they walked into the house and saw Ms. Yuuki’s cold eyes and smelled the mustiness in the air. Everything was wrong, and Izuku couldn’t see a way to make it right again.

He wanted to go home. Even if home meant school, and Kacchan, and watching Mom find more pictures of Dad to take down and put away, at least being at home was better than being here.

That was all he wanted, really. He wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t here.

Izuku blinked, and found himself in the room with the Door.

He wasn’t sure when his mind had made the switch, when he’d gone from thinking of it as a simple door to thinking of it as the Door. But it was there, in front of him, almost mocking him in broad daylight.

Of course it was mocking. The lights hadn’t come to lead him to the Other World in a week, and they never came during the day.

But he wanted it. He wanted to open the door and find the tunnel, more than he had ever wanted anything before in his life. He wanted to see Dad again, even if it wasn’t his real dad—especially if it wasn’t his real dad, because at least the one in the Other World would be happy to see him.

He wanted.

Izuku blinked again, and his hands were on the door, fingertips curling over the edges, digging into the crack between the door and the wall, gripping and pulling—

The tunnel stretched before him. The smell of flowers drove back the stale air.

Izuku didn’t hesitate.

By the time Izuku came tumbling through the door on the other side, he was trembling with excitement. “I’m back!” he called scrambling to his feet and taking off into the hallway. “I’m back! Other Mom! Da—Other Dad! Everybody!”

They were all there in the kitchen when he burst in, as if they’d been waiting for him. His Other parents, Other Ms. Yuuki, and Other Shouto. He was almost nervous when he looked to the latter, but there was no need. When Izuku caught his eye (hard to tell when they were buttons) he sat up straight so suddenly that he nearly bounced right out of his chair.

“We’ve missed you, little rabbit.” Other Dad musses up his hair. “What have you been getting up to, then?”

“Not much,” Izuku said. “It’s been so boring. Mom has to work all the time.”

“How awful,” Other Mom tutted, sliding a plate of cookies in front of him. “Hasn’t she any time for you?”

“Not really…” Izuku took a cookie from the plate and bit into it. Chewing gave him time to think of a way to change the subject. “But I’ve really missed this place. I mean, the garden and the woods and, and just how it smells here. And I missed all of you, too.” He finished the cookie and took another. “Can… can I go out again? Please? I want to explore more. I didn’t see much before, and it’s daytime now, so we don’t have to worry about getting lost in the dark, and—”

“Slow down,” Other Dad chuckled. “You don’t have to beg and plead, you know. Of course you can go out. It’s your world to explore out there.”

“Can Shouto come too?” Izuku asked. “I mean, Other Shouto?”

His smile widened. “I was just about to suggest that myself. Shouto, would you mind showing him around? It would be good to have someone with him. We wouldn’t want him getting in trouble, would we?”

Other Shouto matched his smile and nodded vigorously, then paused and shook his head. Eventually he simply stopped altogether, and Izuku couldn’t help giggling at the befuddled look on his face.

“Well then,” Other Mom said. “You boys go out and have fun. We’ll have more treats ready when you get back!”

Izuku couldn’t race out the door fast enough. The garden out front was just as pretty as before, though he could swear there were even more colors in the flower bed than there had been before. Were those green flowers? He’d never seen deep green petals on flowers before.

“So, um.” Izuku spun on his heels to face Other Shouto. “Any… any luck on talking?”

The smile didn’t leave Other Shouto’s face, but it did falter a little before Shouto recovered it and shook his head.

“Oh. Sorry.” At Other Shouto’s confused look, Izuku shook his head. “I mean, I can’t help—I think it might be my fault? Other Dad says this place has whatever I want, right? And, I sort of had a fight with the other Shouto today. I mean, you’re the Other Shouto. I had a fight with the original Shouto in the real world.” The Shouto in front of him continued to smile blankly at him. “And before I came here, I was still upset about it, and upset with him, so… maybe that’s why you still can’t talk.”

Other Shouto’s expression didn’t change. He was starting to remind Izuku even more of a living doll, which was… not creepy, but not really comfortable either.

“A-anyway, I was thinking… we could go up the road this time?” Izuku turned toward the road in question, which wound into the trees and out of sight. “To town. I want to see what Yakoto looks like here.” Other Shouto’s smile faltered again, but Izuku barely noticed. “Maybe there’s another Ms. Chiyo with another tea shop. Or another library! Or—oh, I want to see what the other Toshinori is like—”

Hard fingers closed on his wrist, cutting him off with a grip that was just shy of painful. Startled, Izuku tried to pull away, but the look on Other Shouto’s face shocked him to silence. The smile on the doll-like face had gone rigid, teeth clenched together as if holding something back. For a split second they almost looked sharp, before Izuku blinked and they were normal.

And then the grip was gone, and Izuku was left holding his wrist and staring at the Other Shouto in faint alarm.

He was still smiling, but there was something pained about it. He shook his head and pointed toward the woods.

“I…” Izuku looked back at the road. “Are you sure? I wanted to see the town…” The smile turned apologetic. “There’s… no town, then?”

“Oh, who needs a town?” Ms. Yuuki’s voice made him jump; the front door swung shut behind him as she came striding down the step with a basket balanced on her hip. “All the best adventures happen in the woods, don’t they?”

“I guess you’re right,” Izuku said. “And… yeah. There was a lot I didn’t see, wasn’t there?”

Other Ms. Yuuki hooked her arm in Other Shouto’s elbow and bent down to give him a kiss. “You two have fun, now. Take good care of him, Shouto.”

He nodded to her, his smile back in place and normal again.

“Well, okay,” Izuku said. Maybe it was like Shouto talking. If he tried hard enough to want it, maybe there would be a town to explore some other time.

For now, though, there were woods. And Other Ms. Yuuki was right; there were plenty of adventures to be found in the woods.

“Well, at least there’s other stuff we can look for,” Izuku said. “Maybe we can find the garden. I bet the garden looks really nice here.”

Other Shouto glanced toward the garden surrounding the house, and Izuku shook his head.

“No no, not that one, the other one. The one with the well.” Other Shouto’s eyes widened, but he didn’t resist when Izuku took his hand and led the way down the familiar path into the trees. “If it’s the same way as it is in the real world, I bet I can find it. Maybe the well will be open here, come on!”

The other boy let himself be pulled along, and after only a moment’s hesitation he sped up so that Izuku didn’t have to pull him anymore. Izuku let go, and together they ran through the shaded woods.

Eventually Izuku slowed down. It was earlier, so he had a lot longer to explore than usual. There was no need to rush. They could enjoy the walk, and the view, and the scenery, and the way the light in the sky filtered through the treetops and made patterns of green shadows on the ground they walked on—

A tug on his sleeve startled him, and his jaw snapped shut. He’d been muttering again. “Oh, sorry about that, I didn’t know I was talking.”

Other Shouto pursed his lips and shook his head. HIs mouth opened, then closed again, and his ever-present smile took on a thoughtful note. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the problem was.

“There’s something you want to say, right?” Izuku said, shamefaced. “But you can’t say it.”

Other Shouto grinned ruefully and nodded. He lifted his hands, palms pressed together, then opened them.

“Oh, are you acting it out? Lemme see, I’m not that good at charades.” Izuku considered the motion. “You’re opening something… like a book?”

Other Shouto nodded and pointed to him.

“A book, and me…” A pang of hurt took him by surprise. “I, um. I didn’t bring any books with me. I had a notebook, but… I lost it.” Someone took it, he thought.

The smile almost faltered, but Other Shouto stubbornly kept it in place. He smiled so much, Izuku thought it must have been painful after a while, but he never stopped. Other Shouto pointed at Izuku again. He lifted his hand further, until his fingertip brushed against Izuku’s mouth.

Izuku frowned, startled by the gesture. “Um…”

“Would you like some help?”

This time Izuku actually yelped, startling so badly that both feet left the ground as he whirled to face the familiar voice. The cat sat at the top of a small rise, looking down at them with obvious amusement.

Izuku was about to answer when Other Shouto thrust himself between them, waving frantically at the cat. He was still smiling, but his teeth were clenched so tight that the effect was a little bit ruined. He was trying to shoo the cat off, but he couldn’t even shout.

“No need for that,” the cat sniffed. “I don’t need you to tell me that. I know very well when I’m not wanted—I just don’t care.”

The look on Other Shouto’s face was almost a grimace.

“I’d watch your language, if I were you,” the cat said dryly.

“Hey, don’t make fun of him!” Izuku snapped. “It’s not his fault he can’t talk!”

“No,” the cat said. “I suppose it isn’t. And I’m not making fun of him. I can understand him perfectly well, and I’m simply answering him.”

“Wait, really?” Izuku looked to Other Shouto for confirmation. Other Shouto gave a reluctant nod.

“I’m a cat, of course,” the cat said. “Don’t blame yourself, my senses are naturally superior.”

“Good for you,” Izuku grumbled.

“I agree, it is. He wants a story.”

Izuku jerked his head up. “What?”

“Your friend likes your stories,” the cat went on. “He wants another one. You won’t deny the poor puppet, will you?”

“Puppet?” Izuku glanced at Other Shouto just in time to see him flinch. “I think you hurt his feelings, cat.”

“I’m sure he’ll have worse before the week is out,” the cat said dryly. “In any case, I’d give up on the garden if I were you. You won’t find it here.”

“What?” Izuku scowled. “First the town, and now the garden?”

“This world has a way of keeping out things that aren’t wanted,” the cat told him.

“I thought you just said you weren’t wanted,” Izuku shot back.

“Of course. But I defy you to try keeping any cat from going where it wants to go, much less a creature like me. It would take more than even the cunning of a fox to keep me away.”

Other Shouto tossed a clod of earth at the cat. It missed, but Izuku still grabbed his arm.

“Don’t do that!” Izuku glared at him. “I know he’s annoying. But you shouldn’t throw things at animals. Especially the kind that talk.” He turned back to the cat. “I don’t see why the garden isn’t wanted. I like the garden.”

“True,” the cat said. “And there isn’t a lot that this world and its master wouldn’t do to keep you. But some things aren’t worth the risk. Invoking a witch’s garden is one of them—especially that witch.” Sharp white teeth flashed; a satisfied grin looked eerie on a cat’s face, but luckily Izuku didn’t have to look at it long before the creature darted behind a tree and vanished into thin air.

“Getting a little tired of him,” Izuku muttered. “Calling you a puppet. I know you have buttons for eyes, but that’s just rude. C’mon, Shouto, let’s go exploring. I know loads of stories—how about this, I’ll list off some that I know, and you pick one that sounds good?”

With that, he set off into the trees, with the Other Shouto trailing behind him. If he’d bothered to look over his shoulder, he might have seen the doll-like smile falter again, giving way to cold, creeping guilt.

But he didn’t see that, and eventually he dropped back to let Other Shouto catch up, and the smile was back in place.

“So, do you at least know about Momotaro?” He asked. At Other Shouto’s blank look, his mouth dropped open. “Really? I thought everybody knew about Momotaro. No no, don’t worry!” he said quickly, when Other Shouto looked put out. “It’s not bad, I promise! That just means I get to tell it to you for the first time. If… if you want to hear it, I mean.”

Other Shouto brightened immediately, nodding.

“Oh, good, it’s one of my favorites! So, once upon a time…”

This was probably the best thing about this world. Back in his own world, Mom already knew all the stories he knew (because she’d told him most of them) and the kids at school weren’t interested in stories the way he was. They were more likely to yell at him to shut up, and even if they did let him talk, they never wanted to listen. And in the real world, Shouto was the same way.

And that was… fine. Shouto had some stuff going on that Izuku didn’t understand; he seemed lonely and trapped, and if what he said about his mom calling him a monster was true, then… honestly, Izuku wasn’t sure what to think. But it didn’t change the fact that Shouto was rude, and kind of mean, and Mom said there was no such thing as a good reason to make someone feel bad for trying to be nice.

But here, in the Other World, Shouto was happy. He was a little odd, but everyone here was odd, and Izuku himself was odd. That didn’t have to matter, because he was nice, and he listened when Izuku talked like it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard. Even if all Izuku was doing was retelling a fairy tale he’d heard a thousand times, a thousand different ways.

When Momotaro was done, Izuku went down a list of fairy tales, from Hansel and Gretel to a story he’d found in a school library book about Baba Yaga. Other Shouto hung onto every word, staring at him with rapt wonder.

It wasn’t until Izuku was stumbling over some of the details in “The Golden Bird” that Other Shouto’s expression changed. His smile faded, almost to a frown but not quite, and it stayed that way until the princess was rescued, the young hero was made king, and the helpful talking fox was transformed back into a man.

“Did you not like it?” Izuku asked. The odd look hadn’t left Shouto’s face; it was still technically a smile, but it wasn’t as plainly happy anymore. “Sorry if you didn’t like it. I just like that one because there are way too many stories where the fox is the bad guy.”

Other Shouto’s head tilted quizzically to one side.

“Foxes are always clever in stories,” Izuku went on, hopping over a jutting root. “They’re always thinking their way through problems, but the stories always make them bad. A lot of fairy tale heroes are just really strong, or lucky enough to find magic people to help them. But I like it when heroes are clever, too. Like Gretel, tricking the witch into the oven. I think a fox could be a hero if it only tricked bad people, right?”

He looked to Other Shouto, and found him nodding along with the smile back in place. But there was something not quite real about it this time.

“That’s just what I think, though,” Izuku said. “Sorry if you didn’t like it, I just—what?”

Other Shouto had caught his arm gently, pulling him to a halt. Startled, Izuku looked up to find the trees around them thinning. A clearing, he thought. Then, a meadow.

It wasn’t just a small woodland glade. The trees broke completely to a wide, flat plain much larger than the clearing around the pond had been. It reminded Izuku a little bit of the fields he and Mom had passed on their way to Yakoto. But that had been lush green farmland, neat and shaped and well-tended for growing things. The meadow before them—if it could really be called that—was all jagged uneven edges and scrubby brown grass.

In the distance, standing alone in the middle of the expanse, stood a single tree.

“No way,” Izuku muttered. “No way. It can’t be.”

Other Shouto gave him another quizzical smile.

“I wrote a story about this place,” Izuku said. “I… come on. Let’s check it out!”

The grass gave a satisfying crunch beneath their feet, sending up bursts of brown dust with each step. Izuku’s socks were probably getting filthy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was the tree. The tree in the field, just like…

The ground rumbled beneath his feet. It didn’t shake like an earthquake; instead it was a low, steady buzz beneath the earth, as if something stirred down below but didn’t thrash enough to do any real harm. The tree stretched toward the sky before them, and Izuku wasn’t sure what kind it was, only that it was impossibly tall and clustered with thick, twisting branches that were perfect for climbing. There wasn’t a single leaf on the tree; the only thing that set it apart from any other old dead tree was the spiderweb of red and black veins pulsing beneath the bare bark.

“It’s just like I wrote,” Izuku said, half to himself. “The tree’s sick, and nothing can grow around it, because of something poisoning it underground.” He crept closer, searching, and there he found it—at the base of the tree, nestled in the roots, was a round dark hole just big enough to climb through. It wasn’t a straight drop; the tunnel sloped downward, at just the right angle to slide and crawl down.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Other Shouto seemed to consider it for a moment, then moved forward first and lowered himself into the opening.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Izuku said, and waited for him to move further in so that he could follow.

Despite the hard-packed earth on the surface, the soil in the burrow beneath the tree was soft and springy. Instead of slipping and stumbling down into the dark, Izuku dug his heels into the dirt to control his descent, until, without warning, Other Shouto seemed to vanish in front of him.

“Huh? Hey, wait up—where’d you go?” There was no point in calling after him when he still couldn’t talk, so Izuku simply slid down after him, almost pitching forward when the tunnel opened out and the soft ground vanished beneath him.

Arms caught him before he hit the earth again, steadying him until he found his footing. Izuku could just barely make out the shape of Other Shouto’s face. There was light coming in, but he couldn’t tell from where.

The ground beneath them was still soft, but it wasn’t a problem now that they weren’t crawling on their hands and knees. Izuku gave it an experimental stomp, and the earth squelched wetly beneath his feet.

It was dark, but not impossible to see. The hollow beneath the tree was about the size of the garden in front of the house; Izuku reached out to touch one of the walls, and his hand sank into wet, packed mud. He wiped it on his pant leg as he looked around, taking in the intricate spread of roots that formed the roof of the cavern.

The roots stretched further, beyond where Izuku assumed the tree was standing above ground. At the far end of the space was a single opening, like a small doorway leading further down into the earth. The roots trailed along the ceiling and through the opening, veiny and pulsing with the faint sickly glow that made it possible to see.

“Let’s go see,” Izuku said eagerly. Other Shouto hesitated, smiling nervously as Izuku beckoned. “C’mon, maybe we can help it.” He took Other Shouto by the hand and tugged him along gently. “Don’t worry. I know it’s kind of dark and creepy, but this is the Other World, so how bad can it be? I think it looks kind of cool, don’t you?” He squeezed Other Shouto’s hand, and was equal parts surprised and pleased when Other Shouto squeezed back. “Let’s stick together, okay? So we don’t get lost.”

There was little chance of getting lost down here. The tunnel was windy and dark, but there was only one way to go. At one point another tunnel branched off, but it was smaller and darker, and the roots continued to lead down the main path. There wasn’t much to look at, besides mud and glowing roots and the occasional rock embedded into the mud or the ground. Izuku hummed softly in time to the squelch of his shoes in the muddy earth, tugging Other Shouto closer whenever the tunnel got cramped. Other Shouto never complained—of course he didn’t—and never resisted Izuku’s guidance. His shoulder bumped Izuku’s more often than it didn’t.

Izuku reveled in the touch, and the closeness. In a moment of silly whimsy he actually skipped a step, almost brushing the ceiling with his head. Other Shouto stumbled beside him, squeezing his hand as Izuku helped him steady himself.

“You okay?” Izuku asked. “Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean to throw you off or anything, I was just…” His voice trailed off.

Other Shouto watched him expectantly.

It was weird. He’d felt like this the last time he was in this world, and the time before that, sort of. But every time it hit him, it felt like new. “I’m just happy,” he said, grinning at him in the muddy, dark tunnel. “I’m happy I’m here, and I’m happy you’re here, too.”

Other Shouto blinked a few times, and his smile turned a little confused.

Izuku laughed. “I know, it’s kind of gloomy down here. But I’m having fun! And I like having you as a friend.” He paused, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend before. Not a real one, anyway.” His hand was starting to get sweaty, so he let go of Other Shouto’s and walked ahead quickly, not sure if the glow from the roots was enough to illuminate his red face. “Even, um. You, in the real world. He’s a little mean.”

He wasn’t expecting an answer, so he was surprised when he felt Other Shouto reach forward and hesitantly clasp his hand again.

“It’s not a big deal!” Izuku said quickly. “He’s not that bad! He says mean stuff sometimes, but that’s fine. He hasn’t hit me. He doesn’t even yell. Even when I shoved him—if I shoved Kacchan or some of the kids at school, they’d just—” He broke off, pressing his lips together before anything else could spill out. Flushing furiously, he kept his eyes to the front instead of looking back. “Never mind. It’s not—just forget I said all of that. Sorry.”

Other Shouto’s hand slipped out of his. Izuku’s heart sank—he could kick himself for letting all that awful stuff slip out. He stopped, ready to apologize, when the other boy’s fingertips grazed his hand as if grasping for it. Izuku turned around, confused, just in time to see Other Shouto struggling against the wall of the tunnel. One arm was gone, sunk shoulder-deep into the mud, while the other reached out with frantic grasping fingers. His mouth was open, but without a voice he couldn’t call for help. The mud seemed to pull him deeper, and he shut his eyes and seemed to brace himself.

With a yell of alarm, Izuku grabbed his outstretched arm and pulled. With a wet, sucking sound, Other Shouto popped free and stumbled into Izuku’s chest.

“What happened—?” The tunnel seemed to brighten; the dim red glow of the infected roots was almost drowned out by brighter white. Izuku looked to the source and found a pair of bright lights set into tunnel ahead. As he watched, the wet earth shifted and bulged toward them.

The pair of lights blinked. Beneath them, the loose mud opened into an unmistakable mouth. The tunnel rumbled as it let loose a growl.

“Run!” Without waiting for Other Shouto to listen, Izuku turned and raced back the way they had come. The earth rumbled, and the ground heaved beneath them, but Izuku kept his footing and pulled Other Shouto along.

The tunnel was brighter now, which told Izuku that the thing with the eyes was still after them. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed it; mouth agape, it flowed after them in a roiling, viscous mass.

With the mud and soil loosened, rocks and broken roots came tumbling into their path as they ran. Izuku wondered faintly if the creature was going to bring the whole tunnel caving in around them.

There was no sound when Other Shouto jerked out of his grasp again, foot sunk deep in the mud beneath them. Izuku was about to pull him out again when a rock tumbled into his path and nearly tripped him. It was twice the size of his own fist, and Izuku grabbed it without thinking.

The glowing eyes were almost upon them. Izuku hefted the rock, took aim, and hurled it with all his might.

The stone struck the creature square in one of its glowing eyes. The glow went out, and it drew back with a roar that shook the tunnel but, miraculously, did not cave it in. Wasting no time, Izuku grabbed another rock and threw it into the other eye.

The earth heaved, like the sea in a storm. The remaining eye blazed and then went out, plunging the tunnel into sudden silence and darkness.

All was still. Izuku’s eyes were as wide as he could make them, but he couldn’t see a thing. Not even the glow from the roots was lighting the way. He groped around in the dark, heart still pounding from the chase.

“Shouto?” His voice wavered. “Are you okay?”

Hands grasped his again, One was warm, the other cold and clammy.

“Is that you?”

The hands squeezed him lightly.

“I really, really wish you could talk.”

But it seemed that this was still the one wish the Other World couldn’t grant. Other Shouto tugged him along, and Izuku stumbled after him, thankfully not tripping on any of the rocks that had fallen into the tunnel. Before long, the tunnel opened out again, and Izuku could see light shining from above.

They emerged from the hollow beneath the earth, and Izuku breathed in the sweeter forest air gratefully. His hands were filthy, his arms streaked with mud, but his head was swimming with relief and leftover adrenaline, and there was a smile on his face as he got his breath back.

Beside him, Other Shouto touched his hand and pointed. Izuku followed the line of his finger to the trunk of the great tree. The pulsing veins of poison were drying up and disappearing, leaving a spiderweb of grooves and boreholes in the trunk and branches. As Izuku watched raptly, the grooves began to fill up again, not with new wood but with soft green moss. In a matter of seconds, the spiderweb pattern had turned a beautiful shade of green. It spread over the roots and beyond—the rough brown grass withered into dust, and feathery new sprouts swiftly took its place.

The tree, the grass, the whole clearing was coming back to life.

“Wow,” Izuku breathed.

“You’re not short of nerve, I’ll give you that.”

