False Shuffle

by ellaismydog

Summary:

False Shuffle: To simulate shuffling the deck without actually altering the position of certain cards.

“You see him? You see the boy? That’s my new intern.”

There is a boy. A young boy, with dark hair and pale skin, sitting at the booth with his hands folded neatly in his lap. His eyes scan the oscillating crowd with an air of detachment, like he’s watching something unfold on TV. Like he doesn’t know the danger he’s in.

Goro’s skin prickles. It takes him a moment to register what Shido said.

“Your… new intern?"

Chapter 1: Goro; A Magic Trick

Notes:

TW for this chapter: slight references to sexual content, implied abuse, alcohol, underage drinking, and Shido being Shido.

Goro sees him for the first time at one of Shido's parties, and thinks he must be dreaming.

The event is, on paper, a fundraiser. There are posters and banners decorating the wood-paneled walls, emblazoned with Shido's smug bastard face and a message to VOTE in block capitals. In the afternoon, this room was spotless, pristine. They'd taken photographs of it filled with men in black suits, standing in a circle with Shido at their centre. Trust us, the faces in the photograph seem to say. Give us your money, your loyalty. We don't have to hurt you.

Now, it's midnight. That photograph was taken hours ago. In that time, endless bottles of champagne have been opened, and the mask is well and truly off.

"Excuse me," Goro says, the words chipper despite his gritted teeth as he steps around an intertwined couple. One of them is an escort, wearing a shiny green dress that has ridden up past her knees. The other is a former noble - face red, tie askew, trying his best to make the dress ride up even further. Neither of them notice Goro as he walks past them.

(He wants to stand on the man's fingers until they break.)

"Akechi!" a voice shouts from behind the pounding music. Goro, in the middle of a violent daydream, immediately stands to attention in a way that makes him feel a little sick. He fixes a smile on his face and turns neatly on his heel.

"Yes, Shido-san?"

There was a time, not too long ago, when Goro had been trying to memorise Shido's voice. He'd listened to his interviews and speeches on repeat every night before he went to sleep, determined to learn every infliction, his specific cadence, the way he formed his mouth around words like truth and justice. He'd used it to... acclimatize himself. A way to get used to Shido, and keep himself from flinching when they finally met.

It hadn't worked. Shido's public persona was nothing like his true self. His voice, so warm and commanding when delivering a speech, lowered and snarled behind closed doors. He had a way of barking out orders, making you recoil instinctively, before softening his voice into a quiet, insidious hush, forcing you to lean in close to hear him. Rinse, repeat.

As Goro approaches him now, he tries to gauge which version of Shido he's dealing with. His cheeks are red - drunk. His smile is lazy - content. He has one arm wrapped around a woman, giving her an appreciative squeeze, before he darts out to grab Goro by the shoulder.

Goro just barely contains his flinch. Shido's fingers dig into the meat of his shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Enjoying the party, Akechi?" he says in that hushed voice, his breath a cloud of alcohol. Goro schools his face into a careful smile, purposefully shrugging his shoulders, letting Shido feel the lack of tension in them.

"Of course, sir," he says, trying to inject the right amount of enthusiasm into his voice. After two years, he knows what Shido expects of him in a setting like this. He should be... scandalised, just a little. But also interested, excited by the taboo, at being the only teenager at a party for adults. He should want to take part, but know he shouldn't - and then do it anyway. "Thank you for inviting me."

"You had a drink yet? A proper man should have a drink, y'know."

Goro let out a slight tinkle of a laugh, hoping that would be enough. He doesn't want to drink. He doesn't like letting his guard down in a place like this, especially when there are so many eyes on him, standing out with his obvious youth. Taboo works both ways, after all.

It's the wrong response. Abruptly, Shido pushes him away, his drunkenness making him rough. "What're you laughing at, Akechi? Man the fuck up, and have a drink. You don't want the people here getting the wrong impression, do you?"

"...If you insist, sir."

Shido snatches a glass tumbler from a nearby table, an inch of amber liquid at the bottom. Whiskey. His bloodshot eyes watch as Goro raises it to his lips, avoiding the lipstick mark on the rim, and forces himself to down it.

"Atta boy!"

That hand, again - pounding him on the back for a job well done, as Goro tries to hide his spluttering in another sycophantic laugh. The alcohol burns, but he passed the split-second test. Shido is happy again. Goro wants to crack this tumbler against the side of his bald head.

"Now that that's done, I have a job for you, Akechi," Shido's mouth twists into another smile as he takes the glass from Goro's hand, placing it back on the table with a definitive thunk. Goro is instantly on the defensive. A job? Here? NOW? "You see that corner, over there?"

Shido rests one hand on his shoulder and points with the other, directing him towards a dark corner where a series of leather booths line the walls. They're filled with couples, mostly, or old men sitting in a circle, passing around a bottle. Shido's finger makes a wobbly line in the air, and Goro struggles to follow it until -

"You see him? You see the boy? That's my new intern."

There is a boy. A young boy, with dark hair and pale skin, sitting at the booth with his hands folded neatly in his lap. His eyes scan the oscillating crowd with an air of detachment, like he's watching something unfold on TV. Like he doesn't know the danger he's in. 

Goro's skin prickles. It takes him a moment to register what Shido said.

"Your... new intern?"

"Yeah, that's right," Shido drawls. "Since you turned out so well, I went and got my hands on another one - do you understand?"

"...Sir?"

It comes out like a question when it's not supposed to. Goro's mind is racing - he can feel his palms sweating within his gloves. Intern? What the hell does that mean? What possible purpose could the boy serve? WHY IS HE HERE?

"He's a country boy, you know. Picked him up when I was out in Inaba a few weeks ago. I invited him out tonight to give him a taste of Tokyo, but he doesn't seem to be enjoying himself," he lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. Then, the hand on his back pushes Goro forward roughly. "But, since you're apparently capable of having fun after all, Akechi, I have the perfect solution - you go look after him. Get him to loosen up, will you? You'll be spending a lot of time together soon, after all."

"I-"

Goro's tongue feels thick in his mouth. It's like the whiskey hits him all at once, and he can't even think to string a sentence together. Shido found the boy weeks ago? And he's only telling me NOW?

Who the FUCK is he -

"Don't just stand there with your mouth open, Akechi," Shido's voice twists in a snarl. When he pushes him again, it actually makes Goro stumble. "Just do it. Fuck's sake."

"Yes, sir," he says automatically. He flexes his fists by his side, grounding himself with the feeling of his nails digging into his gloves. Then, he releases a slight breath, and approaches the boy.

The flashing lights play across his features, letting Goro see him in bursts. He's... pretty. In a disheveled sort of way. His hair is thick and frizzy with curls. He wears glasses - round, black and trendy, with lenses that hide his eyes. He's long too, tall and slender, his legs poking out from under the booth table. But more than anything else, he's young.

He shouldn't be here.

The boy notices Goro before he gets there, quirking his lips in acknowledgement. "Hey," he greets, raising his hand in a jaunty wave.

Goro hadn't expected him to speak first. His voice is deeper than he thought it'd be. It throws him off for some reason, and there's an awkward half-second delay before he responds.

"Hello! I'm Goro Akechi. My benefactor, Masayoshi Shido, told me I should introduce myself. And you are?"

What a loaded question. What's worse, the boy smiles like he knows it.

"I'm Akira Kurusu. I've heard a lot about you - it's nice to meet you."

He's heard a lot...? What the FUCK has Shido told him?

"Well, unfortunately you have me at a disadvantage there," Goro laughs again, the sound pure plastic, betraying nothing. Knowing Shido is probably still watching, he slides into the booth next to - what was his name? Kurusu? - and tries to ignore the couples just a few feet away. "I haven't heard anything about you."

Kurusu considers him for a moment, his expression unreadable. This close, Goro can see his eyes are grey.

"Well, I'm the new kid, I guess. So I can't really complain about that," he says with a diplomatic smile. "Shido only took me on a little while ago. Sorry we haven't had the chance to meet yet."

"...'Took you on'?" Goro repeats lightly. His heart is hammering in his chest. "Took you on to do what? Sorry, he didn't say before."

The boy's eyes slide past him like he isn't even there. He fiddles with the end of his fringe absently. "Oh, you know. This and that."

No. No, Goro doesn't fucking know, and he wants to grab this kid by the neck and scream in his face until he tells him the answer. Because, the way Shido spoke about him... no. No, surely not, he can't possibly be...

The silence is becoming awkward. Goro can still feel eyes on him, doesn't need to look up to know it's Shido, far too perceptive for such a bumbling bastard drunk. He makes himself smile wider; imagines sticking pins in his cheeks to hold it in place. There we go.

"Do you want a drink? Shido-san doesn't mind if we partake a little, so long as we don't cause a scene."

"Ah, no thanks," Kurusu gives a nonchalant little shrug. "I'm happy to just watch."

What the fuck. Goro stares at him, the way he'd stare at an insect under his boot. What is with this kid? Does he even know where he is? Shido said he was from the country, so maybe he doesn't quite understand how these parties are supposed to work, but he'd turned up looking like - like that, like a normal scruffy highschooler, and now he isn't even going to play the game?

Goro's first thought is: they're going to eat you alive.

His second thought is: please. Please, just get out of here.

His third is surprisingly vicious: I hate this kid already.

"Do you want to see a magic trick?"

Goro thinks his brain might have melted from sheer emotional whiplash. Before he can stop himself, he says, completely deadpan, "Excuse me what?"

Kurusu is smiling. He fishes a silver coin from one of his pockets, balancing it on his knuckles. "I'm not good at drinking, but I am good at magic. Want to see?"

Oh. Oh, he's insane, definitely, absolutely insane, and he isn't going to survive a week working with Shido. Despite that, Goro can't help but watch as he rolls the coin from knuckle to knuckle, the motion oddly hypnotic. "Go on then," he says stiffly. He feels like an actor who hasn't memorised his lines.

Kurusu's smile twitches, but he doesn't respond. He keeps his eyes on the coin, continuing to pass it from one side of his hand to the other. The silver flashes in the pulsating light and -

Clap. With a flick of his wrist, Kurusu claps both his hands together before raising them up, palms out in an approximation of surrender. The coin is nowhere to be seen.

"Ta da," he says wryly, looking at Goro like he's expecting applause. The worst part is, if it had been anyone else at this party, Goro might have given it to them. As it is, he just raises an eyebrow.

"Not bad, Kurusu," he lets a little, patronizing simper into his voice. Then, he ducks to the floor. Under the table, he finds the errant coin, and holds it up to Kurusu with a triumphant smile. "I believe you dropped this, though."

"You're sharp," Kurusu notes lightly. He takes the coin without looking at it. "Guess I should've known better than to try and fool a detective."

"I have my moments. It's unfortunate, though - I was expecting better from someone so 'good at magic'."

It's too much. Goro knows it as he says it, he's letting too much of his irritation seep through, his true self, but he can't stop his stupid mouth in time. Strangely, though, Kurusu doesn't seem offended. Instead, his eyes flash in challenge. He fixes Goro with an unreadable smile. 

"Guess I'll just have to try something better then."

And that's how Goro Akechi, media darling, Detective Prince and actual fucking assassin, ends up spending his evening watching amateur magic tricks.

"Do that again," he says after a particularly tricky one. Kurusu laughs quietly, but obliges him all the same. Goro narrows his eyes as Kurusu holds up the coin, all plastic showmanship, displaying it like a TV presenter showing off the prizes on a quiz show. Then, he places it on the table, balancing it on its edge, and flicks it with the edge of his thumbnail to make it spin.

The coin forms a little silver vortex, reflecting the light like a miniature disco ball, but Goro doesn't let himself get distracted watching it. He's already figured out the spinning is incidental, a distraction. Instead, he studies Kurusu's hands with razor-sharp focus, waiting for him to -

Slam. Surprisingly vicious, Kurusu slams his hand down on the spinning coin before it can teeter over, laying his palm flat against the wood for a split second before raising it again. By the time his hand leaves the table, the silver coin has turned into a copper one, and Goro is ready to scream.

"Again," he demands. This time, Kurusu laughs properly.

"If you can't figure it out, detective, just tell me. I might explain if you ask nicely."

"You -"

Goro just about catches himself before he can say something rude - although, judging by the sparkling in Kurusu's eyes, he already knew what he wanted to say. It's a rather discomfiting realisation - a feeling of being watched, being perceived, different to all the other eyes Goro is used to. He doesn't like it. He scrambles, forcing himself to swallow his irritation and cement his mask back into place.

"That would ruin the fun, don't you think? I thought magicians were never supposed to reveal their secrets."

"Glad to hear you had fun at least," Kurusu focuses on the exact wrong part of that sentence, like an absolute ass. Goro has to work to hide his teeth when he smiles.

"It was a nice change of pace. Now - thank you for the distraction, but I should go see if Shido-san needs me."

I'm his 'intern' too, after all.

And he hasn't even talked to you tonight.

"No worries," Kurusu doesn't seem bothered at all, going back to rolling the coin between his fingers idly. That unreadable look comes into his eyes again as he stares out at the crowd. "Hope you have a good night, detective."

It has to be early morning by now, but Goro isn't going to be the one to point that out. He already promised himself that he'd stick around until the party ended, even though he has school later today, just to keep Shido happy. Still, he finds himself lingering in the booth, wondering what Kurusu was still doing here. Doesn't he have school to worry about too?

Kurusu eventually notices he's being stared at. He looks at Goro from beneath his eyelashes, questioning. The coin doesn't falter even once. "Yes?" he asks wryly. "Was there something else"?

Goro gets that sense of challenge again, like he's daring him to say something. It has more of an effect on him than he'd like. Eyes flashing, he opens his mouth to say -

Who are you -

What are you doing here -

What is Shido going to DO to you -

"...Nothing, Kurusu. Goodnight."

As he bows stiffly and walks away, he feels like a coward. Behind him, he thinks he hears Kurusu laugh.

Notes:

Welcome to this weird AU, which I've dubbed 'the worst possible timeline'! Basically, in this reality, Yaldabaoth is even more of an asshole, and managed to stack the deck so both Goro and Akira end up working with Shido. Incidentally, Shido is the reason behind most of the trigger warnings in the tags - I promise, there will be some levity as well, I just can't do this character justice without making him actual scum.

Also, this fic will likely be a long one - and if you've read any of my stuff before, you'll know I don't do well with long-form fics. As such, I'm really sorry, but please bear with me for updates. I'm about five chapters ahead for now, so I'm in a fairly good position, but updates will probably end up being pretty irregular. That said, I'm having a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy the ride!

Chapter 2: Akira; So Turns The Wheel of Fate

Notes:

TW for this chapter: implied sexual assault, abuse, police, blackmail - and once again, Shido being Shido.

Akira used to be a lucky boy.

Anyone could look at him and see that it was true. He lived in the quiet, unassuming countryside, where nothing bad ever happened - where he had to teach himself magic tricks and how to fish, just for something to do. He lived in a large house on the outskirts of town; not quite the biggest, not quite the richest, but enough to demonstrate that the Kurusu family were comfortable. He lived with his parents (in theory, anyway), who weren't the most loving or affectionate, but kept a roof over his head and clothes on his back. Life was... fine.

Then, fate flipped a coin. And Akira's luck ran out.

He wasn't meant to be out that night. He'd gone fishing at the Samegawa river, just for something to do while his parents were away, and had lost track of time trying to catch Inaba's local legend - an impossibly large fish known as the Guardian. Needless to say, with a name and reputation like that, Akira had failed. As he walked through the lonely streets back to his house, biting his lip, trying to think of a better strategy for next time, he'd heard a woman scream.

He'd frozen, mid-step. Stood stock still, trying to listen, to figure out where it'd come from. For a second, he thought he'd imagined it. He'd just taken another uncertain step in the direction of home when - 

"Come back here, you bitch -"

Akira was moving before he even knew what was happening.

It happened in flashes, after that.

Maybe he should be disturbed by how truly little he remembers of that night - more of an abstract painting than an actual memory. He remembers a man's face, bloated and red with drink. The man's hand, curled like a vice around the bare arm of a woman. The woman's face, featureless, small and tear-streaked. Akira had tried to confront the man; he can't remember exactly what he said. The man had staggered forwards, and Akira had raised his hand to -

Well. Whatever he'd been planning on doing, it didn't matter. He'd barely touched the guy, and he still fell like a sack of potatoes onto the asphalt, hitting his head against the curb.

