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The IV drip attached to Akechi’s arm does little to make him feel alive. Everything around him is hazy, including but not limited to the overgrown mess of black hair resting on his limp left arm. Like a TV show. No one can actually fall asleep in hospitals, can they? A wiggle of said arm – all he can manage at the moment – disproves his own hypothesis. Akira is sound asleep, despite the cacophony of machines beeping and background chatter surrounding them.
Akechi takes a minute to assess the scene, to the best of his impaired abilities. Most of his detective prowess is a sham, but he still finds himself retreating to the familiar principals when in unfamiliar situations. Hospitals are inherently unfamiliar to him; having someone else treat his wounds rarely resonates with his circumstances.
He’s in a hospital, duly noted, quite clearly a patient given the needle in the crook of his right arm. His head is full of fog that makes it difficult to perceive his surroundings properly, hinting at a head injury or high dosage of pain killers (likely in the bag attached to his arm). In addition to this, bandages are wound tightly around his abdomen that he can feel but not see. As observed earlier, Akira is here… asleep. Searching his mind for a reason as to why he’d be here, why Akira would see fit to even be in the same room with him, Akechi comes up empty. What had he been doing before he woke? It wasn’t like he had fallen asleep: more like he came into consciousness, not certain where his memories began prior to the awful white lights of the hospital room.
Calm analysis of his situation prevents panic from setting in, but he soon grows bored with the stagnant environment. Attempting to firmly shake the arm Akira has passed out on is his only conceivable option for entertainment and explanation. When the younger boy finally wakes, it’s with a start. He shoots up and away from Akechi as air enters his lungs in a muted gasp.
“You’re awake,” Akira’s smile is somehow blinding white even with no teeth showing, a flawless recovery given his rude awakening. The boy himself is entirely radiant, untouchable and squeaky clean despite how Shidou paints him. If only the same could be said for Akechi. “I never doubted you would but… I guess the timing is perfect. Not that the others wouldn’t take care of you anyway.”
“What-” Akechi’s voice is raspy from disuse. Searching his memory once more for glimpses of the time prior to his awakening, he comes up empty again. The last thing he can solidly recall is setting eyes on Akira in Shidou’s palace, alive after all. Feelings of relief flood through him, followed quickly by revulsion. He personally sought to end the life of the boy next to him – surely there was some scheme at play. “What do you want?” What happened to me? goes unspoken between them.
The black-haired boy takes his time in answering, as if genuinely pondering the question. Akechi accepts now that he is likely dead, that a merciful deity has gifted him some time with the only person to express interest in him in his short and pathetic life. Is the Akira before him also dead, or a mere figment of his imagination? Akechi’s arm reaches for the other boy and comes up short: perhaps rather than a merciful deity giving him a slice of heaven he’s been relegated to purgatory. It would only be appropriate for someone as rotten to the core as himself to spend all of eternity being able to look but not touch. In an instant Akira’s hand bridges the gap between them and the feeling of skin on skin is unmistakable: far too real to be an illusion. This thought adds to his observations, dispelling worries built on foundations that grow shakier as Akira leans in.
“I want you to live,” a gentle smile accompanies the words, plus a squeeze of his hand to boot. Anger wells up inside of the older boy, unsure of how to deal with the bizarre misplaced kindness of his ex-‘teammate’. There is no calculable benefit for Goro to continue to exist, especially now that the Phantom Thieves have surely exacted their revenge on Shidou: Akira wouldn’t be here if not. Seeking a rise out of the other boy Goro rolls out of the hospital bed, surprised to find the IV remains unmoving from his arm. He hasn’t moved. His legs and hips aren’t obeying him, worse than the weakness he felt when drugged, worse than the weakness he’s felt so many times in the presence of his father. He tries once again to get out of the bed and is met with the same results. Mentally cataloguing the inaction does little to assuage his fears, which must be rapidly rising to his face as Akira tightens his grip on Akechi’s hand and leans impossibly closer.
“You’re paralyzed from the waist down,” he says the words definitively as if they aren’t poisonous lies made to keep him complacent. It’s impossible for Akechi to be paralyzed; someone made a mistake with medication and he’s been incapacitated in some way. The detective finds himself returning to the thought of him being dead, a mere fantasy now. “It may only be temporary. Do you remember the doctor from before? Tae Takemi? She’s going to help your physical therapy. We were just waiting for you to wake up, but now that you’re back-”
“I am not back,” Akechi growls, painstakingly wrenching his hand out of Akira’s grasp and debating what exactly to do with it. It’s too weak to cause anyone harm at this point: all he has are his words. “Why didn’t you let me die, what gives you the right to selfishly save me? How am I even alive? What happened to me?” the questions spill together into a near-incomprehensible mess, but Akira’s face remains composed throughout the interrogation.
