Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The nights had gotten so cold.

Morgana curled up into a tighter ball against Ren’s side, trying to keep as much of his own body heat in as he simultaneously tried to leach as much warmth from the sleeping teenager as he could. The space heater did so little in the large, uninsulated attic of LeBlanc, especially on nights like this with snow falling outside. He had no idea how Ren was able to sleep…

…then again, Ren was getting so little sleep in general these days, maybe he was just too exhausted to notice the chill anymore….

The small furry thief slowly lifted his head to look at his friend, eyes easily adjusting to the darkness. Morgana felt his heart fall as he took in what little of the teen’s face he could see past the thick comforter he had pulled up to his ears: the furrowed brow, the set jaw, a clear sheen of sweat, the slight tremble in his features, the twitches of cheek muscles and movement in the eyelids from eyes darting around underneath.

Another nightmare, probably. Morgana lay his chin down on the bed and sighed. He had no idea if Ren had been prone to nightmares before November 20th, but after returning home from the interrogation room, covered in horrifying bruises and drugged out of his mind, Ren has had them nightly. The first few nights were jarring, Ren throwing Morgana across the bed with hyperventilating gasps, requiring the small thief to talk the boy down before he ripped his own hair out of his scalp from how tightly he clutched his hair while hyperventilating. But as the days passed, turning into weeks, as they moved into December, Ren’s nightmares became as quiet as he was - he rarely moved, rarely made a sound, only his facial movements and eventual startle to wakefulness could give away what was going on in his sleep.

Ren was a mess outside of his dreams as well. The injuries healed, but he began carrying his dagger around with him when he ventured outside, and he slept with his dagger on the shelf next to his pillow. He was paranoid and jumpy, but simultaneously much more withdrawn, barely speaking unless he absolutely had to. His demeanor in the Metaverse was all business now, intense and determined and dangerous as they traversed Shido’s palace. 

Everyone was worried about him. The rest of the Thieves would exchange concerned glances. But Ren rebuffed anyone's attempt to reach out to him. Stubborn to a fault, even as he clearly suffered.

But then it all got so much worse. They faced Akechi in Shido's castle, watched him fall apart, and then could only stand by and witness him sacrifice himself for them. Days later, they overpowered Shido and stole his heart. They almost lost Ryuji when the palace collapsed. And then, Ren, Futaba and Mona returned to Leblanc that night to find it destroyed, learning that Sojiro had been arrested (but then released, thank gods). 

That was over a week ago. They were just waiting on Shido’s confession now. Should be any day now.

Yet Ren’s nightmares only got worse and worse.

Morgana tried. He did what he could to try and help Ren. He was there every night when the boy lurched violently out of his nightmares, grabbing for his dagger. But it was no use, Ren would just push him away, shake his head while wiping the cold sweat and tears off his face, muttering that he couldn’t remember what he was dreaming about (definitely a lie), and besides, he didn’t want anyone to worry.

Morgana was glad at least that he could be here. That the two of them had this weird companionship that involved sharing sleeping space. If he wasn’t here, something told him Ren wouldn’t tell anyone about what he was dealing with. Just being able to sit with Ren while he was coming down from his panic, even allowing him to hold and pet Morgana like he really was a housecat, well, at least he could do that much. He hated being called a cat, but if he had to be stuck in this furry form, at least he could utilize it for good.

Morgana sighed, jarring himself from his thoughts and rolling a little onto his side. He eventually slipped back to sleep, only to be roused far too soon by the sound of the cafe bell downstairs, immediately followed by Ren jerking awake and snatching up his weapons.

“It’s okay Ren,” Morgana said quickly, scrabbling to his feet so he could press all his body weight through his front paws into Ren’s shoulder in an effort to comfort as the boy sat there holding his breath and listening, panicked. “It’s just Boss.” And it was. With his better feline hearing, he could easily make out the familiar sound of Sojiro's keys as he put them back in his pocket, the familiar clearing of his throat as he stepped into the cafe he owned, the familiar soft footsteps of the man as took off his jacket and hat and began moving around the cafe. 

Through his paw pads Morgana felt the tension melt away from Ren’s shoulders, and soon enough the boy dropped the dagger back on the shelf and flopped down into his pillows with a frustrated sigh. 

This happened every morning now, and sometimes at least one other time during the night – the sound of a truck door slamming too hard outside, the backfire of a motorbike, folks talking too loud while walking home drunk from the bar, all were enough to make Ren jump right into fight or flight mode. After all he’s experienced and with the threat of retaliation ever over their head, Morgana couldn’t blame him. He felt similarly on edge. He couldn’t forget how terrifying it was returning home to Leblanc after fighting Shido, only to find the cafe torn to pieces by Shido’s men. It felt like only a matter of time before something like that happened again.

But not now. Right now, it was just Boss. He heard the door chime again, and the strained grunt of Boss picking up something heavy – maybe a shipment came during the night.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Just as Morgana had flattened out the blankets that Ren had disturbed and curled back up in a ball, he heard the bell of the door chime again, louder and more forcefully this time.

Followed two seconds later by Boss’s startled voice.

“What the– You!! What the hell are you doing here?!” 

Morgana didn’t even have a chance to react – Ren was already launching himself out of bed like an overwound spring released from tension. Morgana fell over with the blankets as Ren swiped his dagger and gun from the shelf and bolted to the stairwell. Morgana struggled far too long to untangle himself from the blankets and sprinted after him in terror. 

Boss was in trouble! What if it was Shido’s men? What if it was somehow Shido himself ?! What if it was the cops or –

Morgana leapt down the last five stairs in one long jump and landed less than gracefully on his feet (at least no one saw), then froze as he looked out into the cafe. 

