Chapter Text
Patient Name: Akechi, Goro
Vital Signs:
- Temperature: 36.7℃
- Blood Pressure: 114/78mmHg
- Weight: 62kg
Pain Assessment:
- Location:
Focused on chest and right leg
- Duration:
Constant
- Intensity:
6
Notes:
- Patient’s condition has plateaued, for better or for worse. He’s still losing weight and there’s talk of reinstituting the feeding tube.
- He is still refusing to disclose how injuries were obtained.
- He is unable to socialize with others given his circumstances. Additional psychiatric help advised. Patient continues to refuse psychiatric help.
- Above all he’s a young adult who has gone through several traumatic experiences. I worry the impact this will have on him in the future.
—
Tae made a mental note to remind Kurusu that she didn’t do house calls. Or deal with patients outside her area of expertise. Or any of what he was having her currently do.
This was going to cost him. Somehow. She didn’t do favors.
But she continued down the too brightly lit halls of Tokyo Saiseikai Central Hospital and towards the room she’d been directed to. His pleading wasn’t the only reason she’d agreed.
She remembered the phone call, despite having only heard it once. Although remembered wasn’t quite the right word. It haunted her. The panic. The desperation. The helplessness.
She’d been alone in the office—it was late and she was in the process of cleaning up for the day—and put the call on speaker as she recognized Kurusu’s number. He typically texted her or just stopped by in person. She figured what it was was important, or at least more pressing than the need for more supplies.
Then a series of hysterical voices filled the room.
“—Quiet, someone picked up!” “Is he even breathing?!” “What are we supposed to do?!” “He’s still bleeding—!”
A million scenarios raced through her mind. She knew about the phantom thievery. She knew the risks it carried. She knew Kurusu had been cagey ever since his apparent suicide on the news. Whatever they were planning was bigger than that.
She forced herself to remain calm and grabbed the phone off the cradle, taking it off speaker. “Kurusu.”
“Tae,” came a voice, shaky but familiar. “A-A friend of mine is hurt and—”
“His leg is broken really badly,” someone interrupted.
“A-And he got shot!” said another.
There were too many voices. Too much information at once and somehow not enough. “Whoever this is, put Kurusu on,” she demanded. She needed to hear the facts from one person and she didn’t know who the others were. Had her own suspicions but it wasn’t the time to confirm them.
“We can’t,” a girl said, her voice rising in pitch.
“He’s still carrying the body!” someone blurted, and was immediately shushed by two others.
A body. A gunshot wound. A broken leg. None were her areas of expertise. She didn’t know why he called her of all people unless—
“Tae, we can’t take him to the hospital,” Kurusu said, sounding near tears. “There are people looking for him but he’s hurt— he… he’s dying. What do I do?”
She didn’t know what he thought his other options were. Although, wasn’t that why he was calling? Hoping for a solution that wouldn’t involve the police or much of the public at all. But there was nothing she could do for him. He had to know it, even if he didn’t want to accept it.
“Call an ambulance.”
“We can’t—”
“Call an ambulance,” she repeated, harsher, “or he’s going to die.” She knew it was cruel but sometimes that was what it took. Kurusu knew as much and she heard him repeat the order to someone else.
“Where are you?” she asked after a moment, her own curiosity and concern too strong.
“O-Outside the Diet Building.”
More questions. She pressed them down further. There would be time for them later. What mattered was saving the boy. She listened as a girl relayed the information and ran through what little else she could offer. She wasn’t a surgeon and could do nothing about his injuries. At best she could use her limited connections to call in a few favors and get some form of counseling for the kids. God only knew they’d need it. Kurusu was barely seventeen years old.
“Be honest with the paramedics. As much as you can,” Tae added. She didn’t know exactly what their work entailed and knew they needed to protect themselves. She’d seen both the multi-million yen bounty and the latest calling card only the day prior. And of course there was the fact that Kurusu had been reported dead a month ago. But the EMT’s couldn’t help if they didn’t know what they were dealing with. “For my own record,” she said, voice softer, “who is it?”
A choked off sob came from the other end. “Goro Akechi.”
She pushed open the door and the boy in the bed jolted, only taking a moment to look her over before his expression settled into a scowl.
“Goro Akechi.”
“Doctor Takemi.”
Their reputations preceded them both.
She’d heard a lot from Kurusu, both before the incident and directly after. She had an idea of what he was like and what had happened to him. Kurusu was worried. That was why he’d begged her to take a look at him; he didn’t trust the staff who knew nothing of their work or the dangers it carried. Not that she knew much herself. What she did know was that it was unlikely he’d miraculously survived a bullet to the heart like everyone had been led to believe.