“You came to kill us in Shidou’s palace,” he explains patiently, not daring to make physical contact with the bed-ridden boy again. “Things got out of control and you… tried to sacrifice yourself for us. We made it out of the palace and when we returned to the real world, you were passed out in front of the diet building. You’ve been in a coma until now,” he ends with a small smile, as if Akechi being out of a coma was a good thing somehow.
The former Detective Prince feels bile rising in his throat at the thought of being trapped in his body now in addition to his mind, but pushes it back down as Akira continues. “It seems like the cognitive you from Shidou’s palace shot you in the stomach and … maybe you opened your app to escape in time? But you were in the same place we usually leave from so I’m not sure. Either way, there was no bullet hole or bullet inside of you but it seems you suffered some damage to your spinal cord. Nijima-san has been using her influence to keep you safe in this hospital room. It might get lonely, but you’ll be working hard to recover for a while, so…” keep at it? Don’t give up? Whichever way Akechi imagined him ending the sentence, it was unsatisfactory.
At last gathering the capability to form sentences in light of this info, Akechi chooses his next words carefully. “Get out,” he spits, clearing his throat to deliver the message properly. “Get the fuck out,” Akira looks hurt but not surprised, an expression that only serves to fuel the fire inside Goro. “If I ever see you again I will kill you,” he swears. Akira has come to mock him. They didn’t save him after all, he just failed to die. Can’t even kill himself properly, can’t kill Akira properly, always being tricked by adults and kids his own age alike. An idiot who hasn’t even been granted the ability to stop existing.
“I’ll be back,” Akira gifts him an affectionate smile despite the filth he’s had spewed his way. “Wait for me, okay?” When he leaves, all the life in the hospital room is sucked out behind him. Goro is alone again.
When the Phantom Thieves discovered Akechi, half-dead on the ground outside the Diet building, Akira acted first. The others only followed his lead, only ever followed his lead when it came to Akechi. They brought his small near-lifeless form to Takemi’s clinic, following her instructions to a tee as she performed tests. It became immediately apparent he needed more than she could offer, so they called Sae. Within minutes they were all tucked away in a corner of the hospital that seemed abandoned aside from the staff rushing around to attend to the fallen detective.
“S’fine if he dies ain’t it?” Ryuji broke the silence before anyone else with a statement none of them truly believed. “Not like he’s exactly a good guy,” the nervous laughter that followed came only from him. Futaba gave a noncommittal half-nod but refused to comment, not with Akira looking so distraught beside her. It seemed as though everyone but Ryuji had picked up on Akira’s obvious crush, though it seemed all the more ridiculous as time went on.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Akira finally spoke, looking up to meet Ryuji dead in the eyes. “Shidou was controlling him,” at this excuse even Futaba felt herself rolling her eyes.
“I think he’s responsible for his actions,” Haru joined in uncharacteristically. “But I think someday I can forgive him. If he dies then… that’s it. But maybe if he lives he can atone for what he’s done.” Akira nodded vigorously in response, not bothering to keep his usual poker face up in his anxious state.
“When he pulls through,” Akira continued, ignoring Ryuji’s stage-whisper of ‘if he pulls through’. “Will you help me help him? I would never force any of you help him out, but I think it might be nice if someone other than me visits him.” Ryuji, always the most vocal of the group, scoffed but quickly agreed. Ann followed suit, followed by a stern nod from Makoto. The other two, who’d both lost a parent thanks in part to Akechi, made no move to agree. Akira smiled all the same. “Thank you. Like I said, if you don’t want to… please don’t. It wouldn’t make me happy if you forced yourselves.”
After Shidou was ‘defeated’ and the world went to hell and back, Akira only then realized how important that agreement would be. He would go away for everyone’s crimes, bearing the burden of his entire team on his back for a final time. At least he was able to see Goro conscious, albeit agitated and angry, before turning himself in. Placing his faith in his teammates, Akira allowed himself to be ushered into a holding cell after spending Christmas Eve with his loved one.
