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Midoriya Izuku is dead. Has been for exactly one year, and Toshinori had been there for his burial, watching as the kid was lowered under the mud that clung beneath his shoes.
His child is dead and he is reminded of this fact every day, a constant whisper of your failure peeking from the bulletin board posters, in the editorials of newspapers, seeking for a justice Yagi also yearns for.
His limbs ache, an exhaustion and weariness that hadn’t been there since settling in his joints, and he can’t find it in himself to complain because Izuku would never experience anything like this and how dare he complain about a proof of life?
“You know you’re allowed to not be a martyr,” Aizawa says suddenly, from the doorway. Toshinori looks down on the shards scattered across the countertop, the rest of the glass enclosed in his now bleeding fist. “Then again, I’m not sure the concept is familiar to you.”
He had once said that to Izuku too, in different words. You can’t save everyone, and Izuku had looked up at him with a fallen expression, leaning into Toshinori’s touch and he hadn’t known then that Izuku would be one of them, because that was simply not possible.
Not so impossible now, clearly.
“Yagi,”
He flinches. Nods in acknowledgement. He takes out the medkit from the drawers—everyone in UA is too accident prone to not have medkits chucked in random places—and fixes his wounds. Aizawa doesn’t stick around for the entirety of it. When he’s done, he leaves the kitchen and finds Hizashi sprawled across the couch, Aizawa unplugging the television hastily, and Cementoss with a rare scowl on his face.
“What is it,” Toshinori asks curiously. The atmosphere of the faculty’s common room isn’t as he left it.
“Just the usual,” Hizashi says vaguely.
Ah. “Anniversary video?”
Hizashi makes a pained, defensive noise.
“Don’t tell me you listen to this crap, Yagi,” Hizashi gestures at the black screen. “I’m a broadcaster. I know what bullshit sounds like.”
Toshinori does listen. Watches, even. Compiles the videos they have of Izuku and saves them in his phone gallery. Izuku had taught him before how to back up his files, a patient lilt to his voice as he guided Toshinori with his phone, and so Toshinori had done that, too.
He doesn’t have the heart to open the albums. He simply rewatches as they come, saves them again, and slips the phone back into his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. The latter never really happens.
Toshinori blinks.
Hizashi is still waiting for an answer, now sitting right up. He has a gaze fixed on Toshinori like he’s ready to save him if he suddenly keels over, and he realises quickly that Cementoss and Aizawa are preparing for that, too. Something constricts in his chest, but he doesn’t let it show.
“They don’t even know us,” he points out carefully, a soft, reassuring smile replacing the agony he feels.
But they were right about how the villains were able to swipe him from underneath All Might’s protection. How he had—oddly—cashed in so many favors to save a single first year student, and it still didn’t amount to anything more than a body in a casket.
The videos of him kneeling and begging still circulated online, apparently. Toshinori never found it in himself to care.
If it could bring back his dead son, he would do it a thousand times over.
But he is gone.
Still, if he pleads hard enough, perhaps Izuku will hear his apologies for not saving him.
There is a video playing across Zero. A green-haired UA student is the center of it: there are about thirty silly videos of the student compiled into a single death anniversary video, followed by few other videos and statements from the media.
Zero thinks it might be him.
No valid reason can back up this claim. He is not green-haired nor a UA student. He is also most certainly not dead. But the features are there, and the timeline seems to line up with his supposed death.
Zero does not know what this means. A quick search is all he needs to find that Midoriya was buried with his body intact. Several pro-heroes were witnesses to his burial.
But Zero looks just like him, if he dyes his hair green. Or maybe it’s just hopeful thinking—that in his lost memories, he was someone people considered to be the standard of good.
He’s still good, he thinks. He is good, isn’t he? He works for the Commission, and they set what good’s definition is.
He hopes he is. If he’s Midoriya, then he doesn’t think he can live with the thought of coming back wrong. And he badly wants to be Midoriya Izuku. The lack of memories doesn't let him, but maybe… maybe.
“Zero,” his back straightens at the call, and he is quick to turn the comms on. Before him, the anniversary video shuts down. He is left standing in the darkness again. “Return at once.”
For a second, Zero almost lets himself blend with the shadows. The night stretches before him, and he is confident in his ability to lose anyone monitoring him in it. But he needs answers. Needs his memories back.
Where else best to retrieve them, aside from where he lost them from?
Synthesizing a cure for his loss of memories will be easy with the Commission’s technology. Working around the cameras and detectors will be a challenge, but…
He can do it.
“Returning now.” He says to his comms.
