Chapter Text
Akira took a turn for the worse about an hour after he’d been brought to the clinic.
It had been difficult to know what to focus on to begin with. In better, brighter lighting than the dark streets of Yongen-Jaya, and the warm lighting in Leblanc, it was clear that Sojiro had underestimated what Akira had gone through – or at least he had hoped it wasn’t as awful as he feared. Niijima theorised that due to the state of him, at some stage, Akira’s crumpled blazer had been taken off him to administer the Veritaserum, and then, it had been put back on him, as if to hide some of the damage he’d sustained. Now, Sojiro saw that the white of Akira’s torn turtleneck was stained with blood and bile and it took numerous long, deep breaths to keep himself upright. He wanted to collapse, to scream, to gather Akira in his arms and never let him leave again. How could he let this happen?
The bastards used the Cruciatus Curse on him.
Sojiro hadn’t known much healing magic until about a year or so ago, he’d never had the thought nor need to learn it before Futaba had entered his care. But after he’d learned what she had been through at her uncle’s, after she’d moved in with him, and shut herself up in her room, Sojiro had been filled with a degree of paranoia that he felt must have been exclusive to parents. It fuelled him to teach himself whatever he could manage to learn, to borrow a stack of books from the nearest library and read them, cover to cover, when it was quiet at Leblanc. He hadn’t touched his crosswords again until he was confident that if Futaba was ever hurt, or ever needed him, that he’d be there to keep her safe.
He hadn’t been there the day Wakaba died. He wouldn’t have been able to make a difference if he’d been there, and he knew that. Still, some part of him nagged that he needed to make up for it. He needed to protect Futaba at all costs, because that’s what she deserved, and that’s what Wakaba deserved, too.
Now, Sojiro had never been more grateful for that burst of fear-fuelled motivation when Akira began to choke on his own blood-tinged vomit, and Sojiro blurt out a frantic, “Anapneo” to clear his airways before he’d even realised it. Relief flooded him as Akira’s quiet spluttering stopped within an instant, but it was gone as soon as Sojiro saw those tearful grey eyes flutter open and look around in a daze.
“Good work.” Takemi said, pulling Akira’s prone form into the recovery position on his side while Niijima hurried over, having found a few bottles of Takemi’s own Veritaserum antidote. “This will help with the overdose, but it isn’t a miracle worker.” Takemi said to Sojiro, grimacing as she helped Akira lift his head enough to drink the potion. In the short bursts that Akira was conscious for, it seemed to take all he had not to scream and cry. “It’ll keep him alive, at least. Now, let’s get back to it.”
Sometimes, Sojiro wondered if Akira even knew where he was, or that he was safe, here.
When his gaze met Sojiro’s, he was at the kid’s side in a heartbeat, gently grasping his bruised, trembling hand in his own. He couldn’t help the tears that came as Akira whimpered his name as if he didn’t believe that he was there. His eyes were glazed over, and he kept squeezing them shut at the pain. Each wounded little sound that left his blood-crusted lips broke Sojiro’s heart all over again.
“It’s alright, kid, I’m here,” Sojiro prayed that he could hear him, “I’m right here, it’s okay.”
“S…Sojiro…?” Akira sobbed as Sojiro carded his free hand through Akira’s messy hair, “Sojiro-”
“Ssh, it’s alright.” Sojiro hushed as Akira attempted to turn towards him, despite his wounds. “Don’t move, kid. You’ll be okay. I promise-” He had to take a breath when his voice caught, “I promise.”
That was enough for Akira. The corner of his mouth gave the slightest relieved twitch, and he was out.
Sojiro bowed his head, pressing Akira’s hand to his forehead, swearing to him that he’d keep him safe. No matter the shitstorm that would turn up on his doorstep if it was discovered that Akira wasn’t trapped in some interrogation room, Sojiro would protect him. He just had to ensure that he’d survive this long, awful night, and if he had to give his own life to ensure that, then Sojiro would.
Akira was his kid. It was something that he’d thought before but had never had the strength to admit. But now, as he hushed Akira back to sleep, Sojiro realised it was an undeniable fact. Akira was his kid.
Now it was time to be there for him.
“I hate to say it,” a soft, gentle voice said, “but I don’t think Aki-chan is going to make it.”
“Haru,” another feminine voice chided the first, “you have terrible bedside manner. At least wait until you’re out of the room before saying something like that.” A quiet hum. “But… I think you’re right.”