“Do you always do that?” Izuku demanded, turning around to where the cat sat at the very edge of the trees. “Just show up behind people? You could always just talk to me from the front, it would save us both a lot of trouble.” He shot an exasperated glance at Other Shouto, hoping they could at least commiserate over this, but his friend just averted his head from the cat and smiled desperately at the surrounding trees. “Look, whatever you want, can you make it quick? You’re making him upset.”

“Heaven forbid I upset him,” the cat said dryly. “Truly the worst possible thing.”

Other Shouto flinched. His smile was almost gone.

“For someone who says he can understand him with his ‘naturally superior senses’, you sure don’t seem to care about how he feels.” Izuku scowled at the cat.

“I have other things to worry about.” The cat got to his feet and picked his way carefully into the clearing, tail sweeping from side to side. “But for now, all I want is to show you something while we have the chance. It probably took a lot of power to manage that trick just now, and I need to show you while I have the chance.”

“You have something to show me?” Izuku frowned, confused. “Why?”

“A slim chance is better than none,” the cat replied, continuing to the other side of the clearing. “Like I said. You’re not short on nerve. And you have a head for stories—even if you’re a bit confused about the one you’re in right now.”

That didn’t even make sense, and Izuku didn’t bother to ask. Something told him the cat would only answer with more riddles.

“Well…” Izuku glanced at Other Shouto, who was still looking around at the blooming greenery in the healed clearing. “It can’t hurt, right?”

Other Shouto’s button eyes locked on his face, and he smiled and nodded.

Izuku followed the cat, with Other Shouto tagging close behind, and they pressed further into the trees. Once out of the open, following the cat became a job easier said than done. He’d stopped talking, which should have been a blessing, but his black fur blended to easily with shadows, and he had a way of vanishing from one tree to the next, almost too quickly for the eye to follow.

It gave Izuku the distinct impression that he was being challenged. And there was no way he was backing down to a challenge from some mean old talking cat with half of each ear missing.

They didn’t have far to go. The trees were beginning to thin again when Other Shouto stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Izuku asked, before Other Shouto’s hand closed around his wrist, hard and cold and surprisingly strong. “Hey!” He turned to see what the matter was, but Other Shouto wasn’t looking at him. His head was tucked in, and he seemed to be looking anywhere but Izuku’s face and the direction they were going.

Confused, and a little alarmed, Izuku squinted through the trees, searching for whatever had his friend so spooked. It didn’t take him long to spot it; he could see in the distance where the ground leveled out and the trees broke again, and a green wall rose up from the flat ground. A hedge? No…

“That’s… is that a maze?” Izuku murmured to himself. The hand on his wrist tightened and began pulling him back the way they had come. “Hey—wait a minute!”

Other Shouto didn’t answer, of course, unless breaking into a run could be considered an answer.

“Wait—Shouto! Shouto, you’re acting weird, what’s—” He broke off as he stumbled over a tree root, and looked back. The trees had closed in around his view of the maze, and the cat was nowhere to be seen.

A familiar voice cut through the darkening woods. “Izuku? Izuku, are you out here?”

To Izuku’s relief, Other Shouto stumbled to a halt, and his father came striding out of trees. Upon seeing them, he looked relieved. “There you are! I thought you might have gotten lost.”

Still off balance from the past few minutes, Izuku took a moment to gather his thoughts and words into something coherent. “Oh, uh, no. We were just exploring. Shouto knew the way back.”

“Good, good.” Other Dad’s eyes lingered on Other Shouto for a moment, before he focused on Izuku with a relieved smile. “I’m glad. Did you have fun?”

“Oh, yeah!” Izuku brightened. “We found a clearing with a tree in it, but the tree was sick, so we went underground to find out what was wrong. And we fixed it!”

Other Dad’s eyes widened. “Did you? I thought that meadow I just passed through looked nicer than I remembered.” He smiled approvingly. “Well done, little rabbit. Come on back to the house, we have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Izuku said, cautiously excited.

“It took a little while to get it ready,” Other Dad told him. “And we wanted to wait a little—but I think you’ve earned it. You’ve been so good since you came here.”

“I’ve had fun,” Izuku said. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.”

Other Dad’s smile widened, bright with pleasure. “That’s good to hear. I think you’ll like your surprise, then.”

Izuku darted ahead. His previous misgivings rose again, but he stubbornly tamped them down, speeding up as if he could outrun them. He was finally having fun, he was finally feeling good and comfortable and wanted. The last thing he needed was to ruin it with worries.

This was the Other World. It was not the place for worries.

(The door was open, Izuku already darting in and calling out a greeting. The man with his father’s face paused at the door, halted by a much-smaller hand on his arm.

The boy with button eyes wasn’t smiling; his mouth was tight, his face desperate and pleading.

The father smiled, sharp and pointed and wide. “Remember your place. Remember why you were made. If I see you lose that smile again, I’ll stitch it back in place.”)

There was a feast at the table when Izuku sat down; everything from cold noodles and katsudon and unagi to sweet taiyaki and dango. Chirping out his thanks, Izuku sat down next to Other Shouto tucked in.

(It was odd; he could swear that Other Shouto was only picking at his plate, but every time he looked, more and more food was gone.)

It wasn’t until he had cleaned his plate and Other Ms. Yuuki took it away, that Other Dad cleared his throat and Other Mom sat up straighter with a hum of excitement, and Other Shouto stopped fidgeting.

“So, Izuku…” Other Dad’s shiny button eyes turned to him with a hopeful smile. “You like it here, don’t you?”

What a question. “Yeah!” he answered. “Of course I like it here. I love it here! It’s the most fun I’ve had all summer. And the food is really good, too.” Other Mom covered her face as if embarrassed, but he could see her excited smile.

“Glad to hear it,” Other Dad said. “Then… there’s something you should know.”

“What is it?”

Other Dad’s smile faded to something more thoughtful. “I notice you came to us at a different time of day than usual.”

“Uh, yeah?” Izuku said, caught off guard. “The first two times, there were these lights that came for me. But after that they stopped coming.”

Other Dad nodded. “Did they come back for you this time?”

“No,” Izuku admitted. “I just… I wanted to come here, so I opened the door and suddenly I just could.” His heart fluttered nervously. Was that bad?

His fears vanished when Other Dad’s face broke into another broad grin. “So you came to this—you came to us—all on your own. Of your own choice, under your own power.” He reached across the table to touch the side of Izuku’s face gently. “You’re ready, then.”

“Ready for what?”

“Izuku.” Other Dad locked eyes—or buttons—with him. “Would you like to stay here? For good?”

His mouth fell open.

“You’re only here for the summer, aren’t you?” he went on. “The summer can’t last forever, you know.”

“We’ll miss you, if you go,” Other Mom said sadly. “We’ll worry about you, all alone out in that big world. You were so small and hurt when you came to us, and now you shine so bright.”

“I…” Izuku’s voice caught in his throat. “I didn’t even know I could stay.”

“Well, you can,” Other Dad said. “So do you want to, or not?”

“I mean… what would that even mean?”

“It means you stay!” Other Mom said. “You stay, and we’ll have all the time in the world to play and explore and cook all your favorite meals, for the rest of your days. You’ll never have to be alone again. You’ll never have to be afraid again.”

“You came to us with a bruise,” Other Dad said. “If you stay, no one will ever touch you again.”

“It…” Izuku’s head spun. This was all so much—but they were right. This couldn’t last forever. Eventually he’d run out of summer days, and he and Mom would go back home, back to school and back to Kacchan—

Did he want that? Would that make him happy?

“What if I said yes?” he whispered. Beside him, Other Shouto sat ramrod-straight. “Could I still go back to the other—I mean to the original world? Because… my mom. She’d miss me.”

“But I’m your mom,” Other Mom said.

His stomach twinged at that.

“I mean—you know what I mean,” Izuku said, swallowing his sudden discomfort. “She’s all alone now. I can’t just leave her.”

“Why not?” Other Dad asked. “She left you first.”

“No she didn’t!” Izuku was surprised by his sudden rush of anger. The Other World made him feel lots of things, but he’d never felt anger in it before. “It’s not her fault she’s busy, she just—”

“All right, all right.” Other Dad raised a placating hand. “And fine, yes, you could see her as much as you like. Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

Izuku chewed on his lip, staring down at his empty plate. He felt… weird. He’d never felt weird here before. But still… it was fun here, wasn’t it? And he’d like to have more fun, and more meals like this one, every day, with love and laughter and caring. That would make him happy, forever.

Wouldn’t it?

“What… what would I have to do?”

Other Dad’s face lit up. “I thought you’d never ask, little rabbit.” He reached under the table. “Just one last step, and you can stay here forever.”

Izuku leaned forward as Other Dad produced a box, small enough to sit in the palm of his hand, and slid it across the table to him. Carefully, Izuku lifted the lid.

A pair of black buttons stared up at him from within. The kitchen light glinted on the threaded needle that lay between them.

“I—” The lid slipped from his fingers, and he fumbled it before it landed on the table. “I don’t understand.”

“Well.” Other Dad rested his elbows on the table and tilted his head to the side, so that the light gleamed on his button eyes. “The good things in life don’t come free, after all. But don’t worry—it won’t hurt a bit, and you’ll be able to see just fine. These aren’t any ordinary buttons, you know.”

“Oh.” Izuku’s voice trembled. He looked from Other Dad’s smiling face to the buttons in the box, then to every other face around the table. Their smiles were almost identical, frozen on their faces as if they couldn’t make any other expression.

Had they always looked like that? So frozen? Lifeless, like dolls?

You have a head for stories, the cat had said. Even if you’re a bit confused about the one you’re in right now.

He was in the wrong story.

He was in the wrong story.

This wasn’t Narnia. This wasn’t Wonderland or Oz or Fantasia. This was—he wasn’t quite sure what it was, yet.

All he knew was that he needed to get out.

He swallowed hard, and turned a slightly shaky smile to the Others. “Can… can I have some time to think about it?” he asked. “It’s just… this is a lot. And it’s really great. Really. I just—I want to think about it first. I have time, right? Summer’s still just starting.”

“Of course!” Other Dad assured him. “Don’t worry, I understand. It feels like a big decision, doesn’t it?” Izuku nodded, fingers itching to push the box away. “Listen, why don’t you go upstairs and sleep on it? And if you decide you want to stay, just… say the word.”

“Right. Yeah.” Sleep on it. He just had to go to sleep, and go back to the real world, and… never come here again. That was it. Go back, spend the rest of the summer ignoring the door and any floating lights that came to lead him back to it, and then go home.

It might be unpleasant, but at least the real Ms. Yuuki and Shouto never offered to jab needles into his eyes.

He excused himself from the table and darted upstairs and into his room, heart pounding with leftover fright. As he shut the door behind him and took in the sight of his bed, he realized the problem with his plan:

He had to sleep, in order to go back. There was also the door, of course, but…

But he wasn’t sure he trusted it, now. He wasn’t sure he trusted the Others to let him leave that way.

Alone in his room, Izuku took several deep breaths. He might be overreacting. After all, this was a strange, magical world where it was normal to have buttons for eyes, provided you weren’t a cat. Maybe the thought of sewing buttons into his face wasn’t as horrifying to them as it was to him. Maybe things were just different here, and they didn’t mean him harm, they just didn’t understand.

He had no idea how he was supposed to ask.

“Sleep on it,” he murmured. “Just go to sleep.” At least he was tired from running through the woods and exploring tunnels beneath trees. He turned out the light and crawled under the covers, shut his eyes, and waited.

Go to sleep, he ordered himself.

Go to sleep.

Go to sleep.

Chapter Text

Izuku opened his eyes, and realized with a jolt that it was morning, and he had slept, and that could only mean that he was home.

His head was buried beneath the covers, so he couldn’t be sure just yet, and part of him was afraid to check. For a few minutes he lay curled up in darkness, counting his breaths as he gathered the nerve to see if he really was home.

Eventually, inch by inch, he crawled back out into the open, blinked in the dim light spilling through the window, and looked around.

Plain walls. Bare floor. He was wrapped in a comforter again, and the mattress beneath it was hard and uncomfortable. His suitcase lay at the foot of the bed, rumpled clothes hanging out of it from the last time he had gone to bed in this world.

He had never been so glad to smell old dry straw before in his life.

“Izuku?” Mom’s voice called from the hallway. He jumped, scrambling out of bed on instinct. “Izuku, are you up yet?”

“Yeah!” he called back. “Hang on, I’m changing.” Hastily he threw on fresh clothes. He was running low on clean shirts; today might be a good day to do some laundry.

The door opened, and Izuku’s heart gave one final jolt of dread before he looked at his mother’s face and found normal green eyes looking back.

She frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just… um. Weird dream.” It wasn’t quite a lie. “Really weird dream. It’s sticking with me.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame,” she said. “Nothing a good breakfast can’t fix. Come on, then. We can go out again today.”

“What time is it?” Izuku asked, looking back to the window. “It’s morning, right?”

“Of course it’s morning, silly. You slept in a lot, but it’s not too late yet.”

“It just feels like it should be… I don’t know, brighter outside,” he said, frowning at the muted light through the curtains. “Is it really cloudy today, or…?”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the rhythmic tapping began. First on the window, then on the roof, the telltale patter of rain grew from nothing.

“Oh,” Izuku said quietly.

“Hmm,” Mom pursed her lips. “Well… there should be some leftovers in the fridge that will do for breakfast. Looks like we’ll be spending the day inside.”

Izuku hid a sigh as he followed his mother out of the room. This was the real world, he thought ruefully. If a few rainy days were the price for keeping needles and buttons out of his eyes, then he could live with them.

The kitchen windows were already running with rain when he got out, and he muffled a disappointed sigh. “Maybe we could go for a drive?” he said hopefully.

Mom’s face, determinedly cheerful against the gloomy weather, crumpled and fell. He could see the apology in her eyes before she even said a word. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. The roads will be wet, and besides—you could catch your death if you spent half a minute out there, and we couldn’t stay in the car the whole time, because where’s the fun in that?” She smiled again hopefully. “We can still wait for the rain to stop, and have fun inside.”

Inside, where her laptop was, where her phone rang extra loud when surrounded by four walls. Izuku forced a smile and waited for last night’s leftovers to heat up.

Izuku passed most of the day listlessly wandering back and forth between familiar rooms. He made genuine attempts at conversation, and he could tell Mom was trying too, but neither of their hearts were in it. In his room his options were to lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling, or… nothing else, actually. His notebook was still missing, and he’d only brought the one. There had been plenty of pages left—enough to last him the whole summer, he had thought.

With a sigh, Izuku sat up and swung his feet to the floor. That was something he could do: look for his notebook. It was a big house. Maybe it was hidden somewhere, shoved under a bed or tucked in a drawer. Maybe Shouto had hidden it somewhere else. Maybe he’d thrown it out, or flung it into the pond, or burned it with a lighter like Kacchan did to his last notebook. If he had, then that was that; there was nothing to find. But if it was anywhere to be found, then it had to be somewhere in this house.

Filled with a brand-new determination, Izuku set off once more to wander through the house. He had yet to see anything of Ms. Yuuki or Shouto today; maybe the weather had driven them to go somewhere else for the day, in spite of the risk of catching a chill.

He checked over the kitchen again, and the laundry room, and the bath, and all the little empty side rooms on the first floor.

The end of the hallway called to him, and he ignored it. He might be bored, but after last night, for the first time Izuku wasn’t feeling too keen to go back to the Other World. He probably wouldn’t go back at all; it had been fun and fantasy most of the time, but now that he’d had a good look at a box of two buttons and a needle and thread, he was beginning to think he’d avoided something unpleasant at best and dangerous at worst. Like finding a fairy ring in the woods and going around it.

He’d been foolish, blinded by fantasies and dreams, but the cat had been right. He should have kept a better eye on the story he was supposed to be in. Bullet dodged.

And now, not even a rainy day was worth that kind of risk.

He passed by the foot of the stairs, not for the first time that day, and paused when a faint clatter reached his ears from somewhere above.

“Hey, Mom?” he called.

“Yes, dear?” she answered from the kitchen.

“Do you know where Ms. Yuuki and Shouto are?”

There was a pause before Mom answered. “They must have gone out before all this rain started. I hope they’re all right…”

The mixture of boredom and curiosity overcame him, and he left off his search to check. The noise came again as he reached the top of the stairs, not a clatter anymore but a quiet rattling. If he hadn’t been listening carefully, he might have mistaken it for the rain on the windows. Eager for a break in the monotony of a rainy day, Izuku followed the noise down the hall and into one of the many unused rooms.

His mouth dropped open. The window across from the door was ajar, and a familiar dark shape had wedged itself through the opening and was now wriggling through—a window on the second floor. Bright blue eyes blinked at the sight of him, and the cat finished squeezing his way inside. He dropped to the floor, thoroughly wet and peeved.

Izuku had to laugh a little at that. The cat gave him an unimpressed look and trotted across the room to pass him, heading for the open door.

“Wait a minute, don’t—” Izuku moved to intercept the cat, not sure if Ms. Yuuki would be happy to find a wet stray dripping all over the floor. He was too slow; the slippery animal wove through his hands and reached the door.

As Izuku watched, the cat nudged the door sharply, kicked it shut, and rounded on him with its ears turned back.

“Finally,” the cat said testily. “After all that, I’m wondering if it’s even worth it to warn you.”

Izuku’s mouth dropped open.

“You’re not… you’re not supposed to do that here,” he said numbly.

“I’ve been trying to reach you all morning, but everything was locked,” the cat went on furiously. “And you haven’t once set foot outside! What is the matter with you? You were happy to crawl underground after a tree-killing monster, but going outside on a rainy day? Apparently that’s too much.”

Izuku glared at him, momentarily insulted out of his shock. “Hey, what about you? Everything was locked? Why didn’t you just run behind a tree and appear inside, or whatever?”

“The old man’s trying extra-hard to keep me out,” the cat answered, pausing to lick his wet fur. “Not hard enough, though.”

“So… what, then?” Izuku asked. The initial shock had worn off, leaving him calm but wary. “You can talk in the real world, too, is that it?”

“I can talk anywhere I want,” the cat retorted. “But in this case it’s irrelevant.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The cat sat glaring at him for a moment longer. “You visited the witch,” he said. “She gave you a gift, didn’t she? A little welcome-to-the-neighborhood?”

“What witch?” Izuku asked, then— “Wait, you mean Ms. Chi—”

“Don’t.” the cat cut him off. “Don’t risk saying a witch’s name here. After what happened with the last one, the old man hates them on principle. But yes. Do you have them? Please tell me you still have them.”

Izuku dug into his pockets of his jeans and found them empty. He reached into his hoodie instead and found what he was looking for: a small, pink, plastic-wrapped gummy.

“Eat it,” the cat told him.

“What will it do?” Izuku asked suspiciously. It wasn’t as if he could go out and ask the old woman when it was pouring out. Mom would never let him past the door.

“You’ll answer that question for yourself if you eat it,” the cat told him. “They aren’t poison and they won’t hurt you, that’s all you need to know.”

He couldn’t believe he was doing this. This had to be stupid. Though, whether it was stupid because he was expecting a gummy candy to do something special, or because he was taking the cat’s word that it was harmless, he wasn’t sure.

Izuku popped it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before he could convince himself not to.

“Now,” the cat said. “In the next few moments, it is very important that you not make a sound.”

“Why would I—”

The world went dark.

It wasn’t pitch-black. He could still see fairly well. But the windows had gone black, and even the dim, overcast daylight of a rainy day was gone—though the rain still pattered heavily against the glass.

“What—” His voice almost rose, before he remembered the cat’s advice and wrestled it down to a whisper. “What happened? Why is it dark all of a sudden?”

“Have a look at your room,” the cat advised. “Quietly now. Don’t alert the others. You’ll understand shortly.”

“O-okay…” His heart was in his throat. He’d been worried about boredom today, and now… Now he wasn’t sure what was going on anymore.

(Or rather, he did have an inkling. He just wished that he didn’t.)

He hardly needed to see his actual bedroom to get the picture. The walk down the hallway was on soft plush carpet, not the hard bare floor he was used to. And when he walked into his room, he found the comfy big bed with its embroidered comforter, surrounded by lively painted walls and full bookshelves.

It was truly a wonderful bedroom, and it was wrong.

“I’m still here,” Izuku whispered, the realization crashing down on him like an avalanche. “I’m still in the Other World.”

“He’s really pulling out all the stops to keep you,” the cat told him, rubbing lightly past his ankle. “Another layer of illusion just to convince you that you were home. He’s getting desperate.”

“Who’s getting desperate?” Izuku whispered. “Who’s trying to keep me here?”

“The yako.”

Izuku knew that word. Of course he knew that word. “That’s… you’re talking about a kitsune,” he whispered. “A bad one. A nogitsune. That’s a yokai.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” the cat said dryly, and something in his tone made Izuku look down. The cat stood in the middle of the room, tail held high and gently waving. As Izuku watched, it swayed back and forth until suddenly there were two tails, not one.

Blue eyes glinted in the creature’s heavily scarred face. “It’s far more likely than you think.”

“You’re a nekomata.”

“Right on the first try,” the cat replied. “If you like, you may call me Dabi.”

“Okay,” Izuku said shakily. “O… okay. Then… I’m still in the Other World, falling asleep didn’t work, so I’ll just… go back through the door, and the tunnel.”

“You can try,” Dabi told him. “But you’ll have to be quick and clever about it. If he’ll go through all the trouble to layer this world in illusion, do you really think he’d let you just let you walk out of here?”

“Why not?” Izuku’s voice cracked in his desperation. “Why won’t he let me go? Why is he keeping me trapped here, anyway? What does he even want with me?”

Dabi gave him a disdainful look. “Oh, use your brain,” he said waspishly. “Why does any monster steal away children?”

When he put it like that, the answer was obvious. “Because… they’re hungry.”

“Nice to know that brain of yours has more than two cells to rub together.” Dabi’s whiskers twitched. “The nogitsune was cursed long ago for angering an ancient evil. The curse makes him hunger forever, and no food can make him feel full. The only thing that satisfies his belly is the fire of life. He’ll drain you dry if you stay, just like he has to all the others. Children like you are easy prey to lure in, and if he can’t lure them in, then he takes wives and makes his own food.”

“Oh.” Izuku’s stomach churned. For a few seconds he was sure he’d be sick. “I think I could have used this information a lot earlier.”

“You wouldn’t have believed me, and you know it. Now,” he went on. “About your escape.”

Izuku’s mind was already racing. Nogitsune—they were all about illusions, and possessing people. In that case… “My mom—the Other Mother. Is she…?”

“She isn’t the yako,” Dabi replied. “Her only purpose here is to make you want to stay.”

“She’s the only one I’ve seen so far. But…” Izuku frowned. “Illusions. He could be anywhere.” He looked to the cat. “How long will Ms. Chiyo’s candy work?”

“Long enough to escape, if you play your cards right,” Dabi said. His tails lashed from side to side, and his eyes gleamed. “Finally. I was wondering when you would start listening to me. You children are all the same—you won’t see sense until it’s already too late.”

