Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shigaraki Tomura gets shot in the chest, and Kurogiri does something he didn’t think was possible.

He loses control.

Something snaps inside him and warp gates open all across the USJ, dozens of them, swallowing heroes and villains alike. He doesn’t see where they are spit back out, doesn’t care, doesn’t watch as the hero students work together to catch each other when they reappear mid-air, hundreds of feet above the ground.

As his quirk lashes out around him, all Kurogiri has eyes for is the boy (his boy, Tomura, his son) bleeding out at his feet.

Kurogiri falls to his knees beside him, pressing his hands against the wound just to the right of his heart. Kurogiri has never hated his slight incorporeality more than that moment, when he can’t quite hold the blood inside Tomura’s body.

“Kurogiri,” the boy rasps, “Kuro—”

“Shh. It’s alright, Tomura. It’s okay. We’ll get back to the bar and you’ll be fine—”

Tomura’s hand comes up, clutches at Kurogiri’s vest. He’s still so cautious, so conscious of where he places his fingers. Kurogiri almost wishes he was a little less careful.

“Dad,” Tomura chokes out, and his hand falls limp, and Kurogiri does another thing he didn’t think he could.

He cries.

He’s vaguely aware of movement around him, heroes closing in. They’re not important. They don’t matter. All that matters is Tomura, and the blood no longer flowing beneath Kurogiri’s hands, and the body of the boy he raised already cooling in his arms.

“Hey,” someone says behind him, and he’s whirling around, shadows and smoke flaring, and he catches a glimpse of yellow and black, and that’s a hero, he should be fighting, but most of him doesn’t care about heroes and villains anymore, and some tiny voice cries out ‘Safe, trust him, he can help, ‘Zashi—’

But then the world is twisting, folding in on itself, warping like one of his portals and then he’s stepping out into the USJ, Tomura a few paces ahead.

His training (programming) doesn’t allow him to react as he wishes. He cannot grab Tomura, gather him close, pull him back through the gate and to safety. He doesn’t know what has happened, if it was some strange hallucination or vision (it’s not as if he hasn’t had them before, however rarely, though usually they consist of bright smiles and laughter, and not his son dying in his arms).

His (wrong twisted dissected rotting) mind playing tricks on him seems the most logical explanation.

At least, it does until he hears a gunshot, and an odd, choked off noise, and he watches Tomura’s eyes glaze over a second time.

He can’t change anything. That’s the worst part.

Every time, he follows Tomura’s plan to the letter. Sure, he makes some adjustments in a desperate attempt to do something, anything, but the most he can do is send different hero students and different villains to different sections of the USJ.

Nothing really changes. Five more times, he watches Tomura get shot, collapse, bleed.

The seventh time around, he steps into Eraserhead’s line of sight just before Tomura attacks the young frog-like girl. It makes something deep within him wail in anguish to purposefully cause a child’s death. Another sensation he hasn’t felt (in fifteen years) before rolls through his stomach, nausea making him swallow down bile as he watches the girl decay.

“TSU!” The green-haired boy screams, voice ragged. The smaller boy beside him has his hands clasped over his mouth, eyes full of tears.

In that loop, Kurogiri learns it doesn’t matter who dies. It doesn’t matter which child pays for his mistakes. Ten seconds after the girl crumbles, he’s hit with now-familiar vertigo, and he’s once again stepping out of a gate into the USJ.

He’s not sure what causes Eraserhead’s death in loop eleven. Maybe it’s just a butterfly effect, from Kurogiri taking a step slightly differently, or standing inches away from his original position. Whatever the cause, when the Nomu smashes Eraserhead’s face into the ground one, two, three times—the man doesn’t get back up.

The part of him that seems to get bigger and louder with every loop—that recognized the voice of the hero the first time, that wailed whenever a hero student died—shrieks.

He has never been more glad that his mist covers his face. He isn’t sure how he would explain to Tomura why he is crying in the next loop. He can’t even explain it to himself.

Kurogiri is hit with a full blast of Present Mic’s quirk in loop fourteen.

Maybe the reason he doesn’t notice anything different, at first, is because he is running ragged. He has watched his son die ten times now, and doesn’t have the mental capacity to focus on anything besides keeping everyone alive.

Loops fifteen and seventeen, he is again caught in the hero’s yell.

Loop eighteen, he throws himself in its path.

(They all knew the physical effects sound could have. That was part of how Hizashi’s quirk worked, after all—causing physical changes with sound waves.

When they’re sixteen, though, Hizashi admits to having bad days. Days when he feels like his quirk is good for nothing but causing harm, because “I’ve been hurting people since the day I was born, why should the rest of my life be any different?”

They are all quick to reassure him, to try to convince him otherwise. But they can tell he doesn’t quite believe it.

Oboro throws himself into research. Less than a week later, he goes to Hizashi with pages upon pages of everything he’s found.

He had known, in an abstract sort of way, that music could be healing. Music therapy was a thing, after all. But he’d never realized the extent of it.

Hizashi cries, when he realizes what Oboro has brought him. Studies of how music, and sound in general, affect the brain. How trauma can be soothed by the body physically responding to sound. How his quirk can be used as a weapon, yes, but can also be used to heal.

“You could become a music therapist, if being a hero doesn’t work out,” Oboro jokes.

Hizashi sniffles, still staring at the papers in his hand. “I don’t know about that. I don’t have the most soothing presence.”

Shouta rolls his eyes. “You’re plenty soothing.” He scoffs as he says it, but leans his shoulder against Hizashi’s.

Oboro slings his arms around them. God, does he love his friends.)

Somehow, his mind is the one thing that doesn’t reset with the loops.

He keeps throwing himself in the way of Present Mic’s attacks.

The screams are far from trying to be healing. That’s probably why it takes him five loops to figure out why, exactly, he keeps getting in their path. It’s practically instinctive.

(Before, he would have said following the Master’s orders was instinct. Now, he can tell the differenc. One he does without his own consent, separate from free will. The other he feels deep in his bones, and chooses to follow.)

The sixth time he is almost blown away by Present Mic’s “YEEEEEAAHHHHHHHH!”, in loop twenty-three, he remembers researching until nearly three in the morning every night for a week straight, working desperately to convince his best friend his quirk is good. He still does not remember his friend’s face, or his voice. But he recognizes the feeling he gets from thinking about him. It’s the same as in the dreams-hallucinations-memories? when he sees a sunshine smile and golden hair and bright green eyes.

Loop twenty-four, he gets closer to Present Mic than ever before, gets his first good look at him, and he understands just a little more.

Hizashi, his heart sings; Hizashi, Hizashi, Hizashi.

He spends a few more loops purposefully getting in the way of the blast, before taking a break from it and realizing his mind is healing on its own.

