All Who Wander [Chapter 5 - RADISHES]

[Chapter 4]


“I never imagined you could have so many options just from a few ingredients!” Izuku mused, as he stirred up a pot of bubbling water, gently rolling the vegetables around the base. “They’re so good individually, but the combinations you all make are amazing.”

“You don’t do half badly yourself!” Mirio chuckled. “Those mashed potatoes the other night were delicious, I’ve never had a texture like that from radishes.”

“But they were so much better with the milk and butter you added!”

Izuku had been dumbfounded to learn, over the past few days, about Mirio turning the milk into whole other ingredients, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the idea of whipped cream. It might have been the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, not that he could ever say that in front of his mother. He wondered if he could manage to get a cow and a chicken home to her, one day, and whether they could take care of the animals decently without the wide fields Mirio owned for them to graze in.

The door creaked open, and Aizawa set a glass jar down on the counter wordlessly, bending to accept Eri’s enthusiastic hug – it was cute the way she always got so excited to see her dad, even when it had only been a few hours.

“Thanks, Aizawa!” Mirio grinned. “This looks like a good batch!”

Izuku picked up the jar carefully to inspect the contents, and sure enough, it held a familiar-looking liquid, all thick and gloopy as he tilted the jar to watch it move. His mother often traded for small jars of oil exactly like that one, but he’d had no idea it was produced so close to their home. A hot tray came out of the oven, and Izuku opened up the jar to pour some in, extra slowly so he wouldn’t waste a single drop.

“Don’t be shy,” Aizawa said knowingly. “We make plenty of it, in cherry season. There’s still plenty of it for us to use up before we make the new batch.”

“The cherries grow in summer in the forest,” Mirio explained. “They’re Eri’s favourite. Do you think you’ll still be here to try them, in a few months?”

“Still?” Izuku asked quietly. “I’m not sure.”

“You can always come back again another time,” Aizawa assured him. “You don’t have to stay all the way through.”

“Yeah!” Eri beamed. “You’ll visit lots of times, right?!”

“Absolutely! I want to go home sometimes though, I miss my mom.”

Mirio clapped him on the back lightly, in an attempt to be comforting, and Izuku smiled fondly at the effort. His week in Chimura had been amazing, maybe the best week of his life, but he couldn’t help but think of his mother and Mei every night as he curled up in his tent, listening to the wind in the trees surrounding the old farm.

He’d settled into a steady rhythm in that time, though; he showed up bright and early each morning to help with the cows and the chickens – he was quickly becoming an expert milker – and eat breakfast with Eri and Mirio, headed back to the base of the mountain to plant his potato scraps from the day prior and scavenge for any more food in the area, met up with Mirio again to make dinner from their various stocks of ingredients, and finally headed back to his tent for the night, only to repeat it again the next day. He loved his time with Eri and Mirio, loved all the new food combinations he was learning and the experiments they were doing with food, but every single day, without fail, he wished Mei and his mom were there too.

“I think they’re ready to go in!” he said with a smile, quickly snapping himself out of it as he turned off the stove. “Do you have something I can drain them into?”

Mirio handed him a sieve and a bowl, and Izuku carefully drained the pot, setting the leftover water aside to cool. His mother had always said to throw the potato water in the forest, to help more grow, and Izuku wasn’t sure if it actually did anything, but he wasn’t going to take that chance.

The hot tray came out of the oven again, the oil sizzling within, and carefully Izuku lowered spoonfuls of the vegetables into it, rolling them around carefully to make sure they all got a generous coating of oil. Back into the oven it went, and his stomach growled as he closed the door, making his face turn pink.

“They smell amazing,” Mirio chuckled. “I’ve eaten better this week than I have in years.”

“Me too!” Izuku gushed. “I honestly still can’t believe it, it’s literally a dream come true.”

Aizawa looked at Izuku with an unreadable expression, something Izuku was quickly growing used to, but for once, when he spoke, Aizawa surprised him with his words.

