Chapter Text
Goro is shaking when he leaves the interrogation room. He's trying to focus on his revenge rather than the image of Kurusu sprawled on the table, still warm as Goro tucked the gun into his hands. Shadows didn't have empty eyes that stared back when they died; they didn't bleed, or leave their corpses around for the truth of what Goro did to them to sink in.
He's won. This is a good thing. He just needs to— to fucking get over himself. He's killed plenty, Kurusu is no different.
He takes out his phone, his fingers dialling Shido's number on autopilot. "Shido-san, my job is complete."
"I've told you not to call me by my name," Shido growls down the line, and Goro tries not to flinch. "Regardless, all that's left is to deal with the remnants."
"The continued deaths of these teenagers would be a bit much, don't you think?" Goro reasons, keeping his voice even. He thinks his body might be rebelling his recently skipped meals, but he opts to breathe through the pain and ignore it. "I considered making it appear they had a falling out, but that would only amplify public frenzy. It would be best to have each of them meet with an unfortunate accident once the storm blows over."
"Is there any possibility they'll want to avenge their leader?"
"No chance," he says confidently, even if he's unsure of the fact. He thinks about Takamaki's enthusiasm, Okumura's determination, and the rebellion that burns through each of them, then shakes his head. It's better to let Shido believe that he's fully in control. "They're nothing but cattle anyway; they have no backbone without his guidance."
"I'll be counting on you."
Goro tries not to preen. It's not exactly a glowing endorsement, but it's proof that he's necessary, and that's all that he needs. "They will live their lives cowering in fear of death. An apt punishment for obstructing our work."
"Make sure to kill that strange cat once you find it as well."
"Understood, though I doubt there is anything to worry about. It's merely a cat, after all." Goro's stomach twists again. He moves the topic along swiftly, away from potentially more blood staining his hands. "More importantly, they should be dealing with the suicide right about now. Things will become quite busy once the word gets out; I'll need to prepare my comments on the matter."
"I must be prepared to deal with it on my end as well. Beyond that... What of the director of the Special Investigations Unit?"
Goro sighs, thanking his past self for dealing with this yesterday. "Perhaps he'll be struck by a mysterious illness sometime soon."
"Keep me updated."
Shido hangs up.
Goro looks at his phone emptily. He isn't sure what he expected—certainly not 'well done' or anything in that vein. Get over yourself, he chastises. He needs to make a report to the department head, to let them know that Kurusu has died in their custody, then make his own statement about the matter and notify his contact in the media to leak the unfortunate accident.
Pain cuts through his stomach again, and he hisses through his teeth. He doesn't have time to be a baby about this. He's been sliced open in the metaverse before, forced to hold his own intestines in his hands—in comparison, this is fucking nothing. He clenches his jaw, forces his spine straight, and heads to the department head's office.
It's an hour after the murder that he finally gets some time to sneak off to the bathroom. Sae has gone MIA, but Goro supposes that it was inevitable—her little sister was one of the Thieves, after all, and he's just killed their leader.
His stomach ache has only gotten worse, and his hands have been itching the entire time he spoke to the various police staff. When he gets to the sinks, he deliberately chooses the one that is known for being scalding hot and turns it on full blast. He fumbles while taking his gloves off, somehow still shaking, and shoves both hands under the steaming stream.
His reflection is gaunt, pale, and he knows that he is going to have to touch up his make-up as well. Even his brown lop ears are sticking up at an odd angle, betraying their natural position because the pins he meticulously placed this morning are coming loose with his shaking.
Goro considers himself. To be fair, it was a remarkably clean shot—he had expected blood splatter of some kind at the very least—and even had excuses lined up to explain them away, but he isn't going to complain about not needing to. He thinks about what waits for him once he leaves the bathroom—more reports, more interviews, more paperwork—and he splashes his face with water.
It burns, but not enough. Goro scrubs his face and hands until they are pink and raw and stinging. He still feels dirty. He considers shoving his entire head under the tap, but ultimately decides against it—the distressed, worried look is currently doing him favours in terms of playing the part of a poor teenage boy finding a body, but he can't look like he's lost his mind entirely. He's just going to have to suck it up for a little while longer, until he can go home, because he is not using the staff showers with so many people around.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Thankfully, it's just a notification, but Goro isn't ready to check it just yet.
Instead, he opens his case, pulling out make-up and brushes, and gets working on putting himself back together.