“It’s not his fault, of course.” Haru said, sounding just as sad and sweet as before. “He did his best.”
“He did…” the second girl said, sounding sad, thoughtful. “I just can’t believe he’s gone. Well, not yet, I suppose, but…” She sighed. “He promised he’d make it back to us. He promised that he’d be all right, but now… What are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.” Haru was a blur of pink and purple in Akira’s vision when he managed to peel his eyes open. The second girl was not much better, just a mess of dark blue and black. They spoke as if beside him in hospice, where he was on his deathbed. “It might be up to you now, Mako-chan.”
Mako… Akira furrowed his brow, trying to think. Ma…Makoto, he thought her name was. Makoto.
“I don’t want to be the leader.” Makoto sounded close to tears. “I’m happy with how things were before. I like being the advisor, I like being the one to strategize, but he…Akira’s our leader.”
“Mako-chan,” Haru insisted gently, “you know as well as I do that he’ll be gone in a few hours.” The mass of colours moved, pink and purple blurring into blue and black. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to rush you, or force you to decide anything, but… the decision is practically made already. You know that the rest of us…we’d support you. We’d follow you, if we had to.”
“I don’t want to.” Makoto sobbed. “I don’t want anyone to follow me. I want Akira to live.”
Haru’s voice broke as she whispered, “Mako-chan, he’s already gone.”
The sound of his own heart flatlining flooded his senses, and Akira felt everything fall away.
It felt like hours had bled into days before Takemi was satisfied to let Akira return home.
Sojiro was only still on his feet due to numerous stamina potions, but his magic was now beyond spent, and his exhaustion was bone deep. Sweat made his shirt stick to him like a second skin, and his cramping hands were trembling as he was, at last, given the all-clear to take a breather. He sank into a chair beside Niijima, who was wiping the sweat from her brow, her own breathing slow and laboured.
“Thank you,” Sojiro whispered to her after he caught his breath, slumping tiredly against the plastic chair, “for getting him out of there, and for staying to help. You…” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “You didn’t need to, but you did. I’m grateful to you.”
“It’s the least I could do.” Niijima replied, shaking her head. “I couldn’t leave without knowing if he’d make it. What was done to him…” She trailed off, knowing there was no need to discuss it. Even then, it was clear neither of them wanted to. Not until tomorrow, at least. “No matter what it says in his file, Kurusu-kun’s just a kid. A good kid, at that. He didn’t deserve any of this.”
“You got that right.” Sojiro grumbled. He needed more than just a cigarette after this night.
After assessing the results of one last diagnostic charm, Takemi put her wand back in her coat, and stepped out into the waiting room to join the other two adults. She’d cast the most powerful, detailed, and draining healing spells out of the three of them, and yet she looked more put together than Sojiro and Niijima combined. Healers were just cut from different cloth, Sojiro thought.
“We won’t know the full effects that the Curse had on his mind until he regains full consciousness.” Takemi told Sojiro, and despite her fatigue, her rage was palpable. “And, as we don’t know how many times it was cast on him, or for how long, I can’t make any guesses as to how he’ll be. I’ll need you to keep a close eye on him and let me know how he is once he’s lucid. That goes for physical effects, too. I need you to make note of anything you see that’s out of the ordinary.”
“Of course.” Sojiro nodded, rising to his feet. “Thank you, Tae, I-”
Takemi help up a hand to stop him. “Don’t thank me. He’s my little guinea pig, after all.” She glanced over her shoulder to the sleeping boy in the other room with reserved fondness. “I’d never would’ve forgiven you if you hadn’t brought him here to me, you know. He’s done quite a lot to help me in the past few months, and I’m glad to return the favour.” She smiled a little. “So, neither of you owe me a thing. Just let me know how he is over the next couple of days, and that’ll be payment enough.”
“Of course.” He repeated. “I’ll get out of your hair and get this kid to bed.”
After the worst of his wounds had been tended to, Takemi had been kind enough to cast a few cleaning spells on Akira to rid him, and his clothes, of all the blood and bile. Now that Akira was dressed in a set of different, comfier clothes that had been conjured to fit him perfectly, and the fact that the only clear reminders of his ordeal were cuts and bruises, it was easier for Sojiro to breathe.
