Chapter Text
☆☆☆
If you ride your horse south, you’ll reach the end of the world.
And if you’re brave enough to keep on going – if you make it past the golems and the trolls and the swamp-beast that guards the bridge – you’ll find a fishing town on the bay. Delightfully plucked out of time, barely held together by sticks and old damp mortar.
Or so Shouto was told.
For a crazy old shopkeeper on the edge of the desert, her advice was shockingly accurate. When his horse ran where the maps don’t go – when he bested the golems and the trolls and the beast, he found Baytown right where she said it was; snuggled between the mountains, grey and dreary and rocking with the rain.
“Knock your boots!” calls the bartender. Shouto does so, under the eyes of every patron in the tavern. He kicks the plank in the floor, and all things considered, does very little in the grand (and wet) scheme of things, but the bartender settles for a little less mud on the floor, and turns to scrub tankards.
It’s muggy in here. The air smells like alcohol and sweat and cigar smoke, and Shouto notices a clientele of mostly humans (as small as that is). But there are two dwarves seated at the grey window, and a lizardfolk sipping ale.
Shouto sits at the barstool, and the barkeeper barely spares him a glance.
“You’re new.”
“And you’re off the map,” Shouto says right back, wringing the water from his coat. The bartender turns fully, and raises an eyebrow.
He doesn’t look approachable by any means. Tattoos peeking over his collar, piercings in his ears, and a gaze that could damn near set you on fire. He’s relatively young looking – maybe no older than Shouto. You certainly don’t see blonde hair like that back in the center kingdom. He doesn’t quite look like a Baytown local, either.
“The people here prefer it that way,” the bartender grunts. “Buy a drink or state your business.”
“I’ll do both.” Shouto doesn’t lower his hood, and is careful to keep his gaze low. “Rum is fine.”
The bartender gives him a deadpan look, “It’s a commodity here. You won’t find any city prices.”
“I’ll pay it.”
When the bartender makes no motion to move, Shouto sighs and digs a handful of shillings out of his pocket. Once they clatter against the bar, the bartender turns to prep a glass. His voice comes out gruff and short.
“Who you chasing?”
Shouto is almost caught off guard by the question. It’s accusatory – like there’s no other reason to ride out this far.
“I’m looking for a wizard that fought as a paladin in the war. Goes by the name of All Might.”
Everything pauses, at that. The chatter previously filling the tavern hushes momentarily, and the bartender freezes mid pour. A scowl falls on his face, and he bangs the bar with his fist. The chatter resumes naturally, and Shouto’s hackles raise.
“Hey newbie. Watch your fuckin’ mouth around this place. This ain’t your momma’s house.”
The bar creaks with the storm outside. The planks under their feet are only a mere few feet above the bay, and you can hear the water slosh through the logs.
Shouto scowls back, “I was told he was taking refuge here.”
“You wanna’ talk any louder? Or would you like to parade around with a big fat target on your back?”
The bartender is tall and wide, but Shouto is equally so, and cannot be intimidated.
“Cut him a break, Bakugou,” a patron raises his glass. He’s dressed like a fisherman; old, short, and scruffy with a white beard. “He’s only a lad.”
“Tch. No older than me.”
Bakugou. He wipes his hands off on a towel and sneers – and by reaction alone, Shouto can assume he must know something about his target. Shouto pulls another coin from his pouch, and slips it on the counter.
“I’m not a bounty hunter.”
Bakugou looks between the coin, and Shouto’s shaded eyes.
“The wizard doesn’t live here. He only passes through during the full moon.”
Shit.
Shouto rubs at the bridge of his nose and sighs. The full moon was three days ago.
“It was a five-month ride by horseback.”
“Hmm. You’re far from the castle, princess. I wouldn’t even bother with the hood if I were you.”
Shouto’s head snaps up. He lowers the hood slowly, and squints in his own defense.
“Excuse me?”
“Word travels fast in a small town, your highness.” The fisherman nods his head. He swings back his mug, and taps it roughly at the counter. “You don’t see Icelandic horses anywhere but up in the north.”
Damn it all. Shouto tied his horse a quarter mile down the river, and they still saw.
“No kidding,” Shouto mutters. He looks once around the bar, and sees a few curious eyes peering his way. “Any lodging here?”
“Yes, but we’re full,” the fisherman says. “Lost a house to uh…an incident, the other day. It’s full of families.”
“Your best bet is to turn around the way you came,” Bakugou points. “If you made it past the trolls once, you can make it again.”
Shouto takes a long sip from his glass. He sets it down smoothly, and without clatter.
“Yeah, I won’t be doing that. I’ll camp out in the woods. Seems it’s all I’m good for, these days.”
The fisherman and the bartender share a look.
“Hell, I ain’t gonna’ tell ‘em,” Bakugou huffs. He turns his back and scrubs glass in a bucket, and the fisherman rubs his eyes tiredly. The windows shake from a particularly hard blow of the wind.
“Listen closely lad, because I’ll only say it once,” the fisherman mutters. “Baytown closes when the sun hits that peak over there. You’ll find a clock on every wall. When it chimes seven times, you best near run for shelter.”
Shouto straightens, and thumbs over the knife at his hip.
“Why? Is it bandits?”
“No, it’s worse, and I don’t dare speak the name.”
“Yeah, and your little toothpick ain’t gonna’ do shit for it,” Bakugou grunts. Shouto takes his hand off his hip and puffs through his nose. Keen eyes, this one.
“Demons?”
“No. Baytown is…” the fisherman lowers his voice. “It’s a battleground for spirits. If you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, you best stay indoors.”
Shouto clenches the fingers of his left hand. It aches, as it always does.
“I can clean up your ghost problem for you.”
“Aww, he’s noble,” Bakugou mocks. Shouto glares at the back of his wide shoulders.