Izuku decided to ignore that. “Can I ask you one more question, Dabi?”

“I doubt you’ll stop at one, but by all means.”

“Why should I trust you?” he asked. “How do I know you’re not just another trick?”

“Short answer?” Dabi replied. “You don’t have a choice.”

That wasn’t good enough, Izuku thought. He needed more than that, when he had so much on the line.

But before he could even open his mouth to say so, his mother’s voice called to him from the hallway.

“Izuku? Izuku, dearest, where are you?”

He froze where he was, gripped by the threat of panic. “Dabi, what should I—?” The question died on his lips when he looked at the spot where the cat had stood, and found himself alone. “Dabi?”

The door opened. “Are you in here—? Oh, there you are, darling.” Izuku’s blood ran cold. As if his bedroom hadn’t been enough of a clue, there were buttons in her eyes again.

Looking at her, Izuku realized there was far more than that. Her clothes didn’t quite fit right; her soft cardigan looked wrong, as if it had been made by someone who had a cardigan described to them but had never actually seen one before. Her hair was the wrong color: not soft black with a touch of gray, but so dark and shiny that it glinted a sickly green in the dim light. Her face was… something. It looked like his mother’s face. It looked close to his mother’s face. But it was not his mother’s face. The wrongness was so small that he couldn’t have pointed it out, but he knew it was something, because he knew his mother’s face and the face in front of him just didn’t cut it.

She was smiling at him again. How could he have ever thought that smile was nice when it didn’t reach her eyes? When she didn’t even have real eyes for it to reach?

“Is everything all right, dear?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” he said, then cursed himself for stammering. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I was just looking for something?”

“Would you like me to help you look?” she asked.

A half-baked plan took shape in his head, and Izuku lunged for it clumsily. “Uh, yeah! That would be great, M-Mom! Actually, I was about to go downstairs to look. Could you keep looking up here?”

“Anything for you, dear,” she said fondly, and reached out to pat his cheek. Izuku flinched, and she pulled back. “Something wrong?”

“I, uh, bumped my head this morning, when I got up,” he lied. “It’s still a little tender. Anyway, thanks Mom I’m gonna go downstairs now!” He turned and fled the room before she had time to answer.

At the top of the stairs, he forced himself to slow down. If he made it obvious that he was running away, then he’d probably just attract the attention of the nogitsune.

The nogitsune. They were probably a person, weren’t they? One of the Others. It probably wasn’t Other Mom. Dabi said it wasn’t, and… at least for now, Izuku decided to believe him. It might be Other Dad, who talked the most. It might be Other Ms. Yuuki, who was always watching silently in the background.

It might be Other Shouto.

Izuku paused at the bottom of the stairs, clenching his teeth when his stomach heaved with dread. It would make sense. Other Shouto had put more work into making Izuku want to stay than almost anyone else. Other Shouto never talked; maybe something about his voice would give him away?

Other Shouto tried to chase Dabi away.

Izuku shook his head before the thoughts could grow into a panic. He couldn’t worry about that now. It was awful no matter who the nogitsune was. Either Shouto was a monster trying to trap him in the other world, or he was helping the one that was.

Either way, Izuku thought. He isn’t real.

Just his luck, really. Of course the only kid who was ever nice to him wasn’t even a real person. Why had he expected any different?

He had made it halfway down the darkened hallway. The room with the door in it was so close. Just a few more steps, and he would close the door behind him and go home. For real, this time.

“Izuku?” Other Mom called after him. “Where are you going?”

She was close behind him. How had she gotten that close that fast?

“It was very silly of me,” she said, her voice growing nearer. “I started to look, but then I realized—I never asked you what we were supposed to be looking for!”

Izuku turned around to answer and escape again, and found her inches away and reaching for him.

His body moved on its own, without a command from his brain. Pure panic surged through him, sending frantic energy coursing through him. He only meant to back away, out of her reach, but the shock of her so close to touching him made him lash out without thinking. His hand struck her face, the tip of his finger caught on the edge of one button eye, and the added shock of touching her without meaning to only made his panic worse.

She flinched away, one hand covering the spot he had struck, and Izuku stumbled back with a pounding heart.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh no, no! It’s all right, Izuku! That was my fault, I shouldn’t have surprised you like that.” She smiled brightly and lowered her hand.

The button rested against her cheek, hanging by a thread from the edges of her peeling skin. Not a drop of blood fell from the hole left by the button, even though her eye had been ripped out and the skin around it left torn.

All that Izuku could see underneath was old, dry straw.

“See?” she said cheerfully. “No harm done at all.”

Izuku threw caution to the wind and turned to run. He got two steps before smacking straight into someone’s chest.

The force of the collision almost knocked him to the ground, but he caught himself against the nearest wall and the painting that hung from it. The heavy frame fell to the floor, narrowly missing his foot, and the wallpaper beneath it crumbled and flaked away at his touch. Beneath the pretty, decorated facade, it looked like it was rotting.

But Izuku barely noticed this, because the Other Father was standing before him, towering over him in the dark hallway.

He’d never towered over Izuku before. His father wasn’t supposed to be that tall. Izuku hadn’t been this small next to him since he was four.

He knows, Izuku thought. He knows that I know I’m not home.

“Well,” Other Dad said. “Here you are, then. What are we going to do with you?”

His voice was wrong—not like Other Mom’s was wrong, with its fake, stilted cheer. The pitch was too deep, the timbre too gruff and booming. His father—his real father had never sounded like that.

He blinked. For a moment, green eyes flashed a hot, bright blue.

There was no point in pretending, Izuku realized distantly. “I just want to go home,” he said, forcing words past the suffocating lump in his throat. “I won’t—I won’t make any trouble, I just want to go home.”

The nogitsune’s eyes narrowed. “I think you ought to know by now, that you don’t have a choice.” The color of his hair was fading, black oozing into a deep red—the color of a fox, Izuku realized.

“You can’t keep me here,” Izuku said, voice shaking.

“I can. I am.” His hand closed vicelike on Izuku shoulder, fingertips digging in as sharp as claws. Izuku tried to pull out of his grip, but it was like fighting against a statue. He could kick and struggle with all his strength, and the nogitsune barely twitched. Instead he began to drag Izuku back the way he had come. The puppet of his mother had fallen still and blank and and silent, watching him scream without so much as a change in her expression.

“Let go! Stop it!” Izuku clawed at the hand holding him. “Let go of me! You can’t keep me here!”

“You came into my world,” the nogitsune said, deep voice curling in contempt. “Alone, under your own power, and of your own accord. I could have ended this farce then and there, but I thought the illusion would be more merciful.” He opened a door—Izuku wasn’t sure which—and flung him through.

Izuku fell farther than he should have. When he hit the ground, it knocked the wind out of him.

“Remember that this is your own doing,” the nogitsune called after him. “You could have spent your last days in peace and happiness. You were the one who threw away the chance I gave you.”

The sound of a door slamming had never felt quite so final before.

Izuku lay curled on the cold floor in pitch darkness, wheezing softly as he got his breath back. Tears streamed down his face long before his lungs had recovered enough to allow for sobbing.

“Dabi?” he rasped out. “D-Dabi, help me. Please. Dabi?” There was no answer.

Not at first, anyway.

Izuku’s eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness, so when light flickered in the corner of his vision, it was impossible not to notice it. Izuku breathed deeper, long and slow, and forced himself to sit up and look around.

He was in an empty room, emptier than even the spare rooms in the real world’s house. It was bigger than any of them, with a rough wooden floor and a ceiling that seemed too high to fit in the house he already knew. The only exit was the door through which he’d been thrown, which sat at the top of a short flight of five steps.

He noticed then that the room wasn’t totally empty. In one corner nearby was a small bed, and it was in this small bed that he spotted the flicker of light again.

Izuku got to his feet. He was sore from falling, thirsty from crying, and had nothing in his pockets but a single piece of candy. He stumbled up the steps to try the door, and found that not only was it locked, it didn’t have a knob or handle to open it at all. Izuku pushed it a few times in a futile effort to open it, and went back down the steps.

“Hello?” he called, because he had nothing else to do. His voice wavered. “Is—Is someone there?”

The light by the bed flickered again.

It was strange; he couldn’t see any source to the light. It was just a dim, vague, silvery glow, as if the bed itself were giving off light.

The last time he followed mysterious lights, they had led him to this world in the first place. But there was nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, and so Izuku’s legs shook as he walked toward it. As he drew nearer, he saw that it wasn’t the bed itself giving off light, but something burrowed beneath the covers.

“H-hello?” he repeated shakily.

Something—or someone—hushed him. Izuku stumbled back, biting back a cry of alarm.

“Shush! Keep your voice down!”

“Father might be listening.”

“Sorry,” he whispered back. “You mean the Other Father?”

The glow flickered, the bed covers stirred and shifted back, and a pair of pale, translucent faces stared at him from the dark. They were huddled together, clinging to each other as if for comfort: the small ghostly figures of a boy and a girl, both of them Izuku’s age or younger. Their faces were so similar that they had to be siblings, and there was something so familiar about them that Izuku couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Nearly everything about them was ghastly pale from their skin to their hair, save for the black buttons sewn into their eyes.

“He may be the Other Father to you,” the girl whispered. “But he’s the only father we’ve ever known.”

“The—the nogitsune?” Izuku asked. “He’s your father? Your real father?”

The boy’s face twisted with fury. “He’s no father,” he spat. His sister hushed him, but he squirmed out of her grip. “He’s a demon.”

“Can you tell me what happened to you?” Izuku asked.“Why are you still here, as ghosts?”

“We can’t leave,” the girl told him. Her whisper sounded more like a mournful sigh. “He ate up our lives until he was full, but he kept our souls.”

“It’s to keep us trapped here, to use us,” the boy hissed. “That’s all we are to him, just things and tools and food. That’s what all our siblings are to him.”

“You have more siblings?” Izuku asked.

“You met our elder brother,” the girl said. “The nogitsune has had many wives and many children over many long years. Most were eaten. Some escaped. The cat was the only one who ever came back.”

“He was human first,” the boy continued. “His mother was a witch, many lifetimes ago.”

“She turned him into a cat before Father could eat him, too,” the girl said. “Father killed her for it, but the cat escaped and lived so long that he became a nekomata. This was long, long ago, and he’s been challenging Father ever since.”

“The demon never took a witch for a wife again, after that,” the boy added, darkly satisfied.

“So, he’ll help me?” Izuku asked. “Dabi? If he hates the nogitsune, he’ll help me?”

The two ghosts exchanged glances.

“He’ll help you,” the girl said. “But…”

“You have two choices, if you accept his help,” the boy said. “You escape, or you die.”

“Father gets stronger when he eats,” the girl explained. “If you cannot escape him, then the cat will kill you first. Your soul will go free, and Father will go hungry, and you won’t be trapped like us.”

“If you go back through the door to the real world, you’ll be safe,” the boy said. “The demon can’t leave this world; all of his power is here.”

“Oh,” Izuku said in a small voice. “Okay. But… what about you? Isn’t there any way to get you out?”

They exchanged glances again.

“It’ll be enough to know you got away,” the girl replied wistfully. “It’s not so lonely, when we have each other. The cat visits and talks to us, sometimes.”

“There has to be a way,” Izuku pleaded.

“Well…” the boy began.

“Hush,” his sister chided. “Let him go free.”

“It’s not just for us,” he whispered back fiercely. “What about our brother?”

“You mean the cat?” Izuku said.

“No, our other brother,” the boy answered. “Our little brother.” The girl tried to quiet him again, but he elbowed her away. “He’s stuck, too. Not the way we are, but he’s still trapped because of us. We thought we were protecting him—”

“Natsuo!”

“Don’t you want to help him?” the boy demanded, rounding on her. He forced himself to whisper again. “Do you want to just leave him?”

“Who?” Izuku asked. “Please, just tell me. I want to know. Who’s your…” HIs voice trailed off.

Of course. Of course there was a reason they looked so faintly familiar to him.

“You’re—Shouto.” At the sound of the name, the ghosts flinched, but Izuku pressed on. “It’s Shouto, isn’t it? He’s your brother.” More connections linked in his mind, threads tying and weaving together into a recognizable pattern. “Ms. Yuuki’s your mom—she’s one of the nogitsune’s wives, isn’t she? And Shouto…”

Shouto, trapped in the house he lived in, resentful of secrets, shunned by the town, by his own mother—

“He told me his mom resented him for something,” he said. “Something he didn’t know about, or didn’t remember, and she wouldn’t tell him. It’s because he’s the nogitsune’s son, isn’t it?”

“Shouto’s always been strong,” the boy, Natsuo, said. “He was born with a strong spirit. The demon was so hungry when he was born, and…”

“We made a deal with him, when Shouto was little,” the girl whispered. “We wouldn’t try to escape. We wouldn’t fight. We wouldn’t let our older brother kill us. We’d let Father have us, if he let Shouto live.” Her eyes may have been only buttons, but Izuku could still see the determination flash across her face. “We did it right, too. It was binding. Once he consumed our lives, he couldn’t consume Shouto’s. The pact wouldn’t let him. But Mom and Shouto…”

“They’re still stuck,” Natsuo said darkly. “As long as we’re trapped here, the demon will never let them leave.”

Izuku took all of this in silence. This was big—bigger and so different from what he had thought it would be. When he discovered this world, he’d thought it was his own story and no one else’s. That was probably what the nogitsune had wanted all along: for him to think that he was alone in this.

His hands clenched into fists. “What if I free you?” he asked. “If there’s a way to get you out of here, would that break the promise?”

The ghosts looked at each other again.

“No,” the girl answered. “He’s already eaten us. We’ve upheld our part of the deal. We’d just be free.”

“We’d all be free,” Natsuo said. “Us, and Shouto, and our mother.” For the first time since appearing, he drifted away from his sister’s side and closer to where Izuku stood. “Would you do that? For us?”

“We’ll help you, whatever you decide,” the girl offered. “However we can.”

“How do I free you?” Izuku asked.

“Our eyes,” she answered. “He has them somewhere, but we don’t know where. If you find them and take them with you to the real world, we’ll be free.”

“We’ll all be free,” Natsuo added, struggling to whisper through his glee. “Mom and Shouto will be able to leave!”

“Your eyes, got it,” Izuku murmured. “Is there anyone else who’s trapped?”

“All the others have faded away already,” the girl said sadly. “It’s just been us, all alone down here. I don’t remember what the sky looks like.”

“I’ll free you,” Izuku told her. “I promise, you’ll see the sky again. I just…” He looked to the door, biting his lip worriedly. “I have to get out of here first.”

“We can help with that!” Natsuo said. “We can open the door for you!”

“You can?” Izuku’s heart leapt. “But… if you can open it, then why haven’t you tried to escape before?”

The girl shrugged. “Where would we go? We aren’t strong enough to find our eyes by ourselves, even together. And we can’t leave this world as long as Father possesses them. At least if we stay here, he leaves us be. But if we help you, then we all have a chance.”

Her brother already had his hands against the door, braced to pull it open. “Fuyumi, hurry up.”

“I’m coming.” She joined him, then turned her button-eyed face to Izuku. “Are you ready? You’ll have to be fast.”

“He’ll know when you escape,” Natsuo told him. “He’ll throw everything he can at you, just to keep you here. He’s hungry.”

“I’m ready,” Izuku said, tensing at the top of the steps.

The dim glow intensified. The ghosts gave a cry of effort, and the door slipped open. Izuku was already squeezing through when the gap was barely wide enough. Cold hands pressed behind him, pushing him all the way through. In the blink of an eye, he was free, and the door slipped shut behind him.

For a split second, it was dark and silent. And then the world went mad.

The house came alive all around him. Beneath his feet, the floor pitched and heaved like a boat on choppy water, nearly throwing him to the ground. A great tearing sound reached his ears; walls were bending and peeling themselves free, contorting to catch him and trap him where he stood.

Izuku ran.

He had to get home first, he thought frantically. He had to find his mom, and tell her he was sorry for being gone so long. He had to find Ms. Chiyo and thank her for the candy. He had to talk to Ms. Yuuki and Shouto, the real ones, and tell them about the ghosts that had helped him escape.

But in order to get home, he had to find the room with the door in it, and how was he supposed to do that when the hallways were twisting themselves in knots, and the walls were closing in around him?

Something swung into his belly, nearly knocking the wind out of him. It felt like wood, like the stairway banister come alive and twisting around his body like a snake. Biting back a shriek of terror, Izuku wriggled free and kept running.

Hands closed around his arms, holding him tight. Izuku almost screamed as he was dragged from the heaving hallway and behind another door. It slammed closed as soon as he was through, and he thrashed madly against the grip. No, no! He’d just gotten free! He couldn’t get trapped all over again.

He opened his mouth, ready to yell out a challenge, before a hand slapped over it and muffled his voice. Izuku staggered back into the wall.

Black button eyes stared at him from a familiar scarred face, framed in red and white hair. Other Shouto pinned him against the wall, gagging him with one hand.

Izuku bit him.

Other Shouto yanked his—its, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t a person—hand back before Izuku could really sink his teeth in, and Izuku shoved him harder than he had ever pushed anyone before. The puppet stumbled over its own feet and fell to the ground.

“Get away from me!” Izuku heaved for breath as the fake Shouto got to its feet. “I’m going home. You can’t stop me. The nogitsune can’t stop me either. I’m getting out of here.” He lunged for the door, but Other Shouto caught him by the arm and pulled him back again.

Izuku turned to him, already furious, but only more furious when he saw the sad, scared look pasted across the doll’s face. Seriously? Now? The nogitsune was still trying to trick him with puppets and fake people now?

The doll let go of his arm and took his hand again. Izuku winced, and realized only then that he’d cut his palm while running through the house. Before he could think of what to do, the not-Shouto reached into its pocket and pulled out a strip of cloth to wrap it.

For a moment Izuku was too startled to react. It was gentle—even gentler than Other Mom had been, so gentle that his hand didn’t even sting.

It was too much. He could feel the tears coming, too strong to be fought back. He was scared enough to feel sick, scared enough to want to hit something or someone. He wanted safety, he wanted comfort, but not from a fake person with fake kindness.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said get away!” Hot tears welled up in eyes, as he pulled away again, but he couldn’t go far enough. All he could do was press back against the wall and yank his bleeding hand away, wincing when it stung. “Just go. You can’t trick me anymore with your stupid nice act. I’m going home, do you hear me? That Shouto might be a jerk, but at least he’s real!”

The button-eyed puppet flinched but kept reaching for Izuku’s hand, about to touch him again.

Izuku’s fraying nerves snapped, and his vision blurred. “Just stop it!” He lashed out again, harder than he had with the Other Mom. He didn’t want to be touched, he didn’t want the pretend kindness of a button-eyed, straw-stuffed doll.

The blow caught the not-Shouto in the eye on the left side. Once more, the button was ripped loose. Izuku braced himself for the sight of peeling fake skin and packed straw.

Only, it wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t like the Other Mother at all.

Other Shouto staggered back, free hand flying to its face, mouth open in a silent cry of pain. As Izuku watched, shocked, the doll clutched at its face and shrank against the other wall.

From beneath its hand, a trickle of blood ran down its face.

All of a sudden, Izuku felt very, very cold.

“…What?”

The doll slowly sank, back sliding down the wall until he sat curled up in a ball on the floor, shaking without a sound. Its face was twisted with pain as the trickle reached its chin, and it moved its hand to wiped it away.

The button hung loose against the socket, and Izuku almost threw up at the sight. There was no straw. No shreds of fraying, fake skin. Just blood where the thread had been ripped free.

“No,” he whispered, trembling with horror. “Oh no. Oh no.”

In the distance, the house shrieked and groaned, but this room felt heavy with silence.

“You’re real.”

Izuku stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes from the face, from the skin that was real skin, and the blood, and the fear and pain that looked real even with Ms. Chiyo’s present peeling away the illusions. He took a trembling step forward, reaching out, and Shouto—not a doll, not a puppet—flinched away. Izuku’s vision blurred with tears again, and he stood frozen in the horror of understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know, I thought—I thought…”

Shouto stared at the floor, pressing himself back as far as the wall would let him go.

Izuku was crying again, holding his hands out helplessly, desperate to fix what he had just broken. “I got scared,” he said. “Shouto, I’m scared. I’m so scared and I want to go home and I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Slowly, Shouto raised his head again, wincing as the air hit his wounded eye.

Izuku cast about desperately, and spotted the cloth that Shouto had dropped. It was still mostly clean, even though Shouto had tried to wrap his bleeding hand with it. He picked it up, folded it over the parts his blood had touched, and crept closer to hold it out. “H-here. Here, please, just—”

Hesitantly, Shouto reached out and took his hand. He didn’t squeeze or pull, just tugged at him gently until they could both press the cloth to his bleeding eye.

“You’re real,” Izuku breathed. Shouto’s face crumpled. “This whole time, you were real. But…” The second realization struck, like ice shards digging into his heart. “If you’re real, then—who’s walking around in the real world?”

The look Shouto gave him told him all he needed to know.

“And—your eyes. Why do you have buttons? You’re still alive, right? The ghosts—they told me he couldn’t kill you.” Beneath his hand, Shouto went still. “The ghosts, down in the basement. Natsuo and Fuyumi. They’re your brother and sister, aren’t they?”

The button on the right was still covered. As Izuku watched, clear liquid trickled down from beneath the one on the left.

“But you’re alive, and you’re here,” Izuku murmured. Shouto nodded. “You have buttons in your eyes, but the one on the outside, in the real world…” The wavery sickness in his stomach hardened into a ball of lead. “He took your eyes, didn’t he. The nogitsune. Your father. He took your eyes, and he put them in that doll. And then he took your voice, so you couldn’t tell me the truth.”

Shouto nodded again, his face twisted with pain.

“And you’ve been here, all this time. In this—this fake world, with a fake home and a fake mom.” He felt cold again, but it wasn’t fear this time. With his free hand, he reached out slowly again. Shouto watched his hand warily, until Izuku’s fingertip brushed the edge of the mark on his face. “The doll told me your mom did this. But that wasn’t true, was it?”

He expected Shouto to shake his head, but instead he winced. His mouth moved. No sound came out, but he repeated the movement until Izuku could read the words on his lips.

Not her fault.

Around them, the house shifted and groaned.

“We have to get out of here,” Izuku said. “Both of us. We have to get out to the door.” Shouto hesitated. “Come on. I told your siblings I’d help you, so I’m gonna help you. But we have to get to the door.”

Shouto stared at him for a few moments, then looked away and nodded. He reached up to bind the bloody cloth around his injured eye, and got to his feet.

“Do you know the way?” Izuku asked. Shouto nodded, and Izuku held out his hand. “C’mon. If the house goes crazy again, we don’t want to get separated, right? We have to do this together.”

Instead of taking his hand, Shouto hugged him.