There was blood, dribbling onto his white starched collar.

There were sirens, starting in the distance, getting louder.

There was a low, insidious voice in the woman's ear - 

"Say this to the cops: the brat pushed me."

Akira saw his entire future unspooling, pouring down the drain, as the cop grabbed him by the arm and forced him against the police car, shoving a foot between his legs to nudge them apart. The cop hadn't been gentle as he searched Akira's pockets, pulling out his box of fishing tackle, his wallet and his phone.

His phone had been unlocked.

He remembered that clearly.

"Wait."

The man's voice had barked out behind him, making him flinch, making the fucking cop flinch. He'd snatched Akira's phone from his hands, ignoring the cop's half-hearted protests that he really shouldn't be doing that, your fingerprints will be on it now sir, didn't you want to remain uninvolved? as he flicked through Akira's home screen. And Akira had been scared, and lost, and wondering what the hell was going to happen to him when -

The man had laughed. Loudly, drunkenly - like a hyena. Another hand fell heavily on Akira's shoulder, fingers digging into his neck, forcing him to turn back around. And suddenly, he was standing face-to-face with the man who would ruin his life.

"Well, would you look at that," he'd sneered, eyes roaming across Akira's face, drinking in every detail. They were far too lucid for how drunk he was. "Looks like God's on my side after all. What's your name, kid?"

Akira hadn't answered right away, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Those fingers on his shoulder dug deep and twisted, making him gasp in pain. When he looked under his shirt the next morning, there were five fingerprint-sized bruises on his arm.

"K-Kurusu. Akira Kurusu."

"Kurusu," he repeated, testing it on his tongue. His eyes were yellow. Akira couldn't look away from them. "Alright - you can arrest him now. But there's been a change of plans. You make sure you fucking call me in the morning, OK? I want to be involved with this one."

That last part had been addressed to the cop. For the first (and fucking only) time, Akira and the cop acted in tandem, looking at each other in confusion. "But - sir...?"

"Did you fucking hear me?" he'd snarled. His fingers tightened again, bunching in the fabric of Akira's shirt, before pushing him away roughly. Akira fell against the police car with a wheeze. "Don't ask questions, just do it. I'll be in touch with your superiors in the morning."

He returned to the woman - sitting, dejected, on the curb where he had fallen, staring at the faint smear of blood on the concrete. He pulled her to her feet and slithered his arm around her waist. She didn't say a word. The last thing Akira saw, before the cop forced him into the car, was their silhouettes fading into the dark. 

Now, it's weeks later. Mid-morning, late spring. Akira is standing in a high-rise building in the middle of Tokyo, side-by-side with another boy.

He's looking that man full in the face again.

His name is Masayoshi Shido, and he owns him.

"Well, look at the pair of you," Shido says lightly, tawny eyes flicking from one boy to the other. Akira can practically feel the perfect posture of the boy beside him, standing to attention in front of their boss, his bearing almost military. But he can't bring himself to do the same. Instead, he slouches, angling his face so his glasses hide his eyes, and clenches his fists within his pockets. "How are you finding Tokyo, Kurusu?"

"...Fine," Akira says, voice carefully casual. He fights the desire to fiddle with his fringe - a nervous habit he hasn't quite trained himself out of. "It's a lot louder than Inaba."

It's an inane comment, but Shido laughs anyway. "I should fucking hope so," he says, leaning back in his high-backed leather chair. "I was bored out of my skull there, and I was only there a few days. God knows how you lasted so long."

Akira smiles blandly. The worst part is, he's asked himself the same question before.

"What about the party, the other night? Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did," he nods. Strangely, it isn't entirely a lie. His fingers brush against the silver coin, lying heavy in his pocket. "Your associates were very welcoming. Especially Akechi, here. Thanks."

He directs that last comment to a hyper-focused Akechi, who nearly jumps at the sound of his own name. He doesn't seem sure how to react - whether he should keep facing Shido, or turn his head a few inches to look at Akira. In the end, he settles for an abortive head jerk, a polite smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

"It was no problem, Kurusu. I enjoyed it."

Liar. Despite everything, Akira has to suppress an actual smile when Shido starts talking again.

"Yes, it was a good opportunity to introduce the two of you. Your formal introduction, however, will happen now. Akechi," Shido aims his gaze straight for Akechi, who somehow manages to stand even straighter. "Kurusu will be working with you from now on. He has the Metaverse app, and has kindly agreed to lend me his services, just like you did so many years ago. You're going to be teaching him the ropes."

"I... what?" Akechi let out a seemingly rare stutter, looking between Akira and Shido. His expression betrays nothing more than polite surprise, but Akira can see where his smile strains from being pinned in place. He wonders if Shido sees it too. "He... he has the app?"

"Yes, Akechi. That's what I said," Shido leans forward again slowly, purposefully, planting his elbows on the solid wood of his desk. His voice takes on a quiet, more dangerous tone when he says, "Turns out, you're not so unique after all. I don't know what it is about skinny teenage brats that attracts this power, but you're not alone now. I have two of you. And I plan to take full advantage of this opportunity."

For the most part, Akira lets this conversation wash over him, keeping his expression neutral. He's heard Shido talk about this 'app' before - has actually seen the red-and-black symbol on his phone, standing out starkly against the grey-washed pixels - but he still doesn't know what it is. He doesn't even know how it got there - it definitely wasn't there when he checked his messages, that night by the Samegawa. All he knows is this: it can't be good.

"Now. Obviously, Kurusu is new to this, so he won't have the same powers you do. We'll have to remedy that as soon as possible," Shido drums his fingers against the desk. "Akechi? Who do we have left from the cognitive psience research team?"

Akechi rattles off a list of names, seemingly from memory. Akira is impressed in spite of himself. He thinks, shit, my memory's terrible. I'm going to suck at this job. He has to stifle the sickening urge to laugh.

"Hmm... with Isshiki out of the picture, it's less than ideal, but it's a start. Kurusu - you'll meet Akechi here, this Wednesday, at five o'clock," he orders. "Don't be late. Based on experience, this process can take a long fucking time, so prepare yourself to be out late. And I don't give a shit that it's a school night - no matter what happens, you'll still be expected to show up the next day, just to keep up appearances. Understood?"

Akira nods. Shido's face contorts into a smile.

"Good. Your parents did tell me you were a good boy - let's hope you live up to that."

Akira wants to be sick. If he opens his mouth, he will be. So he just nods and nods and nods, hoping his silence comes across as deferential instead of stilted - and eventually, Shido dismisses them both.

There's an awkward silence between him and Akechi as they exit the office, Akira taking it upon himself to hold the door open for the other boy. "Thanks," Akechi mutters, the words ground out between gritted teeth. Akira decides then and there - he really quite likes the boy's fuming politeness. It helps keep away some of his creeping dread.

Away from Shido's prying gaze, Akira takes this opportunity to examine Akechi properly. Shido had told him about the other boy when he first made his offer, his tone borderline boastful, using him as an example of 'what Akira could become' when he was convincing his parents to play along (no don't think about that). Akira had looked him up on the train ride to Tokyo, when the threat of other people watching him break down meant that he wouldn't. In all his interviews and TV appearances, Akechi had looked happy. Akira had dared to hope that, maybe...

Well. It hadn't lasted long. One look at him at Shido's party, with his perfect skin and fancy jumper and oh so carefully pretty hair, and Akira had known what he really was: a caged animal. Only now, they're in the cage together.

"So," he tries when they're alone in the corridor, staring at his feet as he speaks. "I... guess we're working together?"

"...It certainly seems that way."

Akechi makes an effort to sound cheery. But Akira can see all the little cracks he's trying to plaster over in real time, the way he clenches his fist and overcompensates with his smile. He's not happy Akira's here. Akira... isn't sure what to think of that.

"...What exactly are we supposed to do?"

He wants to say it jokingly - a typical high school student, who wasn't listening when the teacher handed out the homework. Instead, it turns to sludge in his mouth, as he remembers the kind of man Shido is, the things he saw at that party the other night, and the fact he's fucking owned by him -

Akechi lets out a sigh, coming to a stop by the elevator. There isn't just anger in his eyes - it's more complex than that, a line of tension running up the column of his spine. He presses the button with a little too much force. "I wouldn't worry about it yet, Kurusu. There's no point in it, after all."

If not even Akechi can disguise the trembling in his voice, it must be bad.

"Oh," Akira manages to get out, just as the elevator arrives. A crowd of people in business suits pour out; not one of them comments on the sight of two teenagers, so high up in a professional building. Once they leave, Akira and Akechi board the elevator together, and ride it down in silence.

Akira watches the way Akechi's fist trembles, clenched tightly around his briefcase. Just out of sight, the wings of a blue butterfly brush his ear.

(This is truly an unjust game...)

Notes:

So I'm actually playing Persona 4 right now, which is why I'm going all in on Akira being from Inaba - I like the idea of him growing up as a proper country boy, only to find his place in the city. I also absolutely hate the Guardian, I spent the whole game ranking up the fox just for this roadblock to appear, so I'm sharing some of my trauma with him.

Chapter 3: Goro; On The Nature of Obstacles

Notes:

TW for this chapter: violent thoughts, abuse, Shido

Stupid, conniving, egotistical BASTARD -

Goro is fine.

He can't quite stop his eye from twitching, but he's fine. He keeps blinking and losing track of time, disassociating hard enough that he can't remember the journey from Shido's office to Shibuya station, but he's fine. He's grinding his teeth together, feeling like his jaw should crack and split under the pressure, but he's FINE, he is, because -

Goro is in Mementos, tearing apart a Shadow. It doesn't stand a chance.

"Why? Why does he get EVERYTHING HE FUCKING WANTS?" he lets out a long, drawn-out scream as the Shadow turns to ash in front of him. He paces back and forth like a caged tiger, tangling his fingers in his hair and pulling, feeling the nick of his bladed gauntlets against his scalp. He summoned Loki today, wanting an outlet for his anger, something that could keep up, and there's freedom to be found as his mind blends with the serrated edges of his Persona.

"Why - what the actual FUCK did he ever do to deserve-"

It's the wrong question to be asking. Life is unfair - he's had that message drilled into him ever since he was a child, and he should know by now it isn't a question of deserving something or not. Life will throw shit at you, and you can either take it, or leave it. That's all.

But this... this is beyond the pale.

Shido found another fucking Metaverse user? Just one was enough to be considered a miracle, the real world momentarily brushing that of science fiction, but two? TWO? Goro is starting to think maybe Shido's drunken ramblings about being chosen by God are true after all, that's how fucking impossible this all is.

Two otherworldly assassins. Twice as much opportunity for carnage.

Goro had just watched his importance halve in real time.

Turns out, you're not so unique after all.

He screams again, the sound practically ripped from his throat. Hovering beside him, Loki grins his same old manic grin, unmoving. This isn't getting him anywhere. Gripping his sword so tightly it hurts, Goro storms deeper into Mementos, looking for something else to kill.

He hadn't just let it rest, after that meeting with Kurusu in Shido's office. He vaguely remembers walking Kurusu to the building's reception, before saying in a honey-sweet voice, "My apologies, Kurusu, but I think I left some papers upstairs. You go on ahead - I'll see you on Wednesday."

Kurusu had looked at him like he knew what he was thinking, like he saw right fucking through him, before responding with a simple 'OK'. He'd exited the glass doors, turning his back on Goro to walk down the too-steep concrete stairs, and for a moment, Goro had considered pushing him. It would be easy. Just a little push - then turn on the Detective Prince charm, giggling heehee, did I do that - and this new, emerging problem would be gone.

It wouldn't actually solve anything. But that little daydream certainly set the tone as Goro turned around, and went crawling back to Shido.

Shido had been expecting him.

"Akechi," he'd drawled, not looking up when Goro opened the door and stepped inside. And Goro hated that, hated being so predictable to Shido, of all people, but he hated everything right now, so that was just fine. "What? Were my instructions not clear enough?"

"Shido-san," Goro started, the door clicking shut behind him. "Apologies for the intrusion, but as you must understand, I have some questions I couldn't ask in front of Kurusu -"

"And why's that?" Shido's voice had started low and dangerous, and maybe that should have been Goro's first sign, but he was just too angry to see it. "Kurusu's part of the team now. You know, it's not very welcoming of you to talk about him behind his back."

God damn PIECE OF SHIT -

"I understand that, sir. I just wanted to share my worries before he... progresses too far in his role here," Goro chose his words carefully, inching slowly through this verbal minefield. When Shido didn't respond immediately, he took that as permission to continue, taking another step into the office.

"Sir - I know I'm not in a position to voice these suspicions, considering my own circumstances. But don't you think it's rather convenient that a random boy from the country has access to the MetaNav? We never did manage to pinpoint it's source, before that - unfortunate incident with Dr Isshiki. It seems incredibly unlikely that -"

"What incident, Akechi?"

Goro's jaw clamped shut. There were a few seconds of dangerous silence.

"...Sir?"

"What incident with Dr Isshiki, Akechi?" Shido repeated, so softly Goro almost couldn't hear him. He stood suddenly from his desk, and Goro was deeply embarrassed by the way his heart started pounding, fuck, fuck, I've messed up. "Describe it to me - would you?"

Goro gritted his teeth, trying to get himself under control. He had one foot on a landmine, but that was OK, it's fine, he just needed to move carefully. "I'm referring to Dr Isshiki's death -"

"Murder."

"Murder," Goro corrected himself quickly, eyes darting away from Shido's face, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes, "at my hands."

"Yes. At your hands, Akechi," Shido pointed at him. At the movement, Goro saw a flash of reflected light, and finally noticed the crystal tumbler in his other hand. Fuck. Fuck, he was drinking, what a fucking alcoholic, and the drink always made him worse. "You murdered Dr Isshiki, on my orders, using the Metaverse app. But it doesn't need to be you anymore, does it? If you're getting cold feet, starting to question what it is we're working towards here..."

Shit.

"No... Shido-san, that's not what I -"

"Don't FUCK with me, Akechi!" Shido exploded all at once, and Goro felt the landmine trigger just seconds before it detonated. He threw the glass, smashing it against the floor mere inches from Goro's feet, sending shards of crystal scattering across the office. It took superhuman effort not to flinch. "What is it, huh? What's wrong with you? Are you jealous? Coming to my office like this, like an insecure, jealous little bitch, not wanting to share with anyone else?"

"No - no, I -"

"I made you. Akechi. Did you forget? Everything you are, everything you have - I gave it to you. And now here you are, sniveling like a pathetic little dog, just like you were two years ago, like nothing's even fucking changed."

Goro felt the thread of things getting away from him. He felt dizzy - everything in the office suddenly seemed very distant. He tried opening his mouth to speak, "I -"

"I can take it away, if that's what you want. Give it all to Kurusu instead. His hands are a lot cleaner than yours, after all - maybe it's time for a fresh start. Maybe, he'll do a better job of it."

No no no no. Goro stared at the pile of broken glass on the floor and realised all his carefully laid plans were falling apart. He had to stop this. He had to -

"Do you see what I'm getting at, Akechi? Go on. I want you to say it."

He had to destroy Masayoshi Shido. And to do that, he needed to swallow his pride, and smile.

"Yes, sir," he said, forcing himself to look Shido in the eyes as he said it. He could feel the smile contorting his face - the way his cheeks lifted, the curve of his lips against his teeth, his eyes upturning sweetly. It felt very detached from him. Like he was wearing someone else's face. "I am expendable. I'm not in a position to be asking questions. I understand."

Shido stared back at him, hard; it felt like his eyes were cutting straight through him.

"Good," he said eventually, seemingly satisfied by whatever he saw there. He leaned over his desk, pressing a button to call his secretary - probably to clean all the broken glass. He never had learned how to deal with his own messes. "But if I catch you doing anything to stop Kurusu, or keep him from fulfilling his role - I'll drop you. Just like that. Are we clear?"

Goro let a hint of teeth show through his smile.

"As crystal, Shido-san."

When Goro comes back from the memory, he's as far down in Mementos as he can go. His muscles ache. His clothes are stained with the inky remains of Shadows. He can feel cuts and bruises decorating his body, injuries he doesn't remember getting. He leans with his head against the sealed door, breathing harshly, while Loki looms over him like a spectre.