“I wouldn’t do that either, kid. The locals worship these spirits like gods.”
“Yup. If you keep your head down and your nose outta’ their business, you’ll live another day.”
“No one’s ever looked ‘em in the eye and lived.” The fisherman picks his teeth with his pinky nail, and spits in his empty glass. “Best not upset the balance.”
This doesn’t feel right.
Interest piqued, Shouto tips his head to look out the storming window. The lanterns sway left and right.
“I don’t fear ghosts.”
“That’s because you’re a city boy, your highness,” the fisherman grins. “Go down to the edge of the dock and speak with the man named Aizawa. He’ll shelter your horse for a bit of manual labor. Maybe let you sleep in the empty stall, if he’s got one.”
“Ugh, come on Torino, quit helpin’ him.”
“He’s a prince.”
“Well, his highness can starve for all I care.”
Shouto rubs across his eyebrows. Great – half a year’s journey, and he’s now stuck here – in a pathetic fishing village, months past any signs of real civilization.
He wants to go home, but he can’t. Best make do.
“I can pay for my horse’s stable,” Shouto offers.
“Inheritance won’t do you much good here. It’s about what you can do with your hands, not your wallet.”
“And I would quit parading around your daddy’s money, if I were you,” Bakugou snips. “Little princess won’t fare so well with a dozen bandits up her ass.”
Shouto feels his eye twitch. Okay, this guy’s an asshole.
He turns to the fisherman, and bows politely.
“Thank you for your help, sir.”
“I ain’t helped you nothing. Here, you can only help yourself.”
Shouto slides off the bar and ignores the scowl from the bartender completely. He props up his hood, and walks away from the mumbling behind him.
“Ten silver he doesn’t make it through the night.”
“Midoriya won’t like you betting.”
“Tch, like I give a fuck what he thinks. You on or what?”
“I’ll bet you thirty.”
Shouto slams the door none too nicely.
☆☆☆
When he leads his horse down to the edge of the southern dock, he sees a man dressed in black, winding fishing twill by hand.
He looks up with a scowl (why is everyone such a grouch in this town?), and he rolls his eyes deeply. They’re bloodshot and sunken, and his face is stubbly and red from the cold.
Shouto doesn’t even have to speak. Aizawa takes one flat glance at his clothing, and rises to his feet with a groan.
“You’ll shuck bales and nothing less. Stalls mucked by morning, and if I find you gone in the night, I’m setting your horse free.”
Shouto doesn’t have any idea why this town is so paranoid about nightfall, but for his horse’s sake, he nods.
Baytown is built like a disease. Homes that spread outwards, adapted off the grey lake, and up the mountains. Aizawa leads him over the wooden bridges and up to the muddy hills, where a stable is hidden in the trees.
The paint is chipped red, and the walls have patched holes; mismatching wood in odd places, like something, or someone, barreled straight through.
Aizawa lights a lantern, and leads him to a spare stall in the back of the barn. Shouto’s horse spooks at the sound of other animals, and he shushes her quietly, until she’s locked in her pen.
“Fresh hay is there,” Aizawa jerks his thumb. “You ever cleaned stalls before?”
Shouto is a little embarrassed to say,
“No.”
Aizawa is looking at the insignia on his cloak when he mutters, “Right. Well.” He points, “Shit goes in that wheelbarrow. Wheelbarrow goes outside. Fresh hay goes on the ground. No education necessary.”
The wind blows on the old barn walls. Shouto tucks his hands into his pockets, and nods.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Whatever. That stall over there is empty. You can crash when the work is done.” He starts out on his way of the barn, patting a horse on the nose and hanging his lantern up on the hook. The barn fills with orange light – and Aizawa stops before exiting the stable. “I’m serious, kid. No matter what you hear – don’t go into town until morning.”
The door slams shut, and rocks back open from the force of the wind. Shouto’s horse nudges against his shoulder.
He sighs deeply, and pets through her forelock.
“Sorry, Cyrus. We’ll be here for a while.”
☆☆☆
The barn holds horses, and a few goats that bleat with every rattle of the wind. The stalls are a right mess, and some of the horses aren’t too keen on a stranger in their pen, so the work takes time.
When he dumps the wheelbarrow out in the gutter, he looks out to the edge of town, sitting on the lake. He can’t see a damned thing in the dark – and even if he could, the town is showed in night fog. He can only hear a low croon of the wind, and a wolf’s howl.
Maybe this town is crazy, Shouto thinks, slamming the barn door shut once more. It wouldn’t be the first.
When the stalls are clean, Shouto nabs some extra hay and piles it in the corner. He’s sore as he sits, and it’s cold without a fire.
Shouto looks to his left hand, and examines the digits. All five are there – if only a little calloused from his sword, and the mucking shovel. Otherwise, they’re undamaged.
The urge to light a fire is strong, but he resists. He doesn’t fall asleep easily; only when the goats stop bleating, and the wind settles down, and that wolf stops its howl. Then, does he drift off against the barn wall.
☆☆☆
The sound of his father’s voice thundering through the castle hall has been a constant in his life. Listening to bickering through iron chamber doors is equally familiar.
“Is there nothing you can do?!”
“I’m sorry, your majesty. We – we don’t know what’s wrong.”
“For all your self-proclaimed glory, you’re nothing but a hack. Shouto is a child.”
“But – we’ve never seen anything like it. It’s –”
“Get out.”
Shouto is gone before the doors open. Snuck through the hole in the wall, and back to his room.
☆☆☆
Shouto wakes suddenly. It’s so abrupt, that his heart beats up into his mouth, shrouded with adrenaline as his hand flies right for his knife.
The barn is silent, but Shouto sees a figure standing in the stall mouth, blocking some of the light beaming between the cracks in the stable walls.