Ren stood next to the bar, standing his ground in a familiar upright battle stance, with his dagger in his off-hand and gun held out in the other pointed at the door. Behind the bar, Boss looked mortified, tense, standing back by the kitchen, looking back and forth between the door and Ren with pale shock. Morgana couldn’t see who they were looking at – his dumb cat form was too low to the ground and the bar was blocking his line of sight of the doorway. He quickly bounded forward, leaping onto the back of the booth seat next to Ren, silently berating his own form for being so useless and small here compared to the Metaverse.

His eyes fell on the intruder, and he just stared open-jawed in numb shock for five solid seconds.

“Akechi?!” he finally gasped, breaking the silence.

It was Akechi. The last time Mona had seen him, it was on Shido’s ship, disappearing behind a bulkhead door along with his cognitive double and a group of powerful shadows. Saving them, and getting killed in the process. But now here he was, alive, though Mona quickly realized he definitely wasn’t well. He watched the teen slide weakly to the floor against the door jamb, his legs splaying out awkwardly in front of him, arms hanging limp at his sides. He wasn’t dressed for the weather, completely soaked through from snow and frozen rain, his white button-down stained with blood and dirt and filth. His long hair lay plastered to his forehead, encrusted with ice. But his face was the most jarring thing to see – battered, bruised, uneven from swelling and injury. His nose was out of alignment, clearly broken. And those red-sienna eyes of his were dulled with exhaustion as he stared down the barrel of Ren’s gun. 

For a long time, no one moved, or spoke, or breathed. A four-way staredown. Then, finally, there was movement near the kitchen, and Morgana turned to see Sojiro’s eyes focused not on Akechi, but on Ren. The older man’s jaw hung loose as he stared at Ren with a look of utter shock. Morgana could imagine why – this was Sojiro’s first time seeing his ward like this. Seeing Ren as Joker , with his commanding presence and absolute resolve to face down danger head-on, that piercing steel gaze that could easily be considered a weapon in its own right, particularly striking right now without the barrier provided by his glasses or mask. Morgana was certain Sojiro’s assumptions about the boy were being questioned and rewritten at that very moment.

The tense silence only grew thicker. Of course, it was Akechi that would end it, seeming to put all his limited strength into staring Ren down. “Just do it,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper and cracking with pain, eyes flashing with something like longing.

His voice seemed to snap Sojiro out of his stupor, and he glanced back at Akechi before frowning at the gun in Ren’s hands. “Kid… where the hell did you get that…?”

Ren didn’t say anything, didn’t move, didn’t waver. His eyes remain fixed on Akechi, like the two of them were locked in a staring contest and the rest of the world didn’t matter. But finally, Ren’s whole body relaxed marginally with a sigh, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath like he had to find himself again. When he opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze had receded, and he glanced over at his caretaker with an almost bashful expression.

“Don’t worry. It’s fake. An airsoft gun.” His voice was quiet and apologetic as he locked the safety and reached over to lay the gun on the counter. He passed his dagger into his main hand to replace it, but held it loosely at his side, his stance at ease as he looked back at Akechi’s collapsed form.

“Well, it looks way too real…” Sojiro said with a huff, as though he were admonishing Ren for being late or forgetting to flip the sign. He picked up the gun and carefully inspected it with a kind of familiarity that made Morgana suddenly question his own assumptions about the cafe owner.

Akechi watched the whole interaction play out, then gave a short, wheezing laugh, his head rolling weakly against the glass of the door behind him. “What, don’t think of me as a threat, Joker? ” he said, but there was no bite to his words. If anything, he just sounded exhausted.

Ren turned his attention back to him, and a series of expressions flickered across his face – confusion, trepidation, anguish, before finally settling on something like disbelief. He began moving to close the distance between them, setting his dagger down on the counter as well. “You’re alive…? But how?” Ren’s voice was caught somewhere between awe and trepidation, approaching the other slowly like he was afraid this was some sort of trick, that Akechi really wasn’t here. Like he didn’t dare hope…

Morgana glanced back and forth between them. What…?

Another strange laugh burbled from Akechi’s chest, wet with what Morgana hoped was only congestion. “Disappointed?”

There was a flash of something raw and pained in Ren’s eyes, so clear without his glasses. “God no. Far from it…”

Morgana felt his own mixture of emotions rolling around inside him as he followed Ren, hopping up onto the counter to look down over Akechi. “Futaba said your signal vanished,” he said, frowning heavily as he sat on the counter. “Were you not… did we just…?” The not-cat felt his throat tighten, cutting off his words as he looked over at Ren. Had Futaba been mistaken? Had they just… left Akechi to die in that engine room when they could have saved him? Had he still been there when Shido’s ship exploded? 

Akechi just slumped even more against the door, shaking his head. “It’s a long story… but in the end, Shido’s men…” He flinched, and licked his lips, or attempted to – they were chapped and discolored, almost blue. He added, so quietly that Morgana wondered if only his feline ears could hear it, “I - I didn’t have anywhere else to go…”

Ren slowly lowered carefully to his knees next to the injured teen, moving as though trying to coax an injured animal from fleeing. He lifted his hands as though to grab hold of the other, but hesitated. Akechi watched him warily, but finally gave a small nod of permission. Ren reached out and rested his hands on Akechi’s arms, rubbing to try and bring back some warmth.

“You’re freezing…” Ren murmured softly, eyes full of concern as his hands moved to cup Akechi’s neck, then his cheeks. Akechi hissed with a wince at Ren’s touch, as though his skin was far too warm to bear, but then he sighed and released some of the tension in his body, leaning into Ren’s hold.

“No sh-shit… It-it’s winter , Joker.” A strangled sound crept out of his voice as he reached out, grasping Ren’s shirt and tugging as though to bring him closer. “...F-fuck, you’re warm…” he whimpered. 

“I’m a furnace. Morgana always says so,” Ren said gently. He moved his hands to Akechi’s ears, wincing alongside Akechi as the older boy hissed once more at the warmth. “How long were you out there?”