He gives one last look at the now black screen, and disappears into the night.
No one is coming for Izuku.
From what little he remembers, he is most sure of this fact.
Regaining his memories was—hard. He wasn’t even fully sure if he wanted it at all, but now that he has taken an antidote, he finds that he would have never traded any of it for the world.
He is still disoriented even though it has been three months. The memories come in pieces, and slowly. On good days, he can handle most that appear in his mind. On his worst ones he is left stumbling on empty rooftops, clutching his head as the memories come and dissipate—all with a migraine.
Still. Experimenting on an antidote behind HPSC’s back was clearly a good idea. Izuku is proud of his brainwashed self that he still had enough sense in him to judge the morality of his orders. And the anniversary video from six months ago didn’t do wonders for the image of UA—especially All Might’s—but he admits that without it, he’d still be the same zombie he woke up as.
So even though he loathes it—because UA has done everything for him, how could they say they let him die?—he owes his life to its creator. Still, he’ll pretend the latter parts of the video don’t exist as he moves on with his life.
The only issue now is executing his plans, moving forward. Fortunately, HPSC has no idea that he has regained his senses somewhat, but no hero is still coming for him because he is supposed to be six feet beneath the ground until HPSC used him for a revival project.
It doesn’t matter. Izuku has always been good at planning. He has already manipulated their database, ensured that he will be given the opportunity to interact with the person he needs, and so—
“Zero,” Izuku’s head snaps up, and he fixes the domino mask on his face before rushing towards the center of the room. An agent is waiting for him, browsing through holograms of information. “You’re heading out. I’ve sent you the details.”
“Okay,” he nods, brushing through his black hair. He pauses. That would need fixing too. “Anything else?”
“None,” the agent is already leaving, likely headed for another hero. Izuku turns away too, already heading out for his next mission.
He doesn’t need to read the mission report, but he takes the time anyway as he jumps across buildings. It never hurts to be too careful. In the end, the details are the same as he remembers them to be: a stakeout on the three-way deal among villain organisations taking place in a warehouse along the 7th of Harmonia Avenue, escaped prisoners and former members of Shie Hassaikai part of it.
As Izuku stops above a rooftop, pulling away from the hologram, he sees a white scarf floating across him. The red eyes behind yellow goggles are sharp as they observe the warehouse’s entrance, before flitting towards him.
He clutches at his chest, fist thumping against his armor almost desperately.
It had taken him so long to set up this meeting. HPSC had been particular in making sure he didn’t come across any UA heroes during his missions, so it took a while of light data manipulation to ensure he’d be in a mission that would clearly be aligned with Eraserhead’s interest.
He made two previous attempts to take on missions that were Shie Hassaikai-related. The first one was barred by HPSC before even reaching the screening test, but Eraserhead was not part of that mission and so his second attempt was allowed. Still, no Eraserhead showed up.
But now.
Now.
He waves at the hero. Eraserhead unhesitatingly grapples towards him, just as he presses a button within his suit’s sleeve. Immediately, he hears static cut through his earpiece. He pulls it away and crushes it, same goes for the tracker in his glove.
Eraserhead eyes him warily as he lands on the same rooftop. “What was that?”
“Trackers,” he leans forward anxiously. “I, um—I need to talk to you. It's urgent. Can we go somewhere else?”
The scarf continues to float above the hero’s shoulders. “Are you trying to distract me from the deal happening down there? A kidnapping?”
“No!” He denies quickly, shaking his head. Well, there was a kidnapping, but not for Eraserhead. “M-maybe you can get another hero to track them instead? Please, you have to hear me out. It has to be you.”
Eraserhead looks at him carefully, assessing him. Izuku must pass whatever test was done on him, because Eraserhead is activating his comm, communicating with another hero to take over his recon. His gaze never leaves him but his hair and scarf do stop levitating.
“Okay, let’s get moving,” Eraserhead tells him the moment he flicks the comms off. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief. “I have a safehouse three blocks down. Follow me.”
Some of the tension leaves Izuku’s shoulders. He’s safe now. This is Eraserhead. And he may not have all his memories, but he remembers a fist against his chest and a fond, “Problem Child” being uttered as he promises to keep Izuku safe.
When they reach the safehouse, Eraserhead pulls out his phone. He sees him disabling the security features in the apartment, and then Izuku is being herded inside.