“Hm. Good reflexes, you.” Aizawa kicks a bucket across the floor, and Shouto catches it quickly, still clutching his knife. “And good work on the stalls. There’s a – would you put that away already? God. There’s a trough out back if you want to bathe. Actually, I’m not giving you a choice. Have at it.”
Shouto slowly pockets his knife, and stands stiffly from the hay pile.
“Um. Thank you sir.”
Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him, and blinks tiredly. He’s dressed in all black once more, but Shouto can see more of his features now that it’s day. The man looks like he didn’t sleep a wink.
“You don’t have to be so polite, your highness. You won’t always get the same treatment in return.”
“Call me Shouto,” he says, kicking the bucket with his toes and catching it into his hands. “And I’m aware, sir.”
Aizawa gazes at his knapsack kicked up against the wall, then to his weapons half-hidden in the hay.
“You’re a soldier, aren’t you?”
Shouto gazes into the pit of the bucket, and can only answer honestly.
“I used to be.”
☆☆☆
Shouto takes what is considerably the coldest bath he’s ever had in his life.
He was tempted last night, but oh, the gods truly test him today. His left-hand aches already as a warning, so Shouto resists.
Cold water aside, it’s nice to scrub clean and wash his traveling clothes. His spare clothing is less gaudy, and don’t reek of royalty just as much. Err…hopefully.
The river water is muddy, but his bathwater is crystal clear; or rather, enough that he can see his reflection. It’s been a gamble from town to town – some recognize him, while others do not – and to be truthful, Shouto doesn’t blame either. If his two-toned hair wasn’t recognizable, then the scar across his face certainly is.
After choring for the keep, he’s free to walk the town as he pleases. Shouto spent the night on a stomach of rum alone, so his first priority is predictably; food.
As he makes his descent down the hill, he notes a lack of clouds today. It’s sunny, and the lake is motionless, bringing in boats off the river.
Shouto finds a bakery on the edge of the village, and pays for a loaf of bread. It’s cold, albeit edible, and Shouto gnaws on the end of it as he prods further into town.
He looks for any sights of a bulletin board; a wanted list, or maybe a call for bounty hunters; but the town has no such thing. All he sees are houses (some sporting a few more holes than he remembers), and a gathering of people near the center square.
Shouto taps a woman by the elbow, and bows his head in apology.
“Excuse me, ma’am. What’s happening here?”
The elderly woman turns on her heel, and takes in his appearance with skepticism. When she doesn’t recognize Shouto, she takes pity on him for the outsider he is.
“Oh. We’re giving thanks to the spirits for protecting our village last night.”
Shouto looks up at some of the men climbing the rooftops, patching holes in the shillings. He mutters, “Is that what they did?”
“The wolf and the hare spare our lives,” the woman says defensively. “In their honor, we give thanks.”
Shouto peers over her shoulder. As the crowd shifts, he can catch glimpses of a shrine erected in the square. It’s…homemade. Or rather, humble in it’s standing. It’s not made of gold or fine jewels, but sculpted from the hands of a carpenter, and bits and pieces of ceramic pots. It’s as if these people gave all they had, even their cookware.
Incense burns at the foot of the statue, and as Shouto peers further, he sees the shape of a rabbit and a wolf, each standing on two legs, like a man.
“Has anyone ever seen them?” Shouto asks.
“Only in shadow,” the woman says. “I know you’re new here, son. But if you ever have the misfortune of crossing paths with these ghosts, don’t look them in the eye.”
Shouto doesn’t fear ghosts, nor does he fear demons. But something about this is odd. The woman fights her way through the crowd to make her offering to the alter, and Shouto chews on the corner of his cold bread.
☆☆☆
The village is small in comparison to the home Shouto knows.
He finds an owl shop tucked away behind an alley of houses, and by pretty penny, he’s able to fly a message back to his father.
I’ll be a while longer, he writes. I am still alive.
He can never find the right words when speaking to his father, and it’s best not to be too sentimental, anyways.
For a fishing village, it is surprisingly busy. Men and women bustling about and working quickly, as if they’re soon to run out of time. A large clock sits on the town hall, and it chimes at every hour. Like a constant reminder of the time they’re losing.
They sure do like their clocks here. They hang in store windows, alley walls and on lightposts. But that clocktower is strange most of all; tall, and impressive, embellished with a large opal amid the center. It’s all very strange.
Shouto continues to look for a town board – or any kind of bounty work, really – but as he walks along the planks, he bumps into someone hustling along the way.
“Oh!” The person yips. Books fly everywhere, and Shouto catches one before it slips off the dock and into the river.
“I’m sorry,” Shouto blurts. He watches the individual bend over to scramble for their papers, and when they stand upright, Shouto is met with one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen.
“No no no, it’s totally my fault.” The man looks at the book in Shouto’s hands, and smiles, “Nice reflexes, by the way.”
Shouto hands it to him quickly.
“Thanks.”
The man looks up at him. He is short, maybe a head smaller than Shouto – and his eyes get big. Well, his eyes are already large to begin with; bright green to match dark unruly hair, and freckles straight across his nose. He’s so utterly sweet looking, that Shouto is at a loss for words.
“Oh – my gods. You’re the prince everyone is talking about – and the crown prince at that! I really thought they were rumors. Kacchan was making such a fuss, I really – wow! I’m so sorry, your highness, forgive my clumsiness.”
Shouto blinks once. He tries to come up with a proper response, but all he says is,
“Shouto. Um, my name. You can call me that.”
The man looks at him owlishly, and then jerks, shoving the books in his shoulder bag.
“I’m Izuku! It’s an honor to meet you, your highness – I uh, I mean, Shouto.”
Shouto shakes his hand. It’s strong, and equally calloused, with even more scars than Shouto.