“You should go home and visit,” he said quietly, without a hint of emotion in his tone. “You can take some food and cook your family a meal.”

“I couldn’t possibly!” Izuku insisted, even as Eri and Mirio agreed enthusiastically. “I can’t take away food from the people here, that wouldn’t be fair!”

“Bring us back some more potatoes,” Mirio requested. “I know you said they grow better at the top of the hill, so you could get some and bring them back, in return.”

“I hear there’s a batch of vinegar almost ready, too,” Aizawa added. “It might be ready by the time you return, and then we can make mayonnaise and cheese. I think potatoes and cheese would make an excellent combination.”

“That sounds so good,” Mirio moaned. “On top of the mashed potatoes would be the best. It’s settled, we’ll wrap up tomorrow’s batch of eggs and milk, and dig out some radishes, and you can make a trip home with them.”

“Are you really sure?” Izuku asked, though his resolve was all but gone. “What if you get hungry?”

“Don’t worry about us!” Mirio insisted. “We’ve got plenty of radishes we can dig up, and the leftover eggs from today, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we don’t eat all these roasted potatoes and radishes tonight, either! We’ll have more than enough!”

“Your mother might have some good ideas for recipes, too,” Aizawa pointed out. “The two of you can do some cooking together and bring back more ideas for us.”

Izuku couldn’t help but perk up at the thought. His mother had always been so creative with her potato usage, she was sure to have some amazing ideas for the new discoveries, too! Not to mention he just wanted to see her, he’d never been away for more than one night before, and it was even harder than he’d expected it to be.

Soon the vegetables were ready, though, and thoughts of his trip were pushed aside in favour of delicious roast potatoes with crispy outsides and soft, fluffy insides. The radishes, too, took on a beautiful texture, and the flavour came out so much sweeter than when they ate them raw, so much softer. Izuku couldn’t get enough of them, which thankfully seemed to work out, since the others were eager to eat their fill of the potatoes.

When the sun began to set, Izuku stood up to take his leave, gathering the scraps of all their vegetables and the bowl of potato water to head back to his tent. Aizawa eyed him curiously for it, and with an awkward smile Izuku explained himself, a little pleased by the surprise Aizawa showed for it. Izuku hoped that maybe, with a lot of tender care, the old farm patch they’d been so kind to lend him might become a solid potato-and-radish farm for years to come, though he wouldn’t dare to say that out loud until he had some kind of evidence it was working.

“We do something similar with our milk,” Aizawa informed him, making Izuku’s eyes widen. “If we don’t drink it all and it goes bad, we pour it into the paddocks, because it helps grow the grass for the animals.”

“Really?!” Izuku asked excitedly. “So it really does work! I wonder if potato water and milk offer the same benefits? Do you think there are other foods that do the same? Have you ever tried cracking an egg on the ground?”

“I do that lots!” Eri piped up proudly. “It just makes the ground sticky.”

“I suspect only liquids would really do anything,” Mirio said with a grin, ignoring the way Aizawa sighed at Eri for her clumsiness. “They’d need to be able to get deep enough in the ground to make a difference.”

As Izuku walked back to his tent that night, his mind ran wild with possibilities. If his home village poured potato water in the forest, and Chimura poured milk in the paddocks, did that mean other towns had their own little waste-uses too? And, if he dared to even think it, could that be a part of why different things grew in different areas?

He needed to do some more research, to scan his old, battered book for information that might corroborate his theories, but that was going to have to wait for when he got home – for now, he had a long hike up a mountain to think about.

─

When Izuku awoke the next morning, it was to rustling outside his tent. He jumped up in a hurry, pulling his wool coat on to battle the chill of the morning, and carefully untied the knots on his door to investigate – had someone returned for the farm after all? He crawled out through the flap, only to find a familiar face waiting for him, and he blinked stupidly up at it for a moment as he searched for words.

“Good morning?” he choked out finally.

“Good morning,” Aizawa returned, as calm as ever. “We thought you might want an early start this morning, so I volunteered to walk out here and meet you. You’ve done a lot, here.”