Eraserhead’s quirk is turned on him, and his smoke fluctuates, and he sees a boy with black hair and red-black eyes, and he hears a quiet laugh made all the more wondrous for how difficult it is to coax from him.

Shouta is not sung like Hizashi; it hums along his nerves and settles like a chant behind his sternum.

Loops thirty-one and thirty-two are spent in a daze, as the names and the memories take their places in the crevices of his (healing shifting better) mind and chambers of his (still not beating but so close) heart.

When it finally comes, on the tail end of loop thirty-three, it does not sing or hum. It cracks, and bursts, and rumbles, like lightning strikes and the first drops of rain and counting the seconds before the thunder.

Shirakumo Oboro.

He doesn’t remember much of the rest of the thirties.

Chapter Text

In loop forty, the first thing Kurogiri (should I still call myself that?) does is shove all the villains back through his portals.

Not literally. He’s not close enough to any of them for that. But he does open up new portals under their feet, and doesn’t pay attention to where he sends them.

Except for the Nomu. That, he puts at the bottom of the ocean, resolving to deal with it later, if it ever comes back up.

In front of him, Tomura whirls around. “Kurogiri, what the fuck?”

Then he falls through a gate and is left to float in the inky non-space between portals.

There’s a thump as Eraserhead lands just over a dozen feet away. He’s tense, capture weapon at the ready. His hair isn’t floating, though. Kurogiri takes that as a good sign.

“Apologies,” Kurogiri says, trying not to shift under the weight of the not-yet-red eyes. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. Nevertheless, Eraserhead, I need your help.”

The man doesn’t relax, though he doesn’t tense further. His head tilts, just slightly. “My help?”

“Yes. I am currently stuck in a time loop, and I believe you can help me end it.”

Eraserhead shifts, slightly, posture straightening just the slightest bit. “…What?”

Kurogiri sits in an interrogation room, hands clasped on the table in front of him, staring at the one-way mirror.

Apparently, UA just… has interrogation rooms. (How did he not know this? Did Nezu put them in place?)

The door opens, and a man steps inside. He looks normal—black hair, dark eyes, tan coat over a nice suit. He sits in the chair on the other side of the table and places a notebook in his lap.

“So. Kurogiri, was it?”

Kuro—Ob—he hesitates. “Yes.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “Alright. I’m Detective Tsukauchi. Mind if I ask you a few things?”

“Go ahead.”

“Eraserhead tells me you say you’re stuck in a time loop.”

“That is correct.”

Detective Tsukauchi’s eyebrows raise. “So you really do believe that you’re time traveling?”

“Yes.”

“…Okay. How about you start at the beginning?”

So he does.

“The first time, I walked through one of my warp gates with several dozen villains, invading the USJ with the end goal of killing All Might.”

Tsukauchi tenses.

“Don’t worry,” he rushes to reassure him, “I never fully endorsed that plan, and have thus far avoided that outcome.”

Even through all the loops, All Might has never died once. He has to admire the man’s tenacity and stubbornness. Almost every one of the people in the USJ (except the villains-for-hire, and excluding himself) have died at least once.

(All Might staying alive is not because he does not take risks. He throws himself into every fight, every time, with everything he has. When a student dies, the devastation on his face matches the cracks in Kurogiri’s heart.)

“So what is your goal?” Tsukauchi asks.

He can’t help but slump, his hands clenching into fists. “Keep my son alive.”

“Your son.”

“Shigaraki Tomura. The blue-haired man I sent through one of my gates right after we arrived.”

Tsukauchi writes something in his notebook. “Is he the leader of your group?”

He see-saws his hand. “In a way. He’s in charge of this mission, but the real mastermind is a man named All For One.”

Tsukauchi tenses, his eyes widening. His hand tightens around his pen.

He files the reaction away to address later.

“Regardless, at the end of the first loop, Tomura was shot in the chest, just to the right of his heart. I believe the bullet was fired by the pro hero Snipe, though I can’t be sure. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Red-stained concrete, gasping breaths, the murmurs of his name, Tomura’s last word being “Dad” almost every time—he shakes his head, shoving the memories aside. Tomura hadn’t died since the twenty-sixth loop. There’s no use dwelling on a past that doesn’t even exist.

He looks back up to find Tsukauchi watching him, eyes calculating.

He clears his throat. “I eventually figured out how to save him, but by then I had realized that the loop did not simply reset with Tomura’s death. It resets every time anyone dies.”

“Anyone meaning who?” The detective doesn’t look like he really wants to hear the answer. He gets it anyways.

“The hero students. Eraserhead. Thirteen. Even Present Mic. I’ve been trying, but there’s so many variables to account for that I just can’t—” His voice breaks for the first time in fifteen years. He clears his throat. “I can’t save everyone.”

“But you are trying.”

He cocks his head. “Yes?”

“Even though you came here with the intention of attacking the students, perhaps even killing some of them. You’re still trying to save them all.” There’s something odd in Tsukauchi’s expression.

“Of course. It’s the only way to escape the loops.”

“But that’s not all, is it?”

He knows what the detective is asking. “…No.”

“You’re trying to save everyone because you want to. You don’t want to be complicit in the deaths of students.”

Oboro jerks. “No! They’re children, if I can save them I will. I didn’t even want to go through with this mission—”

“Then why did you?” Tsukauchi interrupts. “If you were so against it, why agree to help All For One in the first place? Why allow your son to work for him? Why did you assist in the invasion, all the way back in the first loop?”

He can see why Detective Tsukauchi was the one to be sent in to interrogate him. The man has gotten to the root of the problem, after only a few minutes of conversation.

And…it seems like the detective believes him. About everything. He feels like crying. He holds back, though. He’s shed enough tears throughout the past forty loops to flood the entire USJ.

Tsukauchi’s gaze is earnest, when he meets it. He looks away.

“Because until about the twenty-third loop, I didn’t remember anything before fifteen years ago. I had no memories of my childhood. I didn’t even know my own name. My mind only started to heal after being caught in Present Mic’s quirk a few times.” He smiles shakily, knowing Tsukauchi can’t see it. “The physical effects of sound are really quite fascinating.”

The detective looks sympathetic. “That’s why you hesitated when you said your name was Kurogiri.”

“Yeah. Because it is, in a way. I’ve been Kurogiri for fifteen years. But…”

“It’s not who you really are.”

“No. It’s not.”

They sit in silence for a minute. Oboro realizes his hands are shaking, though it’s hardly visible through the mist.

Tsukauchi glances over his shoulder at the one-way mirror and nods. The door opens, and Eraserhead walks through.

He’s not wearing his goggles. He looks ragged. He’s staring at Oboro with a well-concealed horror that would be invisible to anyone who didn’t know him. Principal Nezu is sitting on his shoulder.