He's not fine.

He needs a new plan. He... he needs a new plan. Then, he'll be fine. He's so close now, so very very close, and he's not going to let this little obstacle get in his way.

He releases a long, deep breath.

Kurusu won't get the better of him.

---

Wednesday comes. As Goro walks through the doors of Shido's office building, he tries his best to conjure that anger of a few days ago, that led him to practically demolish Mementos in a single afternoon. It's a struggle, when the target of his anger looks like that.

Kurusu is sitting at one of the plush armchairs in the lobby, frowning at a bundle of papers in his lap. Clearly, he came straight from school, because he's still in his uniform - a black blazer, white turtleneck and red plaid slacks. Goro struggles to remember which school it's from - is it Shujin? Why would Shido send Kurusu to Shujin, instead of keeping his two puppets in the same place? Still, he isn't complaining. He's seen enough of Kurusu already as it is.

As Goro gets closer, he realises Kurusu's paperwork is actually homework, and he's chewing on a pencil as he solves a quadratic equation. Some of the adults waiting in the lobby are shooting him suspicious looks. Kurusu seems completely oblivious.

"Just how long have you been here, Kurusu?" Goro says instead of greeting him, crossing his arms. Kurus looks up at him, the pencil still dangling from his mouth.

"I, err, came straight from school. Didn't want to be late."

"And you didn't think to get changed first? Or do your homework in the library?" Goro tries his best not to be patronising. Or... well, no, he absolutely doesn't, but really? Kurusu is doing his homework in the lobby?

Surprisingly, Kurusu actually looks uncomfortable. He looks away, playing with his fringe. "I, erm... right. The library. I'll do that next time."

Goro studies him for a moment. It seems a strange reaction - is there something wrong with Shujin's library that he's not aware of? Whatever.

(He's a little impressed he's bothering with homework at all, considering what's about to happen.)

"Are you ready then?" Goro presses, feeling a bit ridiculous, like a teacher organising a school trip. Kurusu nods and starts pulling his homework together, shoving it haphazardly into his schoolbag. "Good. Let's get going."

"Err - are we not...?" Kurusu points upwards awkwardly.

"No, not today. Shido-san's a busy man, and this is only the first session after all. He'll involve himself later, when there's more likely to be... results."

"Results. Right," he repeats tonelessly.

As they both head towards the train station, Goro tries his best to read Kurusu, objectively. It's surprisingly difficult. His face is so closed off, eyes hiding behind the glare of his lenses, and he just doesn't... react the way people are supposed to. Right now, he should be asking questions - where are we going, what are we doing, is it going to hurt. But he isn't. Instead, he slouches, staring at the floor. At least, until he looks up and catches Goro looking at him.

"What?" he says, one corner of his mouth twitching, just a little. They're standing side-by-side on the train, packed in like sardines. When the train wobbles, they move in and out of each other's personal space, slightly too close for comfort. "Do I have something on my face?"

Goro doesn't justify the comment with a reaction. "You really should change, next time," he says instead. "Your uniform will draw unnecessary attention. We're trying to be discreet."

"And here I thought I was making a fashion statement," he says wryly. Then, he looks Goro up and down, so quickly he can't even be sure it happened. "Hard to compete with the sweater vests, though."

"...Excuse me?" Goro says, not quite able to believe what he was hearing. Is Kurusu... judging his fashion sense? Now? While he's wearing a school uniform and his hair looks like an actual bird's nest?

"The sweater vests," Kurusu repeats, seemingly blind to Goro's mounting rage. "I've watched a few of your interviews. You're always wearing them."

"They're professional, Kurusu."

"They look too warm. And uncomfortable."

"That -" Is entirely true. Goro bites his tongue, "That's beside the point. As a celebrity, and nominated liaison for the police, I'm expected to maintain a certain image -"

"Oh, I see. Thank God."

"Thank God for what?"

"Well, I figured it was one of two reasons. Either Shido and his associates get you to dress a certain way, to keep up that whole 'pleasant boy' thing you've got going on. Or, you actually like wearing sweater vests and slacks. If that was true, I wouldn't know what to do with you."

Goro hates him. He really, genuinely hates him, this stupid, arrogant little boy -

"Again, I must remind you that you're in your school uniform, Kurusu," Goro, by some miracle, manages to keep his voice frostily polite. "Perhaps you should remove yourself from that glass house before you start throwing stones."

Kurusu gives a secret little smile, but doesn't respond. Still, he seems less guarded when they reach their destination and exit the train.

"Where are we going?" he says, finally, when Goro nudges him out of the train station. He sounds somewhat resigned, but also wary, sticking close to Goro to avoid being swept away by the crowd. It occurs to Goro, suddenly, that he's not from the city. He's not used to this hustle and bustle, has absolutely no idea where he is - Goro could take him anywhere in Tokyo and he probably wouldn't know the difference. It's a weakness. He files it away for later.

"A medical facility in Shinjuku," Goro says. There's a sharp turn up ahead - he grabs Kurusu by the hand before he can go the wrong way, pulling him along roughly. "I set up a meeting with the cognitive psience research team on Shido-san's behalf. If you have the app, they'll want to take a look at you before we use it."

"A medical team?" For the first time, something akin to nerves enters Kurusu's voice. Goro can't help but latch onto it.

"Yes, Kurusu. I do hope you're not scared of doctors."

"Terrified," he says flatly. "I just break down screaming at the sight of a stethoscope. Needles give me instant heart attacks."

He sounds sarcastic, but Goro listens to people for a living, and can hear the slightest hint of truth in it. Oh dear, he thinks uncharitably. This might be a rude awakening for him. I'm not catching him if he ends up fainting.

It gets him wondering, though - he still doesn't know why Kurusu is here. If he's so scared of needles, this is hardly the best job for him. Why did he choose to do this? How did he and Shido even meet? Adopting his silkiest tone, he tries his best to pry.

"Why did you sign up for this internship, anyway?"

Kurusu shoots him a look, which Goro doesn't have the faintest idea how to read. He bites his lip before he responds, teeth pulling at a chapped edge, and looks away quickly. "Shido hasn't told you?"

"No." The bastard didn't get that far before he threw a fucking glass at me.

"And you're a detective. Are you saying you haven't run a full background check on me yet?"

"No," Goro says, annoyed because it's true. He'd tried to look Kurusu up as soon as he got back from Mementos that night, leveraging his access to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police database to research this new obstacle in his life. But it seems Shido, in all his petulant glory, has blocked him from accessing Kurusu's file - when he tried, all he got was a bright red ERROR message. It's left him in the dark, and he doesn't like being left in the dark. "Believe it or not, I have better things to do with my time. Now are you going to answer? Or are you just going to avoid the question?"

"The second one, probably," Kurusu tugs forcefully on Goro's hand, making him come to a stop. Goro hadn't even realised he was still holding it. "Is this the place?"

It is. The building looms, deceptively normal, a modern white new build with a red placard over the entrance. Doctors in white uniforms linger in the windows. Every time the automatic doors open, Goro catches a whiff of antiseptic. He hasn't been to this place in years. Not since -

He clenches his jaw, letting go of Kurusu's hand. This is going to be a long day. He'll have to postpone their discussion for later.

"Yes, this is it. After you, Kurusu - you're the guest of honour, after all."

Notes:

Happy 20/11 guys!

Chapter 4: Akira; Numbness

Notes:

TW for this chapter: unethical experimentation, needles, needle phobia

They wouldn't let Akira use the library at school.

It's strange, considering everything that's happened to him since he came to Tokyo, that this is what catches him off-guard.

He spent his first night here at a party filled with leeches and perverts, and the evening had simply passed like a surreal nightmare. A few days ago, he stood in a high-rise building while a rich and powerful man decided his future for him, and he'd treated it as nothing more than a chore. Right now, at this very moment, he's listening to a white-suited doctor throw around words like electroshock therapy and blood tests and neuroimaging - and all he can think about is the girl behind the library desk, and the look on her face when he'd introduced himself.

"Actually... you're the transfer student, right? Maybe - maybe it would be best if you didn't come in here. It might make the other students nervous."

Somehow, everyone at school knew about his criminal record. Their whispers followed him in the halls. His homeroom teacher wished he wouldn't come to school. Akira had been preparing himself to be Shido's guinea pig, to go numb and let him do whatever he wanted to him. He hadn't been preparing for that.

"A basic examination for today, I think - just to give us a baseline before you start work," the doctor says cheerily, busying himself by the desk. He seems surprisingly chatty for someone who does illegal medical procedures on teenagers. "Please, take a seat. And if you could take off your blazer, that'd be great."

The only seat available is a leather recliner, coloured a light medical blue to match the walls. There are straps attached to the armrests. Akira sits in it awkwardly while he peels off his blazer, trying to ignore Akechi, lingering in his periphery. He wants to ask why he's still here - aren't checkups meant to be private? At the same time, he can't stand the idea of being alone.

(actually... transfer student, right?)

(...might make the other students nervous...)

"Roll up your sleeves too - there's a good lad," the doctor turns around. There's a monstrous-looking needle in his hand. "This won't take a minute."

Akira swallows loudly. He hadn't lied to Akechi earlier, technically - he's scared stiff of needles, has been ever since he was a child. As it comes closer, he fights the desire to recoil, make himself as small as possible and hide every square inch of skin so the doctor can't get him. It's as pointless as it is childish. He knows Shido won't put up with such insubordination, and he refuses to give him the satisfaction.

He tries to focus on that tiny ember of rebellion as the doctor approaches, still nodding absently at whatever he's saying. Akira can see his mouth moving, but can't hear anything. It's like he's been submerged underwater, making everything dull and muffled.

He feels the scrape of something cold against his arm.

A sudden, sharp pierce, as the needle dips beneath his flesh.

He can't help but squeeze his eyes shut, breathing heavily, willing his stomach to stop heaving until he feels the needle withdraw.

"-there we go, now!" the doctor's voice comes back into focus all at once. "There's the first blood sample done. Give me two minutes to file this away  - we'll see how it compares to Akechi-kun's old samples, shall we?"

Akira tries to focus his eyes open as the doctor leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. There are funny grey spots dancing across his vision. Huh. That can't be good.

"How are the heart attacks, Kurusu?" a strangely snide voice speaks up. It takes Akira a minute to figure out what he's talking about - but when he does, he laughs in surprise.

"Haven't killed me yet," he rasps, though really he's not so sure. Still, he makes himself sit up straight, refusing to faint in front of Akechi - something tells him he'd never live it down. "God, is that something I'll have to do a lot?"

"I think I gave about three litres of blood by the end," Akechi quips. He sounds far too happy about it, like he knows how much Akira wants to throw up and enjoys it, this asshole. Still, it helps distract Akira from the dizziness. "You get used to it after a while."

Akira groans, closing his eyes again and resting his head against the padded seat. The room is still spinning. He really, really doesn't want to vomit on Akechi's pristine leather loafers (even if it would be really funny), so he tries his best to focus on something else.

(you're... transfer student?)

(don't come in here)

Not that.

"So you've done this before, have you?" he asks, just for something to say. With his eyes closed, he can't see how Akechi reacts. There's a slightly too-long silence before he responds.

"Of course."

"What exactly are we trying to achieve?"

"You really don't know anything, do you?" Akechi's tone is clipped, disapproving. Woozy, Akira thinks he might be able to live off it.

"I don't get paid to ask questions," he jokes. Thinks for a second. "Actually - I don't know if I get paid at all."

There's another long silence. Then -

"Shido-san gives us an allowance on the first of every month. It's usually quite generous. You should be fine."

Akira laughs again, for no reason at all. It occurs to him that Akechi didn't really answer his question. Before he can call him out on it, though, the door opens, and the chatty doctor (Akira refuses to learn his name) returns. 

"Perfect, that's all done. Ready for the next test, Kurusu-kun?"

Kurusu-kun thinks he might projectile vomit all over this office. Still, he grits his teeth and nods, some of his old stubbornness coming back to him. With Akechi watching, he's determined to get through this with his dignity intact, even if it kills him.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

---

Time passes, in a blur of medical data and technical jargon Akira only pretends to understand. Some of the exams are surprisingly normal - the doctor taking his blood pressure, weight and height; shining lights in his eyes and asking if there's any history of illness in the family. Others are just... bizarre.

Like the one where they lock Akira alone in a dark room, strapped to that recliner, and show him flashing images until he's seconds away from a seizure.

Or where they show him a bunch of ink-blot drawings (what are they called again? Rorschach tests?) and ask him to write his first impressions in five words or less.

Or when they shove him into what looks like an MRI machine, and he learns just how small and fragile his body really is.

(He hates that one the most.)

By the time it's all over, the doctor is practically quivering with excitement, and Akira feels like he's been bled dry. He doesn't sit so much as slump in the leather recliner, elbows on his knees, head in his hands as he tries to steady his breathing. That spark from before is gone. He wants to melt into a puddle on the floor.

He gives himself exactly ten seconds to wallow, before he needs to squash this feeling down and pull himself back together. He only makes it to five when something cold presses against his forehead, making him jump.

Akechi's face is unmistakably smug as he looms over him. There's a soda can in his hand, which he holds out to Akira. "Ah, Kurusu. Don't tell me you're falling asleep now. We've only just started, after all."

Akira ignores him, instead eying the soda suspiciously. He hadn't seen Akechi bring it in. Akechi must see the look on his face, because he laughs lightly.

"Oh, this? Don't worry - I stole it from the nurse's break room. From experience, keeping your blood sugar up will help. Now, I don't know about you, but I don't want to be here all night, so drink it and we can move on." 

"...Move on to what?" he takes the soda. As he does, his finger brushes Akechi's, just for a moment. At some point in the afternoon, he'd taken off his gloves. His hands are surprisingly warm. "What else is there?"

"Well, now that the research team know what they're working with, we're going to have you use the app and see what happens," Akechi says. Akira wonders if he practices wording things in the most ominous, least helpful way possible, or if it just comes naturally to him. "I'll go in with you this time, so I can explain the basics. Hopefully this will answer any questions you may have."

"...'Go in' with me?" he furrows his brow and takes a sip of the soda. Akechi's right - it does make him feel better. "Go where? I don't understand."

"It will be easier to show you, than to try and explain it. So hurry up - Dr Ito will be back soon, and I don't think you want to explain where you got that soda."

Akira rolls his eyes, but starts chugging the drink anyway, too bone-deep exhausted to argue. So much for answering my questions.

"Fantastic - that should be everything we need," the doctor says happily when he re-enters the room (the empty soda can tucked securely in Akira's school bag). A small, balding man of around fifty, he practically bounces on the balls of his feet when he walks, moving to stand in front of Akira and Akechi. His eyes flick between the two boys expectantly. "We can proceed with the experiment now."

"Good," Akechi says sweetly, in a way Akira is sure actually means finally. He fishes his phone out of his pocket; sometime before the doctor returned, he must've put his gloves back on, because all Akira can see is brown leather. "Take out your phone, Kurusu."

It takes Akira a moment to realise what he said. "Oh," he says eventually, digging around in his own pockets. "Right."

His phone is beat up, an old model he hasn't bothered replacing in years. There's a crack in the screen where the cop dropped it that night. He ignores it.

"What do you know about cognitive psience, Kurusu?" Akechi asks as he inputs his password. There's that smugness to his voice again, alongside a sense of anticipation, like he's an entertainer on stage, building up to something big. Akira's skin prickles in spite of himself.

"Not much," he says cautiously. The doctor is still listening from a few feet away. Suddenly, his eyes don't seem so much expectant as they do hungry, waiting for something to happen.

"What about analytical psychology? Carl Jung? The sea of the unconscious?" Akechi presses, clearly expecting him to say 'no'.

"I've come across them," Akira says. It's not technically a lie - he's done a few crossword puzzles and TV quizzes in his time. "Jung worked with Freud, I think? And the sea of the unconscious is... basically the idea that all humans share a bit of brain space, right?"

"A bit of brain space -" Akechi repeats, seemingly offended, before cutting himself off with a frustrated sigh. "Yes, fine, we'll go with that. Well - the field of cognitive psience posits that another plane of existence runs parallel to our own, based on human cognition and the sea of the unconscious. It's a supernatural study. That's why it's called 'psience', not 'science'. Isn't that right, Dr Ito?"

