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He wasn’t meant to see that.
One would think that living a year seven times in a row would give you more common sense. Or thicker skin against what you know is bound to happen.
Akira’s been on the other end of this sight, before.
He just never got the chance to keep watching.
His own body slumped forward, the blood against the table. Akechi walking out of the room after having killed a cognition of him.
Akira has been able to see into the metaverse using his third eye for a few loops now. He hasn’t gotten the chance to see himself be killed.
He shouldn’t have done that.
He shouldn’t have been so curious.
The image haunts him, even as Niijima gets him out of the room, fading in and out of consciousness. He needs to make it to her car. He needs to be safe before he can pass out.
“Akira, breathe. Focus.”
His vision swims. He’s laying in bed, but–
He was shot. Bullet through the skull. Pounding in his head–
He saw it. The blood oozing. His head against the table. The look on Akechi’s face.
He can’t breathe.
“Focus on my voice.”
It hurts. It hurts.
A hand touches his shoulder, and he flinches back, whimper harsh against his throat.
His lungs can’t, he can’t–
“I don’t want to sedate you, kid, so you’re going to have to listen.”
And the voice starts counting.
Oh.
He knows this, at least. He can focus on this. Count his breath.
Slowly, the fog lifts, as Takemi talks him through it. Lungs less aching.
She’s holding his hand, gently brushing her thumb over the back of it, as his vision focuses. “You doing alright, kid?”
Akira has to pause, before shaking his head. He knows better than to downplay it to her. He’s in so much pain. He saw too much.
“I don’t want to give you anything until we know what’s in your system, or until we know it’s gone. Are you alright if I take some blood?”
That gets a nod.
Needles, blood draws, any sorts of drugs, he doesn’t trust them anymore. Not unless it’s from Takemi.
It’s hard to trust other medical professionals after her. Sure, it takes a bit of time to work up to that level of trust, but she knows he’s a Thief, she knows enough to help. Maybe if he gets time, he should talk to her about time. He has to wonder what it's doing to his body, if anything.
Something’s changed, after all. He can see into the metaverse from the real world. It was a couple loops ago that it happened, but the veil is no longer opaque. (Each time, it clears more and more).
Gently, oh so gently, she takes the blood sample, and the pain doesn’t even rate against what he’s felt before. What he feels now. He needs to remember to ask her the specifics, so he can tell her next time.
“Try not to get yourself killed, next time,” she huffs, and he flinches.
“No promises,” he manages to say.
“And let all our work keeping you alive go to waste?”
That does get him to laugh, which immediately cuts off when he wheezes.
Right. Ribs. Lungs. Bruises everywhere.
“Easy, you need to rest. I’ve patched you up, and I’ll find something for you, alright?”
He nods, and she helps him lay back down.
(He knows his dreams will be haunted by the image of himself laying dead.
Akira wishes, just for a moment, that it had been real instead.)