Even so, he would never be rid of the image of his kid, unconscious, bloodied, and beaten in Niijima’s arms. It was all Sojiro saw when he looked at Akira now, and when he closed his eyes. It’d haunt him for the rest of his life, Sojiro was certain. And that was just Akira’s physical wounds.
Akira had woken up several times throughout the night, but he had not been completely lucid for a single moment. He had cried out in fear and pain, and while he could sometimes tell that Sojiro was there, Akira acted is if his guardian was just a mere fragment of a dream, a brief respite from the torture he thought he was still enduring. It had broken Sojiro’s heart each time, and yet, he knew that it could have been a glimpse into the future, a prelude to far worse.
Sojiro knew what the Cruciatus Curse did to people. It could break the strongest of witches and wizards and turn them into shells of their former selves. Sojiro couldn’t – no, he wouldn’t imagine a timeline where Akira’s mind had been damaged beyond repair, one where he’d spend the rest of his days in an irrevocable spell damage hospital ward, none the wiser to who he was or who he had been.
Not him, he thought as he lifted Akira into his arms, not my kid.
“We’ll have to ensure that Kurusu-kun’s friends know he’s alright.” Niijima said after the two of them stepped out into the street, leaving Takemi to her own devices. Sojiro hoped she would head home and rest, she’d more than earned it. “But we can’t be certain that we’re not being followed or monitored.”
“I’ll have the kids Apparate to the café tomorrow.” Sojiro decided, adjusting Akira so that his head rested at a more comfortable angle. “It’s the safest way for them to get here at the moment, and they’ll want to know how he is.” He looked down at Akira, and sighed. “They’ll want to see him.”
Niijima’s expression softened. “I’m sure he’ll be alright.” She said. “He’s a strong kid, that’s for sure.”
“Heh.” Sojiro smirked. “Yeah, yeah, he is.” He nodded. “Thank you again for tonight.”
Niijima waved her hand. “Don’t mention it.” She smiled. “Goodnight, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Sojiro agreed, and with a sharp crack, she was gone.
Futaba and Morgana were huddled together on Akira’s bed when Sojiro Apparated into the attic.
It was a short work to the café, of course, but Sojiro wanted to waste no more time. Akira needed to rest in a familiar, actual bed instead of a cot at the local clinic. The irony wasn’t lost on him for that thought when he caught a glimpse of the crates that held up Akira’s mattress, and Sojiro was once again struck with guilt over how he’d treated his charge when the teen had first arrived on his doorstep. Akira had never complained, of course, but that just made Sojiro feel even worse about it.
“Sojiro!” Futaba was up on her feet in an instant, Morgana too. “Is he okay? What happened?!”
“He’s here, and he’s safe,” Sojiro replied gently, “that’s what matters right now.”
Futaba frowned at the clear avoidance of her question, but she was quick to pull back the covers so Sojiro could lower Akira onto the mattress and tuck him in. She bit her lip as she scanned Akira, no doubt cataloguing all the injuries she could see and looking for signs for whatever had been healed while Sojiro draped the comforter over Akira with as much care as he could manage.
“It’s been hours.” Futaba said quietly, tentatively taking a seat beside her adoptive brother, Morgana trotting over to inspect Akira as well. Futaba nervously wrung her hands together in her lap. “You look exhausted, Sojiro. Not to mention how much you stink.” She wrinkled her nose, and Sojiro chuckled at her expression. “Were you…were you healing him this whole time? With the Healer that Akira visits?”
“Yeah,” Sojiro said, seeing no point in lying, “yeah, kid, I was.”
“…I didn’t know you knew healing magic.”
“I picked some up when you came into my care.” Sojiro replied, smiling when her eyes went wide. “I never had to use it until now, of course, but I’m glad I knew enough to help.”
“I…I um…” Futaba’s eyes filled with tears. “I saw him. W-When Makoto’s sister brought him in. I had these, um, s-surveillance charms cast downstairs and-” Her shoulders began to shake, and she pressed her hands to her face as she sobbed, “I thought- I thought he was dead!”
Sojiro opened his arms in an instant, closing them around his daughter as she wept into his chest. He couldn’t help the lump in his throat that formed as he listened to her cry, unable to reassure her that Akira would make a full recovery when she asked in-between stuttering sobs. He didn’t want to promise anything, not if it meant hurting her all over again when it turned out that Akira’s mind had…
He couldn’t even imagine it. He wouldn’t.