It was awkward, clumsy, and a little too tight. Shouto hugged like he had never done it before, like he had only ever heard about it and didn’t know what it was supposed to look or feel like. Izuku’s eyes burned as he returned it. With his arms this tight around Shouto, he didn’t feel like a puppet or a doll. He felt warm and solid and real.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” he whispered. “Both of us. And your brother and sister. We’ll come back and find their eyes, I promise.”

Shouto squirmed in his arms, and Izuku let go to find him reaching into the pocket on his jacket. He struggled with it for a moment before freeing it and pressing it into Izuku’s hands.

Izuku could only stare. “I… I thought I lost this,” he said, clutching his notebook in both hands. “I guess that’s how the nogitsune knew about the tree, with the creature underneath.” He hugged it to his chests. “You always looked like you liked hearing stories. I wrote some in here. Did you get to read them?”

For the first time since pulling him into the room, Shouto smiled. It wasn’t like his smiles from before, fake and forced and too bright and perfect to be true. This one was small and fragile and only lasted for a few seconds.

But it was real, just like Shouto.

He took Izuku’s hand in one of his, and the doorknob in the other. Izuku gave him a comforting squeeze, and Shouto stared at him like he’d never seen anything like him before.

“On three,” Izuku said. Shouto nodded. “One, two, three—!” Shouto opened it, and together the two of them raced through.

It was different, this time around. Before, Izuku had been caught up in the chaos of the thrashing house like a leaf in a storm, tossed and battered this way and that until he could hardly remember which way he had come from, much less which way he was supposed to go. But with Shouto gripping his hand and leading the way, he could see the path ahead. It was as if having Shouto close made it easier to see the path ahead.

Or maybe, with Shouto close, the house just couldn’t hide the path so well anymore.

Izuku ducked when the house threw something at him, tugging Shouto down so he wouldn’t get hit too. Shouto squeezed his hand like a vice, turned a corner, and yanked him through one last door before slamming it shut behind them.

They were here, Izuku realized faintly. He remembered the first time he’d crawled out into this room, on his hands and knees on smooth hardwood floors with soft chairs and stuffed bookshelves all around him. But now, thanks to Ms. Chiyo’s gift, he could see it for what it was. The walls were dark and scarred with age, the floor torn up and sharp with upturned nails, the furniture rotting where it stood. And all around them, the smell of rot and ashes and old straw was thick in his nostrils.

Someone had pushed a heavy ancient dresser in front of the little door in the wall. Shouto let go of his hand to set his shoulder against it and push. Between the two of them, they shifted it to the side and exposed the door. It scraped and squealed over the floor, deafening in the dark house, and Izuku’s belly twisted with every noise they made.

As soon as it was out of the way, Shouto crouched and clawed at the door until it opened. Izuku couldn’t keep back his sob of relief.

A distant rumble grew from further within the house, building like rolling thunder. In seconds it had become a roar, then a voice, then a single deafening word.

“SHOUTO!”

Izuku dropped to his knees and grabbed Shouto’s hand again. “Come on!” he said, still screaming at a whisper even though they were already caught, and the booming footsteps told him they only had seconds anyway. “Now’s our chance!”

But instead of following, Shouto pulled his hand out of Izuku’s grip and pushed him forward. Izuku grabbed the edge of the door frame before he could fall through.

“You too!” he argued. “He’ll hurt you for helping me—I told them I’d get you out!” He twisted around, grabbed Shouto’s arm and yanked, ready to drag him through if he needed, but—

He couldn’t.

It wasn’t that Shouto was fighting him. Shouto had gone limp and still as Izuku tried and failed to pull him through the door.

Izuku blinked, and for a split second he saw it. There were threads, glowing with the same yellow-orange color as the lights that had first lured him here. Dozens of them stretched between Shouto and the rest of the house, vanishing behind the door they had come through. They all converged on Shouto’s eyes, bound so thick that Izuku couldn’t even see the buttons beneath them. He blinked again, and the threads vanished.

“You can’t leave,” he whispered. He knew he couldn’t leave, and he still—

“SHOUTO!”

Shouto surged forward, teeth bared, and shoved Izuku so hard the back of his head struck the door frame as he fell into the tunnel beyond it. The pounding footsteps grew deafening as Izuku stared at Shouto’s face, at the black button and the scar on one side and the bloodstained bandage covering the other. Shouto slammed the door, and when Izuku threw himself against it with a scream, it wouldn’t open for him. He pounded on it, clawed at it, as the footsteps and maddened roaring grew too loud to hear himself scream.

Claws dug into his leg. Somehow, impossibly, the furious howl of a cat pierced through the nogitsune’s rage.

He couldn’t help. He couldn’t do anything. Not like this.

Not yet.

With one last cry of helpless fury, Izuku turned and threw himself back down the tunnel, clawing his way back to the door on the other side. The roaring and pounding behind him faded with every pull, until at last he threw himself at the other door and tumbled out into a familiar plain, barren room.

The nekomata came streaking out after him in a blur of black, and only then did Izuku shut the door. The key was in the hole, and he twisted it to the side until it clicked.

He sat there, leaning up against the door, chest heaving from his panicked flight.

Harsh, wheezing breaths turned to sobs. Izuku curled up on the floor, numb to the pain in his bleeding hands, and cried until his own voice was gone.

Chapter Text

At some point, Izuku finally got up. It took a few tries; he was shaking from head to toe, and he could hardly see. The key was still in his hands, warm from holding it. Izuku put it in his pocket.

While he was on the subject of his hands, they were a mess. The scratch on his palm had stopped bleeding, but his knuckles and fingertips were raw and scraped from trying to tear the other door open.

In the center of the room, Dabi sat with his tail around his paws and watched him.

“Big help you were,” Izuku rasped, glaring at him. “Was it true, what they said? Are you going to kill me if I can’t escape him?”

Dabi blinked slowly at him, then got to his feet and darted to the window. After leaping up to the sill, he nudged it open and vanished outside.

Alone once more, Izuku looked around. He was back in the real world, as far as he could tell. He slipped the remaining candy in his mouth and ate it, just to be safe. When the world around him didn’t change, he finally stumbled out of the room and into the hallway.

What time was it? What day was it?

His heart lurched. The light through the windows was orange; sun was going down. Was it sunset on the day he had left, or the day after? Was it more than that? What if it had only felt like a day, but it had really been longer?

No, he told himself. That had never happened before. There was no reason for it to happen now.

“Mom?” he called. “Mom, I’m back!” He ran into the kitchen and found it empty. The leftovers from the last time he'd been here were still in the fridge, and they still smelled fine. Mom’s phone was on the table. According to the date and time, he’d only been gone for a full day.

That was still such a long time for him to be gone, he thought frantically. Had she called the police to look for him? She must be so worried .

(A smaller voice in the back of his head asked him this: Will she be worried enough to leave? And if she is, then how will you keep your promise? How will you free the ghosts?

How will you save Shouto?)

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he rubbed them away and ran upstairs, calling for his mother. The most important thing right now was that she see that he was safe.

She wasn’t in his room, or her own, or even the rest of the second floor. Izuku retrieved his backpack, slipped his notebook inside, and slung it over his shoulders. After one last sweep of the second floor, he ran back downstairs and checked every possible place, then went outside to see if she had left for the town.

The cold settled over him when he saw the car still parked out front, cool to the touch and empty. His fear felt like a stomachache, sickly churning in his belly that he thought he’d left behind when he escaped the Other World. He thought he’d shut the door behind him and run back into his real mother’s arms.

But the house was empty, and the car was empty, and

and she hadn’t taken her phone.

“Lost something?”

Izuku had been shaking as he stood before the empty car. At the sound of Shouto’s voice, he went still.

Footsteps crunched in the gravel behind him. “What’s the matter? You look upset.”

Izuku turned around. His pack felt heavy on his shoulders all of a sudden,and he clutched the straps so tightly his knuckles turned white.

It was Shouto, with his red and white hair, his scarred face and strange eyes. He was almost the same as when Izuku had last saw him, except now Izuku looked at him with fresh eyes, and the leftover sweetness of Ms. Chiyo’s gift lingering on his tongue.

He was wrong, just like Other Mom had been. His skin didn’t fit right. His eyes didn’t match the rest of his face. Even with the scar, the hair, and his clothes, it was like his eyes were the only splash of color on something dull and gray and lifeless.

“Where’s my mom?” Izuku’s voice shook.

“I haven’t seen her. Are you sure you looked everywhere for her?”

“You’re lying,” Izuku said, forcing him to step forward.

The not-Shouto smiled. Izuku had never seen it do that before, and now he could see why. It smiled with as little of its face as it could, mouth curved and stretching into a blank grin, the same as all the rest of the dolls and puppets in the Other World.

“What’s the matter?” the thing wearing Shouto’s face asked. “I thought you wanted to go back to the real world. That’s why you ran so fast, isn’t it?”

“Where’s my mom? ”

“Or is that not what you wanted?” It stepped closer, head tilting from side to side. “Did the other Shouto make you leave, is that it? That would explain why he bled as he closed the door on you.”

“You’re the Other Shouto!” Izuku snapped without thinking. “You can’t trick me anymore! I know what you are! You’re just a puppet! You’re not real!”

“Aren’t I?” The grin widened. A fingertip tapped against the side of his face. “The eyes aren’t just the window, you know. They are the soul. Since I’m the one with the eyes, doesn’t that make me the one who’s real?”

“No,” Izuku retorted. “You—he stole them. They aren’t yours. Now answer me,” he said. “ Where is my mom? ”

“She’s home, back where you belong,” the puppet said, and Izuku almost screamed. “If you want her, you’ll have to come, too.”

“Give her back!”

“No,” the puppet said, and its voice changed. It still sounded like Shouto, but the nogitsune’s booming voice grew beneath it. “I won’t. Nor will I give you back. I called and you came—you’re mine . How dare you run away, after everything I did for you? You were wretched and lonely when you came, and I gave you what you desired. And instead of paying me what was owed, you ran like an ingrate.”

“You tricked me!” Izuku shot back.

“If you were stupid enough to be tricked, then you only have yourself to blame,” the puppet answered, voice returning to normal. “Besides—you escaped, didn’t you? You’re free to go wherever you wish and never return, if that’s what you want. In a way everyone got what they wanted in the end. You got an adventure, and Father got a meal. She might be old and stringy, but the belly hardly knows the difference.”

Something deep within Izuku snapped, and his vision bled scarlet. With a yell of rage he lunged at the puppet, ready to smash and tear it to pieces with his bare hands.

A hand closed on his wrist, pulling him up short and dragging him back.

“Don’t,” Ms. Yuuki hissed close by his ear. “You mustn’t.”

“He’s not real!” Izuku struggled and twisted, but Ms. Yuuki’s grip was stronger than she looked. “He’s not real, he’s just a puppet— ”

“I know!” Ms. Yuuki snapped, and Izuku gave up. “I know. Believe me, I know. But you mustn’t.”

“Mother,” the puppet called out, in a mocking imitation of a child’s sadness. “Why do you always say these hurtful things?”

Ms. Yuuki flinched. “Go away.”

The sadness vanished as if wiped clean. “That’s no way for a mother to talk to her child,” the puppet said. "Was this how you talked to them before? No wonder they begged Father for death in the end. They must not have wanted to come home."

“For pity’s sake, just leave him alone.” Ms. Yuuki’s voice broke. “Haven’t you done enough?”

The puppet’s scarred face twisted into a mask of rage. It was all wrong on Shouto’s face—no human face was ever meant to look like that. “Not nearly enough,” the puppet snarled, as the nogitsune’s voice bled through again. “He thought he was alone before. Now he truly has no one—and only himself to blame.”

Ms. Yuuki’s grip tightened, and she started walking, pulling Izuku past the puppet and toward the path that led behind the house.

“Don’t walk away from me, Rei.”

“Leave us alone, Enji .”

Izuku stumbled as the final word left her mouth. For a moment the air felt heavy and thick, as if his ears were about to pop. A moment later, the feeling vanished.

They were well into the trees now. Ms. Yuuki hadn’t slowed her pace, but her grip had loosened enough that it was no longer uncomfortable.

“Ms. Yuuki—”

She hushed him. “Not yet. I don’t know his full Name, just enough to stop him for a little while. We need to go somewhere he won’t enter.”

Izuku closed his mouth. They were heading toward the witch’s garden. Rustling in the undergrowth behind them made him look back, and he spotted the nekomata following at a distance.

Ms. Yuuki didn’t speak to him again as they crossed into the garden. She skirted the covered well, walking with enough purpose that Izuku knew she had been here many times before. She stopped in front of one of the hanging birdhouses and reached inside.

“He’s followed me here before,” Izuku said in a low voice, not wanting to disturb her. “He didn’t come into the garden, but he stood on the outside.”

“I know,” Ms. Yuuki said. From the opening in the old birdhouse she had pulled a few sticks of incense, one of which she balanced in the birdhouse so that the end of it jutted out. She patted her pockets, and muttered something that might have been a curse.

Dabi darted in with barely a sound, leapt up to the table nearest to her, and dropped something from his mouth. It was a matchbook; Ms. Yuuki took one, struck it, and lit the incense stick. Only then did she step back with a sigh of relief.

“He doesn’t like to be reminded of those who’ve bested him,” she said, without turning. “He’d rather act like they don’t exist, and pretend he’s undefeated. The wife who left this garden snatched her child from him before he could eat.” Dabi gave a slow blink. His low purr filled the air. “He won’t enter this garden, and he won’t come near if he smells her incense.”

“Oh,” Izuku whispered.

Ms. Yuuki turned. Her face looked different now than it had before, but not in the creepy way the not-Shouto’s had. She’d been cold before, unfriendly and angry if she wasn’t emotionless. But now when she looked at him, he saw only sadness.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. She stepped forward hesitantly, as if she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t run away. “I’m sorry for being unkind. I’m sorry about your mother, I—I’m sorry for everything, Izuku.”

“I get it now.” Try as he might, Izuku couldn’t force himself to raise his head and look at her instead of the ground. “You wanted me to leave, this whole time. You were trying to make us leave.”

“As soon as I saw you, I knew he’d want you,” Ms. Yuuki answered. “I had to try.”

“Why’d you stop me?” Izuku asked. “You know Shouto’s in the Other World, so why were you always protecting the fake one?”

She closed her eyes. “It’s a long story,” she said.

“That’s all right,” Izuku answered. “I’m good with stories.”

Her eyes opened again, fixing him with a long, pained look. Slowly, her legs seemed to give out beneath her, and she sat in the overgrown grass. After a moment’s hesitation, Izuku sat down before her.

“I had three children, by him,” Ms. Yuuki said, haltingly. “I loved them. I loved them all so much. I need you to understand that. Because they may have been his, but they were mine, too. He didn’t raise them, just hid away while I did, and waited for them to be strong enough to fill him.” Her face crumpled. “They were beautiful, all three of them. But Shouto… Shouto was so bright .” She looked back toward the incense burning from the birdhouse. “I’m no witch. But sometimes I feel like I might have been one, in another life. I see things. And when Shouto was born, I saw how bright he was, and I knew —I knew Enji would never let him go.”

She had to stop then. Izuku waited.

“And sure enough, one day, my—my daughter, and my older son… they were gone, and I knew . I knew he’d taken them. And Shouto was there, but… but he wasn’t right .”

“It was the doll?” Izuku asked.

“I thought I was going crazy,” she said. “I looked at him, and I couldn’t see my son anymore. I couldn’t hear his voice anymore. I couldn’t look at him and see my child . And then, one day, I was making tea in the kitchen, and…”

Izuku’s heart sank. “The scar…?”

“I heard his father’s voice behind me,” Ms. Yuuki said, her voice breaking. “And I thought—I thought he’d come to force more children from me, and I was scared . I didn’t think. I just took the kettle and turned around and—I threw the water.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “He—it didn’t scream. It just looked at me, and the skin peeled away and all I could see was straw underneath.”

“I saw that too,” Izuku whispered. “On my—the puppet of my mom. I ripped one of the buttons.”

“I had a dream, that night,” Ms. Yuuki told him. “I was in the kitchen again, with the empty kettle in my hand and Shouto in front of me, but… different. He had buttons where his eyes should have been, and he was—he was hurt, and scared, and crying, and his face was burned. And I looked up, and the doll was there, wearing my son’s eyes and smiling. And I swear—” Her voice broke. “The eye on the left, the blue one, it was glowing—it was almost on fire. And I remembered, that that was what Enji’s eyes had looked like, the first time he invaded my dreams. That thing with my son’s face… it looked more like Enji than Shouto. And when it spoke, it had Enji’s voice.” Her voice broke again. “He said he hoped I’d learned my lesson.”

“You can’t hurt it without hurting the real one,” Izuku murmured.

“I can’t do anything ,” Ms. Yuuki whispered. “If I fight back, he’ll hurt my son. If I leave, Shouto will be alone, and what’s stopping Enji from killing him?”

Izuku sat up straight, heart nearly starting out of his chest. “The promise!” he almost shouted. Ms. Yuuki blinked, shock and confusion clouding her teary eyes. “Ms. Yuuki, your—Natsuo and Fuyumi. That was their names, right?”

“How do you…?”

“I met them!” Izuku leaned forward. “Their ghosts talked to me before I escaped. They said they made a deal with the nogitsune—if they didn’t try to escape him, then he couldn’t eat Shouto’s life. It was binding. The nogitsune can’t kill him.”

If he expected relief, what he got was horror. “This whole time…” She shut her eyes and shook her head. “You need to go to town. You’ll be safe there until you can call someone else in your family and leave here.”

Hie heart sank. “But Ms. Yuuki—”

“No ,” she cut him off. “Do you know why I tried to turn you away at the door? Because the moment I looked at you, I could see that you were bright, too. Almost as bright as Shouto.” Her eyes bored into Izuku’s, gray and cold and desperate. “He hasn’t eaten since he took my children from me. He’s starving, and that means you’ll always been in danger as long as you stay in Yakoto.”

Izuku scrambled to his feet. “I can’t just leave! He has my mom!”

Rei stood. She was taller than him, and her fear made her look fierce. “You can’t. I’m sorry about your mother, but if you stay here, you’ll die.”

“I made a promise, too,” Izuku told her, eyes burning with the threat of tears. “They’re all still trapped. He has their eyes, and I have to get them back and free them.”

“You can’t— ”

“I have to!” He was crying now, and he couldn’t even care. “Ms. Yuuki, I have to. The nogitsune wouldn’t let me go. They helped me. The ghosts got me out of the room, and Shouto gave my notebook back and pushed me through the door. I-I hurt him, Ms. Yuuki. I thought he wasn’t real, and I hurt him, but he still helped me. I can’t just leave them.” A sob ripped through him, so harsh that he couldn’t talk anymore.

When Ms. Yuuki spoke again, her voice was gentler. “Is that how you think this works?” she asked. “They helped you, so you have to repay them?”

“Y-yes? No. I-I don’t know.” Izuku scrubbed at his streaming eyes. “But—he was brave, Ms. Yuuki. He knew his dad was gonna hurt him, but he still helped me.”

He couldn’t look at her face, so he focused on the way her hands curled into fists. “Then… don’t you think he’d want you safe?” she asked him. “If he risked so much to help you escape, do you think he’d thank you for running back into danger?”

“He’s been there for a long time,” Izuku whispered. “Hasn’t he?”

Ms. Yuuki’s breath shuddered in and out. “He was so small when I last held him.”

“He’s been all alone with that monster and his fake world,” Izuku went on. “If he could go through all that and still be brave and do the right thing, then so can I.”

Ms. Yuuki opened her mouth, but Izuku turned and ran before she could speak. He left the garden and raced back through the woods, ignoring her calls for him to stop.

Something darted between his feet, nearly tripping him. Dabi raced ahead, his scraggy tail streaming behind him. With a bubbling yowl, the nekomata veered off the path Izuku was taking.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Izuku followed.

The cat led him on a roundabout path that gave the house a wide berth, but eventually they broke through the trees and ended up on the road that led back into town. Izuku was out of breath, but he only stopped long enough to untangle a twig from his shoelaces before running after the cat again. He didn’t stop again until the cat did, and looked up to find himself standing in front of the Thousand Years tea shop.

Before he could even touch the door, it opened. Ms. Chiyo took one look at his face and sighed. “You’d better come in.”

Izuku found himself chivvied into a chair, a cup of tea pushed into his hands. He sipped it carefully: green tea with honey, comfortably warm but not too hot. He could feel the warmth spreading from his throat to the rest of his body, stilling the tremors in his hands that threatened to spill tea over the sides of the cup. The sensation didn’t calm him, but it loosened things inside of him, tight knots and tangles that he hadn’t realized had snarled up in his heart over the past day. And once loose, it all came crashing over him, all the fear and uncertainty merging into an unrelenting wave of terror and anger and and the pure wrenching pain of being powerless.

Mom was gone. The world he’d thought was a dream come true was a nightmare. Shouto was trapped, probably hurt, because of him. Ms. Yuuki wouldn’t help.

Izuku set the cup aside and curled over as the tears hit him all over again.

Dimly he heard Ms. Chiyo pulling a chair out to sit beside him. Dry, wrinkled hands closed around one of his, clasping it gently as he rocked and sobbed.

She waited until the tears had finally subsided, then patted his hand and said, “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.”

Haltingly, Izuku obeyed. As he went over the events one by one, his memory supplied him with each and every clue he had missed, every chance he had to back away and be safe, every stupid choice and foolish decision that had led him to this moment. Admitting all his mistakes dug into him uncomfortably.

He’d been so stupid. There had been so much warning, and he’d ignored all of it.

A light swat to the back of his head shocked him into momentary silence. He blinked at her, surprised, and found the old woman frowning at him.

“None of that, now,” she said firmly. “You were tricked. It was always that monster’s plan to trick you.”

“But… I should’ve known better.” Izuku fought back more tears. He was tired of crying. “There’s—there are so many stories about this, l-like monsters that look friendly and pretend to be nice, or shiny lights that lead you into a swamp, o-or witches with candy houses to lure children in and eat them—” He winced. “S-sorry.”

She smiled wryly.“No offense taken.”

“It’s the oldest trick in the book,” Izuku said miserably. “And I fell for it.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand. “It hurts, to be tricked. But never you mind that. Put it down to experience. Can you do that?”

Izuku nodded. “I won’t forget.”

“Good. Now, on to what’s next.”

Her businesslike brusqueness was comforting, as rough as it was. Izuku sat up straighter, hopeful. “Will you help me?”

She let go of his hand and turned away. “I can’t go in with you, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, stepping behind the counter. “The blasted fox has made just as much effort to keep me out as I have to keep him way from this town. The old dog has had his fill of witches.” She chuckled to herself. “But, I can give you some tools, and some advice.”

“That’s fine,” Izuku murmured. “It’s more than Ms. Yuuki gave me.”

“Is that what you think?” Ms. Chiyo tutted. “You seem to have forgotten what she did give you.”

“What?”

“A story,” Ms. Chiyo said, as if it was obvious. “She might not have meant to, but she still slipped you something useful. What did she tell you, that you didn’t already know?”