Ignoring the pain hasn't made it go away—if anything, it's only gotten worse over the course of the afternoon. Sae is still missing, and Goro hasn't bothered to contact her to try and get help for all the work that's been foisted onto him in lieu of her presence. He's confident in his ability to lie, but he doesn't want to take any chances and have her suspect anything.
At least most of the daytime staff have gone home. He still can't relax, but it helps to have fewer eyes around as he covers up another murder.
It's half seven in the evening. Goro is finding it difficult to concentrate, and even breathing exercises are not helping him manage the cramps. He goes to the bathroom, only to find blood on his underwear, because of course his period fucking starts today of all days when it's been missing for a good few months from stress.
Fine. Whatever. It's late enough that using the staff showers is an acceptable option, so Goro sighs and stops by his lockers to pick up a change of clothes and toiletries. Luckily, there's nobody else around, so Goro can get undressed in peace. He grits his teeth the entire time, cursing his body for the betrayal—the cramping is so bad he’s feeling nauseous.
Maybe, a nasty voice says at the back of his head, he deserves it.
Blood trickles down his legs, steadily getting heavier, and by the time he's undressed, he’s leaving crimson red specks on the tiled floor. His usual embarrassment is clouded by pain, and while he knows he should really clean it up, his body feels weird and unbalanced, like if he bends down, a big clot is going to fall out of him and make an even more of a mess. To compromise, Goro reaches down to cover his crotch with a hand, hurrying to the showers and hoping to just wash it all off with hot water.
He barely makes it.
A particularly strong cramp has him doubling down, forcing him to cling to the shower tap with his free hand for balance. He bites his tongue, choking down a scream of pain, just as he feels something warm and slimy land on his hand.
It feels too big to be a blood clot. Goro almost doesn't want to look at it, but morbid curiosity wins out and he brings his hand up to inspect it. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he certainly wasn’t expecting a tiny, fleshy bean; it's curled on itself, stained pink from blood, and surrounded by a nest of torn tissue.
What?
Ice water swallows him. His lungs are suddenly tight, no longer taking in air no matter how much he gasps for it, and he struggles to connect the dots of what he's seeing and what it could be.
Goro blinks. The— the thing is still there. He looks away, at the white tile of the showers, at the blood swirling away from him in streams of bright crimson and—he must have hit the tap, because there are streaks of pink where his blood has mixed with the water. For some reason, the sight of it makes him recoil, and then he's not in the work showers at all; he's six and he's looking at this from another angle, from the door, and his own body—no, not his body—is sprawled on the tile, and the red halo keeps growing larger.
He barely feels the cool sting of the shower tiles against his flushed skin as he sags against them, slowly sliding down until he sits on the floor. His hand still cups the little bean with its tiny hands and tiny feet, and small bumps on the top of its head.
It looks like something out of the pathology textbook he had to study while applying for his internship.
Another cramp tightens his stomach. He almost doesn't want to check, but he feels like he owes it to the tiny bean to- to see if—
Between his legs is another, nested in the viscera that's come out of him.
God. Goro tilts his head back, swallowing down the panic that is rapidly threatening to spill over. He picks the tiny bean up, choking on a sob, placing it next to its sibling as another wave of pain wracks through his body. He does the same to the third, and the fourth. All similarly small, and similarly broken. The fifth cramp only expels more tissue, contributing to the blood pooling below him. There's so much of it. He's— he's sure there wasn't this much blood when he shot Kurusu earlier.
He holds the tiny beans to his chest. The little nubs on their heads must be their barely-formed ears. He can't tell if they're rabbits like him, or cats like their other parent.
Akira…
He didn’t even know he was— not that it matters anymore. He never deserved to keep anything of the only man ever to have loved him kindly.
Goro curls around them. His heartbeat is loud and sluggish in his ears, and his breaths reverberate off the shower tiles in a raspy echo. His vision is blurry, and his legs feel like they are melting into the pool of gore. He wonders if this is what his mama saw before she died. He wonders if she thought of him, the way he thinks of her.
Someone enters the room, and Goro starts to panic anew. He needs to move, but he can't; his body is too heavy and his legs won't obey, and he's still sobbing with his babies cradled in hands that have only learned how to kill. There's a gasp, then the footsteps rapidly approach him.
Distantly, he recognises that he's being spoken to, but he refuses to look up and meet the face of whoever has found him in such a pathetic state. There's no way they wouldn't recognise him, even if he's in the womens' showers, even if he normally pins his ears down. Like this, sitting in a pool of his own blood, his revenge feels like a distant thing, and all he wants to do is close his eyes forever.