Eraserhead doesn’t ask him anything. Instead, he heads for the kitchen, letting Izuku sit on the couch silently. He isn’t sure what the hero is doing, but when he comes out of the kitchen it’s with two mugs of hot chocolate. He hands Izuku one, and he takes it wordlessly, gaze fixed on it and he—his vision is blurring, and his chest is constricting because he—this is—
He remembers having this exact scenario play out multiple times back in the UA dorms, when he was too anxious to take on the world. Eraserhead would sit with him with a hot chocolate in their hands because Eraserhead has always been his hero and he has always been there for him and he needs a hero now and Eraserhead is here now.
He takes a sip, and it’s just as he remembers it. The tears follow immediately.
“Sensei,” he says, face crumpling. Eraserhead straightens up, tense. “Sensei, it’s me.”
Eraserhead continues to stare, trying to figure him out. He knows he looks nothing like what he should be, with an armor and domino mask and black hair, so it makes sense that Eraserhead doesn’t recognise him.
That thought is disproved when the hero abruptly stands up and backs away, removing his goggles as he activates his quirk at Izuku.
Nothing happens, except for One for All going quiet.
The hero’s quirk dies down.
“Who,” Eraserhead says, even though he seems to have guessed already. Still, Izuku takes off his domino mask, tears already trickling down his cheeks as he looks at him, pleading to be believed, to be trusted. “No. We buried you.”
“You did,” Izuku hesitates. “They, um. They dug me back up and—and…”
“They?” And the voice is all Aizawa now. He looks horrified. “You were buried alive?”
“No!” He says immediately, equally as horrified. “No, it was the Commission. They revived me for their fight against All for One,” Izuku says, rubbing a hand over his face exhaustedly. “We told you about One for All before—uh, before. I still have it. I can prove it to you.”
Izuku activates One for All, letting the lightning dance around him. And when that dissipates, Aizawa is staring at him incomprehensibly, a mixture of hope and desperation tangled in his expression.
“Midoriya,” Aizawa mutters disbelievingly, looking away for a while with a hand over his eyes. Izuku has never heard his teacher sound so broken. “How long?”
“They revived me one week after my burial,” he admits. “I realised something was wrong around six months ago. The anniversary video. It took a while to synthesize an antidote, but once I got the data on the serum they were giving me, it was easy to recover my memories.”
“Revived,” Aizawa echoes, looking a bit lost as he checks him over carefully. And then, “We have to ensure your safety. You up for a trip to UA?”
He looks up at him hopefully. “All Might?”
Aizawa lets out a huff. “Of course he’s the first one you think of. Yeah, kid. All Might’s going to be there. I’ll have to give Nedzu a warning call, or All Might might actually keel over.”
“Why?” Izuku asks frantically. All Might was sick but not that sick. Is he missing memories? “Is he sick?”
Aizawa pauses at that, assessing. There’s a dawning horror on him until Aizawa shakes his head.
“He’ll recover,” he says. “He… it’d be better for both of you to see each other.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “I’d… really like it if I can see him, please.”
Aizawa places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.
“Give me a minute,” Aizawa says. “Or three. Give me three minutes, then we’ll head out, okay?”
“I’ll be right here, sensei.”
Aizawa makes an unreadable expression. He takes a few seconds just staring at Izuku wordlessly, before pulling away to make a phone call.
Shouta might be dead. Or dying. Or both.
He doesn’t make a habit of questioning his sanity, but he thinks now may be a good time to recalibrate.
Midoriya is alive. Breathing and walking and alive and, by some miracle, is asking for help.
He makes a phone call.
He hasn’t even confirmed his identity. His paranoia screams for confirmation before giving out his trust, but it’s Midoriya. And if there’s anything that Shouta is sure of, it’s that he knows his kids. Still, he is at least aware that his judgment has been compromised.
“Aizawa?”
That’s what the phone call is for.
“Nedzu,” he inhales deeply, slipping his eyes shut as the realisation dawns on him, gripping at his throat. He gasps out, “Midoriya is alive.”
There’s a while of silence as they both process his words.
“That’s… a huge claim,” Nedzu points out. He seems thoughtful as he asks, “Confirmed?”
“No,” he says. “He approached me during a stakeout. I have him with me in my safehouse. But Nedzu, I know him.”
He knows his kids. That child pleading to be believed in the other room is Midoriya, without a doubt.
“We will be doing tests when you arrive,” Nedzu says, and Shouta is even more grateful for their principal. “Keep him safe, Aizawa. If it’s him…”
“Just… warn him,” All Might’s health declined rapidly at the loss of Midoriya. He isn’t too enthused about shoving an impostor back to his face without solid evidence.
“Tests first,” Nedzu says firmly. “But I will let them know. Again, keep safe, Aizawa. And him.”
The call is dropped. He takes another deep breath, mentally preparing himself to see the kid again.