“That I can’t hurt the fake Shouto without hurting the real one,” Izuku said quietly.

“And?”

Izuku frowned. “Um… just dream stuff, I guess.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘just’ a dream with a fox spirit,” Ms. Chiyo told him.

“She saw Shouto with the button eyes, and the doll with his regular eyes—” He stopped short. “They were glowing. She said one of them was glowing.”

“And?”

“And… it reminded her of what the nogitsune looked like.” Izuku’s mind was racing.

“Which begs the question,” Ms. Chiyo said with a smile, returning from the counter with a box in her hands. “If the nogitsune is real, then why are his own eyes buttons?”

“I read a book once,” Izuku said, half to himself. “An evil sorcerer cut off his finger and hid his soul in it, then hid his finger in a tree, so he could never be killed. It must be something like that, right?” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than it clicked. “Wait a minute—he’s a kitsune! Does this mean one of his eyes is his hoshi no tama?”

The old woman grinned broadly. “The cat was right. You’re a quick one, when your head’s in the right story.” She placed the box in front of him. “Now, while we’re on the subject of eyes, you may need this.”

He lifted the lid. The lining of the inside held a number of round divots, as if to hold jewelry or candy. “To hold them?”

“Wouldn’t want them to get lost or mixed up, now would we?” she asked. “You might find this useful, as well.” She placed the second object in front of him with a clink, and Izuku could only stare.

It was a small, silver teaspoon.

“Oh,” he said softly.

“You’ve been making promises left and right,” she told him. “You have to be ready for what those promises might mean. You can’t keep them if you’re squeamish.”

Izuku swallowed, still staring at the spoon. He could feel Ms. Chiyo watching him carefully.

“There’s another choice, you know,” she said gently. He tore his eyes from the polished silver and looked at her, confused. “Behind that counter there’s a phone. It still works, even if cell service is bad. If this is too much for you, then you can pick up that phone and call anyone you like. You can leave here, and live your life far away. That’s always a choice. If this is too much, then you can leave, and live your life. It's all right if the only person you can save is yourself.”

"It doesn't feel right," he whispered.

Dad would probably pick him up. He’d have to; with Mom gone, it’d be up to Dad to take care of him. But Izuku… couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just leave. He couldn’t just forget.

Izuku took the box and slipped it into his pack with his notebook. The spoon tingled in his fingers when he picked it up and put it in his pocket. “Thank you.”

She clasped his hand again and gave a wry, wrinkled smile. “Good luck,” she said. “You’re going to need it. All I can do is tip things a little further in your favor.” She released him. In his hand were three more wrapped candies.

“I won’t waste it,” he said. “I promise.”

“Now, before you go,” she said. “One last bit of advice. Visit the library, before you go back. I think you’ll want to try speaking with them one more time.”

Izuku winced. His memories of the library and its owners weren’t the best. But now, with hindsight and new clarity… “They were trying to protect me, too,” he said. “Weren’t they? They didn’t want me around because it was dangerous.”

Sorrow spread across her face. “Talk to them,” she said simply. “I think you’ll want to hear what they have to say.”

The library wasn’t open today. There weren’t any hours posted, and the door was locked, but Izuku had a mission. He knocked.

It was Toshinori who answered the door. He didn’t look very surprised to see Izuku standing there.

Izuku swallowed the lump in his throat. “He took—”

“I know,” Toshinori said quietly. “We know.” He opened the door wider. “I’m sure you have questions.”

Izuku followed him past the room of books, through the door at the back, past the kitchen and into the room at the end of the short hallway. It was a living room, as best he could tell. It was small, but it had a TV and a matching couch and chair. The other man—Mirai, Izuku remembered distantly—sat hunched over in the chair, leaning on one of the arms with his forehead resting in his hand. He still wore his dark glasses, and did not look up at Izuku's approach.

Toshinori motioned for Izuku to sit down on the couch. “I left the kettle on,” he murmured. “Won’t be a moment.” He shot a worried glance at Mirai and left the room.

Izuku took off his backpack and set it beside him, making as little noise as possible. With Mirai so close, it was hard not to think of the last time Izuku had seen him, curled up on the kitchen floor and sobbing in Toshinori’s arms. He’d put it out of his mind at the time, but now it filled him with questions.

He kept his lips tightly shut. Out of everyone in the whole town, Mirai had been the angriest to see him. But if he was only upset for the same reason Ms. Yuuki had been, and he was only trying to help, then… what did everything else mean?

“She’s safe,” Mirai said, and Izuku started so badly he almost jumped off the sofa cushion.

“What?” The hairs on the back of Izuku’s neck stood up.

“He hasn’t hurt her,” Mirai said quietly. “She’s confused, and a bit frightened. But she’s safe, for now.”

Up close, Izuku could see for the first time that his glasses weren't just tinted and dark. They were blacked out completely, and Izuku could see nothing through the lenses.

Toshinori returned before he could reply, or ask about the glasses. “We owe you an apology,” he said. 

"You should have told me," Izuku said. "You knew all about the nogitsune all along, and what he was going to do to me. The cat I understand. Ms. Yuuki was being watched. And even Ms. Chiyo gave me the candy." His throat bobbed. "But you didn't do anything. You didn't say anything. You should have told me."

Toshinori shut his eyes. "Yes," he said. "Yes, we should have."

“Will you help me now?” Izuku asked.

Toshinori glanced at Mirai, who hadn’t moved. “We’ll do what we can. We can’t go with you—you’re the one Enji wants, so you’re the only one he’ll allow back.” He stepped past Mirai, squeezing his shoulder briefly as he did, and sat down beside Izuku. “I’m sure you have questions. We’ll answer them as best we can.”

Izuku thought for a moment. “How do you know about the nogitsune?” he asked.

Toshinori’s face darkened. “Because, many years ago, he lured me through the door as well.” He saw the look on Izuku’s face and smiled wryly. “I was easy prey. Alone, starved for love and affection. But I got out. It wasn’t easy, but I got out. And then, some years later, Mirai came to this town...” His voice trailed off.

“He took Mirai, too?” Izuku asked cautiously. The man in question tensed where he sat. “What happened?”

“I got out, too,” Mirai said hoarsely. “Toshinori saw what was happening, and he got me out.”

“I did what I could,” Toshinori murmured. “It wasn’t nearly enough.”

“You saved me,” Mirai told him.

“Not all of you.”

Izuku could hear the beginnings of a tense silence, and he didn't have time for that. "Why do you keep wearing those glasses?".

Mirai hummed softly. “Are you sitting on the couch right now?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Don’t move from that spot.” He reached up and took them off.

Izuku’s stomach twisted, with horror and revulsion but not with surprise. Some part of him had already known.

Mirai was staring off to the side, with Izuku well out of his line of vision, but Izuku could still see the edges of the black buttons sewn in place of his eyes

“I let him,” Mirai said. “When he asked me to stay and give up my eyes, I agreed, and by the time he revealed his true intentions, it was almost too late. I tried to run from him, out of the house and out into the surrounding woods. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, and then I hid.” He shuddered. “There was a thicket. Bramble bushes, all very close together, very thick, very dense. I thought I’d hide until he passed by looking for me, then return to the house and escape through the Door.”

He gripped the glasses in both hands, wringing them as if he intended to snap them in two. “He knew where I was, of course. He set the thicket on fire to force me out.”

Izuku’s eyes flicked from his hands to the back of his neck, taking in the scars that peeked out from beneath his sleeves and the collar of his jacket. “But… you escaped?”

“He took my eyes before Toshinori came through and got me out,” Mirai said. “As long as I have these, he can see whatever I look at, and as long as he has my eyes, he can cause me pain and force me to see whatever he wants. His power won’t let me leave Yakoto. I was lucky to leave the Other World at all.”

Izuku’s own eyes stung and watered, and he wiped at them before the tears could fall. “But you did,” he said. “You beat him.”

“Toshinori beat him twice,” Mirai said. “He freed himself, then me—” His voice cut off with a soft choking sound. His body went rigid, fingertips digging into the arm of the chair so hard it must have been painful. With a hiss of pain he doubled over, hands flying to his face to dig into his eyes as if he wanted to rip the stitching out with his bare hands.

“Mirai—” Toshinori was at his side in an instant. “What is it? What is he doing to you?”

“Nothing,” Mirai wheezed, letting Toshinori pull his hands from his eyes. “Nothing he hasn’t done before. Bastard always did like to play with fire .”

A terrible realization struck Izuku as he watched. "Is it because of me?" he asked. "Is he hurting you because you're helping me?"

"Maybe," Mirai gritted out through clenched teeth. "Maybe not."

"Probably not," Toshinori said quietly. "It won't matter to him so much, now that you already know the truth."

In the back of Izuku's mind, he thought—maybe the nogitsune would have done worse than just hurt Mirai, if they had told him the truth before Izuku found out himself. With that thought in mind, it was harder to be angry with them.

And now...

He reached into his backpack for the box, so that he could open it and count the divots. There were eight of them in all. Just enough for four pairs of stolen eyes. Natsuo, Fuyumi, Shouto, Mirai.

Izuku gritted his teeth and put the box back. He wondered if Ms. Chiyo had already known what he would choose.

By now, Mirai had calmed again, only his harsh breathing giving away the fact that the nogitsune’s torment wasn’t over yet. “If you can take anything from this,” he rasped out. “It’s that you wouldn’t be the first to beat him. It won’t be easy, but it can be done.”

“The fact that he took your mother means he’s desperate to get you back,” Toshinori said. “I’ve never known him to steal a child’s parent to get what he wants. It means there’s something about you that—”

“No,” Izuku blurted out.

Toshinori looked confused. “No?”

“Telling me I was special is exactly how he tricked me in the first place,” Izuku said. “He used my favorite stories to pull me in. He made me think I was special, or chosen. He told me the other world would only open up for a special child, and he was lying . I’m not special, he’s just greedy and hungry.”

“All right,” Toshinori said gently. “I’m sorry, my boy.”

“Ms. Yuuki said he doesn’t like being reminded of people who beat him,” Izuku went on. “In the Other World, he didn’t even bother to make puppets for you. If anyone’s special, it’s you. He hates you. I don’t think he wanted me talking to you, or even thinking about you.” He gripped the couch cushions. “How do I beat him?”

“He’s proud,” Toshinori answered. “He hates to be beaten, but he hates the thought of being a coward even more. So challenge him.” His blue eyes glinted. “He won’t play fair. But he won’t refuse, either.”

Just like a yokai, or a fairy. Powerful hungry things always liked to play games.

“Mr. Mirai,” Izuku said. “I know it’s hard, and I know he hurts you. But can you tell me anything about where your eyes are?”

Mirai shook his head. “I can’t ask you to—”

“Just as a place to start, then,” Izuku insisted. “I have some ideas. But I need to know, and you’re the only one who can see into his world. You saw my mom, didn’t you?”

Mouth tightening, Mirai nodded reluctantly. “I see things, in between the illusions he throws at me. It’s mostly green and dark. I see leaves, sometimes, and it’s always shaded even if it isn’t dark. It’s probably a forest. I see your mother, too, but not always. There’s… haha.” He stopped, wincing.

“Is it something dangerous?” Izuku asked.

“N… no.” Mirai said, digging him palm into his forehead. “Yes. there’s a thicket.”

Beside him, Toshinori went still. “You never said—”

“It’s the least of what he’s done,” Mirai said. “I’m not sure if it’s an illusion or not, but I think—I think they’re in a thicket. The thicket. Sometimes…” He stopped.

“Sometimes?” Izuku prompted.

“Sometimes he likes to set fire to it again,” Mirai admitted. “So you might want to watch out for that.”

Izuku swallowed hard. “Is there anyone in there with you? With your eyes?”

“I see the boy every now and then,” he answered, and Izuku’s heart quickened. “With the red and white hair, and the scar. He doesn’t stay in my line of sight, but he’s there sometimes.”

“Anything else?” Izuku asked.

“Bushes, beyond the thicket. Or—hedges. They’re too cleanly cut to be natural.” Mirai shook his head. “That’s all. I’m sorry there isn’t more I can do.”

“It’s enough,” Izuku said. “I think. I didn’t have anything before.” He paused, fidgeting. “I know you don’t want me to. But I’m going to get your eyes back. I promise .”

“Your mother first,” he said tightly. “Do you understand me? Your mother first, then the children, and if you happen to have time, then me. Don’t throw your life away for someone who was foolish enough to say yes to that monster in the first place.” He slipped his glasses back in place, then turned to face Izuku with a half-hidden glare. “Don’t forget. I’m already free.”

Izuku thought about what he looked like sobbing on the kitchen floor, and the way his voice hitched when making wry jokes about fire. “No you’re not. But okay.”

Izuku walked back to the house alone.

At least, he meant to. He was halfway down the road when he looked down and found Dabi walking alongside him, broken tail held high. At first the cat simply faced forward and stayed a few feet away, as if it was only a coincidence that they were traveling in the same direction, but Izuku caught him glancing over.

“I know what I’m supposed to do,” izuku told him. His hand was in his pocket, toying with the silver spoon. “I just don’t know how to do it. I bet you do, though. Can you even tell me, in this world?”

The cat’s battered ears twitched, but beyond that Izuku didn’t get an answer.

“I’m still not sure how I feel about you,” Izuku went on. “After what Fuyumi and Natsuo said. Is it true, that you’ve killed kids to keep him from getting them first?”

Dabi stopped. He didn’t turn to look at him again. He hardly moved at all.

“I don’t want to lose my eyes and have my soul sucked out by some fox demon,” Izuku said. “I don’t want to die at all. I don’t know how I feel about you, knowing you’re ready to kill me as soon as something goes wrong.” He squeezed the spoon until the edges of the handle dug into his palm. “But you’re his enemy and you’ve been fighting him this whole time. So I guess that’ll have to be good enough.”

The house loomed before them.

Izuku took a step forward, only for Dabi to shift in front of him and fix him with a hard stare. After a few seconds, the cat went up the steps and looked back at him.

“I’ll follow you, then,” Izuku murmured.

Dabi led him to the half-open door, then down the silent, empty hallway. The cat blocked his way again just outside the downstairs bedroom, but there was little need. Izuku could hear the voices within just fine.

“It will be over soon.” It was Shouto’s voice. The puppet was speaking on its own, without the nogitsune taking over to use it as a mouthpiece. “Won’t that be nice, Mother?”

Ms. Yuuki didn’t answer, but Izuku could hear her breathing hiss and shudder with held-back tears.

“He’ll be full, and things will be peaceful until he gets hungry again,” the puppet said. “It’s nice when it’s peaceful, isn’t it? We’ll have the house all to ourselves, and you won’t have to get punished for crying.”

“Please,” Ms. Yuuki whispered.

“Why are you upset? You won’t even have to do anything. The boy’s going to do it all himself. Then Father will get two souls instead of just one. That will make him happy, don’t you think?”

“He doesn’t need both,” Ms. Yuuki said desperately.

“It would be cruel to separate a mother from her child,” the puppet replied, eerily serene. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Izuku started forward, but the cat blocked his way again. He glared down at Dabi, and found that the cat’s claws were slipping in and out of their sheathes.

Okay then, he thought. You first.

The nekomata’s ears went back. His claws slid out again, and he darted into the room with a flick of his tail so fast that Izuku could swear it split in two again. There was a cry of surprise from Ms. Yuuki, quickly drowned out when Dabi screamed.

Izuku peeked out from behind the door frame at Ms. Yuuki’s cry of “Stop! Stop it! ” The cat had flung himself claws-first at the puppet and now clung there, hissing like a furious snake, until Ms. Yuuki grabbed him and pulled him off. “You stupid animal, you’ll hurt him! You know that!”

“Don’t be so surprised,” the puppet taunted. “Your son won’t be the first child he made bleed.”

For a split second Dabi’s eyes met Izuku’s from across the room. Then, twisting around in Ms. Yuuki’s grip, he wriggled free and flew at her face instead. A cry of shock and pain cut off her next words, and she stumbled further from where the puppet stood, looking on in calm amusement.

Sweetness burst in Izuku’s mouth as he popped one of Ms. Chiyo’s candies between his teeth. The puppet was watching Ms. Yuuki struggle, not the door.

Izuku moved before he had the chance to lose his nerve.

Tackling the false Shouto to the ground made it easier to understand why the puppets in the Other World never got too close, never let him hug them. He could feel the crunch of impact, not bones but dry straw packed beneath the false skin. It made him light, and so easy to knock over with one good hit.

The puppet lay on its back staring up at him with dazed eyes—Shouto’s eyes. Izuku straddled his chest with his knees, the spoon warm from his grip.

“No—stop!” Ms. Yuuki’s voice rang out. She was still struggling with Dabi, wild-eyed and desperate to protect her son by proxy. Dabi locked eyes with Izuku again and hissed.

He looked back at the puppet’s face and his vision was faltering. It was just like his mother in the Other World. The illusion flickered and failed, and Izuku could see . The sag and texture of skin that didn’t fit just right. The blank, stretched smile that looked more like a grimace. The looseness around the eyes, not held together by buttons and string.

“Hi, Shouto,” Izuku whispered, looking deep into the eyes below him. He could feel his own watering, and that wouldn’t do; he needed to see properly to do this right.  “I’m really sorry about this. I promise, it’ll be over soon. I’m coming to get you.”

He raised the spoon.

One of them was glowing.

They took up two spaces in the box. One of them glinted in the light, as dark and shiny as polished iron. The other was glowing a faint, soft blue.

The puppet lay motionless on the floor, as limp and silent as a broken doll. Straw bristles protruded from the holes in its false skin where its stolen eyes had once been. Izuku closed the box lid as tight as it would go and slipped it back into his bag.

“I’m going now,” he said. His voice sounded thin and weak in the silence. Ms. Yuuki leaned back against the wall as if her own legs could hardly support her, one hand over her mouth. Dabi’s claws had left angry welts and scratches on her face and arms, but she barely seemed to care.

“I’m so afraid,” she whispered.

“Me too.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Her eyes shone when she looked at him, tears welling up to trickle down to her hand. “You deserved so much better.”

Izuku wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he simply said, “Lots of people do.”

“I’ve been so alone,” she said. “And it’s not an excuse for my actions. For my inactions. But I lost hope. It’s been so long since I lost hope that I don’t know if I want it back.” She wiped her eyes. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Only sort of,” he admitted. “I’m gonna try to do a lot of things. I don’t know if they’ll work. But I want a happy ending for everyone. I think it’s too late to have one without making it myself.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” she said, and he met her eyes.

He knew it, and so did she. With the puppet blinded and useless, there was nothing imprisoning her in the real world. There was nothing she had to keep an eye on, and nothing keeping an eye on her. There was nothing stopping her from following him through the door, from making sure he didn’t face what was on the other side alone anymore.

Except, there was. He could see it in the raw terror in her eyes, old pain turned to rough scabs that peeled away into ugly scars. Izuku blinked, and for a moment he could almost see those invisible scars lining her pale skin. When he blinked a second time, they were gone.

“He hurt you,” he said. It was not a question. “He hurt you a lot.”

“It’s not up to you to shield me from that,” she replied.

“I know,” he said. “But I want to.” He frowned. “At least I know there’s only one thing he wants from me.”

She pressed her lips closed, then her eyes.

She took a deep breath.

“It’s his right eye,” she said.

“What?”

“Natsuo and Fuyumi were almost as human as I am,” she said. “Shouto was—is different. He has a star ball for a soul, like his father. It’s his left eye. Enji’s is his right.” She held his gaze. “You know the stories.”

“Yes,” Izuku whispered.

“He’ll cheat whatever deal or challenge you offer him,” she said. “But if you hold his soul in your hand, that won’t matter. He’ll still be dangerous, but he won’t have any choice but to play fair.”

Izuku suppressed a sigh. One more pair of eyes to look out for.

“I don’t deserve your help,” Ms. Yuuki told him.

“Shouto does,” Izuku reminded her. “He misses you, so I’m going to give you back to each other.” His mouth trembled, but he forced it to smile anyway. “So don’t worry, okay? Like I said. It’ll be over soon.”

She didn’t smile back. But for the first time since he’d met her, she looked like she wanted to.

The hug around her waist surprised her, but she didn’t push him away. Izuku didn’t give her time to decide whether or not to return it before he let go and ran back out of the room.

The cat was waiting for him by the Door.

One last time, he thought.

He opened it.

Chapter Text

The tunnel was dark, unlit by any magical floating lights. Izuku crawled through the dark, hand over hand as the closed door up ahead slowly drew nearer.

“I hope I don’t need to tell you that this is a trap,” Dabi said, matter-of-factly. The tunnel was barely wide enough for him to walk at Izuku’s side, brushing against his arm every now and then.

“You don’t,” Izuku answered. “It’s like Toshinori and Mirai said. He won’t play fair.”

“Good.” For the first time, the cat’s voice was almost warm with approval.

“Do you have any last-minute advice for me?” Izuku asked.

“The witch’s gifts won’t work on every trick of his,” the cat warned. “He saves the strongest illusions for himself. They’ll be weakened in your eyes, but they’ll hold.”

“Anything else? You’ve been fighting him for years, haven’t you?”

The cat made a dismissive noise. “We have different circumstances, you and I,” he said. “Different tools. I fight him by starving him through any means necessary. I hope you remember what that means, for my last resort with you.”

“I know,” Izuku whispered.

“I won’t want to. And I won’t enjoy it. But since I haven’t found a way to rip his throat out myself, making sure no food passes his lips is my only recourse.” Two tails brushed Izuku’s hand in the dark. “My younger brother and sister escaped me and fed their own lives to him before I could stop it. You won’t have the same chance.”

“Don’t worry,” Izuku said. “I won’t feed him, and you won’t have to kill me.”

They reached the door. Izuku opened it.

The house was dark and rotting. Izuku wasn’t sure if the candy he had eaten was still working, or the nogitsune just hadn’t bothered with any illusions. The bright wallpaper, the pretty paintings, the enticingly full bookshelves, every little thing that had been used to lure him in, was gone. The air was rank with soil and mildew and old straw.

Izuku turned and kicked the door shut behind him. It rattled in its frame, and the bang resounded through the dim house. When he turned back around, the cat had vanished, and the Other Father stood in the opposite doorway.

It didn’t look like Dad anymore. He was bigger, broader, filling the whole doorway with his body. His black curls had gone limp and straight, and the color had faded to dark red. His face was different, angular rather than round. Only the buttons in his eyes remained the same.

He even smiled like a fox.

“You came back,” he said. “Good, good. I knew you’d see sense.”

“I want to talk,” Izuku said.

“Talk all you like.” The nogitsune stepped closer. His tongue darted out, swiping over his teeth. “Do you have anything useful to say?”

“What’s useful?” Izuku retorted. “Wouldn’t you rather have interesting? It’s probably not much fun, being surrounded by dolls all day.” He licked his lips. “There’s Shouto, but where’s the fun in talking to someone who can’t talk back?”

The nogitsune chuckled. “Clever you,” he said. “Buying time by appealing to my boredom, are you? I suppose you’re not wrong.”