The only reason Oboro doesn’t burst into tears at the sight of him is the sudden, sharp pain in his chest.

“What…?” he murmurs, confused because he hasn’t felt physical pain since (he was alive—before he died—) he was a teenager.

Tsukauchi leans forward slightly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I just—” The pain comes again, and he shoves his chair away from the table so he can double over and clutch at his chest. “I don’t know—”

Shouta (Shouta Shouta) moves further into the room as the detective stands up. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“I—”

Kurogiri.

He freezes. Distantly, he notes that even the smoke of his hands stops waving for a moment.

Kurogiri, the voice repeats. Come to me.

No.

He only realizes he’s said it aloud when Tsukauchi says, “No, what? Talk to us, what’s happening?”

“It’s—it’s him,” he gets out between gritted teeth. The pain is constant, and spreading, worst in his chest and head. “All For One, he’s in my head. I thought I broke his control, during the loops when I started remembering—but he’s—”

Come, Kurogiri. Return to your master.

Oboro tries to stand, using the chair as a support, but his legs buckle under his weight. Someone grabs his arms, keeping him from falling.

The pain abates, for just a moment, and he can finally think. “Does anyone have a phone I can borrow?” he asks. “One that can be tracked remotely?”

Shouta doesn’t even hesitate, pressing a cell phone into his hands. He slips it into the pocket on the inside of his vest as the agony swells again. “Th-thank you. Track my location. It’ll lead you right to—right to All For One.”

“Kurogiri—” Shouta starts.

He looks up, meeting his friend’s (do I still get to call him that?) eyes. The mist of his face feels thin.

“Please. Call me Oboro.”

Then his smoke shifts, twists, flares outward, and he warps.

Chapter Text

Oboro blacks out, for a bit. He’s pretty sure. His brain is kinda fuzzy. Like the mist of his outsides has permeated his insides and fogged up his mind. His eyes, too; he has to blink several times to get his vision to clear. When it does, he almost wishes he hadn’t.

He’s flat on his back, staring at a dark ceiling. He turns his head to look around.

He’s in the Doctor’s lab. Where the Nomu are made (where he was made).

There are metal bands around his wrists and ankles, shackling him to the table. They’re tight enough that they cut through his mist and he can feel them on his skin. He’s shirtless, and his shoes are missing, too. He thinks maybe he should be embarrassed about that. Instead, he’s pissed. He liked that vest.

He knows trying to warp away won’t work. He tries anyway.

His heart pounds. Huh. He didn’t know it could still do that.

Shit, Shouta’s phone was in the vest. Hopefully they were able to track him before All For One had it destroyed.

“Kurogiri.”

Speak of the devil.

“All For One,” he rasps as the man emerges from the shadows, Garaki by his side. Oboro has to suppress a flinch. This situation is all too familiar, despite him not remembering the last time he was a prisoner in this lab. Upsides of being dead at the time, he supposes.

“This is quite an interesting predicament,” All For One says. He sounds casual, like they’re a couple of old friends meeting up for drinks.

“Your face is an interesting predicament,” Oboro blurts, then winces. He almost wishes his sense of humor hadn’t returned with his memories. It would’ve been nice to keep Kurogiri’s impulse control, at least.

“So you really have returned to your former self,” All For One muses. “What a shame. We’ll have to start nearly all the way over.”

Oboro’s breath hitches.

“But first…” Black and red tendrils shoot out of All For One’s fingers and stab into Oboro. It feels like being electrocuted, and also like his blood is buzzing. It’s quite unpleasant.

A warp gate opens a few feet away from All For One, and Tomura falls out, landing on the floor with an ‘oof’.

When Tomura sits up, Oboro almost laughs. He looks confused, angry, and offended all at once. Oboro is reminded, oddly, of a disgruntled kitten.

Tomura sees All For One and shoots to his feet. “Sensei! What is—” He seems to spot Oboro, and freezes. “Kurogiri?” Frowning, he turns back to All For One. “Sensei, what’s going on? What are you doing to Kurogiri?”

All For One beckons him forward, and Tomura creeps hesitantly closer. “You remember what he did at the USJ?”

“Yeah,” Tomura scowls. “He sent away all our allies and stuck me in a warp gate for hours.”

Oboro winces. “Right… sorry about that. I was gonna let you out, I promise.”

The boy squints at him, wrinkling his nose. “You’re acting weird. Sensei, what happened to Kurogiri?”

“Don’t worry, my boy, Kurogiri will be fine. We’re going to fix him.” Oboro feels a thrill of fear go through him. All For One lays his hand on Tomura’s shoulder. Tomura shifts uncomfortably, and Oboro forgets to be afraid.

He snarls and jerks at the shackles keeping him pinned. “Get your hands off of him.”

All For One raises a nonexistent eyebrow. “Tomura, my boy, come with me. We must give the doctor room to work.”

Tomura hesitates, glancing between Oboro and All For One.

Oboro has to make a split-second choice. He can protest, try to convince Tomura to side with him, to not let this happen. Or he can give in. One glance at the way All For One’s grip on Tomura’s shoulder tightens, and the decision is easy.

“Go on, Tomura. It’ll be okay.”

The boy looks at him one last time, his brow furrowed. Then he lets All For One lead him away, out of Oboro’s line of sight.

Garaki steps forward with a cart full of tools, pulling several machines with him, and Oboro tries really hard to dissociate.

It doesn’t work.

He feels every single node Garaki sticks to him. They don’t hurt, thankfully, but that doesn’t mean much. They’re there for a reason.

He’s proven right a moment later, when Garaki flips a switch and electricity arcs through Oboro’s body.

After fifteen years of feeling no pain, he’s really not used to it. He tells himself that’s why he can’t hold back his screams for more than five seconds.

It feels like an eternity before the electricity stops. Garaki frowns, making notes on a clipboard he’s gotten from…somewhere. He must have pulled it out of his ass.

Garaki’s frown deepens, and Oboro realizes he said that last part out loud.

“Sir, it appears that he is still…him. I will up the voltage a few times, and if that doesn’t work, we will try another method. If that is also unsuccessful, we will likely have to reset him completely.”

“Proceed.” All For One’s voice rumbles.

Oboro braces himself. It doesn’t help. This time is even worse.

He tries to distract himself. Through the spots dancing in his vision, he sees his mist whipping in a frenzy. Its movements are small, though, subdued by whatever suppressants Garaki put him on, or maybe by the cuffs.

Somehow, though it feels impossible, the electricity strengthens.

His back is arched off the table, his muscles alternatively locking and spasming. His mouth tastes like iron. The smell of something burning reaches his nose.