“The pleasure is mine.”
“Here, walk with me,” Izuku beckons. He closes the button on his leather bag and gestures with his shoulder. “You’re awfully far from the kingdom gates. What brings you all the way here?”
Shouto pockets his hands, and catches up to Izuku in two long strides. The dock creeks under their boots, and Shouto follows him to the east side of the bay.
“I’m looking for Toshinori, the paladin.”
Izuku faulters in his step. He stares forwards in surprise, and Shouto feels guilty for staring down the front of his shirt. The V is just so deep –
“The…the wizard?” Izuku asks.
“Erm, yes. I was told he won’t return until the full moon.”
Izuku blinks quickly, and stammers, “Yes! I mean – I wouldn’t know, I’ve uh, I’ve never met him – but I’m a big fan! The paladin that leveled an army – magic swords and all that. It’s kind of, well, it’s all very fascinating to me. Oh jeez, you aren’t uh…looking to…”
“I only want to speak with him,” Shouto assures. “I can pick my battles. I know I wouldn’t win that one.”
Izuku laughs, and it’s sweet, and melodic. He’s like a breath of fresh air in this dreary place.
“Yes, but you carry your own legends. We might be off the beaten path, but I’ve heard stories from the fishermen.”
Shouto raises his eyebrows, and steps around a child that comes rushing across the planks.
“What do they say?”
“That you are kind,” Izuku says. “And strong, although a bit quiet – but anyone that can take down a whole nest of arachnids sure won’t be questioned for their disposition, now will they?” Izuku looks up at him, and his eyelashes are so long. They’re black, and shimmer in the sun. “The women say you’re handsome. I think you fit the bill.”
Shouto can’t find the words. His left-hand aches, and he squeezes his fingers together to numb the pain.
“Right now, I’m just a traveler.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Izuku grins. He steps off a bridge and towards a large lumber pile, and Shouto follows. “We don’t get many, here.”
“Will All Might really not return until the full moon?”
The smile on Izuku’s face slides off. Shouto feels bad immediately.
“Um…well, I really wouldn’t know. Nothing is ever set-in stone. And with the war – you know. The roads are very unpredictable.”
Shouto sighs, and looks off towards the mouth of the bay, where the mountains nearly meet. Somewhere, out here, his soldiers are fighting on the lines. And he’s here, where the maps don’t go.
“I know.”
“Sorry! I – your father is the king – duh, god, I’m such a – ”
“Thank you for your help,” Shouto interrupts, before he can ramble any further. “Really, you’ve been kind.”
Izuku looks up at him with such large eyes; Shouto can feel his heart physically squeeze. Izuku tries for a smile, and it’s warm all the same.
“I wish I could help more. I’m sorry to say this, but…you might want to just…go home. This place – there are bad things here.”
Not you too.
“I have to complete my mission,” Shouto says. “I cannot leave until I see the wizard.”
Izuku reaches forwards to squeeze his arm, and it burns in a wonderful way.
“I…I understand. Just be careful, please. And don’t go out at night. The people here are grouchy, but kind. They don’t want to find you dead, either.”
Shouto nods, and Izuku lets go with a smile. And then to Shouto’s utter surprise, he squats down at the woodpile, and instead of taking a handful of logs like any other would, he grabs an entire trunk and hauls it on his shoulder. The raw strength of this man almost sends Shouto into shock.
“It was a pleasure to meet you!” Izuku waves. “If you ever need anything, I live just over that hill.”
Shouto can barely manage a wave. He watches Izuku adjust the log on his shoulder, and make his way back up the hill.
Okay. Wow.
☆☆☆
“Well shit,” the bartender curses, throwing down his towel. “Look who survived the night.”
Shouto scowls as he kicks his boots against the wood planks, rolling his coat from his shoulders.
“You owe the old man some money.”
Bakugou’s face twists into a sneer. He’s in a high collar and a waistcoat, and his clothes are much nicer than his ugly personality.
“You better be fuckin’ buying.”
“I have questions.”
“Then take them somewhere else, princess.”
Shouto sits at the bar, and Bakugou puffs breath out of his nose, like a bull.
“I’m looking for bounty work.”
“Tch, bored already?”
“It passes time.”
“Well tough shit, ‘cause we don’t have any.”
Shouto raises his eyebrows. The bartender slams down a rum with too much force. It’s not the best customer service Shouto has had.
“Now I find that hard to believe. Everyone in this town is scared shitless to open a door at night – but there are no bounty lists?”
Bakugou gives him a nasty glare. He crosses his arms, and the lines of his tattoos are visible though the thin, wet sleeves of his shirt.
“Whoever stirs up trouble gets taken care of by those spirit-whatevers. It’s why you shouldn’t go around sticking your nose where it don’t belong.”
Hm. Shouto flicks his thumb against the handle of his tankard, tracing the splinters there.
“You don’t appear to be bowing at their feet like the rest.”
“I don’t worship anyone. I just know when to stop asking questions.”
Shouto gets the hint, but doesn’t care.
“This town is bizarre.”
“Then leave.”
“I can’t,” Shouto says, hunkering down. “So you might as well get used to my face, Bakugou sir.”
He chuffs unhappily, and turns to swipe an empty cup from the bar.
“Where’d you hear my name?”
“I have good ears.”
“Ugh,” the bartender briskly turns his back. “At least call me Katsuki. Bakugou makes me sound like my father…”
Shouto secretly ices over the side of his drink, and makes a mental note.
☆☆☆
Baytown is strange. Strange people, strange houses.
The Inn never opens, because as one house is fixed, another mysteriously bears holes the next morning. Shouto is terribly curious to do some snooping on these ‘spirits’, but none of the townsfolk are willing to talk of them, and Aizawa continues to reiterate the terms of their contract.