The doctor nods enthusiastically, "Yes, yes, that's right, Akechi-kun -"

Akechi continues without waiting for him to finish. "Obviously, that sounds ridiculous by itself. I'm not sure I ever would have believed it, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. But that's exactly what the MetaNav allows us to do. With it, we can see and interact with that world, and use to it... influence change on other people, on a subconscious level."

Alarm bells start ringing in Akira's head. For the first time since he arrived in Tokyo, he allows himself to actually consider what the hell he's gotten himself into. "OK..."

Akechi shoots him a wry look, correctly reading the tone his voice has taken on. "I did tell you it was hard to believe. Now - will you kindly open your app?"

"...OK."

Akira does as he's told. For a moment, he hesitates, the pad of his finger hovering over the red-and-black eye, before pressing down. At the contact, it's like an electric current runs from his phone through his skin; the air around him becomes charged. The eye fills his phone screen like an eclipse.

There's a blinking cursor on the screen, and three data fields to input information.

"What do I do now?" he says, when Akechi doesn't immediately issue more orders. Instead, he stares at Akira's phone, seemingly just as entranced by the red-and-black swirls as Akira was. Almost imperceptibly, he clenches his jaw. Oh. Oh, he didn't believe I actually had it, Akira realises in real time. When he raises his eyes to look at Akira, there's a hard look on his face.

"Dr Ito. Can you remind me of your keywords, please?"

"Of course, Akechi-kun," the doctor's teeth show through his exultant smile. He takes a few more, purposeful steps backward. "Minato Ito. Shinjuku Hospital. Freak show."

Akechi's eyes won't let go of Akira's. He says, almost softly, "Repeat that for me, Kurusu."

Akira swallows. He looks away first, to stare at the pulsating image on his phone screen again. Everything Akechi said... it sounded like fiction. But with two pair of eyes on him, watching his every move, he can't help but think, maybe... it might be true.

He repeats the words slowly.

"Minato Ito. Shinjuku Hospital. Freak show."

Candidate found.

Beginning navigation.

Notes:

Surprise, there's plot! Originally, I was just gonna have the boys go to Mementos for this chapter, but Goro must have seen so many more Palaces in his two years as Black Mask than the Phantom Thieves ever did, and it seemed a shame to miss out on that. So please spare me this little indulgence.

Also, a little disclaimer in advance - obviously freak shows were horrible things, and I'll be treating this Palace in particular like a horror game to accommodate that. The next few chapters will therefore have trigger warnings for blood, gore, medical trauma etc. However, they won't go into the inherent ablism of actual freak shows, since Ito's will work a little differently - just in case you were worried about that.

Chapter 5: Akira; Freak Show

Notes:

TW for this chapter: blood and gore, violence, improper medical practice, near death experience, implied suicidal thoughts.

Reality seems to bleed.

Akira watches in horror as his surroundings fade away like smeared paint. The chalky whites of the exam room peel back, swirling into pulsating shades of red, black and white. The noise of the hospital, the everyday shuffling of feet and beeping of machinery, hush to a whisper - before building back up, transforming into the distant roar of an excited crowd. The doctor in front of him smiles on last time, before fading from existence entirely. They're alone.

Akira's breathing becomes shallow. He stands in a daze, knees nearly giving out from underneath him. His body feels... different. Lighter, somehow - like gravity isn't pulling at him the same way. Like he could survive a thousand foot drop.

The thought is strangely electrifying. He laughs in disbelief.

"Holy shit..." he turns in a slow circle, drinking in this new place, this new world. It's a circus tent, he realises with a jolt, looking up at the concave ceiling. The walls aren't walls at all, but rustling fabric. The ground is scattered with hay. There's a smell in the air, sweet and smoky, like popcorn, and he can't help but wonder, "What the hell is this place - whoa!"

As he makes a full turn, he starts in surprise. Akechi - or who he assumes is Akechi - has changed. Now, he's wearing a bright white uniform, trimmed in gold, with a red cape and red mask. He looks at Akira with his arms crossed, unimpressed.

Definitely Akechi, then.

"Something you want to say, Kurusu?" he says scathingly.

Akira can tell what he wants just by looking at him. He wants Akira to bombard him with questions so he can answer them, playing the part of the gracious teacher; or else collapse from sheer shock and terror, so he can go back to Shido and tell him the new kid is no good. Truthfully, Akira kinda wants to do both those things. Because Akechi wants them, though, he chooses neither.

"Still better than the sweater vests," he says with a simple shrug. Akechi's fists bunch in the fabric of his sleeves.

"You know, I can leave you in here, if that's what you want."

"I'll be good," he says quickly. Unable to help himself, his eyes start wandering again. "So... the sea of the unconscious, huh?"

"That's right. We're currently in Dr Ito's cognition of the hospital."

Akira hums, before his brain catches up and he realises what Akechi just said. "Wait. The doctor... sees the hospital as a freak show?"

"Yes," Akechi says. Despite how matter-of-factly he says it, there's no hiding his downturned eyes, the way his mouth curls in distaste. "When someone becomes distorted by their desires, it creates something like this - what the research team has dubbed a 'Palace'. It means they don't see reality as it really is. Instead, they see it as they want it to be - or, believe it to be."

"That's -" Akira abruptly feels like being sick again. He remembers the doctor's excitement, the way his deep-set eyes had looked at him and Akechi, almost with greed. "That's disgusting."

"Hmm... I can't say I disagree. But are you really surprised? That's human nature, after all."

Akira... doesn't know what he thinks. Something deep inside him says Akechi is wrong, he has to be. But... this...

In the end, he settles for a non-committal hum, not looking at him.

"Not everyone has a Palace. Most people just have a Shadow - a figure that represents their hidden self, their innermost thoughts and desires. But Shido-san likes having Palace rulers on his payroll. In fact, he prefers it."

"Why?"

"Because - they're easier to control," Akechi answers smoothly. "It's easier to get people to believe a lie when they lack objectivity. And people reveal themselves so much more when they have a Palace - they can't help it. I've been monitoring this one for the past two years, making sure Ito hasn't told anyone about this little operation, or done anything to endanger it. When someone can see your deepest, darkest thoughts, it's impossible to lie to them."

"But then... why was he so happy about it?" Akira demands. The thought of someone poking around in his mind, seeing everything he fought to keep hidden, made his stomach roll in disgust. But the doctor hadn't been like that at all.

"Ito is... a special case," Akechi breathes out deeply through his nose; Akira wonders how many words he's holding back. "It makes sense, in a way. He sees the hospital as a freak show. By having a Palace and participating in these experiments, he is both ringmaster and performer. It's a kind of maladaptive voyeurism, which I wouldn't think about too much, if I were you."

Trust me, I'm trying not to. Akira tries to scrub that knowledge from his mind while he considers his next question.

"So why do you look like that? Does the doctor see you as some kind of... fancy bird?"

If looks could kill, Akira would be dead a hundred times over.

"Actually, this is my perception of myself," Akechi says frostily. He makes a sweeping gesture towards his mask, "Alongside Shadows and Palaces, there's another form your cognition can take. If you face the darker side of yourself, and have a strong enough will, you will be granted a Persona, which takes the form of your spirit of rebellion. It helps you protect yourself in here."

"So your 'spirit of rebellion' is a fancy bird - wait, did you say 'protect yourself'?"

"Yes, Kurusu. Yes I did," Akechi smiles, all teeth. "You didn't think this place was safe, did you? We are in the mind of a very maladapted individual - borderline deranged. There are threats in here which will kill us, if we're not careful."

If YOU'RE not careful, Akechi doesn't say, though Akira hears it all the same. He makes a mental note to hold off on teasing him for now.

"But I don't have one of those... Persona things."

"No, you don't. Which makes you fairly useless in here. But not to worry. As Shido-san said the other day, the purpose of this experiment is to remedy that. Speaking of which - we really should be going. There are only so many hours in the day, and I want to at least try and awaken your Persona before it ends."

"OK. Right. OK," Akira says, brow furrowing, brain running at a million miles an hour. He glances at the door, which is now just a yawning curtain, fluttering slightly in a non-existent breeze. "Err - after you, I guess?"

Akechi rolls his eyes, but goes first anyway. Alone in the exam-room-slash-circus-thing, Akira gives it one last, uncertain glance. Packages it all up in his mind. And moves on.

He steps out in to a... courtyard? It's dark and empty, with jet black cobbles beneath his feet and sickly fairy lights strung up above, illuminating more tents in the vicinity. It looks like a Bosch painting. He only has a few seconds to take it in before Akechi tugs on his hand.

"Don't wander off," he says, pulling him along. That easy, careless confidence of before is gone. Well - not gone, not exactly, but transmuted, becoming something more concentrated and lethal. His steps are quick, measured. His eyes dart smoothly from one shadow to the next. He keeps one hand on the sword at his side, firm and practiced in a way that makes Akira wonder - just how many times has he done this?

"Ito's Palace isn't very well developed. Basically just this courtyard and a few tents, which makes it perfect for our purposes," he explains quietly as they explore. "Incidentally, that last tent is the only safe one. Every other area, including this courtyard, will have enemies present - so keep an eye out for movement."

"Roger that," Akira's mouth is dry. Adrenaline pumps in his veins. 

(He finds the sensation quite addictive.)

As they walk, another tent catches his eye - perhaps the biggest, patterned in candy-cane stripes of black and blue. It seems to be at the centre of the courtyard, and yet it's the only tent that's completely unilluminated. Akira can just barely make out the sign hanging over the entrance if he squints: The Hall of Broken Mirrors.

"Focus, Kurusu," Akechi snaps beside him. His eyes linger on the tent before pulling Akira forward. "We're not going in there."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't feel like scraping your guts off the floor today." Another forceful pull. Akechi isn't looking at him. "That's the centre of Ito's distortion, and therefore the most dangerous part of this Palace. Now, will you trust that I'm trying to keep you alive, and follow me like a good boy, hmm?"

Akira clenches his jaw - but ultimately, does as he's told. It's not like he has a lot of choice right now anyway.

Eventually, Akechi directs him to another tent - this one medium-sized, striped in burgundy. The overhanging sign reads Ward 108. Creative.

"This will do," he says, holding the curtain open. After a brief hesitation, Akira squeezes past him.

Inside, the tent is in near total darkness. It forms a long, narrow hallway, much longer than the exterior of the tent should allow, with a glass wall running up one side, emitting a faint blue glow. It's a display case. Akira feels dread well up inside his chest. He braces himself before looking inside.

Oh God -

Almost immediately, he's greeted with an anatomical model of the human body, rendered in painstaking, almost loving detail. His gaze catches on a wet curl of intestine; a discoloured bruise spreading across a ribcage; a gristly cross-section of the human heart, bared on a red velvet pillow. 

And it's all like that. As his eyes skim further down the case, it's all he sees - human bodies in various stages of dissection, of different sizes and sexes, propped up and illuminated to make every lurid detail pop. It's not like looking in a medical book, all matter-of-fact and to-the-point. It reminds Akira more of a tabloid magazine, where every single thing is designed to be ogled.

A freak show.

He stares at the display, biting down hard on his bottom lip. It takes him a moment to recognise what he's feeling, but when the taste of blood floods his mouth, he realises - it's hate.

Akira hates Dr Ito.

The sheer, savage force of his anger surprises him. He's trying to shake it off when Akechi says quietly, "Kurusu. Over there."

Something about Akechi's tone makes him snap back to attention. He pulls his gaze away and looks down the hallway.

Standing there, half-cast in shadow, is a human figure - a ringmaster, complete with coat tails and a top hat. But it's also... not. It shambles, half-formed. It has no face, instead wearing a featureless white mask. With every movement, there's a wet smacking sound, the sound of poorly-constructed muscles moving together to mimic the human form, and Akira knows, without Akechi having to tell him, that this creature wants to kill him.

He steps backwards on instinct. The movement makes a slight, barely-there noise - but it's enough. The creature cocks its head, curious. And begins lumbering towards him.

"Akechi," he says uncertainly. There's a dreaminess to the scenario, which keeps him from outright panicking. Instead, he just keeps retreating, not taking his eyes off the creature as it approaches, getting faster and faster. "Akechi, what do I do?"

The creature lets out an inhuman roar as it gets a good look at its prey. It drops to all fours, abandoning any pretense at humanity in favour of charging, bestial and vicious. Akira's back hits the outer wall of the tent. His heart starts to pound, breathing coming quicker and quicker as his body catches up to what's happening, even as his mind remains blissfully blank. He swallows, "Akechi -"

There's a loud, exaggerated sigh to his left.

"Honestly."

Akechi steps in front of him, throwing out a hand to keep him in place. The other hand draws his sword - glowing, charged with energy, a freaking lightsaber, like something from the movies. As if in slow motion, Akira sees the creature leap, soaring through the air - only to be skewered.

It lets out a wet gurgle, not quite dead as it lurches backwards, a fountain of inky blood spattering from the wound in its chest. It slumps to the floor, twitching. With an air of exaggerated casualness, Akechi approaches it. He kneels down and wraps his fingers around its mask, and Akira is about to cry out when he rips it off in a single, smooth motion.

It might be the coolest thing he's ever seen.

"There," Akechi says, satisfied. Behind him, Akira can see the ringmaster's body twitch, turning inside out and transforming into... something else. A long, mottled brown body, split down the middle with a vertical slit for a mouth. Feelers sprout from its forehead. Each gnarled tooth is the size of Akira's forearm. He's as fascinated as he is disgusted by it.

"This is a Shadow," Akechi says, turning his back on the creature to look at Akira. "An aspect of Ito's psyche - and one that will gladly kill you, as you've doubtless worked out for yourself. So... go ahead."

He makes a sweeping gesture towards the writhing body. Akira... doesn't understand.

"What?"

"It's all yours, Kurusu," Akechi's eyes are unreadable behind his mask, but his smile is small and cruel. "Personas are only awoken under extreme circumstances, where the subject is in genuine fear for their life. So - best of luck."

"Wait - Akechi!" Akira shouts, but it's too late. Akechi steps around the creature, leaving it lying between them, and is quickly lost in the darkness of the hallway - though Akira can still feel his eyes watching him.

He soon has bigger things to worry about. The creature is recovering quickly, standing on spindly, sinewy legs and looming over Akira, easily twice his height. It roars. Akira barely has enough time to steady himself before it attacks.

The creature's claws swipe across his body, clipping his shoulder with the force of a battering ram. Akira grunts, falling to one knee and using the momentum to roll out of the way, avoiding the next attack by the skin of his teeth. His heart is pounding - his every sense seems heightened, focused on the corpse-creature behind him. He thinks it might be blind. Before it can recover enough to sense him, he gets to his feet and shoves, hands slipping against the slimy texture of its skin. It stumbles forward, but doesn't fall. All he managed to do was annoy it. It lets out another angry roar.

The monster swipes again, before Akira can get his hands up to protect his face. Something warm splatters across his cheek - there's a cut, splitting across his forehead. The force of the blow knocks him sideways, leaving him prone against the floor. Before he can do anything, the monster rakes down his back, claws following the length of his spine. Akira screams.

"Come on, Kurusu," Akechi's voice prods from the darkness. "Do you want to die here or not? Stand up and fight."

Akira grits his teeth and drags himself forward - too slow. He feels the weight of the creature kneeling on his back, pinning his legs into place. He tries desperately to dislodge it, only to feel the pinprick of claws against the nape of his neck. They press, agonisingly slowly, like the prick of a needle. Akira can feel its breath along the length of his body as it salivates.

"Kurusu," Akechi says sharply. "What are you doing? Get. Up."

He's trying, fuck, struggling on the cold hard floor, twisting his head backwards and forwards as he works to free himself. Like this, he can see into the display case again. His gaze locks onto a preserved eye, lying suspended in a jar of clear fluid, and he imagines himself joining the doctor's collection. Becoming just another thing for him to gawk at, preserved for all time behind a glass case. That hate runs through him again. He... he doesn't want to die here. Not to this monster, not because of Ito, not because of Shido. He... he refuses...

...But that isn't entirely true, is it?

Akira feels his heart thud against his ribcage. The voice in his head is quiet, persuasive, and so unexpected he stops moving entirely. The claws on his neck press harder.

'You don't want to die here', you say.