And he can’t believe that thought—that he’ll be seeing Midoriya again. Just a few days ago he was already preparing himself for the kid’s second death anniversary. The first year was—painful. It ruined everyone that knew Midoriya. His class had been given the week off, and their coping methods were all too painful to watch.
He takes a deep breath. Compartmentalises. When he opens the door, he half expects the kid to be gone, to be just a figment of his grief-induced hallucinations. But he is extremely relieved to find him sitting there, a different kid but still Midoriya.
He idly wonders what the kid has gone through since his death. It wasn’t pretty from their perspective, but what more from the kid’s view?
He doesn’t let his thoughts dwell on it too much. He has a kid to protect.
“Ready?”
Midoriya looks up, clearly too anxious to be sleepy—even at two in the morning.
“Yes, sensei!” Midoriya tries for a smile, but his brows furrow before it can be considered one, expression falling. So the kid can’t smile, now. They’ll have to make amends for that. “Uhm, s-shall we…?”
“Anything I need to be on the lookout for as we go?” Shouta asks. “Are you being hunted right now? Any places we should avoid?”
Midoriya is already standing up, shrugging. “I think… any is fine. News of our contact has likely reached them.”
Shouta nods. He turns the traps off and leads Midoriya out, more than ready to finally bring the kid home.
Toshinori waits anxiously outside Nedzu’s office.
He rushed here the moment Hizashi woke him up, carefully explaining the events that unfolded as he slept. Apparently, Midoriya was back in UA, revived by the Commission before his body was even cold.
The tests have finished, a few minutes back. It’s been proven that it is Midoriya in there. Toshinori thought he’d be the first to run in, but he’s more scared than he expected.
What if Midoriya hates him for not saving him? What if he doesn’t recognise Toshinori anymore, having aged far too much, having changed too much?
This is what he’s been pleading for, to have him back. And there is still nothing more he wishes for. Even now he feels like he’ll collapse at the thought that he has him back.
But what if he opens the door, and wakes up in his bed?
Toshinori’s hands are trembling.
He’s dreamt of this too many times. Each time he wakes up, it only hurts him more.
“Yagi,” Hizashi calls gently. “Wanna see him together?”
He flinches lightly.
“He’s waiting for you.” Hizashi coaxes again, and that does it.
He stands up. Even if this is a dream, or a nightmare waiting to laugh at his wishes, he’s never been one to say no to Midoriya.
“Is it really him?” He asks hopefully.
“It is,” Hizashi reassures. “You wanna open it, or should I?”
Toshinori takes a deep breath. “I will.”
“Okay, Yagi,” Hizashi says, grinning. He looks… proud. “After you.”
Opening a door has never been a more daunting task. He doesn’t know how long he stares at the knob before he eventually twists it, but in the end time doesn’t matter because when he opens the door, he finds himself staring at his child, who is busy speaking with Nedzu.
He has black hair now, and a weary expression that he never thought he’d see on the kid so early in his life. His back is hunched like he has been carrying the world on his shoulders for so long, but it’s him.
Older, but simultaneously as young as he remembers. Still lightens the world with his presence. Unequivocally, certainly Midoriya.
He makes it two steps before he collapses on the ground, reaching out to Midoriya who has turned to him with wide eyes. Alarmed voices echo in the room as he remains on the ground. Nothing else matters anymore.
“My boy,” he calls brokenly. That’s all it takes for Midoriya to rush across the room, and into his embrace.
“All Might,” Midoriya sobs. The kid has always been quick to tears, and Toshinori finds himself the same now, too. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, All Might. One for All died with me. I’m sorry I let that happen.”
Toshinori grimaces as he holds the sobbing child closer, because none of that ever crossed his mind, and he wishes it never crossed Midoriya’s thoughts either. “The world can burn and I will still only care about you. I failed you. I’m sorry that I—that I let you die.”
“You didn’t let me die,” Midoriya says, pulling away lightly to look at him sincerely. “I know what you did for me, when I—when it all went down. I never stopped believing you were doing everything to save me. Thank you.”
All Might looks at Midoriya carefully. There’s a healing scar on his cheek that has never been there before. He knows Midoriya had chronic pains in his arms, but now it shook more. Midoriya has gone through so much since he’s been gone, and yet he still came back. Still believed in them enough to be right here in Toshinori’s arms.
“You came back to us,” he says, still in disbelief that he gets to have this. “Thank you. Thank you for coming back.”
“I don’t think I came back properly,” Midoriya admits. “Is that okay? Does that—that will change things, right?”