No leaving the stables at night.
Cyrus is happy here, at least. She gets to walk the field with the other horses in the day, and has a dry spot to sleep at night. Shouto wishes he could say the same. But water leaks through the planks and the hay gets stale, and he’s begun to wonder if the cold rocky ground was better than this.
Shouto doesn’t see anything strange (besides the skittish townsfolk) but he does…hear things, at night. A wolf's howl, and a terrible crooning sound. Deep sobbing, like something is crying. But it’s too deep to be human, and too feint to be a troll, and the sound keeps him up at night.
For a couple days, he hopes to run into Izuku again. He does see him, once, but he’s a busy little thing, and as soon as Shouto musters up the courage to say hello, he’s already bouncing back out of town and over the hill.
Shouto never had the time for romance. Never thought he’d live long enough to experience it – not with friendships, and all that. But Izuku would be a nice friend. Maybe in another life, if he wasn’t a prince on a fool's errand.
“I’m sorry we’re stuck here,” Shouto mumbles, petting into his horse’s mane. He brushes out the knots with his fingers, and allows Cryus to nudge her nose into his pocket. No treats, unfortunately. “It’s going to be a long month.”
All of this is hanging from a hope and a prayer. A terrible noose around his neck. A maybe, an I hope so –
Cyrus mouths along his side. Shouto lets her nibble at her hand.
“I’ve never been homesick,” Shouto says, under his breath. “I used to dream about running away. Remember?”
Cyrus does not answer.
“Yeah.” Shouto pats her shoulder. “But I wonder if I am, now.”
☆☆☆
“Good morning, Shouto!”
He refuses to be flustered. Even with Izuku holding so many flowers, as cute as that is.
“Hello, Izuku.”
“My, it looks like Torino got you, huh?” Izuku laughs. Shouto has the sudden realization that he probably smells like fish. Oh, god.
“Yes. Torino said he needed a spare hand on the boat today.”
“Keep being useful, and this town will never let you go,” Izuku laughs. “You ever been boat fishing?”
“Not before today.”
“It’s hard work. Pro tip, you can get the fishy smell out of your clothes with lavender.”
The waves lap up on the planks, pushing and pulling with the boats that return from a long day. Izuku has weeds in his hair, dirt all over his clothes and sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, and it’s endearing.
Shouto’s voice goes soft for him, “Is that so?”
“Yes! I think I might actually have some in here…”
“I couldn’t possibly –”
“No, no, please take them! Put it in your bath tonight, it’ll help.”
Shouto takes the flowers. He can feel his face walling off from embarrassment, but he hopes to relay his thanks.
“What are you doing with all those?”
Izuku shuffles the random assortment of flowers in his arms.
“Oh, just selling some stuff from my garden. It makes an extra shilling, now and then.” Izuku looks up at the clocktower and frowns. “Although, I’m running out of time…”
Say something, his brain provides. Say anything.
“Do you need help?” That works.
“Oh, aren’t you sweet – but it’s just this handful really – and you look awfully tired. Let me know how that lavender works out!”
Shouto watches him scurry off. He rolls the flowers between his fingers, and smells it once.
“Ah…I will.”
Damn.
☆☆☆
“Can you just fuck off already?”
“You know, I don’t think customer service is the job for you,” Shouto says, hanging his coat. A few patrons in the tavern laugh. Katsuki narrows his eyes, utterly fuming.
“I’m plenty nice. Just not to the likes of you.”
“Why?” Shouto prods honestly. He sits at his same barstool he’s sat in all week, and tosses his coins to the counter. “Because I’m from the inner kingdom?”
“I have no respect for silver spoon soldiers,” Katsuki says honestly. He slides Shouto’s drink across the bar, and Shouto catches it one hand. “Lying, cheating little money peddlers. And full offense, but your daddy has made some shit decisions regarding the war we’re stuck in.”
Shouto sighs, and ices over the side of his drink out of habit.
“You know, I can’t even argue against that.”
Katsuki squints at him. He’s a rough looking guy – not friendly in the slightest – but when he isn’t frowning like the world depends on it, he’s somewhat attractive. However, Shouto can’t imagine a single lady that would have the courage to approach this kind of emotional disaster.
“Hey,” Katsuki snaps. He lowers his voice, grabbing Shouto’s attention. “Watch what you’re casting. Magic is still taboo this far off the border. Could get you arrested if you’re not careful.”
Huh? Shouto looks at him in genuine confusion, and then jerks to follow Katsuki’s gaze, right at his drink. Shouto lets go quickly, the ice magic dissipating into the humid air.
“Oh,” Shouto blurts.
Katsuki grumbles low, “Magic might be okay where you’re from, but for us it’s nothing but trouble. You never know if it’s a friendly caster, or a liberation army here to slaughter innocent families.”
Shouto squeezes his left hand. The ache is there, always. Haunting him now and forever (or hopefully, not). His right hand is cool to the touch from his magic, and he warms it against his thigh.
“I didn’t know. Not until I left the palace, did I see how the war was affecting the rest of the kingdom.”
Katsuki looks at him again. His eyes are red, near animalistic, and predatory in his gaze.
“Finally, left your bubble, huh?”
Shouto looks into the swirling rum in his cup.
“You could say that.”
☆☆☆
Shouto doesn’t understand how horses can make such a mess in eight hours. When and if he goes home, he’s going to fight for a dramatic increase in their stable-hand’s wages.
It’s another night of mucking stalls. Wolves out in the trees, odd rumblings echoing from the river, and the wind that threatens to bend and break the barn doors. Shouto has grown used to the rattling of the iron lanterns.
A scream rings out across the valley. Shouto drops the shovel and slams open the door on an instinct –
But when he sees nothing but dark trees and the fog down on the Baytown, he hesitates. No sound follows. There’s not even a single breeze.