Something touches his shoulder, finally snapping Goro out of his own head. He flinches, violently, and hits his head on the tile behind him. The person—an older woman, Goro notices—steadies him. Her face is full of concern and horror, and something like recognition worries her eyes. Goro turns away again, squeezing his own eyes shut.
"I'm going to call you an ambulance, okay?"
"No!" Goro chokes out, shaking his head frantically enough to make him dizzy. "No, no, they can't— no."
"Okay, okay, shh," she says, wiping away the strands of hair stuck to his forehead. Her fingertips are cool against his skin, and the simple touch that does not hurt makes him start to sob anew. "Is there anyone I can call for you?"
Goro shakes his head again, laughing wetly as if she had said something funny. He has nobody, and he has made sure of it. In fact, he still sees the empty silver gaze when he closes his eyes.
"That's okay," she says evenly, trying to keep him calm. "How about I take you home then? I have a car, we can wrap you up and get you out of here where you can get some proper help."
Another refusal is on the tip of Goro's tongue—his apartment is definitely out of the question, every inch of it is bugged by Shido, and after that he has nowhere to go. Maybe... no, there's no way he would be welcome at Leblanc now. Not after what he's done—
"Take your time," the woman says, noticing he's getting worked up. She's so patient that it makes Goro wonder what he did to deserve such treatment. "If your home isn't safe, then any friends? Someone you can trust?"
Friends. That's also pretty funny. As is anyone he can trust, but... He doesn't know who else to turn to. The worst that can happen is that he ends up bleeding out in the street either way.
"Mhm," he mumbles.
"Can you tell me where they live?" She asks, much too kindly.
Goro nods, and gives her Sae Niijima's address.
Makoto turns another page of the assigned reading. She’s been slipping, lately. Normally she would have finished this book weeks in advance, but now she’s really cutting it close to the wire. Rationally, she knows it is not her fault. Her friends and her have been fighting for their survival on a daily basis, but she can’t help the little voice in the back of her head that sounds suspiciously like Sae Niijima telling her it is all useless, that all that matters is her education.
Sis…
It still feels wild that she now knows everything, and even more so, that she believes them. Tonight was the first night they shared a meal, and despite the terrible past few days she just had, it filled her with hope. Joker is safe at Leblanc, everyone else is at their homes. They just have to lay low, be patient, and then-
A knock at the door.
Makoto glances at the clock. Quarter past ten at night. Dread begins coiling in her stomach.
Makoto takes a heavy breath and grabs the model gun Akira bought her. Her hands shake as she evaluates the situation.
Whoever is waiting downstairs is growing impatient, their knocks turning into impatient raps.
Part of Makoto wishes she could call the police, but obviously that is not an option.
She is about to open her bedroom door when she hears her sister's annoyed huff, and brisk footsteps rushing through the hall and down the stairs.
Makoto panics.
Makoto hides behind a corner just in time for Sae to answer the door. She hears a gasp, though she can't see who is there, but judging by Sae's body language, they are not hostile.
Slowly, Makoto releases the breath she's been holding. Her sister is murmuring too quietly for her to pick up on, even with her sharp canine ears. She's just unlocking her phone to update the chat when her big sister finally steps aside and reveals the person at the door.
It’s Goro Akechi.
His ears are wrong and he's covered in blood, clutching something close to his chest, but the colour of his hair is unmistakable, even if he's curled in on himself in a manner that Makoto didn't think was possible for someone so vain and full of themselves. He looks so, so pale, and when he steps forward he stumbles into Sae, who needs to steady him as she leads him into their home.
She puts her phone on silent and pockets it. Akechi is still a threat, even when he looks like he's been through the wringer. A nasty, vindictive part of her thinks that this is what he deserves; that the fact that he's still standing after what he did to them—what he did to Akira—is too kind.
She shakes her head. She's no better than Akechi if she thinks that way. Instead, she silently follows the duo to the lounge, where she sees Akechi on the couch and Sae crouched in front of him.
Now that she's closer, the stench of blood is unmistakable. Her sister is asking him questions softly, but Akechi either refuses to reply, or can't.
"Do you need anything?"
"..."
"Where are you hurt?"
"..."
"Who did this to you?"
"..."
“Akechi, answer me.” Sae grabs him by his arms and he flinches.
Sae’s voice sounds frantic. Makoto can feel her own ears drooping. She has not seen her sister so scared since-
Akechi looks away. His long ears almost brush Sae’s face. Reluctantly, he offers the bloody bundle of towels to her.