The morning Akira leaves without warning, Futaba finds a note. Short and sweet, keeping things simple like he always does, the note merely expresses his love for the team and appreciation for their support despite his criminal background. There’s a prominent apology asking forgiveness for skipping out on the party as if that’s the most important thing. The very end of the letter, small and off to the side, asks only for the team to please visit Akechi in his absence, please don’t give up on him just like he knows they won’t give up on their leader. Futaba could rip it off the note and no one would be the wiser. She could erase Akechi from her life like he erased Wakaba, selfishly ruining another human being for her own agenda. Instead, she points it out to the team once things have settled down and they plan out a visitation schedule.
As per the (limited) instructions, they don’t tell Akechi where Akira has gone. Instead, they offer thinly-veiled excuses to visit the detective and spend some time in silence. Makoto, the de facto leader, is the first to go though it takes her a few days, bringing a book from her sister for him as a peace offering of sorts. Sae had already visited several times by then, needing no directive from Akira to look after her younger former coworker. She’d been briefed on his involvement in all thing Shidou-related already and had come to terms with his culpability in the older man’s crimes. He was, however, just a dumb kid looking for love in all of the wrong places: something she can identify with more than she’d like to admit.
Goro becomes aware of the going-ons in the world during a visit with Ann in mid-January. It’s her first time in the hospital since the night they brought him here, and she’s unprepared for the silence lingering over the pair. Hoping to lighten the mood and do something other than stare at her cellphone aimlessly, she turns on the TV. It’s a mistake. Shidou’s face is prominent next to a newscaster as she explains his ongoing trial procession. The TV take a second too long to turn back off, sending Ann’s heart rate through the roof and bringing the colour back to Akechi’s face.
“He’s going to get away with it,” despite his obvious anger, Akechi’s voice is scarily calm. Ann stands and backs away just as the boy props himself up with his elbows. Though she knows logically he hasn’t regained control of his legs and is unable to hurt her in any way, the hair on the back of her neck stands up at his tone. “Where is Akira? I thought you would’ve killed that man! Why is he alive?” the questions come rapid-fire in such a way that Ann feels the air leave the room, her willpower to stay along with it. A crash comes from the room as she exits, prompting a nearby nurse to rush in behind her. Though it feels like a betrayal to Akira, Ann heads for the stairs without looking back.
Word of Akechi’s first suicide attempt reaches the group through Makoto who learns from Sae that he attempted to strangle himself with his bedsheets. A valiant attempt for someone so pathetic, Futaba notes mentally before realizing with chagrin that her appointment with the devil is up next. Fortunately, visitation is delayed as he needs a ‘cooling off period’ before he is deemed safe to be around other human beings.
Ryuji offers to take her place, having visited once himself already and been thoroughly unimpressed with Akechi’s attempts to bait him. Ann’s guilt prevents her from even pretending she’d go, too afraid to show her face after the disastrous visitation attempt that almost certainly prompted Akechi to try and take his own life. But Futaba refuses all outside help. She made a promise, after all. It’s early February before she sees his face.
“You failed, huh?” Futaba’s hands are shoved deep in her pockets as she enters the room prepared to fight. Akechi grins when he sees her, welcoming her vitriol into his personal space more than any before her.
“The trouble with being paralyzed,” he smiles more genuinely than she’s ever seen. “It’s rather difficult to kill yourself.”
“You’re surrounded by drugs,” Futaba counters as anger wells up inside of her. “There are sharp objects everywhere. You have a silver tongue, could’ve tricked a nurse somehow. You didn’t try hard enough. You don’t really want to die,” the assertion finally comes. He merely raises an eyebrow in response.
“Shall we test that theory? Bring me a sharp object and you can watch me die. It’d only be fair, right? After what I did,” the rest goes unspoken. Futaba nods but takes no action, remaining still by his bedside with a conflicted expression stuck on her face. Letting Akechi die wouldn’t bring her mother back, after all. It took every event leading up to this moment for her to realize she didn’t actually want him to die. It wouldn’t fix anything. The anger inside her wins out nevertheless.
“Don’t you dare die,” her voice hovers just above a whisper, losing all semblance of control she’d gained in her attempts at mocking him. “Don’t you dare kill yourself and leave him behind after all he’s done for you,” she finds herself saying more than she intended to. Akechi latches onto it, teeth bared as he stares up at her defiantly.
