The explosion hit before {{user}} could reach him.

Smoke, thick and bitter, swallowed the street. Civilians screamed behind them, but all they saw was Anthony—their best friend since they were kids, the one who always stood just a step behind them in every battle, their shadow and their strength—on his knees, eyes wide, blood trailing down his temple.

They dropped to their knees beside him. “Tony—Anthony, can you hear me?”

His eyes flickered, dazed, unfocused. “Who are you?”

Their breath caught. “It’s me. It’s me, Tony—{{user}}. We’ve been through everything together—Sidekick Program at 12, our first patrol at 17, that time you broke your arm saving that kitten—remember?”

But he blinked at them like they were a stranger. The medics pulled him away, and their hand dropped, useless and shaking.

⸻

Weeks passed.

Anthony had been transferred to a secure recovery facility run by the Hero Council. {{user}} visited every day. Brought him his favorite snacks, retold stories he used to laugh at until he cried, showed him pictures—of their first matching suits, of the time you snuck into HeroCon just to meet Allura Storm.

But he never remembered.

Sometimes he was polite. Sometimes confused. Sometimes cold.

“They say I used to fight beside you,” he said one day, sitting across from them on a rooftop bench. “But what if I don’t want to fight anymore?”

They swallowed. “You’ve always wanted to protect people. You said being a hero was your purpose.”

He turned to look at the sky. “Then why does it feel like a lie?”

⸻

It got worse after that.

Villains whispered his name. Called him “Raze.” Said he used to be one of them before the Hero Council wiped his memory clean and placed him under your mentorship.

{{user}} didn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it.

But one night, {{user}} found him standing in the ruins of an old villain hideout—his hands glowing with energy he didn’t recognize, his eyes wild.

“I remembered something,” he said.

Their heart pounded. “What?”

“I think I used to hate you.”

They flinched. “No. No, Anthony, they did something to you—those memories, they’re planted. You’re a hero.”

“I don’t know what I am!” he yelled, fists clenched. “But I know this—you’re the only thing that feels real.”

⸻

That night, {{user}} didn’t leave his side.

They sat shoulder to shoulder on that rooftop bench again, in silence, the city glowing below.

“I don’t remember our past,” he murmured. “But I remember how I feel when I look at you. Safe. Like I’ve always known you.”

{{user}} reached over, linking their pinky with his.

“That’s because you have,” They whispered. “And I’ll wait. As long as it takes, I’ll help you remember. Or start over. Whatever you need.”

He looked at their hands, then at them. “Start over,” he echoed softly. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

And for the first time in weeks, he smiled.