It shuts off, and he slumps. He distantly registers something wet sliding down his wrists, and realizes he must have cut himself on the shackles while he struggled. His throat feels raw.

All For One’s face swims above him. “How are you feeling, Kurogiri?”

“Fuck…you…” he croaks, panting. All For One frowns.

“Try the next method,” he orders Garaki.

Oboro braces himself as nodes are stuck to his temples. When the pain comes, he’s expecting it, but cries out anyway. It feels like someone is stabbing a hot metal rod through his head. Over, and over, and over. The pain builds and builds and builds until he’s screaming again.

It shuts off, after a while, but the feeling lingers. He can’t think. His brain is foggier than ever.

“Ready to come back to us, Kurogiri?” Someone asks.

Kurogiri…? Is that supposed to be him…? No. No. He’s only just found himself, he’s not going to lose himself again.

“My name… is Oboro.” He says. His voice sounds like he’s been yelling for hours on end. Oh, wait. “Shirakumo Oboro. I am not… your puppet.”

“Turn it back on,” All For One orders. “Higher. If it doesn’t work soon, we will move on.”

Garaki complies. Oboro is consumed.

He’s not sure how long it is before it stops again. While Garaki fiddles with the controls of his machine, Oboro rolls his head to the other side. A blurry form comes into sight. Pale and dark, blue and black. Tomura. Oboro squints, trying to focus on his face.

Tomura looks scared. He looks horrified. He looks sick.

Oboro frowns. Is his kid sick? What’s wrong? Can he fix it?

Tomura’s not supposed to be sad. Or hurt. Wasn’t that how all this started? With Tomura getting hurt? With red and blue and his boy clutching his vest, whimpering “Dad,” before falling limp?

He tries to reach out, to take Tomura’s face in his hands and wipe away the tears tracking down his cheeks. Something stops his hands from moving, and he frowns.

“Tomura…” he whispers. His boy jerks, like he wants to get closer. “Kid…”

Then it starts again, and all thoughts of his son are washed away.

He comes back to himself when the world shakes. There’s a booming sound in the distance. Dust rains down on him. Garaki yelps.

Then the wall implodes, and a yellow and blue and red figure slams into All For One, both of them continuing on and disappearing through the opposite wall.

There’s a few thumps, and Garaki yelps again. A dark blob appears above Oboro, red pinpricks glowing in its face.

“Shou…?” He whispers.

The person—Shouta—sobs. It sounds wrong. Shouta never cries. “Yeah, ‘Boro, it’s me. It’s Shouta.”

He hums. “‘Zashi?”

As if on cue, a yell pierces the air, shaking what remains of the walls.

A wobbly smile splits Shouta’s face. “He’s coming.”

Another figure appears, this one yellow and black. He chants, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” as he leans over Oboro.

Oboro tries to grin. “Hey, ‘Zashi.”

“Hey yourself.” Hizashi’s voice is weirdly quiet.

Shouta disappears, and Oboro frowns. “Where’s he goin’?”

“He’s just finding a way to get these shackles off of you. He’ll be right back.”

Hizashi’s hand hovers over Oboro’s head, before settling in his hair.

“Sorry about the mist,” Oboro murmurs. “Kinda gets in the way of head pats, huh?”

Hizashi chokes out a laugh that dissolves into a sob. “Shut up, man.”

“Hypocrite.”

There’s a hiss and a click, and the pressure around Oboro’s wrists and ankles disappears. Unfortunately, this aggravates the cuts he got from struggling. He bites back a whimper and brings his hands up to his chest. “Ow.”

Shouta chuckles wetly. Mean. “I know. We’ll get that checked out when we get you out of here.”

Together, Hizashi and Shouta help him sit up. He wraps his arms around their shoulders, and if it wasn’t for the ache throughout his whole body and the way he was partially made out of mist, he could almost pretend they were seventeen again.

Oboro realizes he’s shaking. Then, he realizes he’s crying. “I missed you guys so much.”

Shouta wraps an arm around him. Hizashi takes his hand. “We missed you, too.”

They’re helping him hobble down a dark hallway, half-carrying him, when he feels it.

“No,” he whispers. “No, no, no—”

They stagger to a stop, Hizashi making a concerned noise. “Oboro? What’s wrong?”

“It’s happening again—the loops—I can feel it, it’s starting over—”

It’s getting stronger, slower than usual, twisting inside of him. Someone must have died, he realizes with a distant horror.

Warm hands grab the sides of his face. “Oboro. Look at me.”

He meets Shouta’s eyes.

“Oboro, find us. Tell us. You hear me?”

Oboro breathes out shakily. “Yeah. Yeah, I hear you.”

“Good.” Shouta’s forehead rests against his. Hizashi wraps his arms around them. “We’ve got you.”

“Kick ass, buddy.” Hizashi murmurs.

Oboro chokes on a laugh, closes his eyes, and steps into the USJ.

Chapter Text

Oboro blames the phantom pains left over from the torture for the way he crumples. His knees hit the ground with a dull thud. Tomura glances back, doing a double-take.

“Kurogiri? What the fuck?”

“Language,” he rasps.

Tomura approaches him warily. “What’s wrong with you?”

Oboro almost laughs. “So much, kid.”

The boy eyes him from behind the hand mask (and god does Oboro want to set it on fire every time he sees it) then shrugs. “Alright. Try to keep up with the plan.”

He doesn’t know who dies that loop, and feels weirdly guilty about it. He’s tried to keep track of each death, every time, no matter how dissociated he is, because they deserve to be remembered. He knows all their names, by now, after hearing them screamed and gasped and gargled through mouthfuls of blood.

(Asui, decayed. Kirishima, crushed by the Nomu when his quirk gave out. Midoriya, so broken Oboro’s not sure which of his wounds killed him. Ojiro, burned to death. Mineta, drowned. Kouda, gentle face cut to ribbons. Jirou, electrocuted; Kaminari, screaming, because his friend was caught in his quirk and he’s sizzling with more electricity than even he can handle. Shouji, blood gushing from the stumps of his arms.

Shouta, twice, bones snapped and skull caved in. Shouta, falling to pieces under Tomura’s hand. Shouta, throwing himself between his students and danger over and over.

Hizashi, three times, caught off guard when he’s distracted by the sight of Shouta’s bloody form.)

In loop forty-two, Oboro shoves Shouta out of the Nomu’s path. In the distance, he hears Tomura scream.

His body is hardy, being a Nomu himself, but even he can’t withstand the full force of a Nomu created to kill All Might.

(He could have made himself slightly more incorporeal.

He could’ve warped Shouta out of the way. If asked, he’d claim using his own body as a shield was instinctive; he didn’t even think of using a portal.

Creating gates has been easier than breathing for nearly fifteen years.)

Shouta’s face hovers above him, and he pushes away the reminder of their reunion in loop forty.