“We won’t know how he is until he wakes up.” was all Sojiro could offer her. “For now, let’s just let him rest, alright? Tell your friends to come over tomorrow, and you lot can explain what happened.”
“A-And you’ll tell us about the-” Futaba sniffled, “-the interrogation?”
“That’s up to Akira. It’s his…” trauma? “…it’s his story to tell, if he wants to. Even then, I don’t have any more details than you do. Hell, Niijima probably knows more than I do at this point.”
Futaba nodded, seeming to understand. She gathered Morgana up in her arms, pressing her tearful face into his fur. He purred in response, which seemed to settle her a little further.
“…Do you want to stay here tonight?” Sojiro asked her when her breathing seemed to settle.
Futaba lifted her head and nodded, looking relieved at the offer. “I don’t want him to be alone.”
Sojiro kissed the top of her head. “Of course.” He said. “I’ll transfigure a bed for you.”
“Can you, um, can you stay, too, Sojiro?” Futaba asked when he readied his wand for one last spell for the night. “Just in case something goes wrong?”
Sojiro recalled how his first thought when Niijima had apparated into Leblanc with Akira in her arms was a quiet, agonised, he’s dead. It had repeated in Sojiro’s head, over and over again until he’d forced himself to move and see for himself. Then, as the hours passed, each time Akira choked on his own vomit, or his vitals went haywire as his body fought through an overdose, that was all Sojiro could think. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead-
It wasn’t even a question. He wouldn’t sleep tonight if he couldn’t keep an eye on both of his kids.
Within a moment, Akira’s workbench and couch had been transfigured into temporary beds, and Futaba made quick work of switching her clothes into something more comfortable to sleep in with a quick-change spell Sojiro couldn’t recall her knowing. He was certain it was something Akira’s close friend Ann-chan had taught her, and he smiled at the thought for just a brief moment.
Then, his gaze slid to Akira, as it kept doing, and he felt all joy fade from him. He knew he shouldn’t dwell on it, not when Akira had just undergone hours of healing magic, but it was difficult not to. Regardless, Sojiro knew he would help no one by staying up late, and he dragged himself to bed with a quiet goodnight to his daughter, his son, and their beloved, loyal cat.
Sojiro fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, exhaustion overtaking him within a moment, while Futaba crept over to Akira’s bedside, took a seat beside him, and began whispering the incantations for all the healing spells she knew, the tip of her wand lit like a tiny firefly in the dark.
“You promised that you’d come back.”
Akira felt a hand grasp his, their fingers interlocking. He couldn’t tell which one of them was shaking.
“I waited for you.” the girl’s voice caught. “I looked for you.”
He felt like he should apologize. He wanted to. He tried to. The words didn’t come. There was too much blood in his throat, and it was clogging his airways. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
“None of the bugs in your phone or any of the trace spells I put on you came up with anything.” The girl was saying, but she sounded more sad than angry. “And I’m smart. My tech, my magic, it’s untraceable. None one should’ve been able to tamper with it. So that means you’re…”
Akira felt a tiny ribbon of blood seep out of the corner of his mouth in the silence that followed.
When his vision focused enough to see Futaba turn to look over at him, her eyes were filled with tears.
“You’re dead, aren’t you?” She asked through a sob. “Just like mum. You left me, too.”
He tried to answer her, but all that came out was a wet, strangled noise.
“You promised me!” Futaba cried. “You- you promised.”
Somehow, the sound of her crying hurt him more than his wounds ever did.
Sojiro slept like the dead, and nothing seemed to wake him until Futaba shook him as hard as she could manage to, hissing some threat about dropping a conjured, suspended bucket of water on his head by the time he finally came to. After a brief second of grogginess, he was up, alert, afraid.
“Is he-”
“He’s waking up now.” Futaba said in a hushed whisper. “I wanted you to be up, just in case.”
“Thanks, kiddo.” Sojiro ruffled her hair as he sat up, grateful for her line of thought, and climbed out of bed. Futaba wrinkled her nose as he passed her, casting a quick cleaning spell on him to rid him of the previous night’s sweat, which he chuckled at. Just to please her, he changed his clothes with a quick transfiguration, cast a minor cosmetic cologne charm, and sat down at Akira’s bedside.
True to her word, Akira was stirring. His face was scrunched up in obvious pain, his muscles tensing as his eyes fluttered open, as if he were awaiting another dose of Veritaserum, or another Unforgiveable Curse. The reminder made Sojiro’s blood boil, but he let it pass, breathing out through his nose. He could save his anger for those who deserved it. Now, Akira was all he needed to focus on.