“I–I dunno… I…” The teen stopped as though to gather his thoughts together, or to remember how words worked, how to link them together to form a sentence, how to even get the sounds to travel from brain to lips, his throat flexing as he swallowed hard. His eyes were glazed over and distant. “...Shido’s men found me… and they… they tried to make me talk… got away… h-had to walk here. Waited in the– in the laundry cuz I couldn’t pick the lock or… or reach your window…” The more he talked, the less control he seemed to have over his words, the last of his adrenaline draining out of him and the chill taking hold. He slumped back against the door, his head only remaining upright because of Ren’s careful hold. 

Sojiro appeared behind Ren, a bundle of kitchen towels in his hands and a sullen expression on his face. Morgana knew the look well by now, it was Boss’s expression of “ I hate this whole goddamn situation but I’m not about to give up on these kids.” The older man grimaced at Akechi’s injuries. “This looks bad. Hypothermia for sure, and is that blood?” He dropped the towels at Ren’s side and rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit, kid, you need a hospital.”

“N-no!” Akechi croaked, eyes snapping open wide just as Ren turned to Sojiro with similar horror on his face. Akechi reached to grab hold of Ren with one trembling hand, his numb fingers clawing at his sleep shirt as he looked frantically between Sojiro and Ren. “I can’t. I – Shido’s men – they’ll find me, and then they’ll find you , and they’ll–” He couldn’t even complete his thought, curling in on himself, head dropping to Ren’s shoulder. His breathing had grown erratic. Ren carefully wrapped his arms around Akechi’s freezing form to keep him from falling over further.

“Don’t worry. You’re not going anywhere,” Ren said firmly, picking up one of the towels from the floor and pressing it to his hair. “We have a doctor friend we can trust. Let’s just get you in here and warmed up, okay?” Ren looked over at Sojiro with wide, almost pleading eyes. The man stayed silent and still, staring down at Akechi, at this boy whose actions had caused Sojiro so much pain. The man closed his eyes and finally sighed in resignation. 

“I’m not about to throw the kid out to freeze or bleed to death, no matter what he's done,” he grumbled. He reached over their heads to lock the door before kneeling beside them, carefully reaching for Akechi’s upper arm. “Let’s get him up to the attic before anyone sees him here, yeah?”

Ren nodded, jaw tightening with determination as he moved to help pull the other teen to his feet. They barely started hauling him upright before Akechi made a weak pained yelp and wrenched himself out of Sojiro’s grasp, collapsing against Ren and nearly crumpling to the floor.

“Hurts…!” Akechi gasped. “It-it hurts…”

“Damnit, how bad are you injured, kid?” Sojiro said with some alarm, hands out as though afraid if he touched the kid again, he would shatter into pieces.

“I mean… definitely didn’t take it easy on me…” Akechi managed to say tightly with a sour little smile, cradling his arm to his chest as Ren pulled his other arm carefully over his shoulder. After taking a moment to make sure Ren was able to take his weight, if unsteadily, the two of them slowly made the long trek towards the back to the stairwell, Sojiro grabbing the towels and hurrying ahead of them, while Morgana followed behind.

It took a long time to make it up the stairs, Ren practically carrying Akechi by the end, and Akechi whimpering and groaning in spite of himself. Ren was as gentle as could be as he set Akechi on the old threadbare cafe booth that functioned as a couch, and Sojiro moved in beside him, face set with serious concentration.

“We need to get him out of these wet clothes. Grab him something dry that you think will fit him,” Sojiro said quickly, leaning over to pull Goro’s wet shoes and socks off. Morgana desperately wanted to help too, so he hurried over to the bed and, clumsily and with some effort, managed to drag Ren’s comforter over to them. It had to help, right?

Ren returned with an arm full of clothes, setting them down on the seat next to Akechi. The two worked together to help Akechi swap his pants for a soft pair of Ren’s sleep pants, then began to work on unbuttoning Akechi’s shirt while Ren on the other hand grabbed a towel and focused on wringing water gingerly out of Akechi’s hair. And Akechi just…let him. When Ren pulled the sodden towel away to reveal it discolored with blood, Morgana felt all the hairs on his body stand on end. 

"Oh shit…" Ren whispered, carefully running his fingertips through Akechi’s hair, seeking evidence of head injury. Akechi just absentmindedly leaned into the touch with a soft groan.

And if that wasn’t enough, there was the collective hitch of breath from all three of them as Sojiro peeled back Akechi’s shirtfront.

"Oh man…" Morgana whispered breathlessly, eyes widening as the extent of Akechi's injuries were revealed. Among all the blooming colors of bruises and contusions, right under one of the dark brown patches of blood on the shirt, were blood-stained bandages, half unraveled to reveal–

"Goro…" Ren sounded breathless as he carefully tugged aside the bandages to look at the poorly-done sutures. The skin surrounding them was angry and red, oozing with what could only indicate infection. Sojiro just stared in open-mouthed shock, his face noticeably pale.

“What the hell…” he breathed. “Were you fucking shot, kid??”

"Yeah… in the palace, that damn cognition…” Akechi gave a weak, humorless chuckle. “He didn’t think much of me, but clearly Shido definitely didn’t underestimate my aim…" 

Sojiro began to move with renewed haste, foregoing trying to take the clothes off normally in favor of just cutting the ruined shirt away with a box cutter from his apron. He peeled the bandages away and threw the whole sodden mess to the floor with a kind of disturbed huff. “Get him dried off and under covers,” he said sternly to Ren before getting to his feet. “I need to call Takemi right now..” Sojiro staggered back to his full height and reached into his apron for his phone. He looked positively shaken now, far worse than before.

But… it didn’t make sense. Morgana finally shook his head, looking back and forth between Ren and Akechi in confusion. “I don’t understand… Metaverse injuries don’t transfer to the real world!”

Akechi just shook his head weakly, and when he spoke his words were noticeably slurred, “Prob’ly somethin’ Shido’s team figured out… I don’t… I dunno… they knew better’n to tell me anything ‘bout their r’search…”

Ren grabbed the comforter that Morgana had dragged over and carefully draped it over Akechi’s shoulders, before busying himself by unrolling a pair of thick dry socks and kneeling to put them on Akechi’s feet. 