“What the hell did you do that for?” The man asks.

Oboro wheezes out something that could have been a laugh. “I’m supposed to be the one getting crushed in front of you, not the other way around.”

Shouta’s face twists with confusion, but Oboro is distracted by Tomura kneeling on his other side. The hand mask has been discarded, somewhere.

“Kurogiri, what the fuck was that? What— we’re supposed to be fighting Eraserhead, not helping him! Why would you do that? Why—” His son’s voice cracks, taking Oboro’s heart with it.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he says, reaching out to wipe away Tomura’s tears. He can do that, this time. “Love you.”

Just in case this is somehow the loop that sticks, he turns to Shouta. “Will you look after him? He’s…” He can feel himself fading. “not a bad kid…”

The last thing he sees is Shouta looking more confused than Oboro has ever seen him.

The next few loops go mostly normally. Then in loop forty-six, he steps out of the portal, sits on the ground, and refuses to move.

Soon enough, Tomura runs out of threats to use to try to get him to stand up. He orders the Nomu to pick Oboro up. Oboro warps away, ending up ten feet from his original spot. This repeats for several minutes.

Things reset, eventually. He thinks maybe Tomura’s brain exploded from frustration.

In fifty-one, Oboro goes on vacation. He spends three hours on a random beach somewhere, drinking from a glass of some kind of alcohol that someone handed him. If his skin was visible, he might’ve gotten a good tan.

Fifty-four is spent in a cat cafe. The cats don’t mind when he vents his frustrations to them. The baristas seem a little concerned, though.

Loop fifty-nine, Oboro indulges in a little friendly kidnapping.

He portals himself and Shouta to Hizashi. He doesn’t have Hizashi’s coordinates, but thinking about him really hard seems to do the trick. Then he brings them all to the cat cafe.

The pro heroes land with twin thumps on a couch. Before they can react, Oboro deposits cats into their laps.

Belatedly, Hizashi opens his mouth to shriek. Shouta glares at him, quirk activated, as he slams a hand over Hizashi’s mouth. Then he turns that glare to Oboro who is too tired and also too used to it to care.

“Guys,” he definitely doesn’t whine as he buries his face in his hands and sits cross-legged on the floor, “I’m so tired.”

“…Huh?” Hizashi stammers, “What, what the hell, where are we—”

“We’re at a cat cafe, because I need a break, and I like cats, and also Shouta likes cats. Eraserhead, sorry. Probably shouldn’t call you Shouta, you have no clue who I am.” He chuckles, a little hysterically, then mutters to himself, “Goddammit, Oboro, pull yourself together. You can’t have a breakdown now.” Considering for a moment, he says, louder, “Well, it’s not like I don’t have time. I have all the time in the world. I can have as many breakdowns as I want!”

By his calculation, the time all the loops have taken adds up to less than half a week. Three days, maybe. It feels like so much longer.

If he doesn’t count his brief stints of unconsciousness, which he doesn’t, Oboro hasn’t slept in at least 70 hours.

He makes an embarrassing whimpering noise. “I need a nap.” Lifting his head, Oboro grabs a nearby tabby, settling the cat onto his crossed legs. He pets it for a moment.

“Alright! Let’s get down to business!”

Shouta blinked, at some point, but he still has a hand on his capture weapon. “What business?”

“We don’t have much time,” he continues blithely, ignoring the hero. “I expect this loop will probably reset soon, since I left the kids unsupervised.” Oboro freezes. “Oh gods, I left the kids unsupervised. Oh no, they’re going to kill each other. Literally.”

Hizashi whispers, “Sho—Eraser, what’s going on? What’s happening to the kids? Are they okay?”

“The USJ was attacked by villains—”

“WHAT!?”

“—who were portaled in by him.”

Hizashi’s glare is scarier than Shouta’s, simply because he hardly ever uses it.

“Ah, geez, Hizashi; I never realized how murderous you could look before.” Oboro mutters.

Shouta’s quirk flares again. “Right. How do you know both our names? Present Mic’s you could find without much trouble, but most people don’t even know I exist.”

Oboro sighs. “Yamada Hizashi. Aizawa Shouta.”

They both tense.

He takes advantage of Shouta’s activated quirk, and his newly-trained control over his own mist, to clear his face as much as he can.

Speechless for once, Hizashi gapes. Shouta’s eyes somehow widen further. Oboro allows his mist to obscure his face once more. His hand idly strokes the cat, who has made herself at home in his lap.

“Surprise?”

Shouta slowly slides out of his seat and onto his knees on the floor in front of him.

“…Oboro?”

He nods, and suddenly has an armful of sobbing blond pro hero. The cat hisses and darts away. Oboro watches it mournfully.

Shouta reaches out, hesitating before placing his hand on Oboro’s knee. Keeping one arm wrapped around Hizashi, Oboro reaches back, grasping his friend’s hand. It’s shaking. Shouta stares at their joined hands like his eyes have finally given up on him and are causing him to hallucinate.

“I really don’t have much time,” Oboro mutters, squeezing his hand and burying his face in Hizashi’s shoulder. “I’m stuck in a time loop that resets whenever someone important dies, and I’ve just left my son, several dozen villains, and an undead monster in a room full of nearly defenseless students. Someone’s going to die soon. Don’t worry, from what I’ve seen, it’s about a fifty-fifty chance whether that person is one of the kids.” He doesn’t mention that one of those fifties is partially made up of Hizashi and Shouta’s deaths.

Hizashi jerks, and he tightens his hold around the other man. “We have to go save them, then! We can’t just—”

“It’s too late.” Oboro chuckles humorlessly. “Besides, they’ll be back in the next loop anyway…oh, it’s already ending.”

He knows he’s about to warp, he can feel it.

“I just needed to take a loop to hug you guys for a minute.”

Hizashi sniffles. Shouta envelops Oboro’s hand in both of his own. It’s warm. He’s warm, practically cuddling with his old friend. It’s nice.

“I love you guys.”

Oboro steps into the USJ.

Chapter Text

In sixty-three, he makes a discovery. Well, technically he makes the discovery in sixty-four, but he starts his experiment in sixty-three.

He puts a rock in his pocket. It’s still there in loop sixty-four.

He has no idea why. But it sparks an idea.

He spends sixty-five and sixty-six planning as he goes through the motions of the attack.

At the beginning of loop sixty-seven, he goes back to the bar for the first time in what feels like years. He finds a notebook, and a pen, and starts to write.

The pen’s ink is almost gone by the time he’s done. He has to tuck the notebook and pen into his pockets three times in order to preserve what he’s written when he loops.

Seventy-two is a very normal number. He thinks he likes it, though.