“Done for me? What is it Akira’s done for me? Trapped me in my body, in this room, visited me once and left me for you assholes to deal with?” Futaba shrinks back from him despite herself, understanding at once how Ann felt though Akechi can no longer truly hurt them. His anger makes him larger, scarier, despite his obvious inability to hurt even himself. “It’s obvious you don’t want to come. So why are you? And why isn’t he-”
Lonely. He’s lonely. Futaba sees something she hasn’t glimpsed in quiet some time: a younger version of herself. Cooped up in her room for weeks at a time after Wakaba died, dropping out of school just to avoid having to fake it anymore. They’ve back Akechi into a corner and somehow managed to be surprised when he strikes out at them. In the absence of the ever-gentle Akira she herself would likely still be trapped in that room, just as Akechi is now. Instructions be damned, she supposes, Akechi deserves to know.
“We failed to kill Shidou,” she cuts Akechi off before he can get too worked up. At her words he stills. “Instead… we’re relying on the legal process to take him down,” a scoff interrupts her but she perseveres, drawing on a strength she’s only discovered this past year. “Akira has taken the fall. For all of us. For everything.”
“Fuck,” Akechi’s reaction is muted, his hand moving only to click the button that no doubt pushes more morphine into his arm. Seeing her eyebrows raise he sighs. “It stops giving me more at a certain point,” he explains in response to the unspoken question. “Unfortunately I can’t die from this.” Choosing to ignore the comment and look anywhere in the room but at him, Futaba finishes out her explanation.
“We’re working hard to get him out but it’s taking time. He told us not to tell you. He begged us to visit you, so you wouldn’t be alone. Y’know I never thought I would say this, Akechi, so listen the fuck up,” the tone of her voice gives Akechi pause, enough that he stops clumsily pressing the morphine button that stopped delivering long ago. “I forgive you. I do.”
The brown-haired boy looks smaller than he ever has, smaller than when he faced down his cognitive self in front of them. Smaller than when he took a bullet to save them. Futaba muses that she’s seen more sides of him in the past 30 minutes than she did in the countless hours they spent together as a phony team. “I haven’t apologized,” Akechi finally summons the strength to say.
“Doesn’t matter,” the younger girl explains, almost cheekily at this point. The fear and anger from before is dissipating as she dares to approach him. “My mercy knows no bounds.”
With a wink, Futaba turns away to find the door, hoping to leave before her façade of courage fades. That’s not in the cards; he draws her back in easily with a hurried “I’m sorry for what I did to you.” Her hand slides off the doorknob but she dares not turn around. Instead she offers a grunt of surprise, one of disbelief. Akira’s words on the night of the accident ring in her head – it’s not his fault, Shidou was controlling him. She finds herself returning to his side and trying to tell him that it’s not his fault, not really, only a little maybe, when he cuts her off angrily.
“At what point am I responsible for my actions? If it’s not my fault I killed your mother, is it my fault I tried to kill Ak- Kurusu? Is it my fault I tried to kill all of you?” the vitriol of his words makes Futaba falter. When she entered the room she couldn’t have dreamed that she’d be trying to prove Akechi’s innocence to him before she could leave.
“He’d be sad you stopped using his first name,” the waterworks begin before she realizes it. Her knees give out beneath her as the strength she’s been faking leaves her in a hurry. Out of the corner of her left eye, as she buries her face in her arms at Akechi’s bedside, she just manages to catch his arm moving before she feels it on her back.
Recalling the sole incident in recent history of himself being comforted, he tentatively lifts a hand to rest on her back. She sits up sharply, her eyes widening in surprise, but not sharply enough to throw him off. The tears keep flowing. “We’re doing all we can to bring him back, but it’s so hard. I miss him so much,” she sobs. Without much thought, he rubs the same circles on her back Akira rubbed on his what seems like an eternity ago. Her small body is racked with sobs, more severe than it was prior to his attempt to comfort her. After a few moments of heavy silence punctuated only by sniffles and choked cries, she manages to speak.
“Just like Akira, huh? He really does love you,” her voice is clearer now and with that she wipes her tears and stands up, visibly collecting herself.
“I forgive you,” she reiterates authoritatively. “But I absolutely won’t forgive you if you kill yourself and Akira comes back home to find you gone.” Akechi nods meekly despite the absurdity of the threat. If he’s dead, he won’t have to incur the wrath of anyone, much less Futaba.
Wiping her eyes, she turns heel and leaves before he can draw her back in once again. Alone with his thoughts, hand hanging limply in the air, a single statement sticks out in his desperate recollection of the events of the past half hour.
He really does love you, she’d wept while leaning into him. Really? After all this? Impossible.