Chapter Text
Goro Akechi only has one thing he truly hates.
He used to think he hated Shido. For abandoning him. For finding him again only when he was useful to Shido’s cause. For threatening to put those six damning letters back on his file if he so much as breathed out of turn.
But no, that was anger. Disgust. Petty emotions. Shido wasn’t worth anything more than that.
Loathing—pure, burning loathing was reserved specifically for the Phantom Thieves. That disgusting, pathetic, lawless pack of Littles that acted like they were so high above him. No, they didn’t need scraps from disinterested Caregivers, because they had each other.
With each playdate they invited him along on, each time one of them grinned up at him and called him “Mr. Akechi,” each time one of the simpering brats would curl up on his lap—and they all had at least once, though Akira was the only one to make a habit out of it—that black pit of emotions in his stomach only grew.
Out of all of them to get attached, it had to be Akira, didn’t it? It was like he could sniff out Goro’s hatred, his envy, and it drew him in rather than pushed him away.
If Goro had to pick a least favorite, it would without a doubt be Akira. Worthless Little criminal trash living in an attic, who still gets the world on a silver platter while Goro gets nothing. He gets to be held and rocked to sleep and reminded he’s loved every day of his pathetic life, and all he ever has to do is ask.
Goro’s been around him enough to see all the people he has checking up on him. Not only does he have the Phantom Daycare on his side, but he also has four aunties, two uncles, and two older siblings. Granted, they’re all criminal trash just like him, but it doesn’t make Goro any less furious to see the gutter rats of society happily playing house when he’s never had a meaningful relationship in his life.
It’s these thoughts that push him to stop the Phantom Thieves in Shido’s Palace. While it would be so easy to turn a blind eye, to pretend he had no idea until it’s too late, that’s not where his priorities lie.
While Goro would love to see Shido fall, he wants the Phantom Thieves to burn first.
There’s a knot in his chest when he finally decides to pounce, though for what reason, he isn’t sure. After all, he’s gearing up for the most fun he’s had in his entire life. A chance to go all-out. A chance to fight with no restraints. A chance to take out his rage on someone that deserves it.
If only his heart was in it.
Goro doesn’t even know if it can be considered a true fight with how quickly it’s over. Yes, he’s powerful, stronger than anyone else in the Metaverse, but a four-on-one fight isn’t exactly stacked in his favor.
Even now, those stupid brats are still depending on each other. Taking hits for one another, healing one another, encouraging each other. It’s all so ridiculous, so juvenile—so—so—
No, he can’t afford to think that way. Even in the face of defeat, he refuses to be jealous of the Phantom Toddlers and their ridiculously sappy power of teamwork. Even if they’re a bunch of jerks who don’t fight fair—
Goro stares down at the floor in horror. Maybe if he could live up to his own reputation, he’d have put the pieces together sooner. The knot in his chest, the shortness of his temper, the crushing indignance that the fight wasn’t fair…
He feels little.
He hasn’t felt little in years.
But even years of separating himself from his little side, of pretending it doesn’t exist, of trying to project an image of adult and competence, can’t protect him from the familiar cloud of headspace that surrounds him. It greets him like an old friend. An old friend visiting him at his own funeral. Because what is headspace if not a death sentence?
Shido didn’t have control over him if he didn’t feel little. If he didn’t feel little, Shido couldn’t give him bare minimum care, stuffing him in a lonely crib until he resurfaces and claiming he should be grateful for Shido’s hard work caring for him.
The most he can manage is shaky breaths, his throat raw from screaming. In the back of his mind—too little, too late—he realizes that his outburst could easily be classified as a tantrum. And now that it’s run its course, sleepiness is tugging at the edge of his mind.
Akira steps forward, looking no worse for wear than when the battle began. In the back of his mind, Goro knows it’s because his team was spamming heals left and right, that they almost couldn’t keep up with how fast Goro was knocking them down, but he can’t help but feel like it’s to mock him specifically. Here he is on his hands and knees, barely able to stand, and Akira can stride forward unbothered.
Goro bites back the instinct to scurry backward. Is Akira going to kill him? He doesn’t want to die. Or maybe he does. He can’t quite remember what his reasoning had been before this fight.
Ever impassive, Akira says nothing. He sits back, obviously waiting for Goro to keep going, but Goro has nothing in him left to yell about. Not when he’s already been beaten. Not when he’s the closest he’s ever been to regressing in almost five years.
But Goro won’t give him the satisfaction of watching him crumble any further, and before the silence can carry on too long, a familiar figure intervenes.
His Shadow struts forward, and Goro’s chest tightens, the breath escaping him when he’s finally face to face with how Shido sees him.
“About time we ended playtime, yes?” Shadow Goro says, brandishing a pistol in one hand. Four other Shadows, disguised as armored dogs, flank him on all sides, confirming this was a setup from the start.
Goro had his suspicions, of course, but maybe it was the last shreds of childish hope that made him think he wasn’t utterly disposable.