For the second time, Oboro portals away every recruited villain, and again sends the Nomu to the bottom of the Pacific. Tomura doesn’t get a word in edgewise before being dropped into darkness.

“Eraserhead.” Oboro calls out.

The hero lands in a defensive position. Oboro holds out the notebook.

“This,” he says, “contains the coordinates to several bases used by a villain named All For One. Also within are the names of hundreds of villains, doctors, police, heroes, and various other informants on his payroll. Some of them are being threatened, manipulated, or otherwise coerced into working for him. That information is included. The story of Shigaraki Tomura, also known as Shimura Tenko, is transcribed in as much detail as I could provide. I will be leaving him in your capable hands.”

“Wait, what?” Shouta sounds almost flustered, though of course it doesn’t show on his face. Oboro barrels onward.

“There is a lot more information in there that I don’t have time to go over. Talk to All Might, he can provide some insight into All For One. Get him to call Detective Tsukauchi Naomasa. Include Nezu in the conversation as well, of course. I have to go, but the coordinates to my destination are the first entry of the second page.”

“Hold on—”

“Don’t rush to get there, I should have it handled. In case I don’t, though, bring copious amounts of backup. Lots of manpower, lots of weapons, lots of emergency personnel. It likely won’t be pretty, whether I’m successful or not. Good luck, Eraserhead. I’m trusting you with this, because I know you can be trusted. Please look after my son for me.”

“Your what—?”

Tomura drops out of a warp gate, cursing.

“His quirk is decay, five point activated. Keep your eyes on him, and keep your distance. Tomura, please don’t die or kill anyone. I love you.”

Tomura and Shouta’s matching expressions of confusion and simultaneous “What!?”s as Oboro warps away almost make him smile.

But then he’s appearing in All For One’s lair, and his amusement fades like morning mist.

“Kurogiri,” All For One rumbles. “I thought you were accompanying Shigaraki Tomura on his mission.”

Oboro pushes away the fact that the last time he saw All For One was loop forty. “I was. There were…complications.”

“Oh?” The villain is still facing his creepy array of screens, his back to Oboro.

“Yes. For instance, Tomura was shot in the chest.” It still hurts to think about.

All For One’s shoulders tense. “What?” He turns, and Oboro barely stops himself from flinching. He keeps his posture straight, hands behind his back, mist steady.

“Yes. He died in my arms. Ten seconds later, I was walking through my warp gate into the USJ, at the beginning of the attack, Tomura perfectly fine.”

“Ah.” All For One relaxes, leaning back in his chair. “Why didn’t you start with that? I nearly forgot.”

Oboro’s eyes narrow as he frowns. “You don’t seem surprised.”

The supervillain chuckles. “Why should I be? After all, I was the one who gave you that quirk.”

“You…what?”

All For One waves away the question as if shooing a fly. “It was simply a precaution. I knew that I would not always be able to be there for Shigaraki Tomura, so could not help if he was terribly injured or killed. I thought about finding you a healing quirk, but why heal something when you can make it so it never happened in the first place?”

Oboro isn’t sure he’s breathing, but forces his voice to stay even. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was a last resort. The quirk was practically woven into your instincts, so it would activate immediately upon Shigaraki Tomura coming to irreversible harm. You would simply have to fix whatever happened, and time would then continue as normal.”

“It took me a few tries.”

“That’s alright.” All For One smiles. Oboro is glad the natural rippling of his mist hides his shudder. “As long as he is now alive, and his mission was at least somewhat successful.”

Oboro stares, for a moment. Then he begins to laugh.

All For One isn’t startled. He’s much too composed for that. But his face twitches in surprise. “What?” He growls when Oboro’s laughter continues.

Oboro huffs, stopping almost as suddenly as he started. “You miscalculated.”

The villain practically radiates anger. “Oh? How so?”

“In the seventh loop, Tomura was not killed. Instead, one of the hero students was decayed. Ten seconds later, the eighth loop began.”

“I don’t see how that’s—”

“Loop number eleven,” Oboro interrupts, voice hard. “Eraserhead was crushed by the Nomu. Ten seconds later, I’m stepping into the twelfth loop.”

“What’s your point.” All For One practically snarls.

“The loops didn’t only reset when Tomura was killed.” Oboro steps forward. “Every time someone died, be they student or hero or Tomura, a new loop would start.” Another step. “You underestimated how much I care for people. How much I don’t want to see children murdered.” He stops just two meters from All For One. He hopes the villain can somehow sense his sharp-toothed grin, and how the mist draws back from his face.

“You underestimated how much of Shirakumo Oboro was left in me.”

All For One lunges, quirks crackling at his fingertips. Oboro dodges out of the way, calling, “It also resets when I die! So good luck killing me, I’ll just come back, and then you’ll have no clue what’s happening when I do!”

The man laughs. “I don’t plan to kill you. I’ll just take back the quirk. Then I’ll send you to Garaki, and we’ll do a full reset. This time, we will make sure there’s nothing left.”

Oboro pushes past the fear that rushes through him. “You already tried that!” He taunts. “Loop forty, thirty-two loops ago!”

All For One pauses, apparently shocked, and Oboro takes advantage of his distraction. He gets in close to the supervillain, fog lashing out. Too late, he realizes his mistake. All For One’s fist lashes out, faster than Oboro can dodge. The armor around his neck crumples like a tin can as his back slams into the ground. He hears something crack, and can’t tell if it’s his ribs or the floor. Maybe both, he thinks as he grunts at the impact, rubble digging into his spine.

“Fool,” All For One rumbles. “You have only made this more painful for yourself.”

“Yeah, probably,” Oboro wheezes. He subtly slips a bit of his mist over his ruined neck armor and starts working a large shard of metal free. “But it’s not over.”

“You have nothing left.” All For One says. “I will take the quirk, and you will have no more tries.”

Oboro grins. “Nah.” He wrenches the shard of metal away from his armor. All For One jerks away, expecting to be attacked.

Oboro plunges the shard into his own neck.

All For One stares as he bleeds out.

“Should’ve gotten…a healing quirk…for others.” Oboro gurgles through the blood filling his throat and mouth. His vision darkens, and he steps into the USJ.

Seventy-two, he decides, is no longer an okay number.

Chapter Text

At least now he knows for sure suicide is an option. He can’t control the quirk, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to, but he can force a reset.

It takes Oboro four loops to rewrite his notebook of information. Now he includes what he knows about the time loops, which isn’t much. He also includes his identity. He knows there’s a good chance he dies, even if he succeeds, and he wants his friends to know who he was. Wants Tomura to know the truth about him.

He writes Tomura a letter. It takes him three loops to get it right.

Then he spends another three loops copying the information into a second notebook, so if he fails a second (eighty-third) time he won’t have to rewrite it again.