“And they, they did this to you?” Morgana asked. “How did they get you from the palace?!”

Akechi coughed, and winced as the motion caused his injuries to swell with pain. “I don’t… remember doing it… but I, I must’ve teleported out.” He dropped his head back against the couch, clearly too weak to keep it upright anymore. “One of my abilities… never told you… can teleport and go invisible to tracking… is how I got to ‘Kumura without you all knowing…”

Akechi’s gaze was growing more glazed over, as though he were just moments from losing consciousness. Ren finished the socks and straightened up as Goro kept talking. “Shido… his p’ple found me… stitched m’up so they could…” He fixed the dark-haired teen with a meaningful stare. “I d’n’t talk, Ren… I didn’t… not a word…”

Ren swallowed hard and could only manage to nod his thanks, and Morgana noticed his leader’s hands had begun to shake as he rearranged the quilt, wrapped it even more securely around Akechi like a cocoon, then reached to swap the damp towel on Akechi’s hair for a dry one. "No one deserves that kind of treatment, Goro. Not even you."

"Yes I do…" Akechi whispered. Ren shook his head harder, but didn’t say anything more, likely recognizing there was no use arguing. He set to work to try and dry his hair as gently as possible, rubbing and squeezing Akechi’s shaggy locks. Akechi closed his eyes tightly, looking like he was in pain, so Ren froze. “Does this hurt?”

“No…” Akechi’s voice was strained, and his face scrunched up even more, collapsing inward on himself with a sob. A mottled purple and white hand reached out from the blanket and caught hold of Ren’s shirt, squeezing tightly. Akechi looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, panting a little as though it took all his energy to speak. "You’re alive… you really… I didn't…" he wheezed a moment, clenching his eyes tight.  "Ren… I… that day… after I–I shot you… when it finally hit what I'd… that you were really… I coul’n’t…” 

“I know,” Ren said, a flash of sorrow in his eyes.

Akechi seemed frantic to say it, face screwed up in agony as he grasped Ren with both hands, even in spite of his injured arm. He was trembling now. “I hated myself. It wasn’t worth it. It’d never been worth it. And, and after, all I could think was at least I wouldn’t be ‘round much longer… that the bastard would be dead and maybe then I could join you…” A sob broke through and he shook his head, pressing his forehead to Ren's collarbone. “M sorry… m so sorry… I didn’t want to… I never wanted… fuck, Ren, I missed you!”

"Shh…." Ren carefully pried the frostbitten fingers from his shirt and lifted them to place them on his neck, over his pulse, eliciting a hiss from the other boy from Ren’s warmth on his damaged fingers. Ren flinched at how cold the fingers were, but he held firm, watching the other boy with a soft but determined care. "I'm okay, Crow. We're both okay."

Akechi stared at him with a sort of awe. He was trembling now, and Morgana had no clue if it was only from the hypothermia or from his emotions. Akechi’s face cracked into a terrible grimace, his eyes searching Ren’s for something. "But I killed you… I-I shot you… but you’re still… how…?”

"It doesn’t matter right now…” Ren said gently, maintaining eye contact as he readjusted his hands to a warmer part of his skin. “Just focus on not dying and we’ll call it even, okay??” 

"You really need to breathe, kid. Save your strength,” Sojiro spoke up, reappearing at their side with a steaming mug and his phone. Ren released Akechi’s hands and readjusted the blankets around him as Sojiro pressed something on his phone and put it in his pocket, looking serious as he looked between the two teens. “Takemi will be here in about twenty minutes. In the meantime we have to keep him awake, keep him calm, keep warming him up but not too quickly. You going into shock will only make things worse.” He held up the cup. “This is just some herbal tea for now. Warm you up a bit from the inside out. Get some fluids in you.

“Thanks, Boss,” Ren murmured. It took both Sojiro and Ren to get Akechi to drink any of it without spilling or dropping the cup, the way he had begun to shudder. His teeth began to clack together. 

"You need to lay down and try not to let your heartrate spike,” Sojiro said firmly. “I'm going to run to the house to grab some things." Sojiro set the cup down and then placed a hand on Akechi's forehead, causing the boy to flinch with a whimper. Sojiro just frowned more. "Especially the thermometer. I'll be quick about it."

“Thank you, Sojiro. You’re the best,” Ren said with a sad smile. Sojiro just gave a small half-smile in return, and then hurried to grab his jacket.

No sooner had the door chime signaled Sojiro’s exit, a terrible cough gripped the injured boy. It was deep, wet, whistling. It sounded like he couldn’t pull in a full breath. Ren helped lay the boy out on his side on the bench, wrapping his quilt around his legs, speaking in low tones trying to keep the other boy calm. Even after the cough had abated, Akechi was nearly hyperventilating and murmuring things that sounded nearly incoherent or unintelligible to Morgana’s ears. Ren just sat with him through it, adjusting his blankets, giving him all the reassurances he could that he would be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

But Morgana just wasn’t so sure. He hoped so.

Chapter Text

Sojiro lit up a cigarette the moment he stepped out into the cold early morning air outside Leblanc. The freezing rain had stopped for now, but it was probably going to pick up again within the hour, judging by the clouds and the direction of the wind. He sucked nicotine down as quickly as he hurried towards the house, so by the time he was grabbing his keys at the front door he could take a second to put the butt out on the wall and drop it into the little tin can he kept as an ashtray just outside his door. He unlocked the front door and slid it open, mentally tallying what items he needed to grab. Thermometer, another blanket or two, more towels maybe? He wondered if they still had some single use hand warmers.

He swapped his shoes for house slippers on and moved to step out of the genkan, and was startled to hear a familiar pair of bare feet thumping across the hardwood floors of the second floor landing.