So as she stared at him she wondered if somehow this was all an elaborate prank. She’d seen the darling Detective Prince on TV before. She knew his face, his voice, his mannerisms—or at least the ones they scripted for him. The boy sitting in the bed barely matched any of them, hair unkempt and tone low and guarded. And he was thin, was what struck her above all else. His cheeks were gaunt and his arms looked as though they might snap if grabbed the wrong way. She was no stranger to atrophy in patients, to the effects of weeks spent in a hospital bed, but it was more than that. Part of the reason she was there was because he was refusing physical therapy.
His eyes, however, were not dull with defeat. There was a spark behind them. He studied her right back, challenging her to say something. A stark contrast to the bleeding body Kurusu and his friends had brought in a month and a half earlier.
“Akira sent you,” he said matter-of-factly.
First name, she noted, one eyebrow quirking.
“I’m sure he thinks he’s the reason I’m here, but I’m not in the habit of taking orders from teenagers. I’m here as a medical professional because I heard you were refusing treatment.”
His frown deepened but he remained silent.
“If you won’t tell me why, how about you at least tell me how your recovery is going?”
“All of it’s in my file,” he muttered. “Surely a medical professional such as yourself knows that.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
Nothing. She hated dealing with stubborn kids like him. He and Kurusu both, honestly. They were alike in all the wrong ways. No wonder Akechi had caught the younger boy’s eye.
“We both know you’re not stupid,” she said at last. “Your condition won’t improve if you don’t do as the doctors say.”
His hands balled into fists and he dropped his gaze, mouth firmly set in a scowl.
“Nothing to say to that? You’re just going to waste my time?”
“What is the point,” he hissed, “if I’m not improving anyway? I am, as you put it, not stupid, Takemi-san. I know that these people have benchmarks as to how my healing should be going and I’m not meeting them. I know that I got shot, and that my leg was crushed by debris in a supernatural world, and that I fucking died, and that despite all of that I’m sitting in front of you, breathing on my own.” His hands shook and he gripped them tighter, knuckles white. Tae’s gaze was drawn to the heart monitor as the beeping grew faster and she worried for a moment she’d have to call for help.
“I know that the Metaverse is gone,” he continued, voice trembling. “That Akira destroyed it himself, and with it any chance of things returning to the way they were before. And that no matter how much effort I put in, I will always be damaged goods.” He grit his teeth and she thought she saw the corners of his eyes glistening.
“And I suppose you can’t talk to anyone about this,” she said, gentler.
“They don’t understand,” he mumbled, shoving his arm towards her. A plastic bracelet hung loosely from his wrist.
Akechi, Goro
Sex: M DOB: 6/2/1998 (18 yrs)
MRN: 931455554 Adm Date: 12/17/2016
Depression, Generalized Anxiety, Suicidal, Delusional Disorder
Kurusu had told her that that was the crux of the issue—that nobody understood their work or the dangers it carried. She knew firsthand how insane it sounded to anyone outside their group.
Akechi withdrew his arm and bit his lip as the tears spilled over, no doubt an attempt to keep himself from openly sobbing. Tae pinched the bridge of her nose and racked her brain. There had to be something she could do. Some kind of answer—
“They don’t understand,” he repeated, harsher. “And not for lack of trying! I told them what I could and they… They think I’m insane!”
His shoulders shook and Tae wasn’t sure if he was crying or laughing. Maybe both.
A solution began to form. “Then make them understand.”
“Excuse me?” Akechi scoffed.
“The way I see it, you have two options. You can continue to try to explain this metaverse business to people—which I wouldn’t recommend—or you can bend the truth.”
“Bend the truth,” he echoed.
“I see a patient in front of me who has suffered several traumatic injuries, of which some should’ve killed him. I know that he’s only alive because of the help of others who he’s not necessarily on good terms with, and that’s likely left him with a lot of guilt. As a medical professional, my opinion is that the exact circumstances don’t matter and I can still provide aid without exacerbating his physical or mental trauma. But there’s only so much I can do if the patient won’t even try to work with me in the first place.”
He glared daggers at her and she held up a hand before he could say anything. “You’re right that you might not ever get back to how things were before,” she said, quieter. “But by refusing to take any steps at all you’re only making things worse for yourself. What do you even hope to accomplish by being stubborn?”
He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, and stared at a spot on the wall instead of meeting her gaze. The tears had stopped but he seemed to be holding a breath, teeth grit as he wrestled with something. His frustration was almost tangible.
“I’ll leave you alone now,” she said at last. “I have other patients to see.” A lie. “I hope that the next time I see you you’ll have made the right choice. For your sake and Kurusu’s.”