Now I’m going crazy, Shouto thinks, closing the barn door. It must be something in the water.
A second scream rings out louder than the first – and rules be damned, Shouto grabs his sword, swings a lantern off the wall, and goes running off the mountain.
The road is dark and uneven under his feet. His boots kick rocks and snap twigs along the way.
As he approaches the town, he sees that heavy fog coating the river. It fills the air, the houses, the mouth of the bay – enough that you can barely see the lanterns that hang off the store windows.
It’s so quiet, you can hear the clocks tick.
“Hello?” Shouto calls. “Is someone hurt?”
He’s not answered by voice, but that low crooning noise. It’s the one that keeps him up at night, but now loud beyond comprehension. It vibrates inside of him. Shakes up his organs and sets him on edge.
Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Shouto lifts the lantern higher, as he can barely see a foot in front of his face. There’s nothing here but croaking frogs, and fireflies lost on the river.
The planks sound loud under his feet. They creak, and the river moans.
Is it fae? Shouto has seen them upset over less – but he’s never heard such a sound from them. The wind, maybe?
And then, Shouto sees it.
Something black and sickly crawls out of the river between the planks. First a hand, then an arm. It takes the form of – of something. A body, maybe; bald and skeletal, and dripping in black.
Okay. Yep. That is certainly…something.
Shouto raises his lantern for a better look, but the spirit is suddenly gone. It’s fast, crawling up the planks and crying a low groaning noise as it scales one of the buildings, and digs its claws into the roofing. A family lives there; the old woman, and her daughters.
“Hey!” Shouto starts to call. He runs across the planks, careful of his footing in the fog. “Hey! Over –”
He can’t even finish his sentence. In a crack of green light, a second figure bounces across the rooftop, and destroys the creature. It explodes into a thousand pieces, and is gone.
The lightning reflects off the fog. Shouto shields his eyes, and blinks to fight off the blinding dizziness. The wood bridges creak with footsteps, and Shouto ices over his arm in warning.
“Who’s there?” Shouto stills his breath, listening for footsteps. He forces himself to be calm. “I’ll only fight you if I must.”
A whispered groan comes from the lake. With horror, Shouto realizes that the sound is under his feet. He jumps backwards just as another figure crawls out between the planks, hissing and groaning and spewing poison from its mouth.
Shouto swings with his sword, but it bites it in two.
Guuuuuuoooohhhhhhhhhh
Shouto has fought spirits with that sword. Demons, fae, ghosts. They always fall ill to the silver, and never before has one bitten it in half.
Crap, and that was his good sword, too.
“Not a spirit,” Shouto mutters, jumping back between the planks as it scurries towards him. “Shit! Not a spirit!”
It jumps, and Shouto summons his magic all at once. He freezes the creature to the bridge, a claw extended and its mouth stuck wide open.
Shouto takes a breath. More groaning comes from the bay. He inches forwards, hoping to identify the creature – but he jumps swiftly when the creature melts the ice, and spews it back at him.
Okay, you can count that as new.
Shouto does his best to block, but all he has is his ice magic. Another flash echoes off on the north dock – this one a blinding yellow and orange, like fire. The lantern gets knocked out of his left hand, and it clunks into the river. He throws up one ice wall after another, but more of the creatures crawl from the planks, and Shouto starts to lose his footing on the bridge.
Sprawled on the ground, propped up by his right hand, he only has his left to defend himself. A black tarish creature jumps right for him.
He shields himself with fire, and cries out from the pain.
Shouto can feel heat ripping up his arm. It’s self-inflicted, though better than whatever these demons had in store for him – and they fall back and hiss at the sight of fire.
Fuck. Just his luck.
Shouto raises his hand and prepares himself for another wave of pain – but the creatures disappear in a flash of magic. It sounds like an explosion right in his ears; a loud bang that gets lost in the fog.
He slowly sits upright, blinking away the stars again – and when he looks forwards, he sees the figure of a wolf standing in front of him.
It’s…large. Larger than any wolf Shouto has seen – and it stands on two feet, like a man. The head is a beast, but the chest is furred and human-like, clothed only in a fur cloak, and teeth beads. Shouto feels his heart drop as the wolf looks him right in the eyes.
He would think it a mask, but the beast is snarling. Drool pools down to the planks below them, and Shouto does not look away, as he should. His brain runs through a plethora of monsters, through all the books he’s studied, but he comes to an utter loss.
What are you?
“Um,” Shouto blurts. “Thank you.”
The beast jumps forwards. Shouto throws out a hand to bend his magic, but his wrist is grabbed tightly, and the wolf snarls right in his face. Its breath is hot, and rancid. And, maybe for the first time, Shouto considers that he might experience a different death than planned.
He’s fought many beasts. But this one emanates a power that Shouto has never felt before. Or maybe – he has, and he just can’t remember where.
The voice is hoarse and deep, and it stands all his hair on end.
“Go. Away.” It snarls.
A final light flashes, and as Shouto lays amid the fog, he realizes that the low groaning has ceased.
A second shadow stands at the end of the dock. It is a man-sized hare, now watching intently, with hollowed eyes. Shouto waits for an end that doesn’t come. The rabbit impatiently kicks its foot against the dock, Shouto closes his eyes, and the wolf lets go of Shouto’s arm with a final snarl.
Then, the beasts are gone.
☆☆☆
When Shouto drags his sorry ass all the way back to the stables, he sits on his hay pile, and shoves up the left sleeve on his shirt.
The curse is already fading, but it burns like hell.
His fingertips are still a dark black color. Symbols wrap all the way up to his elbow, where they fade into non-existence at his bicep.
There’s nothing Shouto can do to dress it, so he just lays with his arm propped against his chest, and stares at the far wall for the rest of the night.