“Futaba??” It was barely five-thirty in the morning, and while she was notorious for staying up until 2 or 3 a.m. playing games or coding, she was always dead to the world by now and often slept in until noon. So to say her presence was completely unexpected was an understatement. Yet here she was, standing atop the stairs in her pajamas, looking disheveled and exhausted, holding onto a stuffed plastic grocery bag with two hands.

“I, I have an alarm system,” she said, her voice a bit out of breath, like she’d been running around. But there was also that familiar near-panic stuttering to her words as she went on, like she was close to breaking down. “In Leblanc. Just in case. Especially after what Shido’s goons did to you and the place. I-it’s set so that, if, if any sound rises above a certain decibel, the alarm alerts me. And you–your yell this morning set it off.” She shifted a little awkwardly. “I promised Ren I wouldn’t bug the attic but I heard everything downstairs…”

“Futaba,” Sojiro said softly, sad and unsure. That meant she heard Akechi, the boy who killed her moth. Heard them fussing over him. Heard Sojiro call Takemi about him. Sojiro felt a pang of guilt – was she mad at him for doing this? 

But looking at her again, that wasn’t the vibe she was giving off. She hopped down the stairs toward him, shaking the bag a little and looking down with a considering frown.

“Um, I went ahead and gathered up some things – the thermometer, the first aid kit, extra gauze, neosporin, some painkillers I found, my fluffiest blanket, some of the instant ramen options I like when I don’t have an appetite… my thickest scarf… my froggy hat with the floppy ear covers… Oh and a sheet for the guest futon, but that’s too heavy for me to carry.”

“Futaba…” Sojiro said with such a rush of warmth he couldn’t hold back bounding up the last few stairs separating them to pull her into his arms, resting his chin on the crown of her head. He felt so very proud of her, of this child who has been through so much pain and so much trauma and yet still had a heart so large she was willing to go to the effort to help another, despite everything that someone had done to her. She leaned into the hug, shaking like a leaf. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she squeaked into his shoulder. “When I heard the recording of your shout, I was so scared they came back–”

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Futaba,” he murmured, running a hand over her hair, flattening down some of her wispy red fly-aways and cowlicks. “Thank you for looking out for me. And for doing this. I know it’s not easy…”

“I n-never wanted him dead, you know” she said, stepping back and wiping tears from her face with the heel of one hand. “Once I figured out it was him, that it'd happened when he was barely older than I am now… L-like, he could maybe go to prison or therapy for a good long time, but not, not die, not like that.” Her face grew more resolute, as it had been just six weeks ago when she’d declared she’d wanted to find her mother’s killer. “There’s more to all of this,  I know it. Like, what teenager could make those kinds of decisions without having been horribly mistreated first?” She wiped her nose with her sleeve and some of the sternness leached from her, and she dropped her shoulders. “I-I can't ever forgive him for what he did to my mom, b-but I can’t, I won't condemn him to death either, yknow?”

Sojiro smiled sadly, and brushed some wayward strands from her face. “You have such a big heart, Futaba. Your mom would be so proud.” He took the bag from her. “We’ll take care of him. Go get some sleep, okay?”

“I will,” she said before giving a big theatrical yawn. She hesitated. “Just… be careful. In case any of Shido’s goons followed him, y’know?”

Sojiro nodded. He pictured Ren, standing at attention with his gun, looking like a soldier on a mission, ready to protect them all. He also had his own weapons in the cafe - a can of pepper spray and a recently sharpened kitchen knife he kept under the counter. “We’ll be okay. You stay safe here, too, though. If anything happens–”

“Oh don't worry. I have a panic room,” she said with a dismissive hand wave. “I’ll be fine.”

Sojiro didn’t quite know what she meant by that. In fact, he didn’t think he wanted to know. But he followed her up to her room and kissed her forehead goodnight before she closed her door, then he went about grabbing a few more items – the spare futon, another blanket, some spare clothes so Ren didn’t have to share all of his.

Before he left to head back to the cafe, his eyes fell on a picture of Wakaba they kept as a small remembrance shrine in the living room. He smiled a little mournfully.

You really would be so proud of, he thought, his heart clenching in his chest. He knew that if Wakaba had any say in all of this, she would also want the boy helped, not locked away for life or dead. She would want him to have a chance to find redemption. A child like him… no one just chooses a doomed life like this at such a young age. There had to be more to the story.

Sojiro carried everything back to the cafe, and was relieved to see Takemi standing out front, bundled up in normal clothes with a bag over her shoulder. She hadn’t even bothered with makeup and it was strange seeing the natural shape of her eyes and natural pallor of her skin

“You need to adopt some less problematic kids, Sakura-san,” she said grumpily as he approached, a noticeable gruffness to her voice as Sojiro moved to unlock the door. She rubbed her face as the bell chimed their entrance. “I’m a bit hungover, this is supposed to be my day off you know.”

“I really appreciate you coming on short notice, then,” he said sincerely, adjusting his hold on the heavy bundle of futon and blankets. “There’s definitely coffee in it for you.”

“For the next week.”

“Seems fair.”

She followed him up the stairs and they both froze at the scene before them. Ren knelt next to the couch, curled over Akechi as though cradling him to give extra warmth. Akechi was shaking severely, his breathing labored and gasping, his face gaunt and miscolored, lips blue.

At least he was shivering now. Sojiro knew it was a bad sign when the kid had collapsed on his doorstep not trembling one bit, despite the clear indication of frostbite.

Takemi just stared for a few seconds, mouth ajar, looking between the two dumb teenagers before turning to throw Sojiro a very pointed look.

“Holy shit wait, that’s that detective kid!”

“Yeah,” Sojiro responded wearily, rubbing his face. “It’s a long story.”

Takemi sucked on her lip for a quick moment, nodding to herself. “Make it two weeks of coffee,” she said haughtily, dropping her medical bag on the floor and pulling items from it. “The good stuff.”

He sighed “You got it.”

