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Sojiro is not the type of man to believe in miracles.
They don’t exist, not really. He can’t wrap his head around the existence of god, not when the world suffers and children die of cancer everyday.
Not when Futaba witnessed her mother commit suicide.
But Wakaba didn’t kill herself, he supposes. Not really. She was made to do it, her mind something not her own- a shutdown induced by the Metaverse.
The Metaverse.
The existence of the Metaverse directly opposed his position on the gods and thus on miracles themselves. Miracles existed because Futaba came back to him and, despite her anxiety and how rough some day to day activities and interactions came to her she’s still alive. Still breathing and being happy and most of the time she’s thriving. Because the Metaverse killed her mother but it saved Futaba.
Akira saved Futaba.
Akira was another miracle. He came to Sojiro as a delinquent unwanted by everyone around him. His peers, his school, his town-
His parents.
He was just a kid but everyone around him turned on him and made him out to be some monster worth disposing of. He was punished for being a decent person who was too noble to turn away from a woman being assaulted in the street by, unfortunately, one of the richest men in Japan. Akira faced it all with a quiet ferocity and genuine warmth for the people around him who couldn’t stand up for themselves.
Futaba, Ryuji, Yusuke, Ann, Haru, Makoto, Morgana. Also the kids being abused by their volleyball coach, the weapons dealer downtown and his adoptive son, the small clinic doctor, a cop who was against him at first and his daughter who was taken advantage of. Finally Sojiro himself. These Phantom Thieves, these children. These silent saviors of a city who would turn against them at the drop of a hat. And the thing they all had in common was-
Akira.
Sojiro was hard on the kid when he first got into town, and looking back he regrets a lot of what he said. He’s not sure what Akira took to heart and what he let go of before it left Sojiro’s lips. But now, Sojiro couldn’t imagine not knowing Akira. His not-quite son who’d gone back to the parents who didn’t even want him because he was supposed to, not because he wanted to. Sojiro wishes he’d insisted more that the kid stayed with him. He’d never wanted kids, not really, and now he had two perfect, wonderful, miracle kids who he’d almost lost so many times over without even knowing it.
Sojiro sighs to himself, broken out of his reverie by the sound of his door chiming obnoxiously in the silence of the cafe. He looks up with a neutral expression, ready to let whoever just wandered in that they were, in fact, closing for the day and no, they could not just get a quick cup of coffee but when his eyes finally rest on the customer darkening his doorstep-
It’s Akira, and he looks rough . Sojiro’s eyes widen and he makes an aborted sound in the back of his throat, “Akira? What are you doing here?”
The boy doesn’t reply but he does take a few more steps into the light of the cafe and everything gets worse with no words spoken between them. The kid has a bruise that looks suspiciously like a handprint around his throat and another darkening bruise on his cheekbone. He was looking at Sojiro with the same feigned indifference as when he first got to Tokyo nearly two years ago but there was a vulnerability in the hunch of his shoulders.
He opened his mouth to reply probably, but he was suddenly interrupted by a muffled meow from the satchel at his side. With the moment between them broken, Akira robotically moved to unzip the cat from his hiding place. The not-cat popped out with another impatient meow and Sojiro lamented once again that he could not understand him.
Sojiro sighs, recognizing that his night was about to get a lot longer than he wanted it to, “Are you two hungry, kid?”
Akira’s head raised from where he’d been looking at the floor and Morgana’s ears immediately perked up in interest. The old man chuckled a little dryly at their reaction before sobering up at the sight of the battered kid before him. He didn’t look nearly as bad as he had after the interrogation room, but from that experience Sojiro knew that severe injuries could be hidden beneath the oversized hoodie his charge was wearing.
With another soft sigh, Sojiro gently placed the mug he’d been clutching back on the counter and began walking over the Akira with slow, overexaggerated movements. Despite trying to make himself look as unthreatening as possible, he couldn’t help but be heartbroken at the shuttered blankness that took over Akira’s face at his approach. When he made it to where Akira was still standing in the doorway, he gently placed a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch the kid couldn’t suppress, and then reached behind him to flip his sign to Closed, and turn the lock to keep out any other guests.
“Let’s get you two fed.” He whispered soothingly, moving his hand up to gently ruffle his kid’s hair.
Akira doesn’t flinch, this time, and Sojiro is relieved that he can still get through to him. He steers him over to the counter, and begins preparing his favorite cup of coffee, then he moves to begin preparing some toast and eggs for an easy meal. They coexist in silence for several minutes with Sojiro working quietly and Akira situating himself and Morgana at the bar with several badly disguised winces. Sojiro has an inkling about what happened and he tries to keep the rage from overtaking him, afraid to frighten Akira even more by showing him any negativity.
Finally, after placing the food in front of Akira, the kid says, “I fought with my dad.” It's said in the most matter of fact and flat tone he thinks the kid can muster.