“Hey, kid.” Sojiro spoke just above a careful whisper when Akira’s gaze met his. “Just take it slow.”
Akira’s eyes darted around the attic for a frantic second, and he took some slow, deep breaths. “Sojiro-” His voice was hoarse from all the screaming, and he cut himself off quickly, bringing a shaky hand to his throat. Futaba was quick to step in, dragging up a chair she’d transfigured from her couch-turned-bed with one hand, the other holding a glass of ice water she must’ve grabbed earlier.
“Here, Aki.” Futaba said, “drink this.”
Akira reached out with both hands to grasp it, but paused right before he even touched the glass. Sojiro’s heart dropped into his stomach at the sight of how bad the kid was shaking, as if his whole body had been overtaken with tremors.
Embarrassed, Akira dropped his arms to his sides while Sojiro moved to conjure a straw, and Futaba offered the glass again. She didn’t show how scared or upset she was at Akira’s tremors, even though Sojiro knew she must’ve been terrified, and for that, he was so damn proud of his daughter.
Futaba moved to sit on the bed so that it was easier for Akira to drink, and he drained the glass before clearing his throat, and trying to speak again. “What happened?”
“I feel like I should be asking you that, kid.” Sojiro said with a weak chuckle. “I’m not sure about a lot of the details, but that prosecutor, Niijima, she brought you here last night, right after that news story aired about you…faking your death.” He needed a moment before he could even voice it. He hated to even think about Akira’s death, hypothetical or not, when it had been a fear that had plagued him the entire night. “You…you looked like you’d been through hell and then some, Akira. I mean it. When I saw you…” He ran a hand over his face. “I thought…”
“I’m sorry-”
“Don’t you dare apologise to me.” Sojiro’s voice broke. “You’re here. You’re alive. That’s all I want. For both of you.” He took his glasses off as soon as the tears came, closing his eyes and pinching his brow. “Just- promise me you’ll never put me through this again. I can’t-” He fought through the lump in his throat. “I won’t lose you. Either of you. You’re my kids, you hear me?” He looked up, clipped his glasses onto his shirt, and reached for his kids.
Pressing his right hand to Akira’s face, and his left hand to Futaba’s. Both leaned into the touch, and his heart ached to see them tear up, too. “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”
“I promise.” Futaba vowed, just as Akira nodded and said, “Promise.”
“Good.” Sojiro let them go, wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and got back to his story. “After Niijima brought you here, things moved pretty quickly.” He continued. “We rushed you over to Tae, and from there it’s a blur. We spent a good couple of hours healing you, but even then…” He shook his head. “It was… I couldn’t even describe it. It was hard to look at you, kid. You were so…”
“I know.” Akira sighed, hugging his arms to his chest as if that would help the trembling. “I don’t- I don’t remember all of it. The interrogation, I mean. But…it was brutal. I thought-”
Neither of them expected him to finish, not when he went pale as he recalled whatever he did.
“…The others want to come over today to see how you are,” Futaba said, “but if you’re not up for it-”
“I’m okay-”
“Akira,” Futaba huffed, “you know they’ll understand-”
“They’ll worry more if they don’t see me.” Akira retorted. “And I want to see everyone, too.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Sojiro asked, and, with all that he had, he wanted Akira to decline. He wanted him to say no, to say that he needed to rest, and that he wanted to go back to sleep.
If he was honest, all Sojiro wanted was for the kid to go back to bed and get some well-deserved rest while Sojiro called the clinic and asked for Takemi to do a house call. But Akira wasn’t like that. As much as Sojiro hated to think about it, Akira was the ever-dependable leader of the Phantom Thieves. He wasn’t someone who put himself before others, and it was that brand of selflessness that Sojiro had seen him display for several months now that made him feel sick to his stomach.
Akira had been tortured, drugged, and beaten. He’d had Unforgiveable Curses cast on him, likely more than once. He could’ve died in some dark basement where no one would have found him, and yet, despite all that, he wanted to put on a brave front for his friends and reassure them that he was fine.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Sojiro thought bitterly.
“They can come over long enough to explain everything,” Sojiro decided with a sigh, “but your health is what’s most important, kid. The second you start feeling worse, or tired, or anything of the sort, you are heading back to bed. Alright?”