“Good. Now get me a large bowl of hot water, some more towels, and a large mug of the most caffeinated brew you got.” She yawned forcibly before turning to the kids with a fierce determination. “On second thought, add two shots of espresso. That should do it.”

Sojiro couldn’t hold back his flinch at such a horrid idea before sighing again in resignation. “You got it.”

It was going to be a long day.

It hadn’t been Goro’s first time waking up to realize he was still alive when he knew he should be dead. 

Going through the Metaverse alone for so long, it was just an inevitability. In fact, it’d only been days into his life as a Persona user, wandering aimlessly through Mementos when he ended up on a level full of shadows beyond his abilities, and first felt that all-consuming certainty that his life was about to end. 

It had. And then he woke up.

And it’s happened a number of times since. Overpowered enemies, palaces collapsing before he got out (before he unlocked his quick-exit skill, that was literally a life-saver). Sometimes he ached with remnants of what happened to him; a slight redness where once had been charred skin, bruising where there may have been stab wounds. But otherwise unharmed. He never quite understood how it happened – he was sure it had something to do with his Personas or with his relationship to the Metaverse, but he has never known for sure. But he felt a certainty within him that such fortune would run out eventually, and besides that, the very act of dying and waking again always fucked him up mentally for days if not weeks. So in general, he tried to avoid it. 

Fortunately, he’d gotten stronger. It had been over a year since his last death.

But then he faced down his own doppleganger in Shido’s palace, and he had been sure it was his final hurrah. That he’d used up all his retries. That he was well and truly a goner when that bullet struck home and the world went dark.

But then he woke up. Lying bleeding on the grass of the Diet. Voices shouting, hands grabbing him.

And then, Shido’s face, twitching and manic and at the end of his rope.

And then…

Well… he really didn’t want to think about the days of questioning and pain that followed…

They kept him alive, though, and that was their mistake. He got away. That’s all he knew. Somehow, the fog in his head cleared and he found himself wandering Mementos, the light of Robin Hood guiding him forward. He was lost there for what felt like days, but he had no idea - time moved differently down there. Until finally, he staggered weakly out into Shibuya in the dead of night and the bitter cold and thought of only one place to go. The only place he could go. And he walked the five kilometers to get there.

Much of the time that followed his entry into Leblanc was a complete haze. Another confusing cacophony of moments – hands grasping him, voices speaking far too loudly, gravity shifting and spinning. Panic, returning in full force again and again as he was certain it had all been a hallucination, that he was back with Shido’s men, back to the torture and the drugs and the questions and the demands.

But then he would see Ren looking down at him with those silver eyes, and the adrenaline would leach away and he slipped back into the emptiness once more. 

He was too cold. Then too hot. Then too cold again. He shivered and reached blindly for the blankets beside him.

“No, no, Akechi, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

“C-cold,” he croaked. “‘M so cold.” Talking was hard.

“I know.” A hand appeared on his forehead, a welcome warmth, and he couldn’t hold back the whine at the relief of it. “You’ve got a very high fever. Blankets will only make it worse.”

“Please, please.” Goro didn’t care that he was begging. He was so fucking cold, and in pain, and just wished those bullets had done their goddamned job .

He must have said that all out loud, because Ren’s voice sounded downright broken. “Don’t say that… fuck don’t say that…”

Arms wrapped around him, and god it felt good. Warm. Real. Safe.

“You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re going to be okay…”

The world slipped away again, and when it returned, Goro found himself looking up at a woman with black hair and a lab coat.

He screamed.

“NO!!!” He shoved himself away from her and toppled over the side of the bed, hitting the ground hard with a shout as pain exploded through his shoulder and chest. Voices were shouting again, but all he cared about was putting as much distance as he could between himself and her, because no, no no, she couldn’t be here, she was supposed to be dead, she’s supposed to be gone, he’s supposed to be done with all of that, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want to go through this again, please, never again, he can’t

“Crow! Crow, calm down, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

A face swam into view in front of him, and Goro latched onto the voice, onto the name ringing in his ears. She had never called him that. No one back then ever called him that. The name was safe. The person saying it was safe. He knew that voice. Knew this person. He wasn’t from then.

“Joker,” he gasped, finally recognizing the blurred figure in front of him. The wide gray eyes full of concern, the strong hands gripping his shoulders. Goro was here with Joker. He wasn’t back there, back then. Those two realities never overlapped. She was dead long before Joker entered Goro’s life.

“Yeah, it’s me, Crow.” Joker’s hand gripped one of his wrists, and Goro glanced down to see his own hands wrapped in bandages, one arm in a cast, a hospital gown twisted up around him and half-off his shoulder to reveal fresh bandages around his chest and shoulder. He looked around – he didn’t recognize this place. Some kind of medical exam room. Not Leblanc. Panic began to bubble up again.

“N-no. No hospitals – Joker, Ren, I can’t– Shido’s men, they’ll–”

“This isn’t a hospital, Akechi. You’re safe. No one will find you here. I won’t let anyone find you here.” Joker spoke firmly, his Leader-of-the-Phantom-Thieves voice, with no room for argument. It was grounding. It was helping. “Dr. Takemi is a friend of mine. You’re very injured. We needed someone who knew what they were doing to help you, and she didn’t have the things she needed at Leblanc so we brought you to her clinic down the street.”

Goro blinked at him, and then slowly, like the air around them had become the consistency of molasses, raised his head to look up at the person hovering on the other side of the room. Now that he could see her clearly, it wasn’t her. This one was too tall, too young, no glasses, too much makeup. Different facial features, different eye color, different hair style. Not her . He wasn’t there . This wasn’t then . 

He kept having to repeat that to himself, over and over, as hands helped hoist him back onto the exam table functioning as a bed, as she cautiously approached him to re-insert his IV line and replace the oxygen mask, as she carefully spoke to him about his injuries. He couldn’t keep track of her words, his mind latching not to the substance of what she was saying but to the pitch of her voice, the way it flowed, the slight difference in dialect. Different from her. 