Izuku followed his gaze out over the little rows where he’d planted his food scraps, and smiled sheepishly, finally climbing to his feet.

“I’m not sure if anything will grow from just the scraps,” he explained. “But even if it doesn’t, I hope it might make the soil better, so it can be used for farming again. I’m gonna do some research while I’m back home, see if I can come up with any more ideas for how to help things grow, and then maybe we won’t have to deal with so many food shortages anymore.”

“I met a man once who said similar things, you remind me of him.”

“I hope that’s a good thing!”

“I was younger then, I thought he was just spouting nonsense. But somehow, you make me believe it could be possible.”

“I’m... honoured. Thank you.”

Aizawa carefully set down two bundles beside Izuku’s tent, each one an old blanket carefully wrapped and tied to protect the contents.

“Eri said you told her it would take about three days to get home,” Aizawa continued, as if he hadn’t just blown Izuku’s mind with his words. “So this bundle here has enough eggs and milk to make breakfasts, and radishes for your dinner. The other one has plenty for you to share with your family, but we don’t want you to starve on the way because you’re worried about running out. So promise me you’ll eat this bundle, and share the other.”

“I promise,” Izuku assured him, his eyes a little misty. “I really appreciate the care.”

“Take your time back home, enjoy your time with your family, and whenever you feel like visiting again, we’ll be here. There’s no rush, we’re not going anywhere.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Izuku assured him all the same. “I’m too excited, I want to keep working, and keep finding things and learning things and maybe even growing things!”

“We look forward to having you back, too,” Aizawa assured him. “I’ll make sure to get a nice stock of the vinegar when it’s ready, so we can teach you to make cheese and mayonnaise.”

“I can’t wait!”

Aizawa watched as Izuku deflated his tent, packing it up for the trip, and carefully nestled his food bundles in his backpack to carry, doing his best to ensure no eggs could get broken in the process. Then, with a last farewell and well-wishes to be passed on to the others, Izuku started off up the hill, hurrying his steps to make quick progress. Even though he knew better, some small part of him hoped against all hope that maybe it would be a shorter trip than expected, that he would suddenly reach the clearing where he and Mei ate lunch together on mushroom hunting days, but as his legs began to burn and the sun continued to move across the sky, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. So when the sky began to turn pink, he found a spot in the trees where he could get his tent almost level, inflating it between the trunks to wedge it in securely, and tying a rope to it just for extra peace of mind. It was difficult to get comfortable, but he eventually settled on lying with his feet pointed downhill to keep from rolling, and somehow, he managed to drift off.

The next day was more of the same: rising early, packing up his things, and setting off at a quick pace with his stomach full of scrambled eggs and hot milk. By noon he had to slow down, though, and once more he wedged his tent into the trees at nightfall. But when day three came, he began to recognise more of the forest, began to spot little landmarks that he remembered from his trip down – and just after noon, there it was: that little clearing full of tasty mushrooms. 

And best of all, it wasn’t empty.

“Mei!” he yelled, all the fatigue in his legs immediately forgotten as he broke into a sprint.

“Izuku?!”

She jumped up, holding out her arms just in time for him to dive at her, squeezing her in the tightest hug he’d ever given her in his life. She couldn’t stop laughing, and Izuku couldn’t stop crying, as they just stood there, hugging, surrounded by familiar trees and spilled mushrooms.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, when he finally released her. “Did you get to visit the town?”

“I did!” he beamed. “And I brought food!”

Mei just stared at him, lost for words, and this time it was Izuku’s turn to laugh.

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back!” he promised. “Let me help you with these mushrooms, first.”

He helped gather up all the spilled treasures, tucking them into Mei’s satchel, and she insisted on taking the tent bundle from him to lighten his load a little as they trekked side-by-side up the rest of the hill. 

The sun was setting behind the roof when they turned down the little path toward their houses, and Izuku’s breath caught when he spotted the cottage, so warm and cosy and home.