☆☆☆
Shouto is feeding the horses when Aizawa jingles open the barn door. He’s holding an old toolbox; one that he uses to prop the door open.
He still doesn’t know very much about the man; other than that he lives in the one-bedroom house across the way, and fishes for a hobby, not a day job.
“I have work for you, if you’re willing,” Aizawa says. “One of the horses broke a fence while rubbing up against the gate. I’ll cover your hay for a few days.”
Shouto blinks, and makes an affirming noise. It takes him too long to really process what he’s said.
“Ah. Yeah, okay. I’ll take care of it.”
Aizawa crosses his arms. His hair is tied high on his head, like he’s already been choring early.
“You alright kid? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Shouto sets the pitchfork against the support beam, and dusts off his hands.
“Not a ghost sir. Not a ghost.”
The man gives him a strange look, and Shouto gets to work on that fence.
☆☆☆
“We’re closed.”
“I know.”
“Then get the hell out,” barks Baytown’s lovely, charismatic bartender.
The tavern is quiet, and void of people. Most of the lanterns are dimmed, save for a few on the tables.
Shouto doesn’t kick the dirt from his boots, or shrug off his coat. He stomps across the bar, and watches Katsuki grow more and more irritated. He’s wiping down tables, and it’s odd to see him out from behind the counter.
“We need to talk.”
“Are you looking for a fight?” Katsuki hisses through his teeth, “Because god forbid, I will give you one.”
“I saw the spirits.”
Katsuki’s eyes go wide. He turns quickly, picking up a spare stool and flipping it onto a wooden table.
“Then you’re a dead man.”
“They’re not ghosts. I stabbed one with my sword – holy silver blessed by a priest –”
“For someone with a fancy royal education, you sure are a moron –”
“—it broke it in half, Katsuki. Ghosts are vulnerable to ice, but it spat my magic out like nothing.”
Katsuki turns suddenly, causing Shouto to go on the defense.
“Everyone in town told you to mind your fucking business!” Katsuki snaps. He jabs his finger in Shouto’s chest, but he doesn’t recoil. “You might be a prince, but that doesn’t mean you can come fixing every town you stumble on like it’s your god given right!”
“These people live in fear,” Shouto growls. “Something is wrong. The mayor won’t let me help, and you’re the only one around here that isn’t bowing at that statue.”
Katsuki backs off, though his eyes are wild.
“Not the only one.”
“Then point me in their direction, and I’ll ask them too.” Shouto relaxes when he sees that Katsuki isn’t about to start swinging. Shouto can fight, but would rather not. “I saw the wolf demon. I looked him in the eyes. These are no spirits you have here.”
Katsuki curses, and rubs across his eyebrows.
“Then you should take this as a sign, and leave with your life.”
Shouto exhales an icy breath. Katsuki narrows his eyes in challenge, and the heavy tension breaks with the swing of the door.
“We’re closed,” Katsuki clips.
“I know!” Sings a voice.
Shouto whips around to see Izuku flipping the lock on the door, and smiling wide.
“Izuku,” greets Shouto, in surprise.
He’s wearing a coat, now that the sun is reaching the mountain, and his hair is grainy with sawdust. Izuku looks like he’s been working hard – at whatever it is he does.
Katsuki looks over, and sighs with recognition.
“Get outta’ here, Deku.”
“I just came to see what the holdup was.” Izuku waves, “Hi Shouto! What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” monotones Shouto.
“Sir royal jackass is poking his nose into spirit business again,” Katsuki jabs. Shouto glares back over his shoulder, but Izuku makes a surprised sound.
“What? Are you okay, Shouto?”
His hand is still stained black, but remains hidden under his glove. The flame’s curse will fade in a few hours.
“Fine,” Shouto assures. “Lost my sword was all.”
Izuku makes a face, but tucks his hands back into his cozy pockets.
“Well, I see you’ve become acquainted with my roommate. Sorry if he’s given you any trouble.”
Roommate? Shouto thinks, in distaste. With this guy?
“He’s the one bothering me!” Katsuki barks.
“You’re bothered by everything, Kacchan.”
Great, they even have cute names for each other. Shouto sighs.
“I’ll be a few more minutes,” Katsuki tells Izuku. He turns to Shouto and waves his hand, “Scram, go back to your hay pile. And quit bringing up spirit business.”
“Thanks for nothing,” Shouto shoots back nicely.
“Wait, wait,” Izuku interrupts. “Back to your what?”
Katsuki freezes mid step, like he’s made a grave mistake. Shouto only answers honestly.
“The inn is full, so I’ve been sleeping in Aizawa’s barn.”
Izuku looks utterly horrified. He covers his mouth in one hand, and looks at Shouto with big green eyes. Shouto has just enough time to think that he’s rather cute, before he looks at Katsuki with a look that could kill.
“Kacchan! You knew, and you didn’t tell me!”
“We can’t take in every stray off the street!” Katsuki barks back.
Izuku waves dramatically in Shouto’s direction.
“He’s the crown prince!”
“Yeah! And he could do with a slice of humble pie!”
Izuku steams furiously, and then turns to Shouto with a softer expression.
“I’m so sorry about this – we have an extra room in our attic – a bed and everything. Please, let us host you there.”
“You…you don’t have to do that,” Shouto says gently. “I’m okay, really.”
“Well, you heard him,” Katsuki throws down his towel and stomps across the room to grab his bag. “We should pick up a duck on the way home and I’ll –”
“Come on.” Izuku grabs Shouto by the wrist, and yanks him towards the doorway. “We can grab your things from the stable, and you can tell me all about your experience with the spirits.”
Shouto looks over his shoulder, where Katsuki looks damn near ready to kill someone.
“Are you sure? I don’t think your roommate is very keen on the idea.”