It wasn’t her. He wasn’t there. This wasn’t then.

After a while she either had finished what she’d been saying, or had realized he wasn’t really absorbing anything he was being told, and she went quiet, setting about unwrapping one of his hands to change the bandages. He watched in disconnected fascination as his hand appeared to reveal terrible blisters, shiny reddened skin. Frostbite, his mind supplied. From hours in the wet and cold without gloves. He wondered vacantly what his feet must look like. Maybe his shoes spared them. But maybe the wet socks had only made it worse.

And then, many minutes delayed, the pain suddenly arrived to ferry him back into unconsciousness.

When he woke again, the pain had dampened to a dull simmer. Probably drugs, he thought. His whole brain felt echoey and beyond him. An oxygen mask was over his face. He wondered idly if after all of this, if he would end up dying anyway. He wondered if he wanted to. He didn’t know, one way or the other.

And when his vision cleared, he noticed the familiar face of Ren Amamiya lingering nearby. Goro felt a pang of something akin to annoyance at this apparent unshakeable loyalty he had to someone who tried to fucking shoot him in the goddamned head. 

“You’re a fool,” he rasped through the breathing mask. 

Ren looked up from what he was doing – crafting lockpicks, it seemed. He set his task aside on the rolling table beside them. “I know,” Ren said with a modicum of fondness. “I have the card to prove it, too.”

Goro didn’t know what that meant. Couldn’t even tell if he was supposed to know what that meant. His brain was so sluggish and dumb right now. “How long has it been?” he managed to ask.

“Three days,” Ren said softly. “Since you showed up at Leblanc, anyway. You were missing for almost a week before that…”

Missing. Missing, missing. 

His body spasmed hard with a flinch as he recalled – the gunshots, the beatings, the drugs.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, you’re okay now.”

Ren kept saying that. He kept fucking saying that. That didn’t make it fucking true.

Goro realized his breathing was quickly becoming erratic, and he’d pressed himself back against the bed. He looked around frantically. They were still in that clinic and – there was danger here. There had to be. There must be. He landed his wide gaze on Ren. On the open emotion clearly present on Ren’s face.

If there’s one thing he’d learned about Ren Amamiya over their months of friendship association, the teen wasn’t very emotive. He hid his true thoughts and emotions behind little half smiles and direct stares and a calmness to his words that did little to convey what he was actually thinking. Goro had found it downright infuriating (despite the fact he knew his own masks were just as obfuscating and frustrating). It was part of what drew Goro to him, those little moments where he got a peek behind the facade and saw something twisted and clever and capable…

But now… here Ren was, defenses down, emotions bared, concern radiating off of him in waves. Concern for him .

Goro suddenly recalled a hazy memory. Ren’s voice, dampened by a heavy bulkhead door, shaking with despair as he gave a promise to a dying Goro. Goro swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very, very tired. “Your… your promise… Did you take Shido’s…?”

Ren gave a sad half smile, and a small nod. “Shido confessed yesterday, to the deaths of Okumura and others, to pushing false news stories to blame the Phantom Thieves, and using fraud and intimidation to gain power within Japan.”

Goro’s body relaxed like a puppet with its strings cut, all strength he’d found in his panic leeching away. Shido had confessed. Had confessed to crimes that he hadn’t done himself, but had directed Goro to do in his place. But not to the sins Goro wanted him to confess. He wondered if even now, even with a change of heart, whether Shido even felt any guilt for what he’d done to Goro’s mother. To Goro himself. Or if they were so beneath it all that it didn’t even register.

God, he’d wanted Shido to die by his own hand, damnit. He wanted to be the one to… to end him…

Ren laid a hand on Goro’s shoulder, then on Goro’s cheek, just beside the oxygen mask, gently brushing away moisture there. Goro hadn’t even realized tears had begun to fall. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d shed tears – even during his breakdown in the engine room, even as he bled out from the gun wound, even during the worst of his torture at the hands of Shido’s men, he hadn’t shed a tear. He remembered wondering if he was even capable of it anymore.

He tried opening his mouth to say… something. Anything. To curse Shido’s existence. To thank Ren for keeping his word. But he couldn’t. There really wasn’t much he could say. It was all over. This whole goddamn nightmare was over.

A long silence passed between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. 

“What now…?” Goro wondered, barely above a whisper. More tears escaped. He didn’t understand why. Ren brushed them away with a knuckle.

“Now? Now, all you have to do is focus on healing, okay? Whatever will happen will happen. It’s out of our hands now.”

Goro nodded dully. He didn’t have a counter for that thought. Couldn’t argue. He just wanted to sleep.

He spent another full day on oxygen and IV antibiotics under surveillance at the clinic until Takemi was certain his infection was responding to the treatment and he could move back to Leblanc. Goro spent several days stuck swinging in the limbo between awake and asleep on a futon on Ren’s attic floor. Hours bled into each other. Most of the time Ren was by his side, but sometimes it was Morgana, when Ren had to go out to take care of Thieves' business.

And then one time Goro woke up feeling more present in himself than he had in days. He could tell he would need another dose of painkillers soon, before the pulsing in his fingers and toes and gunshot injury flared to unmanageable levels, but he was okay. 

He sensed someone else in the room with him. Probably Ren. He rolled over and prepared to sit up, but froze mid-movement as he found himself looking at a stone-faced Sojiro Sakura, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside his futon with a gun casually resting on his knee.

A real gun. Not one of Ren’s replica airsoft guns for the Metaverse.

It was so unexpected, so far removed from anything Goro could have thought possible, that he just stared at it in shock. Finally, he looked up at Sakura’s face, at his eyes.