“It may,” Nedzu chirps. They both look at the principal. “But change isn’t necessarily bad. Welcome back, Midoriya. Know that whatever it is you have gone through, we will be right here to understand.”
Toshinori didn’t think it was possible but Midoriya cries harder, unable to utter anything else as he clutches at his chest and bows down.
Shouto hasn’t been able to breathe since a year and a half ago. He thinks his breath may have been caught and buried alongside Midoriya, a fragment of his soul still trying to keep his friend alive.
Class 1-A was the first one to discover his body.
They had been tracing him for days, attempting satellite triangulation on the random calls made from the villains, but there never was a proper lead.
Until that day.
They caught a lead and took it desperately, quick to reach the scene. Their desperation led them to be earlier than the pro-heroes, and the media had berated the heroes for it.
“How could UA let this happen,” he remembers the media saying, angry for their sake. “Twenty children—first to see their classmate dead.”
They don’t know what went down. How Aizawa had pleaded with them to not involve themselves, how he told them that Midoriya needed their undivided attention but that he knew he couldn’t keep them in their dorms and asked them to stay, how their teacher’s sincerity had them planning to do just that until All Might had gotten on his knees on live television and begged for them to hand Midoriya over. How they had to listen to a stolen recording of the next call, hearing the kidnappers laugh to their faces, mocking All Might’s desperation and cherishing how the former untouchable hero was reduced to such a state.
There were plenty of arguments within the class. The heroes’ focus was on Midoriya and 1-A could take advantage of it easily, they knew. Most didn’t want to cause their teachers more pain by involving themselves, but everyone agreed that they couldn’t bear to see their teachers slowly going insane as Midoriya remained missing, couldn't bear to imagine what Midoriya had been going through. So they all went out together, with plans so detailed they considered specific minutes and sometimes seconds, with multiple people running monitors and Yaoyorozu creating unbreakable comms and trackers with the help of the support class.
And then it worked. That day, the entire class along with 1-B had all gone out to cover more area, and the support class took over monitors. Except it only worked because the kidnappers had intended them to find Midoriya and—
He remembers having to watch Bakugo hold Midoriya close, in shock and disbelief as he called Midoriya’s name in a guttural sob. They had just started to get along. After years of struggle with their friendship they had finally gotten around to understanding it, and the next thing they knew Midoriya was lying dead on the ground.
Bakugo’s screams torment his nightmares, to this day.
He remembers everything vividly and vaguely simultaneously, as though the details were too painful to forget but time was being skipped as it all unfolded.
He remembers Shinsou kneeling on his capture weapon, just beside Midoriya. Shinsou never cried and he didn’t cry that day, either. He stared on, instead, as beside him, Uraraka sat on the ground, carefully wiping away the blood that clung to Midoriya’s face. Iida was no better. He was crying, eyes wide, barely able to hold his own weight. Asui was meters away from them, seemingly frozen in time.
Yaoyorozu was crying as she remained on the phone with Aizawa. “He’s dead,” he remembers her saying, almost mechanically. Her words drowned him in ice cold realisation, all other sounds blurring around him. “Sensei, they killed him.”
He remembers sweeping his gaze across the warehouse—a form of compartmentalisation, he realises quickly. Ashido, with her shaking hands and breath. Kaminari holding onto Midoriya’s ankle, mouthing words Shouto couldn’t process, begging for something. Kirishima, beside Bakugo, was reaching for a pulse again. Sero kept away, busying himself by looking at the tossed phone with Shouji, who had his eyes closed but with ears listening for clues as they played recordings left in the phone. Mineta was babbling about how it couldn’t be Midoriya, looking minutes away from a breakdown.
When the pro-heroes arrived, Dark Shadow had taken over the sky protectively. It had taken some coaxing from a clearly upset Tokoyami and still crying Kouda to calm him.
Jirou still had an earphone jack plugged into the ground. When Aizawa approached her she had shaken her head, burying her face in her hands. At that sight Aoyama had leaned further into the wall, sullen and silent and shaking while Ojiro sat beside him, blood on his knuckles and on the cracked wall beside him, one of Hagakure’s gloved hand on his shoulder and the other where he assumes her eyes to be, wiping at tears.
What was Shouto doing?
Where was he, in that scene?
The world had been tilting, ground swept from beneath his feet. He was there, somewhere, slotted into that warehouse like a puzzle that didn’t really fit.
He thinks he may have been beside Midoriya, in one of the frames of his memories. Maybe he was outside the warehouse, looking in, still where he stood before he had frozen and shattered the door.