“He’s very keen,” Izuku says sweetly. He looks back at Katsuki as well. “Right, Kacchan?”
Katsuki stands there, shoulders squared and steaming in anger. He grinds his teeth together, and forces out a gritty,
“Yes.”
“Great! Come now, Shouto. Your back will thank you for sleeping on a real bed, tonight.”
☆☆☆
Katsuki walks ten paces behind them. Shouto is tempted to look over his shoulder, but resists out of self-preservation.
“Tangible, you say?” Izuku adjusts Shouto’s bag on his shoulder, again, to Shouto’s complaint. “The spirit touched you?”
The path is getting darker as they walk. Wherever they’re going, it’s a good distance away from the center of town.
“The wolf was made of flesh and bone,” Shouto says. He speaks low as they cross through the clearing. “It grabbed me.”
Izuku frowns. He tips his head to look at Shouto from the corner of his eye, and his peripheral glows with the lantern he holds.
“I know you’re used to fighting wars and slaying demons, your highness – but please be careful. If you’re here on a mission, I would see to that first.”
His words are essentially the same as the lovely Katsuki’s, but said much, much nicer. Shouto sighs, and switches his weapon bag to his other arm.
“I’m sorry. I only wanted to help.”
“I know. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
“We’re coming up on the house,” Katsuki says, now right behind him. Shouto nearly jumps out of his skin. “Give Deku a second for the wards.”
The wards?
Shouto tenses as Izuku incants under his breath, and several symbols glow in the yard. They go dim just as quickly, but the momentary light gives him a good view of the house. It’s a cottage with a pointed roof, and a deep, fenced yard. The style doesn’t match Baytown’s lake houses at all.
“You’re a wizard,” Shouto blurts.
Katsuki grips his shoulder tightly, and Shouto whips his head around to see him snarling in his face, teeth bared like a dog.
“You’ve got nothin’ smart to say about it, do you, son of Endeavor?”
Shouto replies monotone, “I won’t tell the town, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
“I’m only a novice,” Izuku assures. He takes a step forward, but spins to walk backwards, “Wait, do you have magic?”
“Only hereditary power. I can’t cast spells.”
Izuku smiles, and turns back around to open the house door. It’s a light wood, with dark trim and cut in two, Dutch style. It matches the exterior.
“To be honest, I’m barely there myself. Kacchan is very patient with me.”
“Really?” Shouto stresses, in disbelief. Katsuki makes an annoyed sound behind him.
Izuku lights candles in the house with a short spell, and the room glows yellow. It’s cozy in here; well-lived in, with books and cups and pillows thrown around the floor for sitting. There are many houseplants here, some non-native to the area, and Shouto analyzes it all into the back of his mind.
“It’s no palace,” Izuku gestures. “But it’s home.”
“I really can’t thank you enough.”
“Oh, you will,” Katsuki grunts. He waves an arm towards a staircase at the end of the hall. “C’mon princess, this way.”
Shouto’s attention is drawn to Katsuki’s rolled up sleeves. He can see dark geometric tattoos; the markings of a barbarian tribe. That’ll explain the attitude, but it doesn’t excuse it.
Katsuki shoulders past him on the stairs. He might be broader, but Shouto is a hair taller, and it’s nice to have something, at least.
His appointed room is in the loft of the cottage; flat floors, with a vaulted ceiling. It looks perfectly untouched. A bed, a small table and a candle for light. It smells like mothballs and spice up here, which is worlds better than horse shit and goat fur.
Izuku helps him set his bags on his bed, and quickly dusts off a few cabinets in a rush.
“Ah, jeez – I’m sorry, I really would’ve cleaned had I known…”
“It’s not a barn,” Shouto says lightly. “Don’t worry.”
Katsuki props his shoulder up in the doorway, and crosses his arms. Shouto wonders if his face is cursed into a permanent scowl, or if he truly looks like this all the time.
“Before you get too settled. There’s a few ground rules.”
Shouto slides his weapon bag to the foot of the bed.
“Sure.”
“First, you help Deku with whatever the fuck he needs help with. I dunno’, pickin’ flowers and shit.”
Izuku rolls his eyes, and wipes down the dusty mirror with his shirt sleeve.
“Is that what you think I do all day?”
“Whatever he needs,” Shouto agrees. He still has to chore for Aizawa to keep his horse sheltered, but it should be fine for the rest of the month, at least. Also, Izuku isn’t a bother to be around.
“Second, if you make a mess, I’ll know about it.”
Shouto resists the urge to make a face, but nods.
“Mm.”
“Third.” Katsuki raises his last three fingers. They’re pink and agitated from working all day – likely bar rot. “You don’t leave this room at night.”
Shouto raises his eyebrows, “Really? You too?”
“I ain’t fucking around with you,” Katsuki snaps. “My house my rules.”
Shouto looks to Izuku – but he’s looking away. His silence is loud and clear; he agrees with his roommate.
Well, be it here or the barn, the rules are the same. It feels like he’s back home again, shut in a palace room, forced to see one healer after another.
Shouto makes his choice.
“Fine. I’ll be back by night.”
“Oh, you’re going to like it so much better here!” Izuku exclaims. He tugs on Shouto’s sleeve, urging him back down the stairs. “We have a heated bath! You can wash your clothes, too – I make our soap by hand. You’re welcome to the towels.”
“Are you saying I smell?”
“No! Well, yes, but so does everyone around here. Do you like to read?”
“I, um, yes –”
“I have to show you the library! Oh it’s been so long since I’ve had a guest – follow me, please.”
Shouto follows, but feels uneasy, like he’s being watched. He looks over his shoulder, and Katsuki is still at the top of the stairs, staring intently, like a guard dog. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Shouto will have to be careful around that one.