Sae looks down, then back to him. She speaks again, now softer this time; “Goro, what is this?”
Akechi shakes his head. Makoto can’t see what he’s holding but she watches Sae open the package and recoil in shock.
“I’m sorry Sae,” his voice breaks, fat tears running down his cheeks as he smiles that plastic smile of his. “I think I bled on your couch.”
“Akechi, we need to get you to a hospital.”
He shakes his head no, but he never gets another word out. He pitches forward again, and this time he stays down, limp and unresponsive as Sae starts to shake him with more urgency.
"Shit," she curses, with such force that even Makoto jumps. "Makoto!"
Makoto jolts, silently rushing away down the corridor only to double back and run to the lounge, making her footsteps deliberately loud so it sounds like she was in her room rather than eavesdropping.
"What's..." She doesn't even need to put on an act for her reaction to the scene—Akechi, so pale that his lips look blue, lays unconscious in Sae's arms, and Sae herself is wide eyed with worry in a way that Makoto hasn't seen her before. It churns her stomach uncomfortably, knowing that this is the most emotion she's seen from her sister in years, and it's directed at the boy who's been ruining the lives of so many including her own.
"I need to call an ambulance," Sae says, her voice shaking, "can you— hold him, staunch the blood, please."
Makoto nods dumbly, walking over to take Sae's place in supporting Akechi. She realises, then, that a lot of the blood is coming from between his legs, and the implications of that sinks in like lead in water.
As she adjusts the towels around Akechi, her first thought is how frail he feels in her arms. It's easy to forget all the pomp and theatrics that he put on as their teammate this way, all the stage tricks and make-up ripped away to reveal the small, horrifyingly human body underneath.
The second is that she has no idea how to break this news to the rest of the Thieves.
In the background, she can hear Sae talking to dispatch, giving clipped replies to their questions. Akechi's breathing is quiet and laboured in comparison. His eyes blink open, but his gaze is confused and distant.
Makoto presses her lips together, not knowing what to say, or if she should say anything at all. There is no recognition in his eyes, and he only manages to mumble intelligibly before they slide shut again. Sae is pacing, still on the line, and casting worried looks over at erratic intervals.
It's a relief when the ambulance does arrive, and Akechi is swept out of her arms.
“Sir?” a kind woman calls out to him, placing a hand on Akechi's shoulder. He looks up at her with unfocused eyes. “We will take you to the hospital, is that alright?”
Akechi does not answer, but Sae intercedes explaining she is his guardian and she gives consent on his behalf.
They have to pry the bundle out of his hands, and he only relinquishes it because Sae promises to keep it safe. After that, Goro is carried onto a stretcher, secured, and then wheeled into the ambulance. All the while he is still, unmoving, as if losing the bundle has left him empty. Makoto would think he passed out if his eyes weren't open, gazelessly fixed in the distance.
An EMT takes his blood pressure, eyebrows furrowed and then signals something to another EMT.
“Will he be alright?” Makoto asks.
She winces as an EMT cuts a long slice along the arm of his coat, exposing his skin to stick an IV into.
Sae sighs, shoulders sagging from heaviness. “He’s a strong kid; he will, I’m sure.”
An EMT asks if they will be accompanying him to the hospital, and Sae steps up. She tells Makoto to put the bundle in the freezer, to stay inside the house and not open the door for any reason, and then they are gone.
She stares at the space they left. She's suddenly aware of how much blood is on her—crusting on her hands, staining her clothes. She even has red flakes in her hair.
Too much has happened today, from the infiltration to Akira's capture and the blind worry that followed, and now this—
Sae gave her instructions at least. She can start with that.
The bundle of towels in her hands is light, and shaking it doesn't make any noise. It's as stained with Akechi's blood as everything else, and the viciousness that he protected it with makes Makoto's curiosity burn. It's not like they asked her not to look, and she doesn't like Akechi enough to respect his privacy. When she gets to the kitchen, she places the bundle on the counter, and carefully unwraps it.
She isn't sure what she's looking at, at first. Four malformed things that look like they could be made of flesh, smaller than her thumb. She picks one up to examine it closer, and almost drops it when she realises what they are.
They're— they're foetuses. Tiny, underdeveloped foetuses, with distinct arms and legs, curled up on themselves.
She's going to be sick.
Gently, she tucks the foetus back in with its siblings, then wraps them up neatly in the towel Akechi brought them in. Then, she clears a shelf in the freezer and places the bundle on it, closing the door firmly.