But he remembers the way he held Midoriya in his arms, his own voice uttering reassurances to Midoriya that he had been found, that they finally found him, that he was sorry it had taken them long enough to be late, and then Bakugo had slid into his vision and had looked him in his eyes.
“Please,” Bakugo said, then. A single word. He hesitated just for a second before handing Midoriya over.
Shouto has never understood Schrödinger's Cat, but he thinks he gets it now. Before he opened that door, Midoriya was neither dead nor alive. He was simply—there, in that warehouse.
But when Shouto had broken that door and laid his eyes on Midoriya, when he rushed to his side and reached for a pulse, Midoriya was gone.
And now, Shouto is here, one year and a half into the aftermath. He’s still stuck there, maybe just as dead and alive as Midoriya was. Physically, he is in the kitchen of their dorm, cutting the vegetables as Bakugo demanded of him, in the middle of the chaos of Class 3-A, but most of him is still in that warehouse.
The knife cuts into the carrot. His breath hitches in his throat, vision greying at the edges.
“Let me take over,” Satou says quietly, taking the knife from his hand.
That’s another development in their class. They’ve been more aware of each other, more concerned. They’ve grown accustomed to one another’s habits, able to read emotions that can’t be seen from expressions alone.
Even now, as he walks towards the common room, Sero wordlessly nods at him, an understanding look in his expression.
Shouto looks away, and towards the main door that has just opened. Those in the common room pause, watching as Aizawa scans the room quickly.
His gaze lands on Shouto.
His breath remains stuck in his chest.
“It’s urgent, but keep calm,” Aizawa says. Panic hits Shouto, and he grimaces as a thought of not again echoes in his mind. “It’s good news. Call everyone here.”
“The rest are in the kitchen,” Shouto says as Uraraka yells at everyone to come. “Good news?”
Aizawa nods. The rest of the class filters into the room, slipping into the empty gaps on the couch or settling on the floor. Shouto chooses to remain standing by the edge of the couch where Uraraka has plopped back down.
“What’s going on, sensei?” Iida asks when Aizawa takes too long to say anything, leaning forward.
Aizawa opens his mouth, something unreadable in his expression as he snaps it shut. He shifts slightly to his right, to the door, fist closing around the knob.
“Midoriya is alive.”
Bakugo stands up angrily, looking both ready to leave and fight at the same time.
“What kind of sick joke is this? We buried him. Hell, we found him in that warehouse.”
Shouto’s ears are ringing, his hand clutching at his chest.
Aizawa wouldn't lie about this, hasn’t even been trying to mention him, so that means—Midoriya—
“That’s what I told him too, when he approached me last night,” Aizawa says gently, easing them into the news. Uraraka is staring at Aizawa, eyes tearing up, and their teacher nods at her. “It’s him.”
Uraraka sobs. “Oh my God. Oh, God. I’m gonna pass out. Did we bury him alive? Was he always alive? Where has he been?”
“No, he—” Aizawa pauses. “The Commission revived him.”
“What the hell?” It’s not Bakugo this time. Shinsou is walking up to their teacher, confused and angry and thoroughly upset. “Revived?”
“Yes. You have all been made aware of All for One after—Midoriya. He was revived because they deemed his quirk necessary in the fight against him.”
“Wait,” Jirou says. They all wait for her as she pauses, eyes widening with a fragile hope. “The heartbeat—just outside. It’s—it’s his heartbeat.”
Shouto collapses.
When he comes to, the air is a little too cold, and the right side of his face is pressed against the tiles as he gasps for breath. The door is bursting open, and there are voices of disbelief filtering into the open air and a hand presses against his cheek and—
“Todoroki?”
He had forgotten this voice.
In the year and a half that has passed, this has tormented him most. Somehow, the voice that had always been around him faded into the depths of his mind, out of reach. Gone. His memories of him were gone, just like him. Dead twice over.
He had forgotten the sound of his voice, the slightest intonations, the accent. He had forgotten that pattern of freckles, that curled hair.
He had forgotten these gentle green eyes that always saw him.
“Midoriya,” he calls, pushing himself up. There is not enough oxygen and there’s a weight settling on his chest, but Midoriya is here and he still can’t breathe—
Midoriya is prompting him gently. Shouto answers him mechanically in a whisper, unable to even hear everything he's uttering. His green eyes. His now black hair. The ceiling and the too-bright lights. The cold tiles. The fabric of his shirt. His voice. Iida and Aizawa’s hushed conversation. The scent of beef stew. The bitter air.
He chokes out a sob as reality comes back to him.
“Midoriya,” he calls again. “You’re—here?”
