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It started in the UA high school courtyard. Denki was walking, clearly headed to the dorms, but with no memory of how he got were he was. his last memory was going out for pizza with the BakuSquad, but according to his watch, that was a week ago. But if things were to stay consistent, wouldn’t he have stayed in his same outfit? Instead of the matching sweater he got with Mina on their first trip to the mall? Denki tried to shake if off, thinking he got hit with a quirk matched up with with a prank from some of his other friends, and headed to the dorms.
The first person he ran into was Kirishima who was headed outside for his daily run. However, his mouth was turned down, brows furrowed, like something bad had happened. “Hey, Kirishima!” Denki called out to his red haired friend, only to be met with no response. Maybe he just doesn’t want company? Denki watched his friend leave the dorms and carried on. Unsurprisingly, when he went to the kitchen he found Bakugo glaring at the stirfry he was making. What was surprising was the way he held himself: shoulders hunched, head slightly downward, hands shaking as they held the pan. Denki put on his most blinding smile, accompanied with finger guns to yell at the other blond.
“Bakugo! Hey what’s-” he trailed off when he realized the other didn’t so much as flinch to his noise. Denki stared at Kacchan a little longer, wondering if he did something wrong or if the PopRocks duo got into a lover’s quarrel. Denki shook his head, trying his hardest to not get bummed out by their moods and headed to his Best Girl’s room.
“Hey Mina! I’m wearing the sweater we bought at-” he paused upon seeing Sero and Mina on her bed, curled up. Mina had her face in Sero’s neck, who held her tight, silently crying. There has probably only been a number of times he’s seen Sero cry and he could count all of them on one hand. “Sero? Why are you crying? What’s going on?” He almost cried out in desperation until he saw the crumpled up newspaper by the doorway.
UA STUDENT DEAD?
The heroes of UA have refused to give the public any sort of closure on the student who supposedly died-
“Shinsou!” Denki all but ran to the end of the boys’ side of the dorms, throwing himself into the open room to find the purple haired man facing his window, fists clenched, his face void of any emotion. “Thank god Shinsou! You’re okay!” Denki went to hug him but stopped when his friend didn’t even bother to look at him. “Why aren’t you talking to me? Shinsou? Shinsou! What did I do wrong? Nobody’s answering me-” He paused when Mr. Aizawa came in, probably hearing the commotion. “Mr. Aizawa? Please… Help me. Nobody’s talking to me and I don’t know what I did wrong-” Mr. Aizawa didn’t acknowledge the electric user’s presence and faced his adopted son with tired eyes.
“You can go ahead and take his stuff down stairs now, if you’re still up for it. I don’t want you to make this harder on yourself than it already is, HItioshi.” Shinsou finally moved away from the window, his deep eyebags even more noticeable, and made his way to the bed. It was littered in boxes of personal belongings that Denki didn’t notice before. When he saw Aizawa started to leave the room, Denki called out for him again.
“Help me! Please Mr. Aizawa! Help me!” Shinsou brushed past him, holding a box that was full of...of his stuff? HIs switch and his favorite pikachu plushie sat on top of his favorite novels. “M-my? Why does he have my s-stuff? Please! Someone!” Denki followed the two insomniacs out to the dorms front yard and watched as Shinsou placed his belongings in the back of the truck.
Denki stepped off to the side, his hands shaking and clutching his sweater. Tears started to fall from his eyes when he realized that he would never talk to someone again. He would never become a hero, never talk with his friends again, or hug his mom, or get full control over his quirk. When the sobs began to shake his body, a hand fell onto his shoulder. Denki turned to see the hand belonged to Sir Nighteye. He looked just how he did before he died: pristine gray suit, glasses, hair neatly parted. However, a small smile was placed upon his face.
“I see you finally realized, Kaminari. It’s okay. There’s no need to cry.” Sir Nighteye tried to comfort him, but the yellow haired boy was still to confused on how he wound up on the other side.
“S-Sir Nighteye? What happened...to me?” The yellow haired boy asked tentatively. The elder sighed, moving to crouch in front of Denki, but not letting his hand drop from the boys shoulder.
“There was another villain attack. During the fight, Shigaraki had Shinsou backed into a corner, his hand outstretched. Before he made contact with Shinsou, you shoved Shinsou aside. You were killed by Shigaraki. You took Shinsou’s hit for him. You died a hero, Kaminari.” Nighteye had taken his glasses off sometime during his explanation so he could look Denki in the eyes. Denki’s heart broke. He knew Shinsou was blaming himself. “Don’t worry about him, Kaminari. While you were seeing the affect you had on others, I used my foresight on him. His guilt fades into admiration. You will never be forgotten. By any of them.” Nighteye finished explaining.
“Then why don’t I remember any of it? The last thing I remember was eating out with my friends. I- I don’t understand. That was a week ago.” Denki willed his brain to remember the fight. To remember his death.
“This is quite common in sudden, violent deaths. Some shinigami will purposely leave you with your last happy memory. To bring you some sort of comfort as you cross over.” Sir Nighteye patted the young boy, because that’s what he really was, wasn’t he, a boy who had been unfairly targeted, who had seen more than most young pro heroes do, who had fought with all his ability and still lost, and stood up, offering his hand to Denki. “Come on, it’s time to go home.” Denki paused, staring at the hand outstretched in front of him, before grasping it. The pair was silent as they walked off UA grounds, and into a forest covered in snow that was glistening from the sun. Denki walked, leaving his friends behind, his family behind, his future behind, and into a place where he could finally rest.