“I know who you are,” Sakura said in a low voice, as close to threatening as Goro had ever heard from him, had ever thought possible in him. “I know what you’ve done. To Wakaba. To Futaba. To Ren. And this is my promise to you, Goro Akechi. This is your only chance, and I don’t give it lightly.” He leaned forward a little, eyes flashing, long fingers tensing around the gun. “If you do anything to harm any of my kids, if you even think of backstabbing them now, after everything that's happened, then trust me when I say that I won’t hesitate to put some very old skills to use again.”

Goro slowly sat up, the last dregs of sleep falling away. He tried to connect some dots but his brain still wasn’t quite firing on all cylinders yet.

“How do you have that…?” he asked quietly, racking his brain for what knowledge he has on Sojiro Sakura. All he knew was that the man once worked in government in proximity to Wakaba Isshiki and Shido. Why hadn’t he checked any earlier history? Did he have yakuza ties? 

“Former PubSec, kid,” Sojiro said in a harsh whisper. “And no, I’m not supposed to have this.”

“You wouldn’t shoot me,” Goro whispered quietly.

“Not without cause. So don’t give me one.”

Goro swallowed hard, blinking at the firearm. Its presence wasn’t terrifying so much as digging up some… not fun recent memories. “I have no desire to harm Ren, Futaba, you, or any of the other Thieves,” he finally said in a weak, tired voice. “And frankly speaking… I don’t think I’d stop you if you wanted to use that on me right now. I certainly don’t deserve to be alive, not after everything I’ve done.”

That caused a shift in Sojiro’s demeanor. Goro wasn’t sure how to interpret it, but he noticed Sojiro laid his hand flat over the firearm as thought to hide it from view.

“So you feel guilt for what you’ve done, then?”

Goro swallowed hard, letting the words circle his head a little. “For what I’ve done to Ren and Futaba? Absolutely.” A rush of nausea hit him as he remembered Ren’s face in that interrogation room, blank with blood trickling between his eyes.

But then he thought of her . “For Wakaba Isshiki though… no. I feel no guilt. She deserved it.”

“What? Why?” It was phrased like a question, but it wasn’t really a question, was it? More of a demand. Sakura’s face had grown darker, angry. Goro was no idiot, he knew what Wakaba Isshiki had meant to Sakura. Goro met his gaze head on, feeling just… exhausted.

“Are you aware of what her cognitive psience experiments consisted of, Sakura-san?” 

Sojiro shook his head slowly. “I worked under Shido at the time, but I didn’t have clearance to know the full extent of her studies. I was merely a go-between between the government and all of the various research teams under our jurisdiction, including hers. I only ever knew that she worked with cognitive psience, and was well-funded by Shido.” A disgusted scowl graced his face as he said that man’s name, which was always a welcome sight.

“So then you were unaware she conducted experiments on uninformed and barely consenting human subjects, Sakura-san? Including minors?” 

Sakura’s jaw hung open a little bit as he processed this information. He then furrowed his brown in a deep scowl. “You’re lying. Shido probably told you that to encourage you to–”

“You’re looking at one.” 

As Sojiro’s eyes widened, Goro wondered what his voice sounded like. Was it as emotionless as he felt, or had he slipped automatically into the Detective Prince persona he’d honed so diligently, had relied on for so long now. He was too disconnected from himself to know.

“You… you were one of Wakaba’s…” Sojiro repeated softly.

“You don’t want to know what they put me through,” Goro said, feeling wrung out and empty. “But let’s just say her death was a… relief… for me. It was freedom.” He tried to swallow, wondering when he’d started shaking. He clenched his bandaged hands into fists, welcoming the tremendous pain it caused as his blisters tore open beneath the wrappings. It helped ground him. “No one… no one gives a shit about an orphan with a history of causing problems in the system. No one cares what happens to them as long as, as long as it serves some nebulous ‘greater good’. No one cares if the tests hurt them. If they suffer… or die.” He blinked, eyes swimming as he clenched his jaw. Half-remembered faces and half-remembered names clawed at him, but he forced them down. He couldn’t. Not now. “By the end, she didn’t give a single shit what happened to me or any of the others like me, so long as her funding stayed intact. As long as she got results. How do you think she ended up with a palace in the first place?”

He was beginning to slip. He could feel it. He was hyperventilating and the world was growing distant. Deep in his heart, he was starkly aware of that phantom ache of the worst of the experiments, the deep chasm in his chest that was once…

They tore his soul out against his will. Was it any surprise he ended up this way...

“After what I saw… what I experienced first-hand…? She deserved what she got. I can’t pretend otherwise, Sakura-san. Not after what she did." Goro swallowed hard, staring off into space blankly. "I am sorry for your pain at her loss. For Futaba’s. But I’m not sorry for stopping her. I can’t.” He focused on the pain in his hands, the throbbing just under his collarbone from his body trying to stitch itself back together again. Gunshot wounds, created in Shido's mind and made manifest, surely thanks in part to that research. “Maybe if I’d known about stealing hearts like Ren and the others, maybe I could have… but I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t have a magical cat to teach me these things. I can’t change the past. I can’t regret what I did. Not to her.”

Another long silence settled on them. Goro waited, barely able to breathe, unable to look at the man, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle his reaction. He felt more exposed than he has in many years, like his very skin had been flayed for the underneath to be seen for what it is and judged rightly as filth, as unworthy of life, as unworthy of mercy. Goro anticipated it really. He closed his eyes, just waiting for the proverbial axe to fall. Wanting it to fall.

It didn’t.

“Thank you. For explaining.” Sakura-san’s voice betrayed none of his emotions, and Goro was startled as the man picked up his gun and slid it into his inner jacket pocket before slowly getting to his feet, brushing dust and flour off his pant legs. Goro just watched, unmoored, as Sakura crossed his arms and looked down at him with a sad sort of pensiveness. “The kid cares about you,’ he finally said softly. “He’s willing to give you a chance. And Futaba is willing to as well. So I guess so will I. Just… don’t give me a reason to regret that decision.”

And with that, he left, leaving Goro sitting there alone, feeling untethered from his body, with only his pain keeping him from floating completely away.