“Welcome back, Mei!” Inko called, when the front door opened. “How did you fare?”

Izuku didn’t speak, and after a moment Inko turned around, her jaw dropping when she saw him framed in the little doorway. For a moment she just stared, and then she burst into loud, wet tears. Izuku wasn’t at all phased by the sobbing, though; he’d become too busy digging through his backpack, carefully sliding out the little blanket bundle and opening it up on the table. By the time Inko choked out a desperate, disbelieving “Izuku!” he was proudly showing them a nest of straw and feathers that Mirio had cleverly used as packaging, responding only with “Eggs!”

Inko and Mei just stood in silence as Izuku began to babble, regaling them with stories about Mirio and Eri and Aizawa and Eggs and Milk and Radishes that neither of them could even remotely keep up with, but between shock and love and admiration, they couldn’t bring themselves to tell him to slow down. He carefully unwrapped glass bottles of milk as he spoke, somehow both surprised and completely unsurprised when he found two jars of oil in there too, and finally he rained down handfuls of tiny radishes on the tabletop beside them.

“It sounds amazing,” Inko choked out, when Izuku finally paused. “I’m so glad you had a good trip. And this is incredible, you accomplished what you set out to do in such a short time.”

Izuku’s chest tightened, and as he looked down at his spoils on the table, he could feel Mei’s eyes burning into his back.

“I’m not done,” he whispered finally. “I’m not...”

“I know,” Inko said softly, shooting a knowing look at Mei over his shoulder. “Sweetie, it’s okay. I didn’t mean it like that.”

When he looked up, Inko was walking toward him, and all at once he realised she was right there, standing in front of him, close enough to touch. He flung out his arms, and Inko gladly stepped into them, wrapping him up in a hug that set both of them crying, this time.

“There’s so much more to see,” he sobbed, in what he hoped was clarification. “So many foods and people, and towns, I want to see more, Mom!”

“I know, sweetie. I knew you would. We knew you would. It’s okay, we know, we understand.”

“I just- I just-”

“I know. It’s okay, I know.”

─

Izuku slept in a real bed, that night, and woke feeling the most refreshed he had in weeks. Ever since he’d started even planning his trip, he’d had so many restless nights, not to mention the uncomfortable nights on the ground in a tent. As nice as his tent was, it was still a thin layer of fabric over rough ground. But with a comfortable bed, and a stomach full of his mother’s best baked potatoes and mushrooms, he slept so soundly, so solidly, that he woke up before the sun even began to rise.

He tiptoed out to the kitchen, listening to the quiet snores of his mother still resting in the next room, and fired up the stove to start breakfast – his mother would wake up as soon as the sun rose, and Mei would be over shortly after that, and Izuku planned to have breakfast waiting for them by the time they sat down.

Just like his mornings with Mirio, he carefully cracked eggs into a hot pan, letting them sizzle for a minute before he flipped them over to seal in the golden yolks. When they cut into them, they’d still be soft and a little runny – something he and Mirio both agreed was the best part of frying an egg. Scrambled eggs would have stretched the supplies further, he knew, but after three days of them as he hiked home, it felt like time for a change – a special occasion for special eggs. When they were almost ready, he put a pot of milk on the stove, too, and let it gently simmer away, warming through for them to drink.

By the time his mother’s bedroom door opened, and she came padding down the hallway, Izuku was setting out plates and cutlery on the table, ready for three. And by the time the front door opened, for Mei to join them with her messy pink hair and her feet still in slippers, he was already sliding two perfect eggs onto each plate, returning for the pot of milk to ladle carefully into their matching mugs.

“This looks amazing, Izuku,” Inko said in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is real!”

“I’m never gonna eat a potato again,” Mei murmured through a mouth already stuffed with egg. “How do we grow these in the forest?”

Izuku giggled at that, but he waited for them to finish eating before he explained himself, honestly a little delighted by the faces they both made when he explained laying eggs to them. Thankfully their little bout of greenness passed quickly, when he assured them that no male chickens had been present in the barn, but he couldn’t help but notice that they didn’t dare to ask him about the milk.