“I’m here, Todoroki,” Midoriya says, and it’s like he never left. Midoriya is sweeping his gaze across the room, bursting into tears. “I’m back, everyone.”
There are varying degrees of reactions.
Uraraka is the first to move, holding onto Midoriya like a lifeline. Iida follows soon after, until it’s a blur of people rushing towards Midoriya. Some stay back, opting to watch it all unfold, to process it. Shouto is one of them until Midoriya looks up from the center of the mess, a hand reached out—
Shouto takes it.
Shouto doesn’t think he deserves this warmth, doesn’t deserve to be this happy, but Midoriya pulls him closer and—well. Midoriya has always been good at proving him otherwise.
“Your hair is black,” he comments. Midoriya looks amused, like he has heard this sentiment countless times before.
“Yeah,” he says softly, tugging at a few strands. “It’s a really long story.”
“We have time,” Shinsou tells him.
They always had time.
Midoriya smiles, careful and unsure but genuine. It’s the best smile he’s seen in his life. He hears a photo being snapped and they all turn to Aizawa, who coughs awkwardly and puts the phone back in his pocket.
“For All Might,” he says. They all nod in understanding. Izuku makes a garbled noise.
“You have to tell us everything, Mido!” Ashido and Kaminari pull him, somehow managing to detangle themselves and Midoriya from the crowd and onto the couch. “Or do you need rest? Have you been resting? Is this—this is permanent, right?”
That last question has them all alarmed, and Kirishima reaches out for his wrist. Midoriya lets him as he quickly reassures them.
“I’m here to stay,” he promises. The tension in the atmosphere eases away. “Do you really wanna know?”
“Yes,” it’s Bakugou, this time. He has deliberately placed himself away, near the door. Tokoyami is right beside him. “What happened, Deku?”
Midoriya takes a deep breath. Shouto sits beside him, Uraraka and Iida on the other side, and Midoriya relaxes slightly. Then, he starts his story.
Izuku finds himself in the faculty’s common room days after his conversation with 3-A.
It was—heavy. There were so many tears and Izuku felt guilty that he caused them so much pain. He thought of it, in that warehouse. He wondered how they’d feel when Izuku was gone, a selfish act of comfort in his last moments as he resigned himself to his fate. He wanted to at least believe that he would be missed, that he had accomplished being seen by the world before he left.
And he was. He’s only realising now how deeply he was loved. Even after finding out the things Izuku has done when he was with the Commission, they made sure that Izuku knew he was very, very loved—Uraraka’s words—and that things may be different but that doesn’t mean it’s all wrong now.
Izuku cried too much from that.
And now he’s here, and in front of him is someone who crawled through so much just to try and get Izuku back.
The rest of his teachers have kept away, leaving him and All Might on the couches, waiting on each other to start the conversation.
Izuku thinks back to the results of his research, back when he was still with the Commission. He remembers watching the video—All Might on live television, on his knees, admitting defeat and asking them to bring back Izuku.
He knew All Might would look for him. He had One for All, and he was All Might’s mentee. And All Might was—All Might. A hero. His hero. So, it was natural that he’d come for Izuku.
But not like that. Not with that level of desperation.
Admittedly, he knew that he was going to die when it was all unfolding. He remembers that feeling of helplessness, knowing that all his dreams were crashing down, that one day he simply wasn’t going to wake up.
And he hadn’t. He had died there.
It’s still taking some time to process that, even more so with the realisation that on the other side of that warehouse, someone was desperate to save him.
Which brings him here, in front of All Might, because he knows it’s not just him who keeps on returning to that time.
“You’ve kneeled twice for me,” Izuku muses, sipping at the tea in front of him. All Might stills for a second. “When—when the dorm was built, that was one. And then…”
“You want to know why,” Izuku nods. All Might chuckles fondly. “I think, my boy, that the better question is—who wouldn’t do everything to get you back?”
Izuku is even more confused now. All Might sets his cup down.
“The media has focused too much on me,” he admits. “What do you know about your case?”
“I saw that 1-A—sorry, 3-A now—found me,” Izuku says carefully. “It was… a big case. Mostly because of your involvement. That’s all I know.”
“It was a big case,” All Might agrees. “You may have heard that the pro-heroes have done a lot. But your… kidnappers—they had far advanced technology. When we checked, it had traces of a specific quirk. Do you remember what it was?”
“Time quirk,” Izuku says, recalling the warp gate he was tossed in. “They kept me in different timelines. That’s why we were untraceable.”
“Yes. Not for the lack of trying. The hero classes have also worked together with the support class to trace you.”