The eighty-third loop starts much like the seventy-second. Shouta is just as confused and wary, Tomura is just as startled when he falls through Oboro’s warp gates. The Nomu is just as deep in the ocean.

Oboro warps into All For One’s room.

“Hello, Kurogiri.” The supervillain says.

“Goodbye, All For One.” Replies Shirakumo Oboro.

Then he opens a gate.

All Might is the one to find them. He busts through the east wall with a shout of “I AM HE—holy crap.”

“Hello, All Might.” Oboro says from his seat on the floor. He got tired of standing around. “How are you?”

“I am…alright?” All Might edges closer warily, suddenly seeming much smaller. “How are…how are you, Shirakumo-san?”

Oboro startles. “Oh. You know my name.”

“Yes. I was informed of your story before I set out.”

Oboro hums. “How are Eraserhead and Present Mic? Midnight?”

All Might takes a seat beside him. “Shaken, and very emotional, but also very determined to bring you home.”

“Home,” Oboro repeats. “That would be nice. How’s Tomura?”

“Much the same as your friends. They are all very worried about you,” All Might leans over and around, trying to catch Oboro’s gaze. “How are you, Shirakumo-san?”

Oboro thinks for a moment. “I think I’m in shock.”

“That would make sense. You have been through quite a lot, these past fifteen years.” All Might shifts, and something settles over Oboro’s shoulders. It’s the hero’s cape, he realizes after a moment.

Holy shit, Oboro thinks. I’m using All Might’s cape as an improvised shock blanket.

“…Thanks.” He finally says.

“You’re welcome.”

That is how the other heroes find them, fifteen minutes later. The number one hero and a former villain, sitting side-by-side on the floor of a supervillain’s headquarters, mere feet away from said supervillain’s corpse.

The first thing Hizashi says to him is, “Fucking hell, Oboro, did you decapitate All For One?”

Shouta smacks him on the back of the head.

Hizashi yelps. “What!? It’s a valid question!”

“Yeah. I guess I did.” Oboro says. Shouta and Hizashi both turn back to him. “Hi, guys.”

They tackle him in a flurry of limbs. Hizashi’s arms go around his middle to squeeze the life out of him. Shouta cradles the back of his head in one hand, the other looped around his neck.

Oboro gets an arm around each of them. He can barely breathe. Shouta’s hair is tickling his nose. His shirt is wet with Hizashi’s tears.

It’s the best hug he’s ever had, because his friends are here, and it’s finally over.

“Dad,” Tomura’s voice breaks.

Oboro can’t help but think of those early loops, even as the new memory of his son calling him ‘Dad’ for the first time writes itself over the old ones.

“Tomura,” he says. “I take that to mean you’re not mad at me?”

“I am so mad at you.” Tomura grumbles, but he’s burying his face in Oboro’s chest and clinging to the back of his shirt, so Oboro figures he’s probably forgiven.

This might share first place for best hugs ever, he thinks.

Nemuri and Tensei are waiting for them at UA’s entrance gates. Nemuri has her hands on her hips, and she’s tapping her foot. Tensei’s arms are crossed, and he’s scowling.

“Shirakumo Oboro, you asshole.” Nemuri shouts as they approach. “We thought you were dead.”

“Then we find out you’re alive, and we’re not even brought on the rescue mission?” Tensei yells.

“It wasn’t much of a rescue mission.” Hizashi seems almost proud. “He defeated the bad guy all by himself.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Oboro huffs. “Hi, Nemuri. Hi, Tensei.”

“Hi, dickwad.” Nemuri grins. Now that he’s closer, Oboro can see her eyes are filled with tears. Tensei’s, too. The two heroes spread their arms. “Get over here.”

He now has three contenders for best hug ever.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, this can’t be real. Holy shit. What the hell. How?” Oboro is going into shock again.

Iida Tenya shuffles awkwardly.

“You were so tiny!” Oboro exclaims. “Why are you so tall? And buff? You were a baby, like, two seconds ago!”

Tensei’s little brother fidgets, seemingly sheepish. “Ah…my apologies?”

“No, no, no. Don’t apologize.” Oboro shakes his head. “Sorry, I just…you were so little last time I saw you.”

“Oboro was like, the fifteenth person to ever hold you.” Tensei informs his brother. “Which is impressive, given the size of our family.”

“Yes, quite.” Tenya jerkily offers Oboro a handshake. “It is good to meet you, Shirakumo-san.”

“Oh, call me Oboro, kid.” Oboro sidesteps the handshake and pats the kid on the shoulder. “Wow, you look just like your brother. Sorry, you must get that a lot.”

Tenya blushes. “It is always good to hear.”

“So…” Oboro ventures. “Did you two ever…y’know.”

Shouta rolls his eyes, even as his cheeks turn pink.

Hizashi grins brightly. “Hell yeah! I put a ring on that ages ago.”

“Wait, seriously?” Oboro looks back and forth between them. “Holy shit, I thought you’d never get around to confessing.”

“Technically, I was the one to ‘put a ring on that’.” Shouta deadpans. “Since I’m the one who proposed. We got married eight years ago.”

Oboro thinks his eyes might be sparkling, which—might actually be possible, given their still-glowing state. “You guys!” He squeals, throwing his arms around their shoulders. “Oh my god, I’m so happy for you!”

Shouta’s blush deepens. Hizashi’s grin turns bashful.

“Thanks, ‘Boro.” Shouta says.

“Shouta, I thought you said you guys adopted a kid.”

“We did.”

“Then why does he look exactly like you?”

Shouta scowls, even as Hizashi bursts into laughter. “That’s exactly what I said!”

Hitoshi grins toothily. It’s an eerie mix of Shouta and Hizashi’s smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Uncle Oboro.”

Oboro’s heart clenches and leaps out of his chest at the same time. “U-uncle?”

Shouta buries his lower face in his scarf. Hizashi smiles sheepishly and says, “Yeah, we always told him to call you Uncle Oboro. Seemed fitting.”

Oboro bursts into tears.

Oboro and Tomura are given an apartment on UA’s grounds. Oboro is sure Nezu has an ulterior motive or six for allowing them to stay, but officially, it’s because they are part of UA’s new villain rehabilitation program.

Oboro’s friends had protested the name, insisting that he was hardly a villain. He had waved them off.

“Guys, I did work for a supervillain for fifteen years, no matter how unwillingly. Also, I did kill a guy.”

Nemuri rolls her eyes. “You killed All For One, the most dangerous supervillain to ever exist. That’s hardly an act of villainy.”

He shrugs. “Technically still illegal. I don’t regret it, but…I want to set a good example for Tomura. He has to go through the program too, and I don’t want to make him think it’s something to fight against.”

That finally made them back off.