But even if you survive, what will that accomplish?

You'll still be working for Shido.

The good doctor will play with you whenever he wants.

You'll still be you - the unwanted, criminal delinquent, the TRANSFER STUDENT (DON'T COME IN HERE). Treated as a pawn in Shido's game, with no choice in the matter of your future - and no way to escape it.

...Well. No way, except -

"ROBIN HOOD!"

A sudden, blinding light sparks in the dark, whistling through the air like an arrow. Akira buries his face in his hands as it hits the creature above him, exploding like a mini supernova. The creature cries out once, in absolute agony - before disintegrating.

The needle-pressure disappears from Akira's neck. The weight vanishes from his back. He sucks in a few desperate, hungry breaths. He's free.

Gritting his teeth, he looks up, trying to see through the blood dripping into his eyes. Akechi is standing over him, an unreadable look on his face. His mask is gone. Behind him is a bulky, humanoid figure with a winged bow and arrow, resplendent and glowing, looking like every superhero Akira has ever seen. He fights the desire to laugh. That must be a Persona. Akechi's expecting him to get one of those?

"Well... that could have gone better," Akechi says. The words are as toneless as they are contemptuous, like he's too disgusted to even get angry. Akira can't help but agree. "Maybe we should pick this up next time."

The Persona - Robin Hood? - vanishes in a flash of blue flames. Akechi stalks past Akira without a word, pointedly not offering him a hand up. Akira can't bring himself to care. He can't bring himself to move either, to tell the truth. It's like all his exhaustion from before has come back tenfold, and he can barely keep himself together.

Trembling, he raises a hand to the back of his neck. It comes back soaked in blood. He stares at it unseeingly.

He could have died, just now.

...

(He waits for a reaction that never comes.)

Numbness spreads throughout his body. He gets to his feet unsteadily, the wounds on his back, face and neck throbbing distantly. Akechi is waiting for him by the curtain. They exit the Metaverse in silence, not looking at each other.

Notes:

Sorry guys, Akira's kinda going through it right now. I do have an explanation for why I don't think he'd awaken his Persona under these circumstances, so if you think it's OOC, just bear with me - I've spent waaaay too much time thinking about this.

Also, the Shadow is meant to be a Pisaca. I've been doing some research into the different Shadows in Persona 5, trying to find the best ones for Ito's Palace (I told you I'd spent too much time thinking about this), and Pisacas are "demonic creatures that feast on human meat, especially corpses." I think this works really well for Ito and how he sees the human body as something to be consumed visually. All the other Shadows mentioned will have some kinda reasoning behind them too, so let me know if you're interested in hearing it.

Chapter 6: Goro; Get Angry at Me

Notes:

TW: near death experiences, injury, threats and coercion, Shido

The first time was forgivable. And, to an exponentially lesser extent, the second, third and fourth.

By the eleventh? Goro is losing his fucking patience.

"...Well then," he seethes when Kurusu gets overpowered by an Inugami, a fucking Inugami, what kind of WEAKLING has he been saddled with? He dispatches the Shadow quickly with a Megaton Raid before stalking forward and rolling Kurusu onto his back, not waiting for him to recover. He practically throws the roll of bandages in his face, ready to start the tedious process of healing him so they can try again.

And again.

And again and again and again -

"Maybe try dodging next time, Kurusu," he says, voice dripping with polite venom. Kurusu doesn't respond, still blinking dazedly up at the ceiling. There's a bruise blossoming on his cheekbone. "Remember: these creatures want to kill you. If you want to survive, you'll need to confront that, and fight with lethal intent."

"...Uh-huh," Kurusu grunts - an entirely lacklustre reaction. At least he sits up, grabbing the bandages and sticking one to his face; through the power of cognition, it seems to leech the bruise from his skin, leaving only a faint rosy-red mark. It says a lot that Kurusu isn't even shocked anymore. "I understand that."

"Hmm? Forgive me, but I'm not sure you do," Goro says sweetly. Internally, he's screaming, wishing he could just get the boy to understand the situation they're in. It's been three weeks since Kurusu first entered the Metaverse. They've had twice-weekly sessions with Dr Ito since then, and he still hasn't awakened to his Persona. Shido is getting impatient - he has no use for such a dull weapon, and Goro refuses to be the target of his ire when it's all Kurusu's fault.

"It won't be a simple matter of you fainting and waiting for me to pick you back up, you know," he continues. "If I'm too late stepping in, at any point, you will be dead."

"Trust me, I'm aware," Kurusu says, and he still sounds so fucking calm, it's infuriating. "I'm not exactly enjoying myself here, you know."

Goro bites back a sneer. He looks down on Kurusu as he deals with his remaining injuries, watching the marks on his skin heal, turning pale and smooth once again. The exhaustion is still etched on his face, but there's nothing to be done about that. As soon as he's finished, Goro drags him to his feet; Kurusu blinks, but ultimately allows himself to be manhandled.

"Come on - let us go. What's the phrase? 'Eleventh time lucky'?"

They wander the Palace until they find another Shadow, this one taking the form of a blue-tinted nurse, wearing a facemask. Goro rolls his eyes as he sneaks up behind it, jumping nimbly upon its shoulders and ripping off its mask. Call him a snob, but he's always disliked Ito's Palace for precisely this reason - the idiot always mixed his metaphors.

He's aware of Kurusu's eyes burning into his back when he lands, side-stepping the Shadow's writhing form with a flourish. Maybe he's just being unkind, but there's something a lot like jealousy on his face, watching Goro with rapt attention. He can't help but smirk a little. Well, maybe if you grew a spine and stopped letting these weaklings walk all over you, you'd be a little more competent than you are now.

"Begin," he says with a sarcastic little bow. Kurusu grits his teeth.

This Shadow is an Eligor - an armoured demon upon a horse, and another low-level runt, which Goro could crush into slime beneath his heel without breaking a sweat. He taps his foot against the floor impatiently as Kurusu approaches it, his body tense like a live wire. He does actually dodge this time, when the Eligor lunges - only to end up backed into a corner, with nowhere to run. The Shadow roars. It lowers its spear, point centred with Kurusu's chest. Then, using the full length of the narrow hallway to its advantage, it begins to charge.

"Is this how you want to die, Kurusu?" Goro tries goading him. There's a faint spark in the other boy's eyes, a buried seed of rebellion, and he does his best to coax it out. "Trapped in someone else's mind? Someone who wants to tear you apart, dissect you like some kind of object, just to see how you work inside?"

The horse's hooves thunder down the hall. Kurusu keeps his gaze locked on it, jaw clenched, leaning forward slightly, with the tips of his fingers braced against the wall - chest exposed, completely unprotected, and yet, unafraid. For a moment, Goro thinks finally, this is it -

He sees the spark fade from Kurusu's eyes just seconds before the Eligor is on him. The boy sags - it's too late to move - the spear skewers him, rupturing the soft flesh of his stomach. Kurusu's only reaction is a small gasp, almost of surprise. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.

"Robin! Kougaon!" Goro orders through gritted teeth, already marching towards Kurusu. The Eligor dies too quickly to react, and Goro steps into the empty space to catch Kurusu before he falls.

It's a serious injury - one the roll of bandages can't hope to staunch. Goro rifles through his bag of supplies for something stronger, finding a pill of some sort and forcing it into Kurusu's mouth. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as Kurusu thinks it will heal him. He watches Kurusu as he swallows, the motion obviously painful, and can't quite disguise the look of disgust on his face. If Kurusu sees it, he doesn't react. His grey eyes remain locked on Goro's, before his face splits into a broken smile.

There's blood in the indents of his teeth.

"...'Again', I guess?"

He actually has the audacity to laugh, wincing when the movement jostles his healing wound. Goro stares at him blankly. He wants to - God, he wants to tear this boy to pieces, or at least set a Shadow on him and watch it finish the job, if he's so fucking keen to die here - 

But he can't. Shido wants him alive. Which means they should probably end it here.

"No, Kurusu - I think that's enough for today," he says with a strained smile. He slides Kurusu off his lap as smoothly as he can, laying him on the hay-strewn floor, and goes to stand guard by the entrance, just as an excuse to get away from him. "Let me know when you can stand. Then, we'll make our way back to the exit."

Kurusu nods slowly, before letting his head rest against the floor. His breathing is laboured. He wipes the back of his hand against his mouth, smearing the blood there, and stares at the starkness of it against his hand.

(Goro wishes he knew what he was thinking.)

"You can get angry at me, you know," Kurusu says out of nowhere. There's a slight slur to his voice - maybe that pill was stronger than Goro thought. "I prefer you like that."

Goro pauses instinctively, looking over his shoulder at the boy. His eyes are closed, but he's still smiling - an absent-minded thing, like he just can't help it, even with a fucking hole in his stomach. What a fool. Since Kurusu isn't going to see it, Goro lets his face fall into a sneer when he says, as peppy and saccharine as ever -

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Kurusu."

Kurusu's smile twitches. He laughs again, softly.

They both know he's lying.

---

"Still nothing?"

Shido's eyes are shadowed, sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled together in front of him. He doesn't look at the two boys, but Goro stands to attention anyway, unwilling to let his guard down even for a second. Beside him, Kurusu's posture has reached new lows. He stares at the floor with a blank expression, betraying nothing.

"Kurusu," Shido's voice snaps around the hard consonant like the crack of a whip, making Goro flinch. "Remind me, will you? How long has it been since you first entered the Metaverse?"

Kurusu is silent for so long Goro thinks he won't respond at all, does he have a death wish? Then -

"Three weeks, sir."

"Three weeks," Shido repeats, too soft. "Three weeks of you working for me, and contributing... nothing. Less than nothing, since Akechi has to be taken off-schedule to look after you. What do you say to that, Kurusu?"

Kurusu's jaw works, like he's trying to swallow his own tongue. Only Goro is close enough to see it.

"I'm sorry, sir -"

"Sorry?" Shido laughs bitingly. Suddenly, purposefully, he stands up, letting his chair screech against the floor as he pushes it aside. Goro watches from the corner of his eye as he approaches Kurusu, standing close but not quite touching. Not yet. "You're sorry, are you? I've given you this chance, the opportunity to make something of yourself, only for you to piss it all away, and you're SORRY?"

Kurusu, for all his faults, doesn't look cowed. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor as he takes a deep breath, and repeats slowly, "I am sorry. I promise, I'll do better next -"

A flash, and Shido has Kurusu by the chin, forcibly lifting his face up to look at him. Kurusu inhales sharply, nostrils flaring, but otherwise doesn't react.

"You know, I can't help but feel a little disappointed in you, Kurusu. When we went through this with Akechi, it didn't take this long," he taunts. "What was it, Akechi? Two, three sessions?"

"...One, sir." But you already knew that.

"One session. Jesus Christ - did you hear that, Kurusu? Akechi's running circles around you, and when we started with him, nobody even knew what the fuck they were doing."

The praise, such as it is, goes straight to Goro's heart. A disgusting, pathetic part of him lifts its head, eager for these scraps of acknowledgement, and he imagines beating it back with a stick. He doesn't need this. Especially not from Shido.

(Besides... he's only saying it to manipulate Kurusu.)

"...Yes. Akechi is running circles around me. He's very impressive in the Metaverse, and a great teacher. I'm thankful for all he's done."

To Goro's astonishment, Kurusu turns away from Shido, slipping through his fingers as he bows in Goro's direction. His eyes widen. He doesn't have time to react before Kurusu continues. 

"I can only apologise if I'm not living up to your expectations, Shido-san. The fault is all mine. I promise I'll make up for it."

Fuck. Fuck, Kurusu is good - he delivered all that without a single, actual emotion permeating his voice, and even threw Goro a bone as he did it. Slowly, Shido's eyes narrow. He drops his hand and steps back, moving out of Kurusu's personal space. The anger from before is gone. Instead, his face is contemplative.

"...Get out of my office, Kurusu," he dismisses suddenly, like he can't stand to look at the boy any longer.

Kurusu wastes no time in obeying. As he passes by Goro, though, he tilts his head in a silent question. His hand raises, just a little -

"Not you, Akechi," Shido doesn't miss the motion either. Kurusu's hand pulls away like it's been burnt. "There's something else I want to discuss with you."

Kurusu lingers a second longer, glancing between the two of them. Goro resolutely avoids his gaze. He probably thinks he's being kind, but in reality, all he's doing is making Goro feel small and pitiful, like he can't handle this by himself, and he's seconds away from throwing Kurusu out the door himself if he doesn't move away NOW - 

Miracle of miracles, Kurusu actually listens. With one last bow, he exits the room, closing the door behind him.

"Stupid brat..." Shido mutters under his breath, and for once, Goro agrees. The next moment, his attention is focused entirely on Goro. "Akechi. What's the current plan with Kurusu?"

"We have another appointment with Dr Ito scheduled for tomorrow afternoon," Goro intones faithfully. "Our current strategy is to reduce the amount of healing between attempts. Ito thinks that, if Kurusu is more aware of his own weakness, it will exacerbate his survival instinct, thereby increasing the chance of an awakening. At least - that's his working hypothesis."

Goro lets the slightest hint of doubt cloud his voice towards the end. Simply put: he thinks Ito is full of shit. He's seen how close Kurusu can get to death without flinching, and dragging it out will do neither of them any favours. But he's still surprised when Shido scoffs and shakes his head.

"Fucking Ito. He never could hold a candle to Isshiki, could he? Never thought I'd see the day when I missed that woman, but here we are," Shido laughs humourlessly. Instead of sitting behind his desk again, he leans against it, crossing his arms and angling his body towards Goro. "What about you, Akechi? What do you think of Ito's theory? You're the only one with first-hand experience, after all."

"Hmm..."

Goro makes a show of considering the question, playing for time. He has his own theories about Kurusu's situation, of course - spanning from the weakling just isn't strong enough (petty) to the idiot doesn't understand the danger he's in (nonsensical) to something is holding him back (vague). But what to tell Shido?

It's not like Kurusu doesn't have the potential. Goro can see it in him sometimes, when Kurusu thinks he isn't looking - the way he stares at Ito's exposed back, eyes flat and stormy, like he wants nothing more than to grab the nearest scalpel and bury it hilt-deep in his neck. That will, that anger, should be the perfect ingredients for a Persona. And yet... nothing.

So... what? Is Kurusu simply incapable? Is Goro's power genuinely special? Uniquely, and unequivocally, his?

...No. As much as he'd like to believe otherwise, Isshiki's research had been clear: every living being has the capacity to awaken a Persona, under the right conditions. And, beyond that, Kurusu has the app. Wherever it came from, whatever it's source, it wouldn't just be bestowed at random. No - he has to be able to do it.

Is there something wrong with him, then? Is he holding back? That sounds more plausible, though Goro doesn't understand it any better. That first time, especially - that Pisaca was going to kill him. There was no way Kurusu could know Goro would step in, and yet he'd just lain there, motionless, with its claws digging into his neck. What was he thinking? Why would he sign up for this job just to let himself die?

Maybe... maybe...

Goro lets out a little sigh. The problem is, he just doesn't know Kurusu well enough to figure this out. The boy is a complete and utter enigma, it's infuriating. He still doesn't even know why he's here, for fuck's sake. If he had to guess, he'd say Shido promised him something - money, fame, power - that's what it usually comes down to in the conspiracy. Privately, Goro doesn't think those desires will ever be enough to awaken a Persona. And if that's true... maybe Kurusu's efforts were doomed before he even began.

But that isn't something he can say to Shido. So, Goro decides to keep his thoughts to himself for now, and feed Shido a platitude.

"I admit, I don't understand why Kurusu hasn't awakened yet. I can only assume it's a lack of understanding - he simply doesn't appreciate the danger he's in. That will be difficult to accommodate within the experiment, however, without putting his life at risk."

Shido grunts, stroking his chin with one finger. "And you're not just saying that to prevent Kurusu from joining us? Right? Akechi?"

(like an insecure, jealous little bitch)

Goro digs his fingernails deep into the palm of his hand, making himself smile wider. So. That's Shido's game - he still thinks he's jealous, that he's sabotaging Kurusu on purpose. If only.

"Of course not, Shido-san. After our last discussion, I too see the value in having Kurusu join us."

Shido considers him for a long, tense moment. Then, he nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Glad to know we're all on the same page. So, with that in mind - you must know as well as I do that this little stalemate can't go on much longer."

