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Revival. It was the source of all of Satoru’s grief, and the source of all of Satoru’s happiness. It was the means in which he could save those dear to him. In his mind’s eye, Satoru can see the crumbled form of his mother’s body, lying in a pool of his own blood, hand outstretched as if reaching—for what, Satoru did not know but it was seared into his brain. He never wished to see it again.
“Satoru?” The voice of his mother brought Satoru back to his senses. She was sitting across from him at their shared table, her expression dripping with concern.
“I’m alright, kaa-san.” Satoru dipped his head so he could not look into her eyes, the lifeless glaze was still heavy in his mind and he wished not to see that sight now. Not with his mother whole and filled with life. “Just tired.”
“You’ve been having nightmares again, then.” Fujinuma Sachiko pointed her chopsticks at her son deliberately as Satoru raised his head in disbelief at her accuracy. Yokai… Satoru shuddered.
“They’re not as bad as they used to be.” Which is true, ever since Yashiro’s incarceration and then Satoru’s discharge from the hospital, the nightmares had been heavy and constant, nearly every night. They had ranged from seeing his mother’s lifeless body, to Hinazuki’s gloves in a trash bag, to drowning in murky water. Now they were minimal, and manageable, but still effective of leaving Satoru sweating and unable to return to slumber.
Sometimes Satoru fears he will experience another Revival, and that the Revival will send him back to grief, to the mystery of the murderer, or to Satoru floundering helplessly in a sinking car. Sometimes Satoru fears the Revival will completely destroy this happy existence he has cultivated from his previous timeline, or that he’ll be sent back to an older reality in which all his friends are dead, or gone. But sometimes Satoru fears that his Revival will never return, and that if his mother were to be murdered, or enter an accident—or for Satoru to witness the death of a dear friend—that the Revival would not appear to send him back. Would not show to let him fix everything.
Sometimes Satoru fears fate, but he fears his inability to do anything all the more.
Sachiko eyes her son’s somber expression over a plate of curry. She purses her lips and rises, watching as Satoru raises his head in surprise at her sudden motion. “Let’s go out.” She doesn’t wait for Satoru’s response before she leaves to grab her coat. Satoru looks once at the table, the placement of their curry left out, and then rises in confusion, following after his mother.
“Kaa-san, what--?”
“Come along, Satoru.” She insists without a backwards glance, handing him his coat and leaving their apartment. Satoru follows without any more protest, allowing his mother to lead the way through the street. It is brisk but not quite yet winter. The cold air more a nuisance than a problem. Satoru still huddles within his coat anyway, remembering winter days snuggled up amongst his friends in the hideout, and hiding with Hinazuki in an abandoned bus. The thought turns Satoru’s lips down into a frown. He is grateful for the time his Revival gave him. The Revival was what saved his mother, saved Hiromi and Aya and Hinazuki, allowed them to make a life for themselves that they had been cruelly denied by a madman. Sometimes Satoru still can’t quite parse that Yashiro-sensei and Yashiro the murderer are the same person. In his head, Satoru sees the fatherly Yashiro, his idol, whom he believed could have been a father to him, looking down at him with a warm, gentle expression. Then he sees the face Yashiro made in the car, driving him to what would have been Satoru’s grave aside from luck and quick response. The crazed, hungry look to Yashiro eyes makes Satoru shiver even now, even with the man locked away.
Sachiko glances back at Satoru, whose head is tilted down as he walks, and she slows so she is in step alongside him, bumping her shoulder with his. Satoru looks up at her, mouth pursed in confusion. “Why are we out here, kaa-san?”
“I wanted to get some fresh air.” Sachiko replies, simply, with a smile. Satoru gives her a perplexed face but she merely laughs and leads on, Satoru left to trail behind.
Eventually they come upon a familiar residence, the elementary school for which Satoru had spent some of his happiest days. Satoru eyes roam over the familiar bricks and old, worn out chain-link fence. Sachiko eyes him from the side.
Visions, memories join together in Satoru’s mind. He can see Kazu and Osamu running ahead in the snow, laughing and calling back to their friends. Hiromi runs past, smile wide and cheeks flushed from the cold. Kenya walks by next, composed save for the small smile that Satoru can see hidden behind the collar of his coat. Satoru can feel Hinazuki’s hand in his own; her glove is warm. If he turns his head he knows he’ll see the peaceful smile on her face.
A part of him, Satoru knows, misses the chance to grow up alongside these people he cherishes so. A part of him wonders what childhood would have been like, had Hinazuki and Hiromi and Aya had all survived and Satoru had not fallen into a fifteen year coma. Perhaps he would have grown up to see Kazu and Aya date. Or see the way Hiromi and Hinazuki fell in love. Or watch Kenya grow into himself and become a successful lawyer. Perhaps Satoru would never have truly become the hero he had always wanted to be, but is that really so bad when he can spend his days alongside his friends? The Revival saved the lives of three, but it took away some of Satoru’s own life. Satoru would be remiss to say he is not a little sad about this fact, but when it comes to allowing those close to him to fulfill their own dreams in his stead. He knows he wouldn’t change his actions in the slightest.
A flash of blue out of the corner of Satoru’s eye has him turn, but there is nothing there.
“What are you looking for?” Sachiko asks, tipping her head curiously at her son. Satoru looks back down at his mother, seeing the familiar curl of her hair pulled back in a ponytail, similar to how she wore it back when he was a child. In another reality, her hair was short and she looked more mature (though she always looked young, regardless of her age or timeline). But in that reality, she had met an unfortunate end. Satoru still shivers at the memory and pretends to hide it as a shudder against the cold. Without his Revival, his mother would not be alive to watch him now.
His Revival may have once held such grief and sorrow for him, but it has also given him the chance to make the lives around him better.
“Just an old friend.” Satoru says, smiling cryptically as he turns away from the visage of his childhood school. Sachiko turns to follow him but pauses at the sight of a blue butterfly sitting inconspicuously on the chain-link fence. It beats its wings once and then ascends into the sky.