He has to breathe in and out for several seconds before he can reply, “You’ll stay with me… I- You aren’t going back. I’ll call Sae Niijima tomorrow morning.” He nods to himself, “I’m glad-” He cuts himself off to blink back sudden tears, “I’m glad you came to me.”
Akira seems to blink back tears of his own, “Thank you, Sojiro.” He finally looks up, and the bruise looks worse up close, but Sojiro recognizes the fire in his eyes as that of Joker and feels safe in saying that his kid will be okay.
“When you’re done eating we’ll go home, kiddo.” There’s a moment between them, maybe of shock, maybe of disbelief, but it forces an amused laugh out of Sojiro’s chest all the same, “What? Did you think I was going to make you stay here?”
“I-” his voice faded out, and Sojiro recognized the indignant look on his face as the one he got when his voice silenced itself against his will.
Akira was a kid of very few words, but most of the time it wasn’t his intention to be silent. He would stutter unexpectedly and then would be unable to form a single word without intense stress. Sojiro first witnessed Akira have a panic attack after the interrogation, when he simply couldn’t express what he needed and got so overwhelmed trying to talk that he lost his fragile control over his emotions.
After that, Sojiro swore to never let it get to that point again and knew that his responsibility as a guardian, as a parent, was to keep this kid safe the same way he wanted to keep Futaba safe.
His hand reaches for Akira’s desperately but gently, “You don’t have to say a word,” Sojiro chuckled at Morgana’s agreeable meow, “I’m glad you came home, kiddo. I’m glad you’re here and you don’t have to say anything right now, I’m going to take care of it.”
Akira would be eighteen in less than a month, he celebrated Christmas and New Years with them over Skype and he had seemed… okay. A little reserved, but he opened up to them easily enough and didn’t hint at anything being out of the ordinary. Though, it wasn’t as though he ever talked about his family before other than to note that they shipped him off at the first opportunity they had.
Sojiro figured they wouldn’t come looking for him anyway, but he’d still call Sae to get his bases covered. He’d do everything to not involve the police, knowing that that would only upset Akira more. Finally, he didn’t know if he should call the other Thieves. Haru and Makoto were away for college still, so while they’d want to know about this development Sojiro wasn’t sure it would do them any good to worry. Ann and Ryuji weren’t in town either, and Futaba and Yusuke were still working to better themselves with other people.
He knew, logically, that his crafty daughter had bugs all throughout the café, and would probably soon know about Akira being here anyway. But there was a part of him that, maybe selfishly, wanted to cocoon Akira in a blanket and make sure he was okay before involving any of their rowdy little group. They were good kids to be sure, but they were a lot to handle on a good day.
“I’ve got ice at home, do you need any immediate medical attention? Are your ribs okay? Can you breathe alright?” He slapped a hand over his face, “I’m sorry. Sign yes or no. Are your ribs okay?”
Akira’s lips quirked into a fond smile before nodding with a signed ‘yes’. Sojiro asked each question and waited for his confirmation before laughing ruefully again to himself, “That’s good, kiddo. I’ve been trying to learn more sign language to be able to communicate with you easier but I’m still lousy with it. I can read it just fine but my hands have a hard time with the actual signing. Futaba and the others are learning too, last I checked and-”
He’s cut off by a concerned meow from the cat he’d been absentmindedly stroking and then a sniffle from his kid. Sojiro’s eyes widen comically in alarm and he reaches to hold Akira by the shoulders before he can think to ask if he wanted to be touched. Luckily the kid doesn’t violently flinch away, and instead looks up at Sojiro with what he can only describe as pure relief and gratitude. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots that someone who would kick their kid out and then hit them during an argument wouldn’t take the time to learn sign language for them when their voice fled. He assumes with a simmering rage in his heart that Akira had been punished for his silence before and vows never to make this child feel like a burden ever again.
He moves from behind the counter to gently hold this kid in his arms for a moment before pulling away. “Here’s the plan, we go home, I get you set up with some ice in the guest room. Tomorrow morning I will call Sai and we will handle,” he waves his hand around, “ This . Then, you can let whoever you want to know that you’re here, or I can. Either way. Then, eventually we will get you clothes and whatever else you need. I can ask Sai about getting your stuff from those people ,” He spits.
Akira nods softly against his chest and reluctantly moves away when Sojiro moves to hold him at arm's length, “You’ll be okay, son.”
So Sojiro is not the type of man to believe in miracles and sometimes he finds them hard to wrap his head around. But he knows these Phantom Thieves and he knows how they saved the literal world while still in high school and at the top of his class, in Akira’s case. He knows about the trials and pain they went through and he knows that they each had their own personal struggles.
So despite miracles being hard to objectively rationalize, Sojiro knows Akira Kurusu, soon to be Sakura, is a miracle in himself. A selfless, strong, kind young man who was dealt a bad hand and used it to help lift up others.
Futaba’s recovery is a miracle aided by Akira.
So he knows miracles are real and he thanks every god, every persona, that his kid is with him, safe now, and miraculously ready to keep moving forward.