"...Sir?"

"This plan has been in motion for a long time, Akechi. Longer than you've been around, even," Shido drawls. His fingers drum staccato against his desk. "I'm tired of waiting, watching this country sink further and further into ruin. I want to trigger the election before the end of this year, and I can't do that if you're constantly off babysitting Kurusu. If he wants to be of use, he's going to have to prove himself, and fast."

"...As you say, sir," Goro measures his words carefully. Where's Shido going with this? "What would you have me do?"

Shido's smile widens.

"Well - after reading Ito's reports, what stands out to me is that we lack sufficient control over the situation. Whatever enemies Kurusu's fighting may seem strong, but they clearly aren't enough to put the fear of God into him. So, I was thinking... what weapon do we have at our disposal, capable of beating the shit out of a puny, teenage brat?"

Goro holds his breath. The clock on the desk ticks once, twice.

"Me, sir?"

"Yes, Akechi. You," Shido looks at him appraisingly. "You must be more than capable of making Kurusu fear for his life - making him understand the danger he's in."

"So... you want me to -"

"Fuck Kurusu up," he snaps, impatient. "Yes. So, Akechi? Is that something you can do for me?"

Oh, yes. It's definitely something Goro can do, something he's wanted to do in varying degrees of intensity since he first met the boy. But warning bells are ringing in his brain. He knows a trap when he sees one. He considers, carefully, how to respond.

"I can certainly do that, Shido-san. However, there is a reason Dr Ito recommended the use of low level Shadows to test Kurusu. Without the cognitive armour that comes from having a Persona, he may not be able to withstand a prolonged attack. As such, accidentally killing him would be a significant possibility."

The image flashes behind Goro's eyes - Kurusu's chest crumpling beneath a Megaton Raid, his flesh seared off by Bless magic. It wouldn't even be a challenge. Goro could kill him so very, very easily.

"Hmm... then let me put it this way, Akechi. I'm trusting you, not to kill him. Understood?"

With that, Shido straightens, taking a step closer to Goro. His posture is relaxed; his smile friendly; he even keeps his hands in his pockets, a clear gesture of reassurance, like approaching a scared animal. But he stands a little too close, breaching the edge of Goro's personal space just enough to threaten. Goro swallows thickly.

"I'm trusting you not to kill him," he repeats, voice in a hush, only meant to be heard by the two of them. "And I'm trusting you, not to fail. I want Kurusu to be on active duty by the end of the week, and I'm already sick and tired of disappointments. But you won't disappoint me. Will you, Akechi?"

Goro's mind races, going through all the possibilities of what he's saying. This bastard. This evil fucking bastard fucking piece of shit, standing there with his affectionate smile and his kind words, like he isn't handing Goro an impossible task and expecting him to be fucking thankful for it. So now it's Goro's responsibility to awaken Kurusu's Persona? Not Ito, the qualified doctor? Not Kurusu himself, the bonafide weakling at the epicentre of this shit?

No. No, it's Goro, the boy who doesn't know what he's doing, the boy with more reason to let Kurusu die than anyone else. If he fails, Shido will think he did it on purpose out of jealousy. If he kills Kurusu, he'll go against Shido's direct orders, and Shido might start getting suspicious, figuring out his plan for revenge. And if he succeeds, he's handing Shido the exact tool he needs to replace Goro for good.

Checkmate. Oh, Goro is fucked, he is so, so fucked -

But really, there's only one way he can respond.

"Of course, Shido-san. I'll see what I can do."

Notes:

Yeah sorry, I couldn't write a Shuake story and not have Goro try to kill Akira at least once. It's their MO and it's absolutely perfect.

For those of you interested in hearing about the Shadows (thank you so much for giving me an excuse to ramble btw), I chose the Inugami mentioned at the start of this chapter because of how they're summoned in Japanese folklore. TW for animal cruelty, but it involved "cutting off the head of a starving dog and burying the dog at a crossroads to inflame its grudges". Since it involves using the dead for your own gain, I thought it suited Ito quite nicely. Inugami are also said to be attached to people experiencing wildly unstable emotions, so I thought it would make sense for one to attack Akira in this moment.

The second is Eligor, which was just pure self-indulgence to be honest. There's a line in the Megami Tensei Wiki that says Eligor "knows the future of wars" and "how soldiers should meet". Since Akira and Goro are basically Shido's foot soldiers in this fic, and they're finally starting to recognise each other, I just couldn't resist.

Chapter 7: Akira; Todestriebe

Notes:

TW for this chapter: suicidal thoughts, disassociation

Akira isn't sleeping.

It's becoming a problem.

He lies in bed, staring at the cobwebbed rafters of his attic ceiling as the sun starts peeking through the window, and tries desperately to fall asleep. Just a few minutes of rest - a quick cat nap - anything. But no. It's been like this for a few weeks now. Every time he's about to doze off, falling into a blue-washed dream, his mind conjures images of -

Claws on his neck -

Handcuffs on his wrist -

His body pressed against a police car, with a voice in his ear, low and purring, "Looks like God's on my side after all -"

They aren't nightmares - not really. To have a nightmare, he'd actually have to fall asleep first. And he's not... scared, exactly. In fact, he doesn't feel anything about them at all. Just a resounding numbness, which leaves no room for sleep.

As the shadows in his room get longer and longer, he sits up slowly, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. With his knees pressing into his body like this, he can feel a faint twinge from yesterday's stomach injury - a phantom pain, half-remembered. Akechi said, the most serious an injury, the more the effects carry over into the real world. Considering this one nearly gutted him, he should be grateful it's nothing more than a twinge.

And how horrifying is that? He'd been skewered, becoming intimately familiar with the wet slide of his insides, before Akechi had rushed in and saved him. But even though Akira knows it's awful, knows it's a memory that should haunt him for the rest of his life, he still just... doesn't care.

"What is wrong with you?" he whispers to himself. His body curls tighter, sending another dull throb of pain through his gut. He clenches his fingers into fists, feeling his nails dig into the fragile skin of his palm. And still - nothing.

"You're going to die in there," he says quietly, voice shaking, as if speaking the words out loud will help them sink in. "OK? You know that. It hurts, and you don't actually want to die, you don't, so just, fucking... do something about it, OK? You have to. Please."

He wants to cry. He can feel the hot, heavy pressure behind his eyes as he stares, unblinking, trying to force it. But, like everything else right now, it's like there's a barrier in his head, keeping the tears from coming. He can't even do this one, basic thing anymore.

His breath quickens. His fingernails press harder. God, he wants to - to slap himself, wake himself up, because this can't keep going on, it just can't -

On the first floor, he hears the front door open, a bell ringing out. Akira releases a deep, slow breath. Sakura must be here. If Sakura's here, it must be close to six. And, if it's close to six, that means it's time for him to get up, get dressed, and go to school.

Life, after all, goes on.

"Jeez, kid. What's up with you?"

His guardian for the time being is Sojiro Sakura - a crotchety old man of about fifty, who owns the cafe Akira is staying in. He does a double-take when Akira comes downstairs, catching sight of his face before Akira can rush out the door. He tries a sheepish smile. He can only imagine how he must look, running off forty minutes' sleep and nursing a phantom fucking hole in his stomach.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm fine," he shrugs, adopting a polite, but reserved tone. He hasn't figured out where he stands with Sakura yet. Sometimes, the man seems perfectly pleasant, borderline concerned - before apparently remembering Akira's a dangerous criminal, and scrambling to put him in his place. Until Akira puts the puzzle together, he's happy to keep his distance. "Just didn't sleep well last night."

Sakura is still peering at him from the other side of the counter, dark eyes examining his face. Then, he says sharply, "That's not a black eye, is it?"

Akira suppresses a wince. He knows what Sakura's talking about - the faint red mark on his cheek, where a Shadow sucker-punched him yesterday. The roll of bandages hadn't been enough to get rid of it entirely, so now it just looks like a week-old bruise. But he can't exactly tell Sakura that, can he?

He feigns ignorance instead, raising a hand to the wrong side of his face and feeling around blindly. "No? What do you mean?"

Sakura grumbles like he doesn't believe him. He moves around the counter and reaches out with one hand, going to adjust Akira's face so he can take a closer look. Akira can't help it - he flinches. Sakura visibly falters.

"I wasn't... Kid, I didn't mean to..." he says, in awkward fits and bursts.

Akira doesn't help him. He just stands, still and silent, staring at the floor, letting the man draw his own conclusions. Eventually, Sakura lets out a long, exhausted sigh, and gives up.

"Never mind. Just a... trick of the light, I guess. But make sure you stay out of trouble - you hear me? If I hear you've been getting into fights, I'll kick you out, no questions asked."

Akira makes himself smile. He'd expect nothing less. "Of course."

"And get home at a reasonable hour today, will you?" Sakura continues, his lingering embarrassment making him gruff. He moves back behind the counter, happy to put some distance between them. "You were back far too late last night. It's a pain waiting up for you."

"Erm - actually..." Akira starts awkwardly, wincing when Sakura turns his piercing gaze back on him. "I have that... internship, thing, tonight. So I don't know what time I'll be back."

"Seriously?" Sakura says, completely deadpan. He lets out another long-suffering sigh (Akira is quickly learning that's his trademark), before rummaging around in his apron pockets, conjuring a spare key. He slams it on the counter. "OK. I'm not waiting up for you all night, so I'm trusting you with this, alright? If you lose it, I'll be pissed."

Akira raises his eyebrows. He takes a slow step towards the counter, half expecting Sakura to remember who he's talking to and swipe it away at the last second. But he doesn't. The key lies heavy in his hand before he pockets it.

"Thank you, Sakura-san," he says, risking a small, genuine smile. Then, he points awkwardly towards the door, "Guess I'll be going, then -"

"Wait. One more thing," Sakura says. He heads into the kitchen; Akira can hear the sound of pots and pans, the clink of cutlery. He comes back out with a steaming plate of curry and places it, none too gently, on the counter. "It's part of my contract to feed you, so make sure you eat it, alright? It might help wake you up, too - you can't go to school looking like that."

Oh. OK, Akira hadn't been expecting that. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, trying to think of how to respond. Sakura himself just seems determined to ignore him. He wipes the same patch of counter with a rag over and over, face as grim as ever - except, this time, the tips of his ears are bright red.

Akira laughs softly, more out of surprise than anything else. He lets his schoolbag fall to the floor with a thud, before taking a seat and picking up the fork. "Thank you very much."

Sakura grunts, not looking him in the eyes.

(The curry is delicious.)

---

After school, he goes to Shido's office building to meet Akechi, as always. Before he can head inside, however, he sees the boy in question, waiting by the entrance.

"Good afternoon, Kurusu," he greets, as stuffily formal as ever, but Akira can instantly tell something's off. He's been whittling away at Akechi's defenses for a while now, trying to crack through his pleasant boy act and reveal something a little more real underneath. But now, his walls are back in full force. He smiles widely at Akira, the expression a little too stiff, and Akira is instantly on guard. "How was your day?"

That's another strike - Akechi doesn't give a shit about Akira's day, has never bothered asking that question before, even when he's pretending to like him. Akira keeps his face neutral, pulling at his fringe.

"...Fine. How about you?"

"Yes, quite," he hums in response, like he didn't even hear him. Strike three. Akira has long been jealous of Akechi's command over conversation, his ability to tell blatant lies without a flicker on his perfect face, and knows he's capable of a better performance than this. Something's wrong.

Abruptly, he reaches out and grabs Akira's hand, leading him away. "Come on - let us go."

They walk in silence for a while, Akira allowing himself to be led, even though he definitely knows the way to the hospital by now. He glances at Akechi's hand, still wrapped around his own. Akechi does this a lot. Akira doesn't think he's aware of it. Cautiously, he gives the hand a squeeze. Akechi doesn't respond, but doesn't let go, either. Yep - he definitely doesn't even realise he's doing it. It's weirdly sweet.

It's only when they're on the train, surrounded by people, that Akechi says in a low whisper, "Shido-san will be attending the session today."

"What?" Akira flicks his eyes up from their conjoined hands to Akechi's face. It's deadly serious. He swallows, pulse spiking despite everything. "Is it... because of me?"

"Because you haven't awakened yet. Yes," Akechi confirms. "So I'm sure I don't need to tell you, Kurusu, that the expectations placed upon you today will be quite... significant."

Akira can feel his heart thudding. Quite significant - yeah, no shit. It's certainly the most diplomatic threat he's ever received.

"As such, it would be in both our best interests if you were successful today," Akechi continues. As the train pulls into the station, he finally remembers to let go of Akira's hand. "Just something to bear in mind."

Akira stays quiet for the rest of the journey, turning it all over in his head. Shido coming to the hospital today... Akechi's not-so-subtle threat... He's running out of time, isn't he? When they first started this, Akechi said Shido didn't like to get involved, would only concern himself once they achieved results. But Akira keeps failing, so now Shido is stepping in.

(I've given you this chance, this opportunity to make something of yourself, only for you to piss it all away, and you're SORRY?)

A few steps from the hospital entrance, he pauses. It occurs to him that, if he fails today, Shido has no reason to keep him around. If Akira doesn't uphold his side of the bargain, he becomes nothing more than a liability, who knows too much - about Shido's true self, his connections with the police, the Metaverse, all of it. If he doesn't become useful, he'll be better off dead.

...

"Kurusu?"

Akechi is waiting by the entrance, looking over his shoulder at him. Akira's finger twitches. He forces himself to move. As he passes through the doors, he doesn't feel as scared as he should. No - instead, he feels an eerie calm. As far as he can tell, his life has narrowed down to two paths: either he dies today, or he doesn't. And if he does... well...

(At least Shido can't get to him anymore.)

"Ah, Kurusu-kun! Akechi-kun!"

The doctor flaps excitedly when they enter the exam room, looking even more harried than usual. The reason is obvious - Shido is here, sitting at the doctor's desk, looking decidedly out of place among the pastel colours and cheap wallpaper. His yellow eyes focus on Akira the second he enters the room. "You're right on time. As you can see, we have Shido-san supervising us today -"

Akechi bows in Shido's direction without letting the doctor finish. Akira does the same, ignoring the prickle of fear that comes with exposing his neck to Shido. The man himself doesn't respond beyond a jerk of his head.

"Alright, well - we don't want to keep Shido-san waiting now, do we? Kurusu-kun, if you'd be so kind as to take a seat, I'll just grab a quick blood sample before we begin -"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Shido interrupts, making the doctor flinch. Despite everything, the sight gives Akira a deep satisfaction. "You've had the kid for three weeks already - I'm surprised he has any blood left. Just send them to that other world so we can get on with it."

"But I - err - right," the doctor has to visibly keep himself from arguing. Without anything to occupy himself, he hovers awkwardly, hands fidgeting at his sides. "I guess... go on then, boys. Give it your best shot!"

He gives them two shaky thumbs-up. Akira wonders how such a fucking monster can still be so pathetic. Nevertheless, he sticks close to Akechi as he pulls out his phone, letting him handle the preparations this time.

Shido hasn't taken his eyes off him this entire time. His gaze is piercing, oddly contemplative. Akira returns it evenly, right up until the moment Akechi activates the Nav, and their surroundings slowly melt away.

It's strange, but the minute they're in the Metaverse, Akira feels like a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He sighs in relief, running a hand through his hair. There's no Shido in here. No Ito. Well - technically, there's lots of Ito if he thinks about it, all Ito really, but at least he doesn't have to look at the guy. It's just him, and Akechi.

Akechi. Who hasn't said a word since they came in.

"...Akechi?" Akira dares, when the silence drags on too long. He goes to nudge his shoulder gently, "What -"

Akechi sidesteps his hand easily, stalking towards the exit. "Come on," he says, voice quiet and tense. Akira hesitates only for a second before following.

To Akira's surprise, he doesn't lead them to their usual tent. Instead, he makes a sharp turn to the right, where the tents are sparse and there's more regular, lower-case shadows than anything else.

"Spicing it up today, huh?" Akira jokes, even as his skin crawls with foreboding. Akechi, typically, doesn't answer.

They end up in front of a black-and-white tent. It's oddly bumpy and shapeless in the gloom, looking like something half-constructed. Then, Akira looks up at the sign hanging over the entrance, and realises (to his disbelief and amusement) that it does actually say Under Construction.