“Yeah.” Akira nodded. “Thanks, Sojiro.”
Sojiro waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll put some coffee on.” He said. “Take it easy until your friends arrive. Futaba,” He glanced over, “keep an eye on him, yeah?”
Futaba sent him a determined salute, which made him smile, despite it all.
When it was nearing the time that the rest of the Phantom Thieves would be arriving, it had become clear that Akira was suffering from numerous after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. One of the most obvious, however, was a loss of motor control, as he struggled to stand and support his own weight, so walking on his own was out of the question. In the short moment that Akira tried to stand up, the tremors were so severe that Futaba darted over to keep him from collapsing while Morgana meowed with loud and obvious concern as he looked up at Akira.
Still, Akira was adamant that he wanted to see his friends. He needed to, he said.
Who was Sojiro to refuse him?
Once he was seated in his favourite booth and wrapped in a blanket charmed with a heat-retaining spell, Akira seemed a bit more prepared to see the others, even if it was clear he was self-conscious about his symptoms. In a strange way, Sojiro wondered if the after-effects being visible was better than the alternative. Then, Akira couldn’t hide that something had happened, and he couldn’t act like he was fine when he wasn’t. Knowing his kid, Akira would do all he could to act like the strong leader of the Phantom Thieves, despite all the trauma and the pain he’d been through just the night before.
When the Phantom Thieves appeared in Leblanc, all at once, their shared concern was palpable. Niijima was with them, at Makoto’s side, and the stress in her posture eased a little at the sight of Akira. Sojiro couldn’t blame her for that – the last time she’d seen Akira had been when he was still unconscious after a long, exhausting session of healing that had only just kept him alive.
She shared a knowing glance with Sojiro after noticing the tremors, and he just nodded, as if to confirm that the tremors weren’t from trauma or fear. They were a product of the Cruciatus Curse.
In all the relief that Akira’s friends showed as they rushed towards him and surrounded him, it was clear that no one had noticed yet. That was also due to the fact he was wound up in a blanket that hide most of the outright shaking. Sojiro couldn’t bear to imagine their reactions.
It was hard enough, when the crowd dispersed into the booth Akira was sitting at, and around him, to watch the kids’ faces shift and change while Akira explained how he’d been treated before the Unforgiveable Curses had been cast. The way he’d been treated from the moment he’d been thrown in there, thrown across the room with fists and nonverbal spells, it was sickening to listen to. He’d had potions poured down his throat and then forced into his bloodstream, and Sojiro couldn’t breathe.
He knew most of those details, or at least assumed them when he’d seen Akira last night. Hearing about it from the kid directly was a different form of torture. It was so hard to imagine when he had no clear marks or bruises, and at the same time, it was so easy to picture two grown men, government officials beating the shit out of a drugged, defenceless, seventeen-year-old without even his wand.
It wasn’t procedure to snap a person’s wand until they’d been tried and convicted. The bastards had done it after Akira had been dragged into the interrogation room just to be cruel. Now, due the circumstances around his “death”, he couldn’t even get a new one without risking his cover.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Akira deserved so much more than the life he had now.
When all the details had been explained about his interrogation, the plan he’d concocted with his friends, and how he’d gotten out of there alive, Akira trailed off. He’d left out all mention of the Unforgiveable Curse, but it was an undeniable weight on his shoulders. Even his friends seemed to be waiting, as if there was more to the story, as they murmured about how lucky it was that he was okay, that Sae and Sojiro had been close enough to get Akira to Takemi’s clinic in time.
Still, their shared rage was visible. Sojiro could see it in the set of their shoulders as Akira spoke. There were even a few outbursts here and there, especially from Ryuji and even soft-spoken Haru, but they had always settled down enough to let Akira continue. His friends wanted every detail, no matter how awful, because they needed to know what he’d been through. Even then, Sojiro was certain that each moment of that interrogation would be committed to their memories so that justice could be served.
Teenagers sure scared the shit out of him, sometimes, Sojiro thought.
“You alright, Aki?” Ryuji asked after a lull in conversation. “You haven’t touched your coffee.”
Sojiro turned to check and, sure enough, the cup was still as full as it had been when Sojiro had served it. He sent the kid a sympathetic, knowing smile. “I’ll brew you a fresh one.”
“’s okay.” Akira said quietly. “You could just use a warming charm.”