She chews on her lip, feeling conflicted. Akechi is not a good person, but even knowing this, Makoto feels sorry for him.
Makoto sits on the carpet, gaze fixed on the couch. It’s probably been ruined. She doesn’t think the stains will ever come off.
Maybe she should get the bleach and scrub off as much as she can while the blood is still fresh.
She checks her phone again. Akira has messaged her privately.
Makoto sighs. Akira's still typing. Even if Futaba manages to find which hospital they took him to, at least then the guilt won't be on her conscience.
No, that's a terrible thing to think, but it's no use telling Futaba of all people to respect someone's privacy, and paired with Akira's wild panic, it's only a matter of time until they find out. She rubs her temples, wondering why their leader is acting so irrationally—she's never seen him lose it like this, though granted, he always plays things fast and loose when it comes to Akechi. The two of them are so often in their own world, constantly embroiled in their little rivalries that the rest of the Thieves have no chance of understanding. Despite all the warnings she's drilled into Akira's head, he swings headfirst into all the danger that Akechi is, and—
A terrible thought crosses her mind.
Oh, god.
What if… what if Akira is the other father?
She feels a knot growing in her throat. Tears prick at her eyes. She has a wild thought to dig the foetuses out of the freezer and examine them again to see if there are any traces of Akira in them, but they're too small, too undeveloped to have any kind of distinguishable trait.
This is so unfair—she hates Akechi, hates him in the purest sense of the word because he is callous and he is caustic and he has killed more people than she can ever know, so how dare he make her feel this way. And how dare he drag Akira down to his level.
But, she knows that no matter what kind of person Akechi is, he does not deserve this.
They’re so young, and they've been through so much already. She bites her lip, her resolution to keep this to herself wavering. If— if Akira is the father, then he deserves to know sooner rather than later, and if she can at least save him some minutes of despair then so be it.
She grits her teeth, bites the bullet. Akira taught her to believe in her own justice, so she does, and trusts that this is not a huge mistake.
Akira stops typing immediately. Makoto squeezes her eyes shut, tears falling down her face as she wonders if her decision was the right one, but there's no taking it back now.
"You don't understand!" Akira howls, thrashing against Sojiro's arms. "I need— I need to get to him!"
"Son, you've just been brutalised by the police, and now you're presumed dead— you cannot go outside, you hear me?"
"Goro needs me! He hates being alone, he's in—" Akira cuts himself off with a growl, then tries again to throw Sojiro off him. The older man has experience working as security for the government, but Akira is trying everything he can to get out without any concern for his own injuries— Sojiro's worry is coming from the danger of Akira hurting himself if he carries on.
Futaba curls in on herself from where she's sitting in the corner of the attic, cursing her own weakness when it comes to conflict. She doesn't like the yelling or the physicality of a fight, and even in the Metaverse she takes the seat furthest from the actual action as possible, relying on her Persona's scrying skills to support her team.
Feeling useless, she checks on her phone again; still no reply from Makoto. In her arms, Morgana's purring kicks up a notch, sensing her distress.
Fuck Akechi for doing this, after everything he's done, he's still tearing them apart.
"—tell me then!" Sojiro is yelling back, and Akira just shakes his head.
"I can't, he's— he's hurt—" Akira's voice breaks, and the rest of his words dissolve into a coughing fit.
"So are you!" Sojiro's restrain turns to support as Akira doubles over, holding his throat and his stomach.
Futaba looks away. It's easy to think of Joker as invincible, always quick to bounce back with a grin, but this isn't the Metaverse, and Akira is covered in cuts and bruises.
"I need to, to go, please," he wheezes, eyes bright and manic despite his hunched over figure. "He needs me to be with him please, he lost our- you wouldnt understand- you've never been a real father!"
Sojiro releases Akira as if he's been burned, and the boy lands in a heap on the floor. He pushes himself up, but he is refusing to look at Sojiro now, his expression ashamed.
"Akira!" Morgana yowls, scrambling in her arms.
Futaba also gets up, gently depositing the cat on the ground and swallowing her fears. She strides across the room in two long steps to slap Akira across the face, since her dad is too nice to do it. She doesn't care what Akechi is— Sojiro doesn't deserve Akira's disrespect after being nothing but charitable and kind, and she is livid on his behalf.
"Get over yourself, Joker!" She cries, her voice shaking. "You're acting like an asshole!"
She hit one of his bruises; a nasty part of herself thinks good, but then he lifts a hand to his face and sees that his claws are tipped in red. He's been scratching himself, and Futaba is only just noticing the fresh new lines on his too-pale skin.