“That’s why you hunt this way, isn’t it?” Izuku said. “It’s fun. You get to play with your food first.”

“You can’t imagine.” The buttons seemed to glitter. “My last two meals handed themselves right over. No challenge, not even from that damned cat. I even had to silence Shouto, after I grew weary of hearing him whine. Perhaps I’ll give him his voice back if I feel he’ll use it responsibly.”

“I’ve got something fun for you, then,” Izuku said. “I want to play a game.”

The nogitsune tilted his head. Light flashed across the black buttons. “What sort of game?”

“I think you know what I want,” Izuku said. “I want my mom. And I want Natsuo and Fuyumi’s eyes.”

“Oh? What could you want with them?”

“I want you to let them go,” Izuku said. “You already ate them. There’s no reason for them to still be here. I want you to let everyone go.” He took a deep breath. “So, how about this? You can hide them, and I can try and find them. If I can find them—Natsuo’s eyes, Fuyumi’s eyes, and my mother—you have to let us all go. Shouto, too, because I already have his eyes.”

The nogitsune’s grin widened, and he laughed darkly. “Interesting, interesting! I like the sound of this game. Of course, I’ll need something from you. Why not give me my Shouto’s eyes for safekeeping? As collateral, you understand.”

He won’t play fair, Izuku remembered, and then, He’s proud. “That’s a good idea,” he said, reaching into his backpack. “You’re right, that challenge was too easy for me. I want this to be fair, I don’t want to cheat you or anything—”

Enji threw back his head and laughed. Izuku winced at the noise, longing to cover his ears. “Cheat me, you say? Easy? As if I couldn’t win with my ears plugged and my hands tied behind my back, and you with every trump card you could imagine.” He turned up his nose when Izuku held out the box. “Keep them, then. I’d love to see what you think you can do with those.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Izuku slipped the box back into his pack and zipped it up.

“So, what do I get in return?”

Izuku let his eyes widen. “I mean, you get to eat me. I heard you’ve been really hungry, because the cat’s been stealing your food. I won’t let him steal me, if I lose.”

Another dark, grating laugh. White teeth flashed. “Has anyone ever told you that your tongue is far too clever for your head, boy?” the nogitsune growled. “I will enjoy removing it, when the time comes.”

“I’m ready,” Izuku said. “Whenever you want to start.”

“Eager.” Shadows danced across the grinning face. “We have a deal, then? Unless you’re lying, I get to devour you when you lose.”

“It’s a needle in my eye either way, right?” Izuku said.

In his vision, the nogitsune’s face flickered. Sparks of flame darted and danced across his face. “You are fun. I think I’ll keep your spirit for a while, after I’ve eaten.”

The sparks grew to embers, the shadows thrashed, and when Izuku blinked next, the nogitsune was gone.

Izuku was off and running as soon as he was alone. The cat didn’t return even with the nogitsune gone, but he couldn’t afford to worry about that now. Dabi wanted him to win; if he could help, then he would.

I should have asked for a hint, he thought grimly. It was unlikely that the nogitsune would have given him one, but still.

What did he have?

Ms. Chiyo’s candies. He’d just eaten one, so he should have a while before it wore off.

A swiss army knife, because you never knew when you might need something sharp.

Shouto’s eyes. Useless until he could find Shouto.

The box to hold the eyes.

His notebook, full of stories. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it; for some reason, the thought of leaving it behind had been unbearable.

Mirai’s vision.

In the forest, by a bush too cleanly cut to be natural, a shrub or a hedge.

There was a maze in those woods, he remembered. Dabi had tried to show him, once. Shouto—the real Shouto had stopped them. Back when he thought Shouto was a puppet, he’d assumed it was to keep Izuku from finding out something he wasn’t supposed to. But if Mirai was in pain, and his eyes were there, and Shouto was there too sometimes…

He was just trying to keep me safe.

But where to go first? If he went for Mirai’s eyes first, then it would give up his whole game. If he went for them last, after the other eyes and his mother had been found, then it would still give him away.

Where else was there? Beyond the house, the woods were vast. How would he know which direction was the right way to go? It wasn’t like he could just choose one at random.

Izuku almost tripped over his own feet.

Choose a direction at random.

He dashed outside, half-breathless, and opened his backpack to take his notebook out. With shaking hands, he knelt in the barren, scorched earth where a beautiful garden had once sat, and opened it to the page full of scribbled arrows.

Izuku placed the book on the ground, open to the two pages of arrows, and spun it. Then, closing his eyes, he stopped it with one finger. When he opened them, his fingertip rested on an arrow that pointed directly into the woods.

He scooped up his book and took off into the trees.

Several times he paused to repeat the process, wondering if he was crazy for picking his route this way. After the fourth time the notebook pointed him in the exact same direction, he stopped wasting time questioning it.

Finally, Izuku broke through the trees and stumbled to a halt at the edge of a wide, familiar clearing.

At least, it was almost familiar. The pond looked very different from the last time he’d seen it. Back then, the clearing had been illuminated by the light of stars that were far too large, and the massive night flowers that sent glowing spores fluttering through the air.

Now, walking in, Izuku was reminded of pictures he’d seen of abandoned theme parks, or old sets from plays hidden backstage where no one could see them. The brightness had been leached away. The flower petals were unfurled, but not open; instead they hung from their stalks limply, like torn lampshades. All the flora in the clearing was like that. Once full and vibrant, everything from the foliage to the grass beneath his feet drooped. The starlight reflected in the pond’s service was dim, and the sky above was pitch-black and empty.

Izuku blinked.

Wait.

He stepped closer to the pond’s edge and looked out over the pond. Sure enough, there were stars reflected in the water. But when he raised his eyes, there were no stars above to reflect.

The notebook had brought him here for a reason. Izuku turned and ran along the length of the pond, nearly slipping several times when his feet landed on the muddy bank. Finally, he reached the dock where he and Shouto had sat together and watched the stars.

Fake stars, he thought. Fake stars, and… maybe something else.

At the end of the dock, he looked down into the pond.

The stars weren’t reflected at all, he realized. They were in the pond, at the very bottom. Dozens of them, too big to be real stars. They were faded and dim, but he could still tell white from red and blue and yellow. But maybe… if he could just…

There!

Two stars stood out to him, if only because they were smaller than the rest, and closer together, and the only ones that weren’t white or red or blue or yellow. Instead, they shone silver—

No.

They were gray.

Gray, just like Ms. Yuuki’s eyes.

Izuku shrugged off his backpack and left it on the dock, along with the notebook. He hesitated, doing this. The nogitsune wouldn’t play fair—would he steal his things while Izuku was gone?

The gray lights twinkled at the bottom of the pond, waiting for him.

Izuku dove in.

The water was cold enough to burn, and he bit back a cry of pain. Crying out would mean losing air. He clawed his way through the icy water, eyes fixed on the twin gray lights below him. The other stars shone all, nearly blinding him, but he focused on the gray eyes and kept swimming. The further down he swam, the more he saw.

Not all of the false stars were at the bottom. Some of them floated in the depths, shining at him as they passed. Some of them drifted closer to him, forcing him to dodge past them.

Some of them whispered to him.

There was cold water in his ears, but he could still hear voices calling from the other stars. Not words, just thoughts in his head. One red-tinged light drifted close enough that, for a split second, Izuku longed to reach out and touch it.

He swam faster.

At last, the bottom of the pond was in sight. There were not dozens of stars waiting for him there. There were hundreds.

Izuku touched down, gritting his teeth as his hands sank into the slime. He clawed his way along, pulling himself closer and closer to the gray eyes.

Something long, cold and slick wrapped around his wrist and held fast.

A choked-off cry left his mouth in the form of a giant bubble. Izuku struggled, but more tendrils sprouted up from the slime and wrapped around his arm. He kicked and struggled, but the water and cold made him sluggish. He clawed at the tendrils, trying to rip them off or tear through them with his nails, but they were tough and slippery, and his fingers slid off of them harmlessly.

He was running out of air. How long would he be down here? How long did he have before he drowned?

Another thick tendril wrapped around his waist, and he bit back a scream. His lungs burned.

Water rushed into his mouth, and bubbles poured forth as he cried out.

“Fuyumi! Natsuo!”

And then, in the back of his mind, the girl’s familiar voice whispered.

Reach! I’m right here! Reach for me!

The eyes were right there, glistening silver lights in the dark and roiling water. Izuku stretched out his only free arm as far as it would go, reaching fingertips brushing over one, and then the other.

They blazed so bright that he had to close his eyes. The tendrils around him writhed, their grip loosening, and Izuku kicked and wriggled out of them. His hands plunged into the slimy floor, scooping up the little silver orbs, and he kicked off the bottom and swam for the surface. Lights called to him, but he could barely hear them over the roaring in his ears. He was nearly to the surface when he ran out of air

Izuku broke the surface with a watery gasp, followed by an equally waterlogged choke. With one hand he clawed his way back onto the dock and lay there, drenched and spitting up water until he could breathe again. His sodden clothes clung to him, and each heaving breath shuddered in and out.

Something pressed up against him, small and dense and impossibly soft, rumbling as it pushed against his shoulder. Izuku flinched, only to relax again when dry fur slid against his frozen hands.

“Better you than me,” Dabi said. “Do you have them?”

Still half-blind and half-drowned, Izuku opened his hands. “Where’s the box,” he rasped out. “My—my stuff. Is it still here?”

“I’ve been standing guard.” Ms. Chiyo’s box was pushed into his trembling hands. Izuku sat up, opened it, and placed the eyes in two of the empty spots.

Thank you, Fuyumi whispered in his head. I hope I helped.

“I would’ve drowned without you,” he whispered hoarsely. There was no answer, and he closed the box with shaking hands.

Dabi sat nearby, his split tails twitching from side to side. For once, his usual calm feline arrogance was subdued. “I liked her,” he said quietly. “She was nice. I’m sorry for what happened to her, but at the same time… part of me is glad that I didn’t have to kill her.”

Izuku nodded. He didn’t want to think about that. “One d-down,” he said, teeth chattering.

The nekomata stood up to brush past him. Warmth spread through Izuku’s body, easing his shivers. “On your feet, then. Let’s see where that notebook takes you next.”

Izuku had a feeling he already knew, even before he picked an arrow and set off in the direction it pointed. The trees seemed closer than they had been before, branches reaching for him as if to snatch him up. He kept his head ducked down low and focused on running in a straight line.

When the branches stopped grasping at him, he raised his head and knew that they had arrived.

Looking out on the clearing, Izuku wanted to cry and laugh at himself at the same time. The last time he’d stood here, he and Shouto had watched the dead clearing come back to live and burst with color, after stopping the monster underground from poisoning it. But it was so stupid. A convenient tunnel that led right to the source of the poison, a slime monster that was too slow to catch two little boys underground when it was the ground, and so weak that all it took was throwing two rocks at it to get rid of it completely. It was so simple, so fake, like—like an adventure story for babies, or a video game on easy mode. It hadn’t been real. It had been a fun show, a fun adventure to draw him in.

The show was over now, and Izuku could see the empty, unlit set. That was all this was, an abandoned stage set. The tree’s limbs were bare and drooping, the ground even more barren than it had been when Izuku first saw it.

“Hurts to pull back the curtain, doesn’t it?”

“Not really,” he said shortly. “It makes everything easier.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. The opening at the base of the tree roots was still there, dark and yawning against the bare ground. Izuku braced himself and jumped in.

Immediately, his vision blurred and flashed. He stood in the same underground room as before, but instead of one tunnel mouth, there were many. All of them were wide enough to see through, leading to more curving passages. Izuku could seen them branch off further before they curved out of sight, leading to what he knew would be a hopeless tangle. To make matters worse, the tunnels seemed to be moving, twisting and wriggling like hollow worms. It hurt his eyes just to watch.

He stopped, shaking his head to clear it. There was only one thing he could think to do. Please work. Please, please work. He popped another candy into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

It took him a moment to force his eyes open. When he did, there were only three tunnels to choose from, and beyond them, the strange slithering of the tunnels had stopped.

“Something wrong?” the cat asked, a little smugly. Izuku ignored him and pulled out his notebook. It pointed him down the tunnel to the right, and he took off into the dark without waiting to see if the cat was following.

The sugar still lingered on his tongue, and the tunnel seemed brighter now—not more colorful or vibrant, just easier to see. At every branch and fork in the path, he followed the arrows in his notebook, until the pages started feeling worn and wrinkled in his fingers.

At the end of the path, the monster was waiting for him. There wasn’t much to say about it; it had looked horrible then, and it looked horrible now. The tunnel around him came alive, whipping wet, stinking earth at him from all sides. Pale light blazed as a pair of stolen silver eyes emerged from the darkness.

Izuku charged at them with a yell.

It was like swimming through wet cement. Izuku clawed his way toward the light, reaching for them even as the creature tried to bring the tunnel down around him. They were so close, but with mounds of roiling earth between him and them, they might as well have been miles away. Izuku still fought toward them, spitting mud and slime as hot tears ran down his face.

He fought. He kicked. He tore through the earth with his bare hands, chasing after the eyes.

It wasn’t working. He couldn’t swim through mud the way he had in water. He hadn’t had to chase after Fuyumi’s eyes. She had reached out to him, called to him—

“Natsuo!” Izuku screamed, as mud and filth fell into his open mouth.

Ahead of him, the eyes slowed. Just for a moment, but—

That was only part of his name.

“Y-Yuuki!” Izuku choked. “Yuuki Natsuo!”

For a moment, the harsh light dimmed, and a pair of wide, frightened gray eyes stared at him from the monster’s face. Izuku thrashed his way through the collapsing tunnel, reaching out desperately. He felt something reach back.

His hand closed on a pair of cold, glassy orbs. The earth came crashing down on top of him. Izuku gripped the eyes and clawed his way up.

It was such a long way, even when the earth around him fell still. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything—was he even going upward? Had he gotten turned around? Was he unknowingly digging his way deeper?

Tears streamed down his face. He held his breath and swallowed down his own screams. Screaming would only suffocate him faster.

And then, somewhere above (he thought) he heard scratching. With nothing else to do, he clawed his way toward it.

Not just scratching—digging. The mud was loose from caving in. It was easy to dig, even with a cat’s small paws.

“This way,” he heard Dabi call to him through the mud in his ears. Izuku thrust his hand upward, and felt empty air on his fingers.

Coughing and spluttering, he dragged himself to the surface. He reached it faster thanks to the hole that the nekomata had dug. His backpack was still on his shoulders, the eyes still caught fast in his hand, but—

“No,” he choked out. “No, I—” Frantically he dug down into the earth again, but there was no use—he knew there was no use now.

“For someone who almost drowned in mud, you seem eager to go back down,” Dabi said.

“My notebook.” Izuku dug his fingers into the loosened earth. “I lost my notebook.” He fought back tears, but the tears won.

The nekomata regarded him coolly, tails waving like banners in a breeze.

“I showed you the way, before,” he said. “To the maze. Do you remember?”

“I’m not done finding things,” Izuku said plaintively. “Is my mom there?”

“You’ll find everything you need,” Dabi told him. “Go. I’ll look for your weapon. You recover what he stole. I’ll find you later.”

“But—”

“Don’t hesitate now,” the nekomata snapped. “You’re doing well for once. Don’t waste your victories before the game is even done. End this. And put those away, will you?”

“O-oh.” Izuku fumbled the box out of his backpack and filled two more divots with Natsuo’s eyes.

Our brother’s right, the ghost whispered. You’re almost done. Please, save Shouto! You have to get everyone out!

“I remember the way,” he whispered.

“Good.” Dabi was already pacing back and forth over the tossed, loosened earth, head lowered like a shark scanning the ocean floor. “Run along, now. I’ll be with you later.”

Izuku put the box away and struggled to his feet. He found a clean spot on his jacket and wiped his face as clean as he could get it. Hopefully as the mud dried it would get easier to brush it off.

Not that it would make much of a difference. He could think about being clean when he was home safe and everyone was free.

With one last glance at the nekomata, Izuku turned in the direction he knew the maze lay, and walked.

He was almost surprised when he spotted the shaped hedges through the trees. He would have thought the nogitsune would put something between them. Maybe he didn't  realize that Izuku was coming here?

Or maybe, he thought as he approached the entrance, whatever was in the maze was bad enough that he wouldn't need to.

Izuku took a deep breath, put out his right hand, and entered the maze.

He walked.

and walked.

and walked.

Time stretched like putty, longer and thinner the more it pulled ahead of him. Izuku walked along with his right hand outstretched, turning corners and hitting dead ends and doubling back, and it all looked the same to him.

Of course this wasn’t a normal maze. Of course normal maze rules wouldn’t apply. It was a trap laid by a fox demon, and it could run him back and forth in circles until the end of time, or until its creator got bored and came back to eat him. He would die, or he would wander forever in the dark and cold.

Except…

He felt warm, even though he’d just swam through freezing water and then through choking mud and earth. Izuku paused, fidgeting. This wasn’t normal. He shouldn’t feel warm in a place like this. And yet…

Izuku slipped off his backpack. The chill took hold of him again, seeping through his clothes, into his back and shoulders, so deep that his bones ached with it. But when Izuku clutched the pack, his hands were warm.

He opened it.

Nestled in with the remaining candy and the flashlight, the box that held the eyes was glowing faintly. When Izuku put his hand near it, the warmth seeped back into him, spreading from his fingertips to the rest of him.

He looked from side to side to make sure that nothing was creeping up on him, pulled the box out, and opened it.

Something small and blue and brightly burning came flying out, darting through the air toward his face. Izuku yelped and ducked away. He peeked down into the box to find Fuyumi and Natuso’s eyes still there, but one of Shouto’s missing.

Cautiously he raised his head, and found a small orb of blue fire floating in the air beside him, waiting.

The blue eye was the left one. The left eye was his hoshi no tama.

“Shouto?” He spoke in a crackling whisper, barely daring to hope. “Is that you?”

As if in answer, the flickering light bobbed in the air and darted onward, further into the maze.

“W-wait!” Izuku closed the box and put it back as gently as he could, swung his backpack over his shoulders again, and ran after it.

It didn’t follow a single wall. It darted this way and that, taking paths and turning corners that Izuku never could have guessed at. With every turn, it seemed to pick up speed, until Izuku was sprinting after it, instincts screaming to slow down not so fast, danger ahead, wait—!

Just as the narrow passageway opened up, Izuku put on a desperate burst of speed and caught the blue orb in midair. It blazed hot, then cold, so extreme in both that it burned either way. Izuku gritted his teeth, looked around, and found—

nothing.

No, not nothing. There was something, but Izuku couldn’t see what it was. The towering hedge walls no longer surrounded him on all sides, but he couldn’t see anything. HIs vision hadn’t gone dark, he wasn’t blind, he just… couldn’t see.

The star ball in his hand was a single point of heat. Even if he couldn’t see, even if there was nothing to hear, he could still feel. That was Shouto’s eye, Shouto’s soul. It had led him here. Therefore…

Izuku took a step forward, and the world materialized before him.

He was not standing in the center of the maze. He was not standing in the darkened forest. He wasn’t even outside.

Instead, he stood in the kitchen and watched as Ms. Yuuki held Shouto down and raised a kettle.

“You’re a monster,” she said, as her son struggled and kicked and fought against her grip. “You were born a demon and you’ll always be a demon. That’s why he hurts me. That’s why he took away your siblings. It was all because of you. You’re not mine, Shouto. You were never mine. You’re just his.” Her eyes glinted with a strange malevolent light. “You look so much like him. But don’t worry, Shouto.” The kettle tipped. “You won’t for long.”

The orb in Izuku’s hand blazed, as Shouto writhed and seized beneath the boiling water, opening his mouth for a scream that would not come. Izuku ran forward without thinking, and Ms. Yuuki’s maddened eyes turned to him.

The sweetness of candy burst on Izuku’s tongue once more, and Ms. Yuuki’s eyes turned into black buttons. One step, another, and another, and his foot landed on dead grass and hard-packed earth. Shouto lay curled up, hands over his button eyes, mouth open in a silent scream. The doll of Ms. Yuuki stood over him, lit from behind by dim orange firelight.

The center of the maze was a thicket.

The doll lunged but, Izuku shoved it back. It fell into the tangle of branches, struggling when the thorns sank deep. The more the doll struggled, the more tangled it became, until it the thicket had all but swallowed it up.

Immediately Izuku rushed back to where Shouto lay curled up on the ground. “Shouto!” Izuku dropped to his knees beside him, not sure what to do. Shouto couldn’t seem to hear or see him, still trapped in whatever illusion the nogitsune had created to hurt him.

Without warning, the orb in Izuku’s palm burned so hot that he was sure it would leave a mark, and with a cry of pain he let go of it. It dropped, bobbed upward again, and hovered over Shouto’s face, glowing gently.

Izuku wasted no more time. He ripped the backpack from his shoulders, tore the box from it, and opened it. The second eye sat in its divot, gray and glass-smooth. Izuku rummaged through his backpack until he found his swiss army knife. He almost cut himself twice before he managed to pull out the main blade.

He took a deep breath. His hands were shaking, and that wouldn’t do at all. Shouto was curled up in pain, mouth open like he wanted to cry out. But he kept still—at least he kept still.

“It’s okay,” Izuku whispered. With one hand he held Shouto’s face steady. “Just—don’t move. I don’t know if you can hear me. Don’t move.” He lowered the knife to the first button—the one on the left—and cut the threads that held it fast to Shouto’s face. With a few quick slices, it came loose. Izuku turned Shouto’s face toward him gently, and cut the other. He took the gray eye from the box and held it out, not sure what to do next.

The floating hoshi no tama shone brightly again. The cut threads glowed, vanishing fiber by fiber as if they were burning away. The buttons fell away, and the star ball blazed so brightly that Izuku had to close his eyes.

When he opened them, he still couldn’t see through the dark colored spots in his vision. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and while he was still blind, a hand found his. He almost startled, but it was a familiar hand. He knew this hand, of course he knew it.

“Sh-shouto?” he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them wide again. Another hand touched his face, and his vision cleared.

Shouto watched him from just inches away, staring at him with bright, glistening, real eyes.

Izuku choked on a sob and yanked him into a hug.

His friend squeezed him back, trembling with silent sobs of his own. His voice wasn’t back yet, but—that was okay. It would be okay. He had his eyes back, he had his soul back, and they could fix everything else.

“I’m so glad,” he choked out. “I’m so, so glad. Are you okay? Did he…” Did he hurt you? The question died on his tongue. He’d seen the illusion that Shouto had been trapped in. Of course the nogitsune hurt him. “That wasn’t real. You know that, right? I talked to your mom. She told me about how she burned the puppet. She didn’t know it would hurt you too, and she’s sorry. She’s so scared of hurting it now. She got upset when I did—she wanted to protect you—”

Shouto pressed one hand to Izuku’s mouth, cutting off the babble. He smiled, eyes still wet with tears. I know, the smile said.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” Izuku whispered. “We’re both gonna be free. I just have to finish this first.”