"I was doing some reconnaissance a few days ago and found this," Akechi says with no preamble, like they were already having a conversation. He holds the curtain open, waiting for Akira to go first. "I think it's safe to say this is your contribution, Kurusu."

"...Mine?"

"Yes. Yours. After all, you're one of Ito's test subjects now, aren't you?" There's a pinched smile on Akechi's face. "It's your turn to be put on display."

All of a sudden, Akira doesn't want to go in. He can't see anything inside from here - just a yawning, black space. He doesn't want to know what the doctor thinks of him.

Akechi coughs impatiently. Akira takes an uncertain step forward. It's OK, he tells himself over the sound of his own breathing, ducking under the curtain. It's OK. It is, because one way or another, this has to be the end. You don't need to worry about what's in here. None of it matters. None of it.

It's... very empty, inside. Just a wide, open space, littered with streamers and empty candy wrappers. There's a gaping hole on the far side of the room, where the floorboards haven't been installed yet. As he looks around, the only thing of interest is the inner lining of the tent, which seems to be patterned with documents and photographs. Akira catches a few words (Yasoinaba, seventeen years old, 175cm), but it's only when he sees a close-up photograph of his own eye that he realises - it's all about him. This room is papered in his medical records.

"...Huh," he lets out a dazed laugh. "You know, I was expecting something worse -"

"Kurusu."

Akechi's voice is sharp and hard, turning his name into something unrecognisable on his tongue. Akira freezes in place instantly.

"Turn around."

He feels ice, dripping down his neck. Akechi sounds the same way he did that first time, when he was warning Akira about the approaching Shadow. Slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart rate has skyrocketed, he does as he's told. 

Akechi has unholstered his gun - a silly-looking ray gun, which Akira has teased him for in the past. 

It looks a lot more threatening when it's pointed at him.

"...What's going on, Akechi?" Akira says, licking his suddenly very-dry lips. Akechi looks back at him, tilting his head, the motion almost bird-like. A slow, glinting smile spreads across his face. His grip on the gun doesn't falter.

"Apologies, Kurusu. I'm under orders, as I'm sure you understand. Shido-san does so hate disappointments."

Despite everything he's saying, Akira has never heard Akechi sound so self-satisfied. His voice drifts into a purr at the end, like Akira's a disobedient pet refusing to learn a trick, like he's personally disappointed Akechi, never mind Shido. A shiver runs down Akira's spine at the sound.

"So... what? Are you going to kill me? Or is this just another attempt to awaken my Persona?"

Akira even surprises himself with how calm he sounds. It seems to annoy Akechi - a muscle starts jumping in his jaw. Despite that, his voice is as saccharine as ever when he says, "At this point, I don't think it matters either way, Kurusu. Apparently, even after all this time, you don't fully appreciate the situation you're in. So, I've been told to make it crystal clear for you: either you awaken your Persona today, or you die trying. That's it. This is your last chance."

Akira cocks his head, considering the other boy. He thinks Akechi is being unfair. He absolutely understands the situation he's in, the danger of it all - he's not an idiot, after all.

(He just can't bring himself to care.)

Now, he leans into that feeling instead of shying away. A small smirk blooms across his face, designed to match the one on Akechi's. He raises his hands in surrender, almost mockingly, and says -

"Fine. Do your worst, detective."

Because if he's going to die here - he's gonna make one hell of a show of it.

Notes:

The name of this chapter, Todestriebe, comes from Freud. It translates to 'death instincts' in German - the idea that all humans have a drive towards death and self-destruction. Poor Akira's really embodying that right now - but for how much longer 👀

Chapter 8: Goro; Catharsis

Notes:

Happy Christmas Eve to those who celebrate, and (more importantly) happy Akechi resurrection day!

Not very festive TW for this chapter: attempted murder, suicidal ideation, mentions of past suicide (Akechi's mother), blood and gore, physical and psychological torture.

Goro is starting to think he doesn't understand Kurusu at all.

Everything that brought him to this moment has led him to believe he's weak, pathetic, a spineless coward who volunteered for this job without realising what it entailed. But as Kurusu stands across from him now, eyes lit up in challenge, with an insufferable smirk on his face, Goro realises - he must be another creature entirely.

It irritates him more than he can say.

He lets his mask drop with a snarl, and fires the first shot.

In his anger, it goes wide, cutting past Kurusu's shoulder and narrowly missing his ear as he dodges. The smell of burning hair fills the tent. Good. The fool needs a haircut anyway.

He wastes no time shooting again, this time catching Kurusu square in the shoulder. He grunts at the impact, the burn, but it's not debilitating - not yet. That's why Goro started with the gun. It's probably the least lethal option at his disposal; if it isn't enough, he'll have to move on to something more severe.

Another shot. Leg. Another shot. Arm. Another shot, and there's a bright red scorch mark curving across Kurusu's neck, standing out starkly against the paleness of his skin. The boy hisses and grits his teeth, but he's still standing, still fucking smiling, even. Goro curls his lip and decides fuck it, putting a hand to his mask.

"Robin Hood!"

Robin appears in a burst of blue flame, looming over Kurusu so he has to tilt his head back to look at him. Goro sees the first flicker of trepidation cross his face. Good. Truthfully, he'd love to summon Loki instead, show Kurusu just what he's dealing with, but he doesn't trust the Persona not to kill him outright. Instead, he charges up a Megaton Raid, ordering Robin to clip his left shoulder to avoid any major organs.

It's overkill, really. The impact knocks Kurusu clean off his feet, sending him flying before he hits the floor with a painful thud. He groans loudly, not moving. Goro stalks up to get a better look at him.

His glasses have fallen off. He watches Goro approach with his face fully exposed, and even as his mouth twists in pain, a trickle of blood streaming from a split lip, his eyes are sharp and hard like tempered silver. They're far too perceptive, even without his glasses - and Goro realises, far too late, that the glasses were fake all along.

It makes him angrier than it should. He draws his sword, knocking Kurusu back to the floor when he tries to sit up, and straddles him, pulling him up by the collar to look at him.

"Have you had enough, Kurusu?" he growls, pressing the edge of his sword against Kurusu's throat, close enough that he can see the skin growing red and irritated from the heat. When Kurusu swallows, his adam's apple bobs, dangerously close to the blade. "What, do I need to actually slit your throat to get you to fucking UNDERSTAND?"

Kurusu laughs hoarsely. "I knew it," he says nonsensically, practically babbling, "I knew it, I knew you were mad at me -"

Goro sees red. He throws Kurusu back to the floor and unholsters his gun again, pressing it right between his eyes. Kurusu goes cross-eyed watching it, his laughter turning into hiccoughs.

"You - are - going - to - die," he says slowly, leaning closer with each word. He's violently aware of Kurusu's body under his, the hard weight of it, the warmth. Alive. But not fucking fighting for it. "Do you understand? There's no resets after this, nowhere else for you to go. I pull this trigger, and you're nothing more than some questionable brains, smeared against the floor."

"Uh-huh," Kurusu says dazedly. His lips quirk, at odds with the tremors running through his body. "B-brains on the floor. Yeah. You're right. But, you know... s-some people might call that an improvement."

Goro hears a ringing in his ears. He digs the barrel of the gun harder into Kurusu's forehead.

"What?"

"I mean, look at me, Akechi," he laughs again, more of a wheeze than anything else. "I'm clearly not meant to get one of those... Persona, things. So, go on. Just do it."

Just do it. The words echo though Goro's head - not what he was expecting to hear, not by a long shot. As if from a great distance, he feels his finger wrap tightly around the trigger.

Fuck Shido. If Goro shoots Kurusu now, he can pretend this little setback never happened, can go straight back to his original plan like nothing even changed. Shido might be pissed at first, and more than a little suspicious, but Goro can brush it off if he plays his cards right. He can. Shido needs him, after all. He's important - he's Shido's secret weapon. One of a kind, without Kurusu here to fuck everything up.

And here Kurusu is. Looking up at him with those pretty silver eyes, covered in cuts and bruises but still smiling. He isn't even looking at the gun anymore. Just Goro. Like he wants him to do it.

All at once, a feeling of disgust runs through Goro. Disgust, and something else, something he doesn't want to put a name to. Looking at Kurusu, he's reminded of -

(opening the door to his childhood home)

(no)

(vast, silent emptiness, broken only by a steady dripping, coming from the bathroom)

(no no)

(a tub of rust-coloured water)

(fucking STOP IT)

(a bead of blood running down his mother's finger)

Letting out a snarl, he throws the gun to the side in favour of grabbing Kurusu by the jaw, twisting his face up to look him in the eye. He savours every white-knuckled point of contact - he's never been this fucking angry in his life - he feels like he could crush Kurusu's skull beneath his fingers, as easily as breaking an egg.

"What the fuck at you playing at, Kurusu?" he hisses, right in Kurusu's ear. "Is this a game to you? Are you trying to make me feel bad so I stop?"

"No, no, I -" Kurusu winces as Goro's nails dig into his skin. His hands come up automatically to wrap around Goro's wrists, trying to push him away, but the efforts are half-hearted at best. "I'm not, I promise -"

"Then what the FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" he snarls. "You signed up for this, Kurusu! You must've known that this job meant. What were you after - money? Power? And now you're just GIVING UP?"

For some reason, that makes Kurusu laugh harder than ever, the sound vaguely hysterical. "You - you really don't know, do you?"

"Know WHAT?"

Kurusu considers him for a moment, hands still wrapped loosely around Goro's wrists. Then, letting out another dazed giggle, he shakes his head.

"No. You know what? Fuck you," he breathes out, hiccoughing violently. "I'm not telling you. I like that you don't know. You're the only one who... who treats me normally. So just... if you're gonna do it, just get it over with, OK? I don't... care, anymore."

Time stands still. Goro feels every strangled breath Kurusu takes, every beat of his pulse beneath his fingers, and it's not usually like this. Usually, when Goro (kills someone) deals with one of Shido's targets, there's a degree of separation to it, the cognitive world standing between him and them like a pane of glass. Shadows don't have body heat, hearts or pulses. He can put a bullet through the brain of a Shadow and it will just pass through, like so much inky smoke. The victim might not even die immediately, their body taking days, sometimes weeks, to realise it's been killed.

Not now. Not with Kurusu. One movement by Goro, and he's dead - immediately, tangibly, dead.

And that's a good thing - the best course of action available to him.

(Isn't it?)

It would make things easier.

(But he doesn't want to give Kurusu what he wants.)

He's just another obstacle, standing in the way of his revenge.

(He doesn't want to be the reason another person kills themselves.)

He's already a killer.

What does it matter now?

Goro's fingers cramp from holding Kurusu in place. He goes to pick up the gun - 

And releases him, instead.

For a moment, they simply stare at each other, like neither one of them can believe what's happening. He thinks he hears Kurusu laugh - a small, stunted little thing.

Then, several things happen at once.

"Ah, Akechi-kun. Having second thoughts?"

Goro doesn't stop to think. At the sound of the unexpected voice, he simply reacts, going to unholster the gun at his side like the well-trained killer he is. Except the gun isn't there. He threw it aside when subduing Kurusu, and those precious seconds will cost him dearly, as he senses an amped-up burst of magic coming from the tent entrance.

There's no time to dodge. He registers the spell - a roiling black-and-red cloud, smelling of rot, of decay, Curse magic - just before it hits him, sending him soaring across the room. He hits the floor with a thud and rolls painfully, but that doesn't register, not as the spell seeps into his skin, making his insides twist and Robin Hood writhe inside his head. Goro retches uncontrollably. He's never been able to stomach Curse spells with Robin, and his body is rebelling against it, wanting to get it out -

But they should be the only ones in the Palace. Who could have...?

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

"Ito," Goro spits, getting the last taste of decay out of his mouth. His limbs tremble as he pulls himself up. "Of all the fucking times for you to -"

"Ah-ah, Akechi-kun," that voice chides playfully. "No need to be so rude. You're supposed to be better than that now, you know."

Ito's Shadow stands by the entrance to the tent, surveying the scene in front of him with blatant satisfaction. In this world, he takes the form of a red-faced ringmaster, wearing a long, crimson tailcoat, bordered with gold braid. The bald spot on his head is covered by a jaunty top hat. On his hands, he wears black medical gloves, with a slow, never-ending stream of blood dripping from each finger. In one hand, he carries a whip.

For animal taming, Goro's brain supplies unhelpfully. He lets out a savage growl.

"Now now," Shadow Ito raises one hand, as if to click his fingers. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Akechi-kun. I know this particular spell is a weakness of yours."

"Akechi," Kurusu says, drawing his attention away from Ito. He sits up slowly, clutching his shoulder, and looks at Ito with undisguised disgust. "What's he doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Ito says before Goro can answer, cartoonishly offended. "I'll remind you, Kurusu-kun, that this is my Palace! Everything in here is owned by me - it's all part of my collection. You're only here as my guests. Which, of course, means I own you, too."

It shouldn't be possible, but somehow Ito gets more and more smug as he goes on. Kurusu doesn't look impressed. He turns to Akechi with one eyebrow raised.

"That's Ito's Shadow," he explains, all too happy when Ito splutters indignantly. "A representation of his inner self. Basically, this is how he views himself."

"Of course it is," Kurusu mutters.

"Hey!" Ito's Shadow stomps its foot petulantly. "Pay attention to me! This is MY Palace, I'M the reason you're here! You can't just ignore me!"

Can, and will. Ito's Shadow is a little weakling - Goro hadn't even bothered worrying about him before now, since he rarely left the centre of his Palace's distortion. If he hadn't gotten that cheap hit in at the start, this would be an entirely different story. Of all the rotten luck...

He forces himself to his feet while Ito's still rambling. If he remembers correctly, Ito's Shadow is weak to Bless, which means he's essentially handed Goro a double-edged sword. If he can just summon Robin Hood, then...

"Oh, Akechi-kun. You just can't help yourself, can you?"

Goro goes to tear off his mask, but before he can even do that, Ito snaps his fingers. There's a rumbling underfoot. The barely-constructed tent seems to flicker, like a badly-tuned TV - and from beneath the rickety floorboards, hands appear, reaching through the gaps and grabbing Goro by the legs.

"What -"

He lets out a gasp as the hands drag him down, fingers reaching, crawling higher and higher up his body. He's still too unsteady to fight them off properly - and even when he tries, his fingers just pass through them like smoke, primordial and insubstantial. Goro has never seen anything like them.

Far too quickly, they force him face-down on the floor, and though he struggles and snarls, it's no use. He can feel the shadowy, endlessly long limbs wrapping around his torso, binding him in place. He spits hair out of his face and glares up at Ito.

"You piece of shit," he hisses, digging his nails into the floorboards and thrashing, trying to get free. With every movement, the limbs tighten around him, like the coils of a snake. "You coward - you piece of SHIT - I'm gonna KILL YOU -"

And all the while, Ito is cackling gleefully, clapping his hands together like an overexcited seal. "Yes! Oh, I can't believe it actually worked, Shido-san is going to be so happy with me -"

"What did you do?"

For a moment, Goro doesn't recognise the voice. Then, he sees Kurusu scrambling to his feet, still clutching his shoulder, face bloodless and twisted in pain - but absolutely, incandescently angry. When he takes a step towards Ito, it's enough to make the doctor step back, even though Kurusu has absolutely nothing to threaten him with.

"Whoa now, Kurusu-kun! Didn't expect that kind of reaction from you. You know what? Why don't you take a seat, too?"

Ito snaps his fingers again, and this time, the hands go for Kurusu. There's no avoiding them - they swarm up under his feet, wrapping around his legs like flowering vines, but don't attempt to drag him to the floor like they did Goro. There's no point, after all. Without a Persona, Kurusu couldn't hurt Ito even if he tried; Ito is binding him simply to prove he can. 

The thought only makes Goro angrier. He doubles his efforts, thrashing against the steadily tightening limbs.

"There. That's better, isn't it? Much more conducive to mutual discussion," Ito's eyes gleam at the sight. "Now, then. I think it's time the three of us had a little heart to heart - don't you agree?"

Kurusu grunts, trying to move his legs, only to find them rooted in place. He glowers at Ito, the expression oddly raw without his glasses in the way, and practically spits the words out, "What do you want."