Goro scowls, sneaking a hateful glance at the Phantom Thieves just to see if they noticed that comment. He can’t let them know. It’s bad enough that Shido knows, but anyone else—especially those wretched Phantom Thieves—would be enough to break him entirely.
“You should’ve known you were useless,” his Shadow self sneers. “Useless, simpering brat.”
“Shut up!” Goro growls.
His Shadow smirks, and the look cuts deeper because it’s like looking into a mirror. All his bad karma, finally reflected back at him. “Baby’s throwing a tantrum. All that hard work and you end up giving away your classification to throw a fit.”
That did it. If it wasn’t staunchly clear just what he is, Shido has gone and confirmed it. Is that a part of Shido’s cognition too? That he’s so badly itching to give away Goro’s hidden classification—and for what? Because he can?
“Is he…?” Haru lets that question hang, glancing around at the others. For some reason, her faux sympathy makes him the angriest. She knows he’s the one that pulled the trigger. He’s the reason she no longer has a father, and still she looks at him like he’s worth the pity.
“Yes,” Akira answers. There’s something in his punchable face, like he knew the entire time. Like maybe the reason he singled Goro out so much was because he knew they were the same age in headspace.
But Shadow Goro isn’t done. He wants to remove any doubt, to keep pushing and pushing until the real Goro breaks. It’s only a matter of time. “You really think Daddy cares how well you listen? You’ve served your purpose, and now all you are is a detriment.”
“What do you know?” Ann snaps. She and Ryuji are bristling, looking more than ready to jump in front of Goro, regardless of the Shadows that would greet them.
Shadow Goro scowls. “This doesn’t concern you, brats.”
“It started concerning us when you called our teammate useless!” Yusuke adds. Their teammate. Like he doesn’t despise them. Like he didn’t try to kill their leader. Do they really give forgiveness away so freely? Or does him being a Little really change so much that they can overlook his transgressions?
He hates them so much.
Which is why he decides to die for them.
The console controlling the door is just within reach. Lining up the shot is as easy as breathing, but before he can pull the trigger, Akira shouts a command that once again screws up his plans.
“Oracle, smoke bomb!”
The area is flooded with smoke, so thick that the Shadows not a foot away from him are no longer visible. He doesn’t know what the Thieves are trying to accomplish, but he barely has a moment before Akira Kurusu, the bane of his existence, his most loathed person, grabs him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten and pulls him from the smoke.
Then they’re running. The Shadows are screaming from behind them, their voices so loud that Goro has the childish urge to cover his ears, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to. One of his hands is firmly locked in Akira’s, and while the other sits against his chest, fingers loosely curled in his shirt, Akira’s free hand holds his other shoulder, steering him with such fervor that all his attention has to be focused on not tripping over his own feet.
The next thing Goro knows, they’re at the Palace entrance, and he’s being gently lowered to the ground. Did they really just make it through the entire Palace? His regressed headspace always had a way of making the time slip away from him. Good to know that hasn’t changed.
“Crow?”
They’re still using his codename. Like he’s still part of their pathetic little group. They’re all circled around him, faces upturned in concern. Skull and Panther have flipped up their masks and keep sparing glances between one another. Stupid brats, thinking they’re in charge. Like he’s one of their babies that needs looking after.
“Crow.” The voice is louder, firmer this time. Unfortunate for them that he doesn’t want to hear it. The room is too loud anyway, the outside noises are roaring, he can’t think, he can’t—
“Crow!” A hand touches his shoulder, so sudden that he can’t help flinching back.
It’s instinct that has him guarding his face, and his regressed brain makes it too hard to differentiate past and present. He’s only aware of the lingering danger, which comes with the possibility of getting hit.
He’s all too aware of the silence that ensues, and what it means for him. No longer is he the Great Detective Prince, nor is he the viable threat he used to be. All they can see when they look at him now is a traumatized Little, who flinches at sudden touches and sudden noises, just like he’d always feared.
Goro tries to pull in a breath that won’t come. Tabloids would kill for this kind of story. The scoop alone would be worth enough to put half of these paupers through college. Why shouldn’t they tell the closest news site? It’s not like he’s ever meant his kindness, or that there’s any lasting bond between them. Like he does to everyone else, he holds no implicit value. He’s expendable. A means to an end.
“Goro.” There’s a hand in his hair, another on his cheek, forcing him to look at the person touching him.
Who else would it be other than Akira?
“Breathe with me,” Akira says, lifting his mask so it rests on his forehead. “Okay?”
Goro wants to sneer at how much he sounds like Boss there. Treating him like a panicky child. It’s laughable.
Akira times their breaths in counts of four. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Again and again and again until Goro’s head stops spinning.
Akira’s still touching his face, still has his fingers woven into Goro’s hair. Why is he still holding Goro like that?
The ship moves on, cutting through the ruined cityscape, and the breeze pushes gently against Goro’s face.
For once in his life, words escape him.
Faced with a humiliating loss, a near death experience, and the reemergence of his Little headspace for the first time in years, Goro can only cry.
And cry and cry and cry he does.