“It’s a flavour thing, kid.” Sojiro waved him off with a chuckle, but Akira just frowned.
“Sorry.”
“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Sojiro hushed, but Akira shook his head.
“’m sorry.” He repeated, and Sojiro’s heart shattered as he heard his kid choke back a sob.
“Hey, hey,” Ryuji, who sat beside Akira, turned to him in a rush, “it’s okay, Aki. It’s alright.”
Akira shook his head, pressing his hands to his face as the tears came. He sank into Ryuji’s chest as Ryuji wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. The effect on the rest of the room was immediate, as the rest of Akira’s friends surged forward to try and comfort him with touch or with words. None of them seemed surprised by the outburst, if anything, they all looked relieved.
By the time he’d calmed down a little, Sojiro set a fresh cup of coffee down in front of him. Akira thanked him, then, embarrassed, apologized to his friends for worrying them.
“Dude, you have nothin’ to apologize for.” Ryuji huffed. “I mean it.”
“You’ve been through so much.” Ann insisted. “I was honestly a little freaked out that you could sit there and tell us what happened with such a blank face, but then it just looked like you were dissociating.” She pressed a gentle hand over his own. “It’s good to cry, Aki. You always tell me that.”
“Nothing good ever comes from withholding your emotions.” Yusuke agreed. “And what are we here for, if not to be with you when you need us?”
“Exactly.” Makoto nodded. “You do so much for the rest of us, so rely on us a little.”
“We’re all here for you.” Haru smiled. “Please, never forget that.”
“And we love you.” Futaba added. “So let us worry. We’ll do it anyway!”
“All you have to worry about is resting up.” Morgana purred. “Leave the rest to us.”
“Oh, and,” Futaba turned to Sae and Sojiro, “Mona says that he’s sending Akira to bed for a week.”
“I did not!” Morgana squawked. “Stop twisting my words!”
Akira smiled a little at his reaction, and the laughs it earned, and took a deep breath.
“I, um… I didn’t mention everything.”
None of his friends looked upset or confused at what he said. They were just patient, waiting.
“The…the main guy who hurt me, he…” Akira shrugged the blanket off so that his tremors were visible. “He used the Cruciatus Curse on me.”
Sojiro swore the temperature in the room plummeted at the mention.
“I don’t know how many times, or for how long, but it was more than a couple times.” Akira held his hands up, and the shakes seemed more intense than they had been when he first awoke. “I can barely stand up on my own, and my head feels…hazy. But…” He grimaced. “I’m scared. I’m scared there’s going to be some symptoms that I’ll live with forever. I’m scared I’ll be like this forever.”
Each of the Phantom Thieves went through an array of reactions as Akira spoke. Sojiro saw the most intense, righteous anger ripple across their expressions, twisting them into faces that he’d never expect to see from such kind-hearted kids. He saw despair and sorrow that he wished he could have shielded them from. Then, he saw something more akin to relief. Relief that Akira had opened up and shared this with them, rather than keeping it to himself, and suffering through his burden alone.
Sojiro knew these kids loved Akira more than anything. He knew that once they were out of here, they’d feel that rage bubble to the surface, and that fear and anguish would swallow them. But for now, he was proud of how they pushed all their knee-jerk reactions aside just to be there for their leader. To listen to him. To support him.
That was all they were here for, to be with him when he needed them.
He almost teared up at the mere thought.
Soon enough, Sae decided to go home, and Sojiro made arrangements for Takemi to come by and assess Akira’s condition. After her assessment, some new potions, and some basic physiotherapy recommendations, he went to his room to rest, and the Phantom Thieves lingered in Leblanc.
None of them wanted to go, and Sojiro didn’t want them to leave, either. He wanted Akira to be around the people who loved him the most and knew him best, because that’s what he deserved. It was what he needed.
“How about you kids stay the night,” Sojiro offered, “and look after the kid for me?”
“Only if it’s alright with Akira.” Makoto decided, but her smile was unmistakable.
Not a moment later, the group was rushing up the stairs to ask Akira for his opinion, and Sojiro chuckled to himself as he heard a bunch of cheers follow suit.
Akira must've said yes.
He wasn’t a Healer. He wasn’t an expert on trauma or Unforgiveable Curses. But he was certain that Akira needed nothing more than to be with his teammates, and for that, Sojiro was grateful that the Phantom Thieves were made up of the kindest group of mismatched teens he could ask for.