WHEN YOUR LOST LOOK FOR THE LIGHT

Chapter 4: one man's land

Little, shuffling steps scruff the pavement. The young boy's train of thoughts screech, crashing into each other and leaving a jumbled mess of pain, exhaustion, and stress. Izuku feels the blood in his head throb, it's an inconsistent rhythm that leaves him dizzy.

'No, you can't. Stop being such a weakling, Izuku. Mr. Vlad sacrificed himself for you and now Mr. Aizawa is obligated to keep you alive.'

Speaking of which, Izuku watches as Aizawa peeks over street corners and ushers the boy over when confirming the streets are clear. Each time the smuggler halts and warns Izuku to either stay low, stay back, or anything of the kind; it leaves an awfully bitter taste in Izuku's mouth.

The immune child feels undeserving but he knows better than to say anything; it's evident in Aizawa's red eyes and his sunken expression that he doesn't have any patience to hear protests.

So Izuku follows with heavy feet.

The haggard man brings them to an old breakfast diner. While it's rotted by soot and filth, Izuku imagines how the restaurant would look without the vines or the empty bullet casings littering the ground. It might've been pretty.

Frames hang on the walls, displaying grainy photos of happy kitchen staff and customers with their thumbs-up. Izuku's mouth waters at the waffles on their plates. The only food camps had were baked beans or rice.

Well... camps also had a variety but Izuku's food were always taken away or given to someone more worthy.

'You don't deserve a meal, Deku. Only people who work for it get to eat.'

A grunt pulls Izuku out of his darker memories. Aizawa pushes a cart off a kitchen mat. The raven tugs the mat from its original position, revealing a trapdoor that led to a dingy basement. Aizawa orders the boy to enter first. Izuku obeys and carefully steps down, the smuggler closes the door above and secures the lock with a chain.

There's a cushion on the ground and a barrel with burnt firewood. A single, skinny window near the stony ceiling serves as their only light source. In the corner was a wooden desk with tools, blueprints, and pencils. Dust in the air tickles the boy's nose, Izuku sneezes with a squeak.

Aizawa places his backpacks onto the ground, he opens Vlad's and takes stock of whatever was in there.

Izuku feels tears prickle his eyes again, he blinks them away. The smuggler told him not to bring up Vlad. Perhaps Aizawa was angry at him for being the reason his friend died. Izuku supposes he deserves it anyway.

"Kid," Aizawa calls for his attention. He points at the cushion on the ground. "Go sleep."

"Huh?" Izuku's jaw hangs, not expecting such command. Izuku flinches a little when Aizawa's frown deepens, clearly not wanting to repeat himself.

"Take a nap. We'll still reach the next town before sunset," Aizawa informs. He walks over to the desk, plops his backpack on the wood and takes out his weapons. Probably to check or grease them. Izuku wasn't allowed near guns in the camps, so his knowledge is regretfully limited.

"-Did you hear me?"

"Uh," Izuku dumbly yelps when Aizawa narrows his eyes.

"The further we travel - the worse it'll get, kid," the man states stonily, "If you can't focus right now, I guarantee you that neither of us will see the end of this week."

"S-sorry."

Scrambling to the cushion, Izuku lays down on the cold concrete ground. Even his hoodie can't provide any warmth. The boy curls into a fetal position, hugging his knees close to his chin and back facing the man. Izuku fears of irritating Aizawa anymore than he already has, so he counts sheep in his head.