When breakfast was over, Izuku and Mei geared up just like old times, shrugging on their coats to keep warm in the shady forest, lacing up their boots to keep themselves sure-footed, and pulling satchel straps over their shoulders, to give them storage for their finds. Inko looked a little wistful as she waved goodbye, but still she smiled and wished them a safe trip, and then they were out in the early morning sun, walking the familiar path they’d always walked.

Everything about it was so familiar, so routine, so comfortable. Izuku refused to let himself think about how dull it felt, now. He was itching to learn new things, to try out what Aizawa called “recipes”, to find more and more foods and figure out how to grow them back home, and as much as he adored Mei and wished he didn’t need to leave her again, he couldn’t help but wish he could just go.

Instead, he sucked it up and got to work, diligently digging out potatoes where the tiny flowers had died off and marked their place. They were small, understandable considering the time of year, but Izuku couldn’t help but think they weren’t enough. It was never enough, really, but even more so when the weather hadn’t been right for them to grow, or when they’d been harvesting too many of them for the supply to keep up.

“They’ll grow,” Mei reminded him knowingly. “And in a few months there’ll be a huge mushroom crop. You don’t need to worry about us.”

“I do, though. Every time I’m down there eating eggs and drinking all the milk I could ever want, I worry about you.”

“We’ll get by like we always have, and you’ll bring us back treats whenever you visit. It’s already better, right? We have one less mouth to feed during tiny potato season, and we get exotic new treats when you visit. What could be better?”

“I wish you guys could come with me.”

“Maybe one day,” Mei shrugged. “But our families are here, and their friends and families too. So I’ll keep working on my babies to help us out, and you’ll keep exploring, and one day, things will be back to how they were before we were born.”

“Before our parents were born,” Izuku corrected her softly. “Not just scraps of different things and tiny crops, but abundant, delicious food that we can get and eat whenever we want.”

“Before our parents were born,” Mei echoed. “You’ve got it.”

She held out her smallest finger, and Izuku linked his own with it, smiling as they shook on it just like when they were little toddlers braving the dark woods together for the first time.

“After you eat the radishes, you have to bury them too,” Izuku said firmly. “I don’t know if they work like potatoes, but maybe they’ll at least help the potatoes get bigger, if not.”

“Like the potato water,” Mei said knowingly, pulling a bottle of it from her bag, from her dinner the night prior. “Gotta keep the food fed.”

“The milk, too. If you don’t drink it all before it goes bad, pour it on the soil.”

“How do I know when it goes bad?”

“It’ll stink.”

“Noted,” Mei agreed easily. “Stinky milk, strong potatoes.”

“Fingers crossed.”

When they reached the end of the path, they came to a tiny stone well, and Mei trailed her fingers along the stone bricks lightly. They’d never been able to see the bottom of it, only knew that the rope that held their water pail was ridiculously long, but still something about it had always seemed magical, rather than spooky like the other village children had claimed. 

In school, there had been endless stories about noises coming from that little clearing, about shadows moving when nothing was there, about coins dropped into the well that never hit the water below. But Mei and Izuku had never paid any mind to those stories, they’d been too busy squeezing their tiny eyes shut and dropping old coins down the shaft, whispering their deepest, most secret wishes before the tiny, distant plink of the water could cut them off.

“I wish the potatoes would grow big and strong!” Mei yelled into the chamber, her voice echoing back at them – she’d decided at thirteen that if whispering their wishes to the well didn’t work, maybe they needed to be louder, to ensure the well could actually hear them. “I wish Izuku would be safe on his trip!”

She looked across at him, expectant, and Izuku leaned over to take his turn, to pick his most important wish and scream it into the shaft, staring into the deep, empty darkness below. Mei waited, curious when Izuku didn’t make his wish right away, and Izuku found himself smiling softly, wondering if maybe, way down there, someone could see it on his face.

“Thank you!”

[Chapter 6]