They were in the hedge maze now. The center of the hedge maze, with the thicket that Mirai had described. And that meant…

“Have you seen my mom anywhere?” Izuku asked.

Shouto nodded, but he frowned, and gestured vaguely away.

“She’s not here anymore?” Izuku’s heart sank,

Shouto shook his head. Then he stiffened, eyes widening, and squeezed Izuku’s hand. He pointed to his eyes, then turned and pointed.

Izuku followed his pointing finger. The center of the maze was a thick tangle of branches and vines, all jagged edges and thorns pointed outward, with glowing embers and curling smoke here and there.  But besides being forbidding, it was… strange, looking at it. The air shimmered and wobbled, the way air often did on hot days. But this wasn’t heat from the fire; it was magic, or illusions. Izuku had to wonder what he would have seen if he hadn’t eaten Ms. Chiyo’s candy just now.

It was hard to see what Shouto had been pointing at through the heat-shimmer of magic. At the very heart of the thicket, where the tangle was at its densest, light glowed from the darkness. Orange and blue mingled, wavering in the shimmering air.

“There’s someone else here,” Izuku said. “Right? Another set of eyes?” He turned to Shouto hopefully.

Shouto nodded. His face was bleak.

“I know who that is, I think,” Izuku said. “I have to get him too.” He retrieved the box from where he’d set it down; luckily, he hadn’t fumbled any of the eyes from it. “I-I got them already. Fuyumi and Natsuo. We’re going to take them home with us, and they’ll… they’ll be free.”

Shouto’s face tightened, and the glisten in his eyes turned to real tears. There was no saving them—not really. They were already dead. All they could do was free their trapped spirits. It would have to be enough.

Izuku turned and stepped in the direction that Shouto had pointed him. He walked carefully, gingerly, stepping around the worst of the thorns. The snap of other branches told him that Shouto was following him. Part of Izuku wanted to tell him to wait, but he looked ahead into the forbidding sprawl of shadows and spikes, dotted here and there with flames, he admitted to himself that he didn’t want to go alone.

As the branches grew closer and more tightly twisted and snarled together, avoiding them became impossible. Before long, Izuku was crawling through the thicket, forcing his way through every narrow gap he could find, thorns scratched at his face, his hands, every part of him with clothes not thick enough to turn them aside. A branch raked his hair, catching fast in his curls, and he had to stop with a cry until Shouto helped to untangle him.

Without warning, a branch whipped out at him. Izuku caught it without thinking and bit back a scream when the thorns dug deep into his palm. He had to stop, he couldn’t go on—he had to stop.

By the time he realized he was panicking, there were already arms around him, gentle hands prying the branch away and pulling out the thorns. Izuku crouched low, surrounded by Shouto’s protective hold, breathing deep as he fought back tears. Finally, when he could breathe and see properly again, Izuku pushed forward.

The heart of the thicket, the very center of the maze, was just ahead.

The world wavered in his eyes, the darkness fading. Izuku shook his head again, but the illusion persisted until, for a split second, he saw what the nogitsune wanted him to see.

In place of the burning tree was the nogitsune himself, burning brightly and grinning. At his feet was a young boy squirming in his grip. He looked barely older than Izuku, but with the dark hair and the glasses flung carelessly to the ground, Izuku knew he could only be looking at a much younger Mirai.

As he looked, the vision of the nogitsune stretched out his hands (more claws than hands, now) and plucked the eyes out of his head.

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Shouto’s hand gripped his, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw the tangle of the thicket again, and the fire twisting toward the place where the roots were thickest.

Nestled in the roots was another doll, one that Izuku had never seen before. He knew right away that it was a doll, because it wasn’t very well made, with lose skin and exposed stitching and frayed patches where the straw poked through. Its expression of pain twisted its face so terribly that it pulled at the loose, uneven threads around its mouth.

In spite of all of this, Izuku saw the dark hair with its white streak, and knew that it was a likeness of Mirai. The doll’s eyes were not buttons; they were very real, and so pale that the light brown looked almost amber.

Izuku turned to Shouto. “This is going to make him mad,” he told him. “I have to take those eyes, too, but they weren’t part of the deal. I don’t know what he’ll do about it. Okay?”

Shouto trembled as he nodded, but his face was set with determination.

Izuku stepped forward. He jumped when the puppet moved, tilting its head to look at him properly. Its face was contorted into a mask of despair, begging silently for the pain to stop. “Hi, Mr. Mirai,” he said to the eyes. “Don’t worry. You’ll have these back soon.”

He looked at the rest of the doll, at how carelessly it was put together, at the surrounding fire and thorns, and at the agony and pleading on its face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because this wasn’t right. Even if it was a doll, it felt things, enough for the pain to show on its face. “I’m sorry he made you just to hurt you. You didn’t deserve that.”

When he reached forward to take the eyes, the doll gave no resistance. As soon as they were out, its stitched-together face slackened into an expression of relief, and it leaned back and let the fire consume it.

The ground rumbled and shook, nearly throwing them both off their feet. Izuku clutched Shouto in one hand and the box with all the eyes in the others. “Shouto,” he said. “Be brave, okay? You’ve been really brave, but I’m about to make him even angrier.”

Instead of trying to stop him, Shouto simply pointed again. Above the roots where the doll’s remains lay burning, the branches twisted so tightly that Izuku couldn’t see anything but shadows in the spot where the fire was coming from. He reached in, clenching his teeth in preparation for more burning or vices of needles, and felt around until he found two glasslike orbs. He pulled them out. His vision shimmered again, and the orb on the right glowed like a hot coal from a fire.

There was a question in his mind as he touched it, and a wave of dizziness almost knocked him off his feet. His mind was rearranging itself, thoughts molding together into the answer, a piece of knowledge that he hadn’t had before—at least, not the whole thing. It was a word. Two words, in fact. He almost didn’t recognize his own voice as he spoke them.

“Todoroki Enji.”

And then the world went mad.

It was like being sucked into a tornado, or standing in the middle of an explosion, or diving deep beneath the earth to see the epicenter of an earthquake. It was like all three and more, spinning and bright light and thunder and the collision of tectonic plates, all rolled into one singular sensation. Shouto clutched him tight enough to bruise, and Izuku squeezed him back, until the chaos ground to a halt and he felt safe to open his eyes again.

The maze was gone. The forest was gone. Izuku blinked with bleary eyes, and looked around to find himself in the room again. The very first room he always saw in this house, first as a cozy sitting room full of books, then the dilapidated ruin with mold and rot and dust. Now it wavered between the two, as if it couldn’t decide which it wanted to be.

There were a few more differences, of course. There was no door leading out to the hallway. There was no window to the outside. There wasn’t even a ceiling that Izuku could see; the walls stretched upward to darkness and nothing. It hurt his eyes to look at it.

He took stock of himself. He was still here, and so was Shouto. He had the box of eyes under one arm, and the nogitsune’s eyes gripped in his hand. His backpack was gone; he’d dropped it at the center of the maze, and it hadn’t come with them to this place.

Izuku blinked again, and the nogitsune stood before them, towering over them. There was no trace left of his disguise.

The nogitsune was big and broad, a mountain of a man with hair as red as a fox’s pelt. Firelight danced about his face, reflecting off of the buttons that still sat in place of his eyes.

“You cheated twice,” Todoroki Enji growled. He showed his teeth when he spoke, too sharp to be human. “Those last two pairs of eyes weren’t part of the deal.”

“Hypocrite,” a sneering voice called down from the darkness above.

Something dropped out of the dark and landed at Izuku’s feet with a clatter. It was his notebook, battered and dirty and open to the pages where he’d written about the Other World. Silently, Shouto took the box of eyes from him, and Izuku bent down to retrieve the book.

Like a flitting shadow, the nekomata darted down and landed lightly on Izuku’s shoulders, claws digging through his clothes.

Dabi’s battered ears were laid back, his scarred blue eyes glowing as they glared at the nogitsune. “You call him a cheat, but instead of hiding his mother for him to find, you slip her in your pocket.” His tails lashed. “And then you run away and hide in your hole. And you call him a rabbit.”

Enji snarled with rage. Shouto flinched back, and Izuku stepped forward. He was aware of the world shifting again. The darkness was creeping down from the ceiling, soaking down into the walls and the floor. Bit by bit, the remains of the trap that the nogitsune had built him were disappearing. Soon, there might not even be a floor under their feet.

“Hold on,” he said. “It’s fine, isn’t it? We both cheated, so the game’s forfeit. But there’s one way we can still settle this.” He held up the nogitsune’s eyes. “You want these back, right? You want your hoshi no tama back?” Enji’s growl shook what was left of the room. “That’s simple, then. If you give me my mother back and let us go, with all the eyes, then I’ll let you have it back.”

“That’s six souls in exchange for one,” the nogitsune said. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Maybe,” Izuku said. “But it’s your soul. Would you rather I go back and throw it down the well in the witch’s garden? Or maybe I can give it to Ms. Chiyo, I bet she’d know what to do with it.”

The darkness shook with the nogitsune’s rage.

“Do we have a deal or not?” Izuku asked, backing toward the door. “Hand over my mom, and all our freedom, and you get your soul back.”

“Fine.” Flames lit the dark, and the nogitsune stretched out his hand. “Come here, then. Give me my eyes, and I will give you your mother.”

His heart dropped to his stomach, but Izuku gripped the nogitsune’s soul and walked forward.

Izuku had done many difficult things in his life. He had run after Kacchan and his friends, keeping up even when his lungs burned because they were trying to get rid of him. He had kept silent through punches and kicks and jeering words. He had come home with a smile on his face as he hid a limp, more times than he could possibly count.

But in that moment, crossing the room and meet the nogitsune was the hardest thing he had ever done. His stomach churned, his heart threatened to stop beating entirely, but he walked forward and stretched out his empty hand.

After a moment, the nogitsune lifted his own hand and held out a single orb. It at least five times the size of any one of the eyes, and it shimmered with the nogitsune’s yellow-orange power. When Izuku looked into its depths, he found his mother’s wide-eyed, frightened face looking back.

He snatched it out of the nogitsune’s hand as fast as he could.

“Now, give me my eyes.”

The door was behind him, the nogitsune in front. Izuku was closer to the door, but not faster than the creature—not by a long shot, he wasn’t.

Izuku braced himself. He didn’t have a free hand to squeeze one of Shouto’s; he could only hope that his friend was ready.

He wound up and threw, sending a blue orb sailing into the pitch-darkness beyond.

A terrible snarl ripped from the nogitsune’s throat, boiling with hatred, as he whipped around and hurtled in pursuit of the eye. As soon as his back was turned, Izuku gripped the remaining eye—the right one that held the nogitsune’s soul—and threw it in another direction entirely. Behind him Shouto was already at the door, struggling to get it open, only to flinch when his father roared.

“YOU LITTLE VERMIN!” Burning claws sank into Izuku’s back, knocking him to the ground just short of the door. He screamed in pain and terror, and his vision became a wet blur of tears.

The tears fell just in time for him to see Shouto lunge for his father’s throat.

Another snarl choked off, and hot liquid fell on the back of Izuku’s neck as Shouto drew back, sharp teeth bared. His eyes were wide and bright enough for Izuku to see the slit pupils, and there was blood around his mouth and dripping from his claw-like fingers. The painful grip loosened, and Shouto pulled him free and shoved him toward the door.

In doing so, he put himself within the enraged nogitsune’s reach. Izuku reached the open door and looked back to see Shouto diving after him with the nogitsune bearing down on him, grabbing him before he could follow Izuku through

“YOU ARE MINE!” Enji dug his claws in, more fox than man by now. “I MADE YOU, SHOUTO. YOU BELONG TO ME.”

A small slip of a shadow descended upon him, all flashing claws and lashing tails. Dabi dug his claws into the nogitsune’s face, ripping through flesh and threads until the buttons came loose. Shouto slipped free, but Enji still came after them, dragging self forward blindly until he laid one hand on the open door.

Izuku had no weapons left. None of Ms. Chiyo’s gifts would help; this was no illusion trick, just a monster trying to stop them from going home.

All he had left was his notebook.

Enji thrust his head forward, snarling with a fox’s muzzle and no eyes. Where once flames had darted around him, now they blazed out of control. Through Enji’s open mouth, Izuku could see fire building in his throat, like a dragon about to let loose an inferno.

Izuku threw his notebook straight into the open maw, and watched it vanish into fire and darkness.

From his position on Enji’s head, the cat froze. His fur bristled, and he sheathed his claws and darted off and through the door.

“Better hurry,” he muttered as he passed.

Enji tossed his head from side to side, snarling as if in pain. Flames darted out of his mouth, and his throat glowed red-hot. He choked out a gout of fire and doubled up, claws digging into the door. Izuku reached out and wrenched it shut, then turned and flew down the tunnel with all the speed he could muster.

He knew that Shouto was through, and Dabi was through, but—it was strange. As he flew down the tunnel in near pitch-darkness, he was aware of more fleeing bodies around him. Another child hurried through the passage ahead of him. And on either side of him were the small, fleeing shapes of animals. Fur brushed at him from both sides.

Behind them, fire roared in an uncontrolled explosion, glowing through the cracks in the closed door.

Izuku picked up speed, and again, he could swear he overtook two other children, not just one, before he reached the door on the other side. Light spilled into the tunnel as he shoved it open, and he turned back to see who he had passed.

He blinked, shocked, as only Shouto came tumbling through, with the cat springboarding off his back into the safety of the real world.

Izuku hesitated, staring through the empty tunnel, before he finally shut the Door and locked it with shaking hands.

He took stock of things. He still had his backpack on, with the box of eyes safe within. The key was in his hand. The glass-like orb that had held his mother lay broken on the floor beside him.

Someone coughed and wheezed, then breathed deep in and out. Izuku raised his head to find Shouto kneeling beside him, touching his own throat with one blood-flecked hand.

“Izuku?”

The voice shook and cracked on the way out, but it was a voice. His voice.

Izuku lunged at him, nearly tackling Shouto to the ground in a hug. Shouto’s gasp became a choked sob, and he squeezed back until Izuku almost couldn’t breathe.

“You brought me back.” Shouto’s voice was muffled in his shoulder; Izuku could feel tears soaking through. “You brought me back.”

Chapter Text

Eventually, they pulled each other to their feet. Dabi was already gone, and the Door was locked, the key safe in Izuku’s pocket.

Shouto seemed reluctant to let go of him, until he stiffened with a gasp and pulled back. “My mom. Where’s—” He fell silent, eyes wide, and both of them listened to the sound of running footsteps drawing steadily nearer.

Ms. Yuuki appeared in the doorway. She looked a mess, with plain loose clothes and dark circles under her eyes, as if she’d rolled out of bed after staying awake through the night. The moment she saw them, she froze.

Beside him, Shouto had gone still, too. He was still holding Izuku’s arm, and his grip tightened until it was almost painful.

The silence got to be too much, and Izuku broke it with a shaky, “Hi, Ms. Yuuki. We’re back.”

Ms. Yuuki finally moved, releasing her white-knuckled grip on the door frame. She stepped forward. Her other hand rose to her mouth.

Izuku wasn’t sure which of them moved first; all he knew was that Shouto was standing next to him, and then he was wrapped in his mother’s arms while she shook with quiet sobs.

“Mom—”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Shouto, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. And I’m back now.” Shouto wriggled gently until he could look his mother in the eye. “Izuku brought us back. I’m free now.”

Ms. Yuuki pulled him back into her arms, and met Izuku’s eyes over his head. “Thank you.”

You’re welcome and It’s okay withered in Izuku’s mouth. Neither of them felt like enough. So instead, he wrung his hands at his sides and asked quietly, “Have you seen my mom anywhere? I think—I think I got her out, but…”

“You did,” Ms. Yuuki said. “She’s up in her room—I found her back in her bed. That’s why I came down to look, because I hoped—” Her voice wobbled.

“Okay. Thank you.” Izuku ran out of the room and scrambled up the stairs as quickly as he could, tripping every few steps.

The door to the room his mother had chosen was ajar. Izuku skidded to a halt and pushed it open. “Mom?”

She lay in bed, on top of the covers with her shoes off, slumbering gently. Izuku took in the rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful look on her face as she slept deeply and calmly, and felt like he was breathing for the first time in days.

Izuku crept to her side, almost afraid to wake her up. Her eyes were closed, lids fluttering as she dreamed. When he leaned in to wrap his arms around her, she felt warm and solid.

No straw.

But something was still wrong. Izuku waited for her to stir and wake up, to hug him back and ask where he’d been and what happened. She breathed softly, her breath stirring his hair, but she didn’t wake up.

Before Izuku could work himself into a panic, there was a knock at the door.

Ms. Yuuki was coming down the hall with Shouto as Izuku crept down the stairs. They met each other at the door, exchanging wary glances, before Ms. Yuuki opened it.

The smell of tea wafted in, and Ms. Chiyo leaned on her cane and smiled at them all. The cat sat at her feet, drawing one paw over his ear.

“Well,” the old woman said. “Things are looking a bit better than they were before.”

“Ms. Chiyo?” Izuku pushed forward. “My mom won’t wake up.”

“Yes, I know,” she said gently, then nodded down to the cat, who pretended not to notice. “This one came running just now, and I came as quick as I could.”

“Can you help?” Ms. Yuuki asked.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Ms. Chiyo made it up the stairs far more quickly than a little old woman should have been able to, still leaning heavily on her stick. Izuku followed her, pacing around nervously to keep from getting too far ahead, until she went into his mother’s room to have a look. Izuku followed her in, with Shouto close behind. Ms. Yuuki hung back by the door.

As the old woman inspected his mother’s sleeping form, Izuku found that he couldn’t look away. Ms. Chiyo barely touched her, but her brisk, businesslike manner was strangely reassuring. She moved like someone who knew what they were doing, and it was just as comforting to watch her as it was to feel Shouto standing so close.

“Is she hurt?” he asked.

“No,” Ms. Chiyo assured him, finally stepping back. “It’s nothing to worry about. Simple bit of sleep magic—I expect it’s the same as what he used to send you back to your bed, the first time or two you visited his world.”

“Oh,” he said softly. “I never really thought about how I got back.”

“And that’s where you went wrong,” she told him sternly. “Magic isn’t something to be taken at face value. You look, and you question. Because if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.”

Izuku winced. “Will she be okay?”

“She’ll be fine. The sleep is sticking to her more than it did with you, but it won’t hurt her, and she should wake up on her own. If not, I have a few things I can try.”

“Will she… remember?” Ms. Yuuki asked.

Izuku bit his lip. Would Mom remember being stolen? Held prisoner? Freed? What would happen if she did?

“That’s hard to say,” Ms. Chiyo sighed. “Adults are better about questioning things, but they always question the wrong things. It’s far too easy for many of them to convince themselves that the world is a tidy little place that fits in boxes, and anything wrong with it can be fixed by keeping the boxes neat and separate. Whether or not she remembers depends on how hard a head your mother has, and how she chooses to use it.”

She reached out with a wrinkled hand and lifted his hand gently. Her eyes were bright, but her sternness had softened. “I’m glad you’re back.” Her eyes flickered to Shouto. “All of you.”

“Not all of us,” Shouto whispered.

“You think so? You must not have been paying attention.” Brusquely she took up her cane again. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, I believe you have business to take care of, yes? I would like that box back if possible.”

Izuku jolted upright, then dithered for a moment as he looked back to his mother. “Right! But… I should be here… if she wakes up.”

“Don’t worry,” Ms. Yuuki said. “I’ll be here. She won’t be alone, I promise.”

Her smile trembled when Izuku peered up at her. She was afraid; of course she was afraid. She was the one who had hosted them, who had brought them here in the first place. If Mom woke up and remembered… would she blame Ms. Yuuki for all of this?

“Izuku,” Shouto said, touching his arm. “You still have eyes to return, right?”

“Right!” He’d almost forgotten. “I have to go to the library!”

“Don’t go racing off, now,” Ms. Chiyo warned him, before Izuku could sprint straight out the door. “Someone’s got to help put those eyes back, you know!”

Luckily, Ms. Chiyo was spry for an old woman her age, and Yakoto wasn’t too far up the road. Still, no pace felt quick enough for Izuku, and finally Ms. Chiyo got fed up and sent him and Shouto on ahead.

Just outside the small library, Shouto slowed to a halt. Izuku tugged at him impatiently, only for Shouto to pull his hand out of Izuku’s grasp and cross his arms over his chest.

“You should go on,” Shouto told him, suddenly very interested in the ground. “I’ll, um. I’ll wait out here. They won’t want to see me.”

“Why not?”

Shouto’s fingers tightened around his arms. “The puppet had my eyes,” he said. “I didn’t just feel when it got hurt. I could see and hear everything that happened around it. Everything it did.” He met Izuku’s eyes for a split second, then looked away again. “You don’t know the things it said to them.”

“But that wasn’t you,” Izuku told him. “That was just a gross, ratty puppet the nogitsune made to torment everyone. Your mom knew the difference. I bet they will, too. And if they’re mean to you for what the puppet did, then I won’t give Mirai’s eyes back until they apologize.”

“Don’t do that.” Shouto’s eyes widened. “You have to give them back no matter what.”

“Well, okay. But I still think you don’t have anything to be afraid of. Watch!” Izuku darted up the steps and reached up to knock on the door. Before he could even touch it, the lock clicked, and it opened.

Toshinori stood in the doorway, staring down at him in a mixture of surprise, worry, and overwhelming relief.

“You’re back,” he said, hushed. “I thought I saw the cat run by before, but…”

Izuku smiled up at him. “I’m back,” he said. “And I have something for you. Ms. Chiyo’s coming soon to help.”

Toshinori’s hand went to his mouth. He looked close to tears.

“I brought something else!” Izuku went on. “I mean, someone else.” He looked back to where Shouto stood, looking anywhere but at Toshinori. “He helped me escape, both times. This is Shouto. The real Shouto.”

Toshinori smiled. It was the warmest Izuku had seen him so far. “Yes,” he said. “I can see that. Please, come in.” When Shouto hesitated, he added, “Both of you.”

Mirai was at the open door in the back of the front room, his eyes still covered, one hand to the wall to guide himself along.

“Midoriya?” he said uncertainly.

“I’m back!” Izuku said. “I brought your eyes.”

“Everything went dark on the other side,” Mirai said. “I wasn’t sure…”

Izuku could have kicked himself. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I should’ve taken them out as soon as I got back—that way you would’ve known right away—”

“It’s all right.” Mirai followed his voice, feeling his way along the bookshelves. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Young Shouto is here as well,” Toshinori told him.

“Good,” Mirai replied. “I saw him with Izuku before they took my eyes. I wasn’t sure they’d both escaped—”

“I’m sorry.” Shouto was holding tight to Izuku’s arm, pressing close. Mirai raised his head and turned his face toward the sound of Shouto’s voice. “I know what the other one said to you, all those times. I know it hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, either,” Mirai said sternly. “You are not responsible for your father’s actions, or those of his puppets.” Reaching out, he found Shouto’s shoulder. “Besides. Your father stole your eyes and used them to trap and torment you. You were subject to the same pain that I was.”