Plus, it’s not like Oboro is being punished. He just can’t leave UA grounds without a hero escort, which Nezu says is more for his safety than anything. Many of All For One’s followers are still on the loose, after all. Oboro doesn’t mind at all. He will have all the time in the world to explore how Japan has changed over the past fifteen years later. For now, he’s content to stay with his son.

As for Tomura, as far as ‘punishments’ go, Nezu is pretty lenient. Tomura has to complete a couple hundred hours of community service, which he grumbles about. Every afternoon when he gets home, Oboro listens to him complain for at least an hour about ‘doing good for the people.’ But even though he’s sweaty and exhausted every night, there’s a gleam in Tomura’s eyes Oboro has never seen before.

To everyone’s surprise, Tomura, Hitoshi, and Tenya form something of a group. Them ‘hanging out’ mostly consists of Tenya scolding the other two while they roll their eyes, but Hitoshi and Tomura are only children (at least for now) and it seems good for them to form familial bonds with people closer to their ages.

Oboro is so, so proud of Tomura, and he tells him so as often as possible. He can do that now, and it feels so good.

He can also tell Tomura he loves him, and Tomura can say it back. The first time, Oboro has to sit down for a minute.

Two weeks ago (not including loop time), if someone had told Oboro he would become friends with All Might, he wouldn’t have laughed in their face, but he would have wanted to. Fifteen years ago, he would have laughed it off. Two weeks ago including loop time, he would have shrugged and accepted it, because what could be crazier than time travel?

Now, he still occasionally feels a little giddy, because he’s friends with All Might. Usually, though, he’s just content, because he’s friends with Yagi Toshinori, who’s a pretty cool guy.

They talk about All For One, sometimes. Their experiences with him were vastly different, but they both know the way his presence hangs over your head like an executioner’s blade.

Mostly, though, they talk about their kids. (At first, Yagi had flushed when Oboro asked about his son, the green haired kid, and insisted they weren’t related. He acquiesced soon enough, however.) They talk about how their sons carry an enormous legacy on their shoulders.

The two had been introduced, and Yagi and Oboro explained the full story to both of them. Ever since, Midoriya and Tomura had struck up an odd friendship. Oboro knows they discuss One for All and All For One. How Midoriya is doing his best to live up to his side, and how Tomura is attempting to shed his. He thinks they’re helping each other carry their burdens.

All of Class 1-A is, honestly, a god-send. Just seeing them, alive and bright and so far mostly un-traumatized, can make Oboro’s day.

Oboro takes his friends to the cat cafe. He’s pretty sure he’s imagining it, but it almost seems like the cats recognize him.

“They seem to know you,” Shouta comments. “Have you been here before?”

Oboro eyes the tabby in his lap warily. “Not in this loop.”

They sit quietly and wonder at the mysteries of the feline species.

Oboro has nightmares, sometimes. Of the loops, mostly. Of the deaths. Of loop forty. Of seventy-two. Of every time a child or a hero or his son died because of him. Because he couldn’t save them.

Sometimes his nightmares will be about the fifteen years before. About All For One, and the doctor, and his death. Sometimes he wakes up, and he can’t reassure himself he’s alive, because his heart hardly beats and he doesn’t need to breathe.

Tomura has nightmares, too. Of All For One, the doctor, even of succeeding at the USJ. He tells Oboro he has started to remember his past through his dreams. His sister’s face. His father’s cruelty. His mother’s voice. The way his dog crumbled beneath his touch.

On nights when they are both awake, Oboro makes them tea. They sit together on the couch, and he spreads a blanket over them, and Tomura rests his head on Oboro’s shoulder. They fall asleep like that. When they wake up, they have cricks in their necks and Oboro’s back aches, but they both slept soundly.

He doesn’t speak of the loops. No one tries to make him. But he can see the morbid curiosity in their faces.

Finally, someone approaches him. It isn’t one of his friends like he would have expected, or Tomura, or even Nezu.

“Sometimes you look at me like you expect me to disappear, kero,” Asui Tsuyu says, “and I’d like to know why.”

Oboro is frozen. It’s a warm day; Asui approached him on the lawn outside the main building, seemingly on her way home. She’s alone, he can’t see any other 1-A students nearby.

He’s gotten to know the students of 1-A better over the weeks. Asui is strong, steady, and kind. If telling her would put too much of a strain on Oboro, she would back off.

She looks determined, and unafraid, but like she needs to know, for her own peace of mind.

Oboro sighs sadly. “In…in the seventh loop, you were decayed by Tomura’s quirk.”

Asui’s eyes widen, and he winces. He needs to remember that as strong as she is, Asui is still only fifteen years old. But she appreciates bluntness.

“It was only once. I made sure it never happened again. But you were the first hero student to die in the loops. And…you were what made me realize it wasn’t just my son I had to protect.”

The girl puts her finger to her chin, looking thoughtful, but not traumatized.

Oboro forges onward. “There’s one more thing.” She deserves to know, even if she hates him for it. “Normally, in the loops, Aizawa erased Tomura’s quirk and saved you. In seven, I…” He steels himself, but she beats him to the punch.

“You stepped in the way,” Asui says, voice void of emotion. “Or something. You stopped Aizawa from erasing Tomura’s quirk.”

“Yes.” There. It’s all out in the open. “I understand if you’re angry, or you hate me, or whatever.” He can’t meet her eyes. “You have every right to feel that way.”

“Shirakumo.” Asui says. “I forgive you.”

His eyes snap to hers. “W-wait, what? Huh?”

“I forgive you. Even if you hadn’t fixed it, even if you hadn’t made sure it never happened again, I would still forgive you.”

Oboro is sure his confusion is showing through the thin film of mist over his face. But he doesn’t say she shouldn’t forgive him, or he doesn’t deserve it, even if he feels both are true. It would be an insult to Asui to doubt her. But he still has to ask, “Why?”

“Because you were just trying to protect your son. It’s different, but if my little siblings were in danger, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them.”

He believes her. Of course he does; she’s not a liar, and she knows her own feelings. Still. “I can’t say I think I deserve your forgiveness, but thank you, Asui. That means a lot.”

“You’re welcome, kero.” She pats his arm. “I have to go now. Goodbye, Shirakumo-san.”

“Bye, Asui. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And he will.

He’ll see all of them tomorrow, because tomorrow keeps coming. They’re safe, all of them. The students, their teachers, his son. He did it. He would go through a thousand more loops to find this again, but he knows he won’t have to.

He can move forward. He can keep trying to earn 1-A’s forgiveness, even though he has a feeling he already has it. He can reconnect with his friends, make up for the fifteen years they lost. He can look out for Tomura, without a supervillain breathing down their necks.

Kurogiri can find peace.

Shirakumo Oboro can live.