Akira laughs humorlessly, deflating. "I- yeah. You're right, I'm..." He presses the heel of his palm to his eyes, tilting his head up in frustration. "I'm sorry." He looks at Futaba, then Sojiro. "I didn't mean that."
"Apology accepted," Sojiro says, sighing heavily. "You're upset, I get it. Is Akechi-kun... pregnant?"
The question hits Akira like it is a physical blow, and Futaba watches his expression twist in pain. "Not," he grits, "not anymore."
"... Was it yours?" Sojiro asks, softer, and this time, Akira does not respond. He takes a step forward, putting a hand on Akira's shoulder. "... Kid... I know you care a lot about him, and I don't want to offend, but are you sure—"
"I am," Akira bites, snarling. He shrugs Sojiro's hand off. "Akechi is a lot of things, but he wouldn't—" he cuts himself off, then takes another breath. "He wouldn't do that."
Futaba narrows his eyes. It sounds like he's holding something back, and she doesn't like it.
"I trust him."
"He killed you," Futaba hisses in disbelief. "He didn't physically do it because we managed to stop him from actually killing you, but the fact remains that he pointed the gun to your forehead and squeezed the trigger. For all intents and purposes, he did it, and he went on to gloat afterwards!" She realises that she sounds hysterical, but she cannot wrap her head around Akira's words. "How can you trust someone like that?!"
Akira presses his lips together, frowning deeply. "You wouldn't understand."
"Then help me understand," Futaba pleads, "tell me what he did to you, to make you this loyal even after he's stabbed you in the back—" she cuts herself off when a new thought crosses her mind. It's awful. She shouldn't say it. But she does, quietly and carefully; "what if he did it on purpose?"
The response is immediate—Akira snarls, baring his fangs like an injured feral, and Sojiro places himself between Akira and Futaba again.
"Akira, enough." His voice leaves no room for argument. "Futaba, too; have some sensitivity for the subject matter."
"I'm just—"
"Futaba, please," he says wearily. Futaba shrinks back, splaying her ears back obediently. "There's no use speculating on what happened, and kid, you're not leaving here full stop. I'm not against tying you down."
Akira flinches back, rubbing his wrists. Sojiro's expression doesn't change—the threat was intentional. It's quiet for a few precious moments before something in Akira seems to crack, and he drops to the floor, all the fight leaving him at once. He buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably as great big sobs quake through his body.
He sounds broken. Morgana pads over, rubbing his flank against Akira's side, but the boy is unresponsive.
"I'm sorry," Akira chokes out, muffled by his hands. "I just... he doesn't have anyone else."
"Kid..." Sojiro kneels down in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I need to- I need to see that he's okay."
"He's in the care of medical professionals now, he'll be fine."
"You don't know that." Another cry rips out of Akira's throat. He collapses forwards, doubling over himself in anguish. "I- I—"
Futaba can't make out the rest of his words, too garbled by his sobs. Sojiro pats his back in soothing circles and Morgana paces around him in an attempt to comfort, and all Futaba can do is stand and watch. Guilt wells up in her throat. She tries to swallow it back down, but her own eyes start to prickle with tears.
"Rabbit hybrids are prone to miscarriages," Sojiro says softly, trying a different tactic. "Their bodies can't support so many foetuses at once."
Akira shakes his head. Futaba doesn't really believe it either—the way Makoto described it made it seem like a traumatic miscarriage, possibly as a consequence of an attack.
"T- they were our babies," he says. His voice is hoarse from crying. "We lost them all."
He killed you, Futaba wants to say. You wouldn't have had a chance anyway.
But she manages to refrain—it would be too cruel.
Quietly, she slips away, unable to watch any longer. She tucks herself into a booth, curling up tight on the seat to make herself as small as possible. She's overwhelmed and her nerves are still fried from the infiltration. She almost lost Akira today, and the boy is still ready to toss himself in front of a train for Akechi, risking everything they've done because, what, he got fuck a warm hole?
If he dies from this, it would be a good thing.
The thought shocks her. It feels too violent to be her own, and too close to the awful voice that haunted her for years before the Thieves changed her heart.
She hates that it's Akechi who has brought it back. She hates what he does to Akira, what he's taken from her, and she hates him.
She wraps her arms around her legs, holding herself. Even after awakening her powers, pulling off heists with the Thieves, saving people from abuse by changing hearts of those misusing their power, she hates how useless she is.