When all was said and done—when the green and grey world regained an equilibrium lost to the void of time and nature, when he could stop and finally (finally) take a long needed breath and rest—when all was said and done, he folded his legs underneath him, knees pressing briefly into the dust and dirt and settled.
The last edge of sunset was fading into the endless press of blue-black night, the stars pinpricks of light across a fabric he’d watched slowly become a different landscape than that of his childhood.
The flickering green presentation of his quirk slowly faded into his skin as he slowly relaxed, the warmth of it settling into him as if a much needed balm to his skin.
“Why did you do it?” his companion asks from his own spot in the dirt, sitting directly on the ground with his arms folded over his knees as a headrest.
Midoriya Izuku hums, words sticking to his throat the same way his tears refused to fall from his eyes.
“You didn’t know either one of them, but you...”
“They... mattered to someone,” he says in the long quiet after, “but especially to you.”
“You don’t make sense,” Senkuu huffs, but Izuku understands anyway.
“Do you think I can ever go home?” Izuku asks, but he knows the answer before he even asks it.
Whatever brought him to this world, to this parallel of his own, it couldn’t erase the years that had happened since.
Everyone Izuku knew was gone.
“You can stay with us,” Senkuu says, “for as long as you want.”
There’s a promise in Senkuu’s words that makes something in his heart flutter.
Izuku isn’t the hopeful hero he was once, so long ago and so recently.
But, if there was ever a place that needed heroes...
Izuku forces himself back up, stretches under the light of a moon so different than he remembered.
And then he walks to his hero, the boy who brought him back from stone and asked for nothing.
He offers his hand, marred by scars from his world and the black scars of this one.
Senkuu takes it.