“Not for long!” Ms. Chiyo called from the doorway. The end of her cane thwacked against the floor as she nudged her way in, eyes alight with determination. “Where’s that box, then? I’ve been itching to fix this for going on thirty years now. It’s a long time in coming.”

Her hands slowed after she lifted the lid away. (Mirai drew in a sharp breath as light touched his eyes for the first time since Izuku retrieved them.) Beside Mirai’s eyes were two more small pairs that couldn’t be claimed. She sighed quietly, before lifting out the amber-colored ones with gentle hands. Mirai twitched, but otherwise didn’t move as she uncovered the buttons.

The witch glared at them. “You’ve lost,” she said, and they all knew she wasn’t talking to Mirai. “You’ve good and lost this time, and I don’t think you’ll ever win again.”

Then, with a stern, “Hold still,” she set to work.

That night, as Izuku lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, the door creaked softly. He tensed on instinct, imagining floating yellow-orange lights or button-eyed dolls, but relaxed when he saw Shouto standing there instead.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“My mom’s still awake,” Shouto answered. “She told me to get some sleep, but I can’t. Is it okay if I stay in here?”

“Yeah.” Izuku scooted over to make room for him. “The mattress is kinda bad.”

“That’s all right, I’ve had worse.”

For a while they lay side by side in the dark, almost touching. It was inevitable, with the bed so small, and finally Shouto curled up and shifted closer.

“I used to do this a lot,” he whispered. “With Fuyumi and Natsuo. They were older, but they always made room for me. I had nightmares.”

Carefully, Izuku curled an arm around him.

“He didn’t kill them right away,” Shouto went on, muffled into the pillow. “He didn’t hurt any of us at first. He showed us the puppet he made of Mom. We stayed in his world and played at being a family for a while. We all had our own rooms, but we always ended up staying together anyway. And then they were gone. And it was just me. I knew they were still there—he kept their souls. But he didn’t let me see them. He made sure I was always alone.”

Izuku’s eyes drifted to his bedside table. The four eyes sat together, cushioned on a smaller pillow, less like real eyes and more like smooth crystal glass.

“They’re free now,” Izuku said. “We’re all free, and you don’t ever have to be alone again.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be free of him.”

Somehow, eventually, Shouto fell asleep. Lulled by his quiet, even breathing, Izuku drifted off as well.

He floated in soft nothingness for a while, before the world—or at least, a world—came back to him.

Not the Other World. This one did not pretend to be the one he knew. There were stars above, not swollen to impossible sizes but normal pinpricks of light in an inky blue-black sky. Izuku looked down and found stars below him, as well.

Shouto was beside him, standing on stars and the blackness in between. When he turned his head, Izuku saw that his left eye, the blue one, was glowing as soft and bright as another star. Shouto looked back, then past him, and his mouth opened. Izuku turned around.

The last time he saw their faces, they had been pale, see-through ghosts in a dark basement, with black buttons where their eyes should have been. Now their eyes were back, shining silver and gray, as they fell upon Shouto with bright smiles and sparkling laughter.

Izuku blinked, and his vision wavered. For just a split second Shouto looked very small, not twelve but six or seven at most, as Fuyumi swept him up in her arms and twirled him around and Natsuo bounded in to mess up his hair until the red and white mixed. When Fuyumi put him down he was himself again, breathless and windswept with tears in his eyes.

Shouto opened his mouth to say something, before Fuyumi tweaked his nose. At his normal age, she almost had to reach up a little to do it.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she scolded him. “You’re going to say you’re sorry, aren’t you?”

“Well, I’m not,” Natsuo said before Shouto could reply. “If we hadn’t done what we did, it’d be all three of us dead and gone. But this way you get to live. You even made a friend.” He shot an impish grin at Izuku, who smiled back.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” Shouto said at last, when he could get a word in edgewise. “I wanted all of us to escape together.”

“What are you talking about?” Fuyumi asked. “Of course we did! Tell him, Izuku!”

Izuku opened his mouth, then closed it again, as a few things clicked together.

“I felt you with me in the tunnel,” he said. “There were two others just ahead of me. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“You should keep this one, Shou,” Natsuo stage-whispered. “He’s smart.”

“But—wait, I only felt two other kids,” Izuku said. “If that was you two, then where was Shouto?”

“I was right next to you,” Shouto said, sounding confused. “Didn’t you feel me there?”

He had felt something—the cat on one side and… something else on the other?

“It’ll come to you,” Natsuo said with a grin. “Like I said, you’re smart. Smart enough to escape the old fox, even. I’ll bet he’s madder than a wet cat.”

Izuku winced at the thought. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

He expected them to smile and agree, but instead the two ghosts fell silent. They looked at each other, and even Natsuo’s grin faded away.

“It is over,” Fuyumi said softly. “For us, it’s over.”

“What about us?” Shouto asked.

“You’re still in danger,” Natsuo said. “That’s why we’re here. We wanted to see you one last time, but we wanted to warn you, too.”

“But I locked the door!” Izuku protested. “Is there another key?”

Fuyumi shook her head. “No. Just one. But he’ll find it, as long as it’s in a place he can reach.”

“Mom’s packing up,” Shouto said. “We’re going to leave Yakoto soon.”

“But then what if someone else moves in?” Izuku asked softly.

“And if he ever gets out, he’ll never stop looking for you,” Fuyumi added. “As long as there’s a way out for him, as long as he’s still alive, you’re in danger.”

“It’s not all bad,” Natsuo said. “You’re still alive, remember?

“And you’re not alone,” Fuyumi added. “Don’t forget that.”

Don’t forget.

Izuku’s eyes snapped open in his bedroom.

“Izuku?” Shouto whispered. “You saw that too, right?”

Izuku sat up. His hand went to his pocket, where he’d slipped the key before. He held it up, and it caught the faint moonlight through the windows.

“We have to hide this,” he said. “Somewhere he’ll never find it. Somewhere—”

Shouto’s hand closed around his wrist. “There was one place,” he said. “One place not even his puppet would go.”

Izuku kicked back the covers and went to retrieve his flashlight and throw on his jacket. His eyes fell upon the table by his bed, where he’d left the eyes before going to sleep. Shouto followed his gaze, confused, and fell still at what they saw.

It was just like the sphere where Izuku’s mother had been kept; the four tiny orbs lay broken underneath the lamp.

In the end, Izuku had to tug Shouto toward the door. A shadow flitted across their path; Dabi blocked their way, eyes as bright as warning beacons.

“We have to get rid of the key,” Izuku whispered, stepping over him. Now, before the nogitsune comes after us first.

The cat hissed softly, blocking the way again with unsheathed claws. Shouto nudged him out of the way, and the two of them crept downstairs. The house was quiet; Ms. Yuuki must have gone to sleep.

“Do you know the way?” Izuku asked.

“The puppet went down a few times,” Shouto replied. “It never set foot in the garden, but I’ve seen the path enough times.”

“Let’s go.” Izuku led the way outside, closing the door behind them as quietly as possible. With that, the two of them hurried around the back of the house and into the woods.

The night was warm in midsummer. The cicadas had gone quiet in the night, and not even the chirping of crickets could be heard. The flashlight lit their way, its pale beam bouncing with every footstep, sweeping the ground for jutting roots and rocks. The hairs on the back of Izuku’s neck prickled, and he had never wanted so desperately to look back and make sure they weren’t being followed. But there were stories about that—don’t run, because things that run are meant to be chased, and don’t look back. Don’t ever look back.

“Izuku?” Shouto whispered. They were holding hands again—Izuku didn’t know who reached first, only that he wasn’t about to let go anytime soon.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know any more good stories?”

Ghost stories sprang to Izuku’s mind, but he pushed them away. “I know one,” he whispered back. “It’s short. Have you ever heard the one about the star thrower?”

“No.”

A twig cracked behind them—or did it? Izuku wasn’t sure. “There was a man who lived by the sea, close enough to the beach that he’d go walking on the sand almost every day, just watching the waves.”

A beach was good, a safe place for a story. A beach was very far from a dark forest at the foot of the mountains.

“One night, there was a storm. It lasted throughout the night, with thunder and lightning and waves crashing onto the shore. It was over in the morning, and the man went walking again.”

This was where the path ended. Izuku gripped Shouto’s hand, and they walked on, hurrying but not quite running in the dark. The key felt heavy in his free hand.

“There were starfish. Everywhere, all along the beach, as far as the eye could see. Scattered along the sands. The storm had thrown them up on the sand, but now the tide was out, and the sun was coming up.”

The moon wasn’t full, but it was close. This far from the city and all the light pollution that went with it, it was dark enough for moonlight to make a difference. They weren’t far now.

“Further ahead, the man could see someone else walking along the beach. Only they weren’t just walking. They’d bend down and stand up again over and over, almost like they were dancing. And as he got closer, he noticed that the other person wasn’t dancing; he was bending down and picking up starfish, throwing them back into the ocean, again and again.”

Even in the dark, he knew the path. It wouldn’t be long.

“So the man who lived by the sea asked, ‘What are you doing?’ And the other man answered, ‘I’m throwing the starfish back into the sea. The tide is out and the sun is coming up. They’ll dry out and die if they don’t go back.’”

He could almost see it ahead, the shape of ancient benches and tables, Once they got close enough, he would see the birdhouse where Ms. Yuuki had lit incense to keep the nogitsune away.

“The first man said, ‘But look at how many there are. There are miles of beach, and there isn’t enough time before it gets too warm. Most of them will die. You can’t possibly make a difference.’”

They reached the clearing, lit with the soft silvery light of the moon. They almost didn’t need the flashlight at all.

“And the other man bent down, and picked up another starfish,” Izuku said. “He threw it back and said, ‘I made a difference for that one.’”

At the center of the old garden, the well sat sealed in its ring of mushrooms. The lid was buried under years of dirt and weeds and loam, but between the two of them they levered it up and carried it to the side.

Now open, the well was a perfect circle of pitch-black, swallowing up the moonlight cast into it. Izuku imagined falling in, and felt dizzy and sick.

“We made a difference, didn’t we?” Shouto whispered.

The nogitsune was old. The house was old. Dabi was old, too, and he wasn’t even the first child the nogitsune tried to eat. The Other World was built on the bones of children.

Izuku took the key out of his pocket. “I think we’re about to.”

And then there were hands in his hair, curling and twisting cruelly. Izuku cried out as he was yanked off his feet and dragged by his hair away from the well. The hands left his hair to claw at his fingers, trying to take the key.

“Izuku!” Shouto ran forward, reaching toward him. Fire blazed in the darkness, curling toward Shouto with harsh yellow-orange light. Izuku saw Shouto flinch back, the alarm on his face morphing to frozen terror. The moment he was off balance, a ragged shape cannoned into him, throwing him back toward the open well. As Izuku watched in horror, Shouto fell into the dark pit and barely caught the side before he vanished completely.

“No!” Blindly Izuku rushed forward, reaching out for the hand grasping the rim of the well, before he was grabbed by the hair again, flipped onto his back, and pinned.

The thing that was not Shouto crouched over him, pressing one knee down on his chest with more strength and weight than someone that size should have. It grimaced down at him, its face mangled and torn open from the empty eye sockets, exposing the dry, musty straw beneath. There were other rips and tears in its covering, skin hanging in loose shreds over straw stuffing, like a rag doll chewed to pieces by a dog.

“What’s the matter, little rabbit?” Shouto’s distorted voice asked from the ragged remains of the puppet’s mouth. It was torn open at the corners, stretching into a ghastly parody of a smile. “No more tricks and games? No more clever little stories?”

Izuku writhed and kicked, tearing at the puppet with his free hand, but it didn’t seem to feel pain. It tore at his fingers until they bled, but he refused to let go of the key.

“He’s going to savor your life,” the puppet told him. “Every drop. You belong to him, and he’s waited so long.”

“He doesn’t belong to anyone!” A flash of blue, and the puppet was dragged off of him. Izuku scrambled to his feet as soon as he could. Shouto was there, standing between Izuku and the puppet. His fingers were claws again, his teeth were fangs, and he had the eyes of a fox.

“Don’t stand in his way, Shouto,” the puppet snarled. There were fresh claw marks through the puppet’s face. “You think the deal with your siblings will stop him from punishing you? It never has before. He can’t kill you, but he can make you wish he would.”

“You can’t have him,” Shouto snarled, showing his sharpened teeth even as he trembled. His left eye began to glow again.

“Oh, are you going to fight?” the eyeless puppet spat. “After all these years of cowering in the dark, now you’re going to fight?”

Izuku thrust himself forward to stand by Shouto. “He’s better than you!” he shot back. “You’re just a puppet that can’t hold up to the real thing!”

The puppet’s mangled face stretched in a nightmare of a smile. “Is that what you think, little rabbit?”

“No,” Ms. Yuuki said from behind him. “You’re not even that, anymore.”

The puppet whipped around, and Ms. Yuuki lifted a bottle of cooking oil in her hand and flung its contents over the torn doll. It flinched back, and Izuku and Shouto backed further away from the spatter.

Slowly, the puppet lowered its arms, staring at Ms. Yuuki with its eyeless face. “Mother,” it said in Shouto’s voice. “Please, Mother.”

Flick.

The match flame illuminated the cold, protective fury on Ms. Yuuki’s face. “He won’t get another child from me. Not mine or anyone else’s.”

The puppet went up like a torch.

It screamed as it burned, so piercing and hideous that Izuku had to cover his ears. It turned on him, a mass of curling skin and blackened straw, and lunged at him with fiery arms outstretched. Shouto got between them to force it back with a swipe and shove, but still it reached for them as the fire consumed it. It’s next lunge was blocked again, this time by the heavy wooden well cover.

Izuku stared. “M-Mom?”

Without a word, his mother swung the lid like a shield, striking the burning puppet hard enough to send it stumbling back. Its steps carried it the rest of the way to the open well.

And then it was gone, the firelight swallowed up in the black.

Mom dropped the well cover with scraped, bleeding hands. She cried out in alarm when Izuku went to the pit, only to fall silent again when he threw the key in. Shouto wasted no time dragging the heavy lid over, and Izuku helped him place it over the well, sealing every edge.

“Over here,” Ms. Yuuki called. “Hurry.” She was grasping one of the old tables, struggling to move it on her own. Izuku and Shouto rushed to the other end, with Mom following close behind. Between the four of them they carried the table over to the well and set it on top, holding the lid in place.

The forest fell still.

“Mom,” Izuku began, and was pulled swiftly into her arms. The smell of straw still clung to her, but she was still warm and real; pressed so close, he could feel her heartbeat. “I—the door—”

“I know,” she whispered, trembling as she held him close. “I know. Ms. Yuuki told me on the way.”

“And—” His voice caught. “You believe… everything?”

“Well… a certain someone led us here.” She turned her head, and Izuku followed her gaze.

Dabi stood at the edge of the clearing, tail waving like a banner.

No—tails. His two tails were out and visible, curling independently as his blue eyes glowed with unnatural light.

“It’s hard to be skeptical, when you have a nekomata leading the way,” Mom said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku said. “It’s my fault. I got tricked, and—and I should’ve told you what was happening, and he took you—”

“I’m here,” she whispered into his hair. “I’m here now. It’s going to be all right. It’s okay, Izuku. It’s okay.”

Izuku felt her tense up against him, and he followed her gaze to where Shouto and his mother were standing. Shouto had drawn back, looking small again. His teeth and claws hadn’t gone away, his pupils were still slits, and his left eye still glowed with the power of his hoshi no tama.

He looked away, pressing his lips together and hiding his hands behind his back.

“I look like him, don’t I?”

“Oh, Shouto.” It left Ms. Yuuki in a breath, and she closed the distance between them in two steps. Gently she cradled his face in her hands until he looked at her again. “You don’t look like anyone but yourself.”

“But I’m like him,” he said. “I’m a—I’m what he is.”

“And you’re my son, and I love you,” Ms. Yuuki answered. “You aren’t to blame for what he did, Shouto. You are your own person, not a slave to his blood.”

“Mom,” Shouto breathed out like a sigh of desperate relief, and his claws vanished so he could hug her properly.

Overhead, the moon and the stars shone on. Slowly, the crickets began to sing again.

Chapter Text

Bags and suitcases lay by the front door, packed to the brim with clothes and belongings. On one side were the Midoriyas’ few suitcases, and on the other were a great deal more belonging to Shouto and his mother. Gradually, all of it was loaded into the Midoriyas’ car; whatever didn’t fit went into Toshinori’s.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Ms. Yuuki said, for at least the dozenth time.

“Nonsense!” Toshinori waved her off. “What use would I be if I didn’t help in the aftermath? Besides,” he added, at a more conspiratorial tone, “I think the trip will do Mirai good. He’s still getting used to seeing with his own eyes out of his own head.”

Izuku smiled to himself as he loaded up another suitcase. Truth be told, it really wasn’t that much. As big as the house was, Ms. Yuuki hadn’t owned a lot of personal things. Maybe there hadn’t been much point, in her eyes.

But things would be different, now.

“Ms. Yuuki,” Mom said.

Shouto’s mother smile wearily. “Please, call me Rei.”

“Ah, Rei then. Do you know where you’ll go now? What you’ll do?”

“I know where,” Ms. Yuuki replied. “We’ll be headed in your direction, in fact. Toshinori and Chiyo say they know people in the area, who can help with things like finding work, and enrolling Shouto in school, that sort of thing.” Worry creased her face in a frown. “I’m not sure exactly where we’ll be. But we can’t stay here any longer. I want my son to be able to have a childhood for a while and grow up, and we can’t do that here.”

“We’ll be fine, Mom,” Shouto said, handing her the last of the bags.

Izuku recognized the determination on his mother’s face, and his heart lifted with hope. “Well—listen. Izuku and I—we don’t have much, especially in the way of space. But if you two need a place to stay, then our door is open to you. Even if it’s just until you find a place for yourselves! You’re always welcome.”

Ms. Yuuki clasped her hand warmly. “Thank you. I hope I won’t need to impose on you like that, but—thank you.”

Inevitably, Izuku and Shouto wandered off while their mothers were talking. Ms. Chiyo and Mirai had come out to see them off as well; Izuku was happy to see the latter look more relaxed and content than he ever had before.

“Leaving soon, dears?” Ms. Chiyo asked.

“Soon,” Izuku said. He paused, looking from one to the other. “Thank you. For everything.”

Mirai tapped his temple, inches away from his restored eyes. “I can’t possibly repay you for this,” he said bluntly. “Thank you, Midoriya.” He looked to Shouto. “Both of you. You’ve been very brave. You deserve good lives.”

“I might be back,” Shouto murmured. “Someday.” His words brought solemn looks to their faces. “He’s not gone, after all. The key may be gone, but there’s a chance he’ll find another way out.”

“I’d be lying if I said I was looking forward to that,” Toshinori said, coming up to join them. “Like Mirai said, you both deserve to live in peace.

“If Shouto comes back, then I will too,” Izuku said.

“You don’t have to,” Shouto murmured.

Izuku frowned. He turned to Ms. Chiyo. “I have a question. I’m not sure if you can answer it, but… something happened in the Other World. We were about to escape, and the nogitsune was trying to stop us. I didn’t know what else to do, so I threw my notebook at him. It went down his throat, and… I don’t know. It looked like it really hurt him.” 

Ms. Chiyo’s eyes widened. “What sort of notebook was this, then?”

“Nothing special—” Izuku began.

“It was special,” Shouto broke in. “You filled it with stories and things that were important to you. It was so special, he stole it from you so he could use what was in it to trap you.”

“Yeah but—” Izuku was cut off by Ms. Chiyo’s surprisingly boisterous laugh.

“Ha! I knew it.” She clapped her hands sharply. “Didn’t I know it? I told you.”

“You told me,” Toshinori said in a long-suffering voice.

“Wait, told him what?” Izuku asked. “What did it mean?”

“The whole reason the nogitsune wanted you, dear,” Ms. Chiyo replied. “Rei could see it too, the moment she laid eyes on you. You filled that book with all the love and magic in your heart, and then you wielded it to protect yourself. No wonder it was too much for even his greedy throat.”

“I… used magic?” Izuku asked.

“Of course you did, dear,” Ms. Chiyo said. “You’ve got the talent.”

His head spun. Magic? Him?  So there was something special about him after all? But that was supposed to be just a lie the nogitsune told to reel him in. Was he right? Had the nogitsune even known he was right? This was too much, on the day he was supposed to leave, no less. He was finding out he had magic right before he was about to leave the only people who could teach him what to do with it.

Ms. Chiyo laughed again. “I wouldn’t say that! I’m not the only witch in the world, you know. There are others—we always manage to stumble upon one another. If you could find me, then you can find another. Don’t fret. Your magic will know what to do, even if you don’t. And besides,” she added with a knowing smile. “You can always keep in touch.”

“Izuku!”

“Shouto!”

“That’s our cue,” Toshinori said. “Go on, then. Let’s not keep your mothers waiting.”

With their last goodbyes, the two of them turned to where their mothers waited for them. It felt like walking downhill in one long exhale, a sigh of relief after everything that had happened.

“Sorry your vacation got cut short,” Shouto said.

Izuku laughed. “It’s okay. I think I need a vacation from this vacation anyway. After everything that’s happened, I almost miss going to school.”

Shouto pursed his lips. “...Do you really? I remember what you said about it.”

“Oh.” Izuku’s face fell. “Right.”

“I’m going to make sure I go to the same school as you,” Shouto told him, reaching for his hand again. “If anybody tries to hit you again, they’ll be sorry.”

“I think you’ll make it better just by being there,” Izuku said, smiling. “I won’t be lonely anymore.”

“You won’t ever have to be lonely again,” Shouto told him. “I promise.”

“I know. I promise, too—no more loneliness for either of us.”

The cars started off down the road, leaving the house behind, passing through Yakoto and beyond it. Rolling fields and mountains swept by their windows, and Izuku sat back and thought about the rest of the summer, and the autumn afterward. Back to school, back to uncaring teachers, back to Kacchan.

For once, his stomach didn’t twist with dread at the thought. After everything he had done, how hard could it be?

He’d faced down a hungry demon in a nightmare world. He’d escaped and freed ghosts and beaten the demon back. He had magic, all his very own. After all that, why would he be afraid of Kacchan?

The sun rose higher as midmorning turned to noon. The house stood nearly empty, the little door at the end of the hall locked and forgotten, its sole key lost to the darkness. Behind it, an old evil went to sleep hungry again, trapped and powerless with no one in reach to control.

Up on the roof, the battered tomcat who had once been a boy with a different name sat and watched the cars fade away into the distance. When he could no longer see them, he got up with a slow, graceful stretch. His twin tails switched from side to side, and he thought about the long past behind him and the infinite future ahead.

They would be back. As sure as the sun would rise each morning, his fox brother and the green-eyed witch boy would return.

He looked forward to it.