Izuku blinks at him in surprise. He knew 1-A found him, but the fact that his batchmates worked together… that wasn’t in any files. “They did?”
“Yes,” All Might says. “So I ask again, Young Midoriya, who wouldn’t do everything for you?”
Izuku has always been sidelined. All his life, he has watched the world move forward without him. Since when has he been part of this world?
He scrunches his nose up, trying to keep the tears in his eyes. He’s been crying for days already.
“Um, I heard you haven’t been well,” he says instead, now worriedly looking All Might over. “Are you okay?”
All Might looks thoughtful, leaning back on the couch. There’s a soft smile on his face as he considers the question.
“I’m okay, Young Midoriya,” All Might says. There is still guilt in All Might’s eyes. That seems to be a common trend among the people he’s been meeting so far. “Everything’s fine now.”
His sincere expression is enough to reassure Izuku.
Kacchan finds him later, in front of his room. The door is pushed open, revealing the hero posters plastered on the wall, the room a little dusty but still very much his.
“Four Eyes has been taking care of it,” Kacchan leans against the wall, gesturing at the room. "And Round Face. Pinky. Literally everyone.”
He makes a mental note to thank his friends later. “There are new All Might figurines on the cabinet."
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I think I know who they’re from.”
Kacchan pockets his hands defensively. “It’d be a shame if an All Might collection was incomplete.”
“I think so too,” Izuku agrees. “Thank you, Kacchan.”
“I didn’t say they were from me.”
“I never said that either.”
Kacchan’s brows furrow. “Ah, what the hell. There’s food downstairs. Stop idling around and eat. Or don’t. Also, why is your hair black. Are you trying to be Eraserhead?”
Kacchan turns away without waiting for any answers, heading for the elevator. Izuku hesitates, but he’s calling out before he can really stop himself.
“Kacchan?”
Kacchan stops.
“I—”
“Don’t,” Kacchan looks at him, looking a little lost and upset. “Don’t apologise. That was never on you, okay?”
He’s trying to not let it show, but there’s guilt bleeding into Kacchan’s expression. Izuku hears the I’m sorry I couldn’t save you all the same.
“Thank you,” Izuku says instead. Kacchan draws back as though burned. “You looked for me. Thank you, Kacchan.”
Kacchan continues to stare at him, fists trembling on his sides. Then, he hangs his head low.
“Did you know I was looking for you?”
“I knew,”
“Did you,” Kacchan pauses, “Did you think we could save you?”
During that moment, Izuku knew everything had come to an end. It was difficult, but he had come to terms with it. But the thing was—
“You have saved me,” he says. “The anniversary video—well, aside from the parts added by the media—those were videos posted by the class. It brought me—here. In front of you. Kacchan, I was saved.”
“You weren’t saved,” Kacchan snaps. “We weren’t strong enough to. The entire hero industry was looking for you and you still died, Deku. The villains who took you may be in Tartarus but they’re there on their own volition, because they surrendered and not because we got them.”
“Then I was revived. And it really sucks that I died, and I am scared that they’ll get to me again. But Kacchan, I was revived and lost and everyone saved me from that,” Izuku insists. “I’m right here, Kacchan.”
Kacchan looks at him. Really looks at him now, instead of the ghost-like image that Izuku thinks he’s been seeing all this time.
Kacchan takes a moment to process his words. Izuku takes that time to realise that Kacchan has gotten older without him, that they have grown without each other for the first time since they met.
But they still end up here, before each other. They’re still the same Deku and Kacchan that stood by each other, even though there are too many differences to note.
“Deku,” he wrings out, as if it’s an insult. They both know it isn’t. “Always the martyr.”
“Thanks,” he grins. “I got it from All Might.”
“Don’t let Half-and-Half hear ya,” he says, watching as Izuku closes his door and follows him to the elevator. “Or he’ll get intolerable with his theories.”
Izuku makes a garbled noise. “He still thinks that?”
“All Might kneeling on live television hasn’t exactly been disproving him,” Kacchan barks out a laugh. “Wanna test him?”
The elevator door opens. Outside, Class 3-A are in chaos as they herd him into the dining room, a celebratory feast in motion.
Kacchan moves towards Todoroki.
“Don’t do it, Kacchan!” Izuku says, mid-laughter, and Class 3-A pries the details of their conversation from Kacchan, only to be horrified at the realisation that they have fed Todoroki’s theorising mind. Todoroki looks thoughtful. All Might seems intrigued, almost proud, and the teachers look on with fondness.
Izuku laughs again. Like All Might said, everything is fine now.