"Hmm... what do I want?" Ito muses. He starts wandering around the room, weaving around the boys' prone bodies so they have to strain to keep him in sight. "You know, you're a strange one, Kurusu. I don't quite know what to make of you. When Shido-san announced the experiment was reopening, I was so excited! Finally, something to look forward to - things have been so dull ever since Akechi-kun moved on. Nothing could compare! He was truly my greatest triumph."

Ito looks down at him with honest-to-god fondness in his eyes, and Goro wants to put his sword to his throat, to rip out his carotid artery. These restraints across his body, like being strapped to a gurney - Ito's beady eyes staring down at him - his smug voice, taking the credit for Goro's, for Isshiki's work - it's exactly the same as it was back then. Goro can barely stand it.

"And then, you showed up," Ito's gaze flicks from Goro to Kurusu. An uncharacteristic furrow appears on his brow. "I had such high hopes for you, Kurusu-kun. And I can safely say, over the course of the last three weeks, you've disappointed each and every one of them. You are just so... nothing. I don't even have anything to put in this tent, you are so FULL of NOTHING."

He glares at Kurusu, as if expecting him to defend himself. Kurusu stares back impassively.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"You see! Even now, tied down, fearing for your life, you are just - so - BORING!" Ito whines like a child, dragging a hand down his face. "And then Shido-san got mad at me for it - can you believe it? Saying I mustn't be trying hard enough, when the real problem has been YOU all along! Well, no more. That ends today."

"Ugh, will you just get on with it?" Goro snaps. The hands are holding him far too tightly, now. His face is pressed painfully against the floor, muffling his voice when he tries to speak. "What do you actually WANT?"

Ito pauses, and there's a slight flicker across his expression - anger, at being interrupted. When he speaks again, his voice is hard.

"What I want is twofold. For the first, Shido-san has given me a task: awaken Kurusu's Persona using any means necessary."

"You see, he had a feeling you'd fail, Akechi-kun. That's why he visited me at the office today. He even saw fit to give me a little gift - some of the classified pages from Isshiki's research. And oh, they were worth their weight in gold! That's how I was able to do this, you know. They had a nice little trick to help a Palace ruler control their cognition - say, by binding any troublesome intruders, so they can't fight back."

"He - he did what?"

Goro's vision tunnels as he processes what Ito just said, the full implications of it all. Shido... thought he'd fail? Shido hadn't trusted him to follow through on his orders, to the point that he'd implemented a failsafe?

And not just that. He gave Ito - low-tier, know-nothing, insignificant Ito - access to Isshiki's classified research? No-one except Shido has access to that information - it's the reason Shido's own Palace is such a veritable death trap. What the fuck is he thinking?

(And he gave it to Ito, knowing Goro would be in the Palace as well, knowing it would be used against him.)

(Knowing what Ito had always wanted to do to him.)

"The second thing I want is... well. A little more personal," Ito ignores him, instead going to stand by Kurusu. Kurusu is taller than him, and Ito has to peer upwards to look into his face, examining his newly exposed eyes with keen interest.

"I want to have some fun."

"You see, even someone like you, Kurusu-kun, must have something going on inside. Beneath the surface of the skin, there are so many little pieces, working in tandem to keep you alive. I want to see them all. If I can figure out what's wrong with you, and remove it, who knows? You might even awaken your Persona. And if you don't, I guess we'll just have to keep trying. I'll find something in there eventually."

Ito keeps smiling at Kurusu pleasantly, like he's expecting him to agree. Kurusu stares at him, saying nothing for a while. Then -

"...You're a monster."

His voice is low, quiet enough Goro can barely hear it. But Ito does. He pauses in his examination, the fingertips of his gloves just inches from Kurusu's face.

"...Well. Even if I am, it's just because of Shido-san. And because of Isshiki, and her research. And because of Akechi-kun, and how he opened my eyes to what the human body is capable of. Once you've seen something like that, how can you stand it just leave it be, untested? It's only reasonable - don't you think?"

Kurusu shakes his head slowly, eyes fixed on Ito's. "No. It's not anyone else's fault. It's all you."

There's silence for a moment. Then, Ito's expression darkens, looking at Kurusu like he's found a piece of slime hidden under a rock.

"You think you're so fucking noble," Ito sneers, leaning into Kurusu, standing on his tiptoes to get in his face. "Shido-san told me all about your situation, you know. I bet you think you're a real fucking hero for what happened, that all this is so unfair to you, and that's why you're refusing to play along - because you think you're too good for it. Well, you're not. You're nothing more than some jumped-up, supercilious gutter trash, and if I decide to keep you here, in my Palace, no-one will even miss you."

Kurusu's mouth curls into that same small, bitter smile he was wearing before. He doesn't respond.

Goro, meanwhile, latches on to Ito's words like a worm on a hook. Kurusu's 'situation'? What does Ito know that Goro doesn't?

"Ito," he says loudly. Across the room, Kurusu's eyes flick to his. "What do you mean, Kurusu's situation?"

"Hmm?" All at once, Ito's personality shifts, going back to his usual, irritating cheerfulness. "Oh, Akechi-kun! You mean you don't know? I thought for sure Shido-san would tell you - but then, he doesn't seem to be telling you much these days, does he?"

Goro's going to kill him. The second he gets out of these restraints, Ito is fucking dead-

"Kurusu-kun here is a juvenile criminal. He was arrested for assaulting a man, completely unprovoked. Like a monster," Ito's teeth gleam when he smiles. It might be a trick of the light, but it looks like there's far too many of them in his mouth.

"...At least, that's the official story, anyway. In reality, Kurusu-kun here is just an idiot who got in the way of Shido-san when he was with a woman. In turn, Shido-san got him arrested, and set up this little internship with his parents, as a way to rehabilitate him back into society. I heard your parents were truly ecstatic about the offer, Kurusu-kun. They must be so very disappointed in you, now."

Goro stills, unable to believe what he's hearing. If Ito is telling the truth, then Kurusu... didn't sign up for this. He isn't after fame, or power, or any other self-interested goal. He's been forced into this job, by Shido, because he dared stand against him. Because Shido ruined his life.

With this one answer, so many pieces of the puzzle slot into place. No wonder Kurusu hasn't awakened his Persona - he has no reason to. No wonder he gets that look in his eyes sometimes when he's around Shido, like he's just barely keeping himself in check. No wonder he was going to let Goro kill him. By the metrics of society, he has nothing to live for.

(He's just like you.)

The thought startles Goro, makes him look at Kurusu in a new light. The boy meets his gaze for only a second, before looking away.

"Still... maybe that little incident does say something about your character that I've been missing," Ito muses, considering Kurusu. "That's what Shido-san said, anyway. That you won't awaken from any threats to your own, personal safety - you understand your position in life too well for that. No... it will take something else, something altogether more noble for you to sink your teeth into. Let's try that first, shall we?"

Abruptly, Ito leaves. He stalks away from Kurusu before the boy can react, footsteps echoing in the empty tent.

Goro can feel them stop just a few paces from him.

"After all, we have the perfect little trussed-up volunteer, right here."

"What?"

Suddenly, Goro's bonds tighten so much he can't breathe. He can feel them pressing into his ribs, constricting his lungs, and though he tries his best to suck in just one, desperate breath, he can't. Distantly, he's aware of Ito's feet on either side of his torso. Standing over him.

"No - STOP IT!"

A gloved hand winds in Goro's hair, pulling his head up off the ground. The motion exposes his neck, showcasing every tensed muscle and artery under his skin. Goro thrashes, desperation turning him into a wild animal, but Ito's hold is strong.

Out of nowhere, he summons a scalpel.

The cool blade presses against Goro's suddenly too-warm skin. The sensation forces his mind backwards, into memories: the feeling of being strapped in a leather recliner, incisions in his spine, the never-ending push-pull of needles in and out of his skin, until one day, he -

"Are you remembering too, Akechi-kun?" Ito's breath is warm and humid in his ear. He lets out a wistful sigh, "We never really got to experiment in the Palace like this before, did we? I wonder just how much your body can take in here -"

"Get the fuck off me -"

"HEY!" Kurusu snarls, struggling against his own restraints, "It's me you want, get the fuck away from him -"

"Are you going to stop me, Kurusu-kun?" Ito simpers. "If you awaken your Persona, it might be possible. Otherwise, I have special permission from Shido-san to use Akechi-kun as I see fit, at least for a little while. I wonder how long he'll let me get away with..."

"No - Akechi -"

Goro can hear Kurusu shouting frantically. At the same time, he feels Ito's fingers against the collar of his uniform. He forces the fabric down, before smoothing his hair carefully to one side, exposing the back of his neck. His skin prickles with goosebumps, following the wake of the scalpel.

"You see, this should be the beginning of your spine, right here..."

"AKECHI!"

"If I just make a slight incision, I should be able to -"

"AKECHI -"

"Let's see how it goes, shall we?"

Goro retreats inside himself, and everything goes strangely numb. There are sounds around him, and sensations, but in this moment, Goro can no longer feel them. Instead, he looks at Kurusu. This strange, perplexing, inexplicable boy, who Goro has never seen do anything more than smile - has tears, dangling from his eyelashes. He's beside himself, positively frantic at the thought that Goro is being hurt. Goro, who tried to kill him not ten minutes ago.

Has it only been ten minutes?

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Using this moment of numbness to his advantage, Goro thinks. Clearly, he's not in the position he thought he was. He thought Shido needed him - would ultimately forgive the transgression of killing Kurusu, as long as it meant he got to keep Goro. Apparently not. He seems perfectly willing to put Goro in danger to get Kurusu to awaken, with no guarantee of success either way. It's a message, no matter how Goro looks at it: don't get too comfortable. He would do well to remember it.

And Kurusu...

Kurusu isn't who Goro thought he was. He's not weak and self-serving - not exactly, anyway. He's an idiot who sacrificed his own future to help someone he didn't even know. He's struggling against his restraints even now, trying to help someone all too happy to murder him for his own gain. He hates Ito. He hates Shido.

He can be molded.

The pain is quickly returning. He can feel Ito digging around in the meat of his shoulder, blood spreading warmly across his jacket. Goro exhales sharply - meets Kurusu's eyes - and makes a gambit of his own.

"Do you regret it?"

The words come out quiet and hoarse, forced out between pained breaths, but Kurusu hears it all the same. He stares at Goro with all his cuts and bruises, mouth hanging open uncertainly.

"Helping that woman..." Goro grunts, clenching his hands into fists as his nerve endings light up like fireworks. "Was it a mistake?"

Kurusu's eyes are wide and haunted. They seem to keep going, endlessly. "No," he says quietly, voice raw. "It wasn't."

"Then this doesn't have to be the end," Goro promises. "You don't... you don't have to be a tool. Use what they give you. Don't run from it."

He stifles another groan of pain, burying the sound into the floorboards. When he raises his head again, his eyes are blazing. He spits out-

"Let's make a deal. Join me, instead. Together, we can make them regret ever meeting us."

For a long, agonising moment, he watches the words sink in. Then, Kurusu's jaw sets. He gives a small nod.

Seconds later, the screaming starts.

Notes:

This chapter ended up twice as long as the others because Akira won't even listen to ME when I tell him to awaken his Persona already, and I refused to give him another chapter to prepare.

Kudos to everyone who said Akira would awaken to protect Akechi - those comments made my day, they made me think I was really interpreting Akira correctly, so thank you so much!!

Chapter 9: Akira; A Heartbeat for a Tin Man

Notes:

TW for this chapter: blood and injury, attempted murder

What's the matter?

Are you simply going to watch?

Akira lets out a gasp, bending almost double and clutching his forehead with both hands. His skull echoes with a pounding, throbbing pulse - there's the thick taste of blood in his mouth - it feels like a wire is carving through his brain matter, splitting him in two.

And that voice... Low and coaxing, it curls around his brain stem in a way that should feel threatening, but instead feels intimately familiar. He knows that voice, he's certain of it. It's him.

Ah, I see you've already declared your resolve. Now, vow to me.

I am thou…

Thou art I…

Thou, who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice…

There’s a sickening crack inside his skull and Akira howls, each scream ripped raw and bloody from his throat. He’s aware of the doctor and Akechi, watching him - the doctor with his mouth open, Akechi with a knowing gleam in his eye.

As if in slow motion, he sees another bead of blood roll down Akechi’s neck, splattering ruby-red against the floor. The sight grounds him. He swallows forcefully, steeling himself against the pain until it’s nothing more than a distant haze. There’s something… something he needs to do. He needs to…

Call upon my name

And release thy rage

Show the strength of thy will, to ascertain all on thine own

Though thou be chained, to Hell itself!

Right.

This is what he needs to do.

He’s not letting them get away with this - not now, not ever again.

Another pulse reverberates through his body, flowing outwards in a gust of violent wind. The doctor throws up his hands to protect his eyes. The limbs, growing between the floorboards like weeds, dissipate like so much formless smoke. Without them holding him up, Akira falters, but manages to remain standing.

Something heavy has settled over his eyes. Akira reaches for it blindly, feeling something hard and smooth beneath his fingers - a mask. Somehow he knows, deep in his bones, that it needs to come off.

Get it off get it off get it off -

He pries his fingernails between the mask and his skin, gaining mere centimetres of leverage, it's stuck so tight. He screams and writhes, uncaring that it seems fused to his skull, that he can feel his skin tearing like paper from the force. Eventually, he gains some momentum, peeling the mask off in one smooth motion from left to right. 

Blood spurts. He can barely feel it. Now that the mask is gone, he feels lighter than he has in years. He feels free.

The boy called Akira Kurusu smiles, all teeth. 

He stares at Dr Ito as blue flames consume his body.

(Together, we can make them regret ever meeting us.)

His other self, his Persona, peels from his body like a shadow, looming behind him. Akira doesn’t need to see it to know what it looks like: a tall, androgynous figure, dressed in red, with a face drawn in flames. A pair of long, feathery wings curl around him protectively, gleaming the rainbow-black of an oil slick. It’s a figure as intrinsically familiar as his own reflection.

I am the Pillager of Twilight, Arsène.

I am the rebel’s soul that resides within you.

If you so desire, I will consider granting you the power to break through this crisis. 

Akira breathes out slowly. When he speaks, his voice is unshakeable.

“I don’t want to die.”

Hmph. Very well.

Make sure you remember that.

“Now now, Kurusu-kun…” Ito raises his hands placatingly, taking a measured step away from Akechi. “See, we’ve achieved what we came here to do. There’s no need for -”

Akira snarls, taking another step forward. The doctor seems to rethink his strategy.

“Guards!” he yelps, clicking his fingers again. This time, Shadows appear - two different types. One is fleshy, pus-filled, a collection of writhing faces; the others take the form of gaunt, angelic figures, wearing rust-coloured armour. Akira grits his teeth, ready to ignore them and head straight for Ito anyway, when -

Akechi deals with him before Akira gets the chance. With his restraints gone, he twists his body to kick at the doctor, hooking him behind the knee and sending him falling to the floor. In the same graceful motion, he jumps to his feet, grinding the heel of his boot into the base of Ito's spine. He moans pitifully. Akechi ignores him.

“Kurusu,” he says, grabbing his attention. There’s that cruel smile on his face again, this time aimed at the Shadows congregating around Akira. “You take the Archangels - they’re weak to Curse. I’ll take the Choronzon.”

Akira spares the doctor one last, furious glance, before nodding. He tears his mask off for the first time and prepares for a slaughter.

Fighting in the Metaverse is… intoxicating. That feeling he’d gotten in here before, of being lighter than air, of electricity flowing through his veins instead of blood, is only heightened now he has his Persona. When Akira dodges, it’s with an intuitive backflip, close enough he can feel the ghost of the attack against his skin. When he rushes in close to slash back-handed with his knife, it cuts through the Shadows like butter, tearing skin from bone. When a Shadow dies, it does so in a burst of black smoke and a cry of despair, and it feels right, like justice, like Akira can stop the doctor for good if he kills one piece of his psyche at a time.

And fighting with Akechi is even better. They swap seamlessly between the enemies, moving like one unit. When Akira downs an angel with Eiha, Akechi moves in to tear it to pieces with his sword. When Akira’s in danger of being hit by a Bless spell, Akechi flips their positions, Robin Hood absorbing the attack much more effectively than Arsène . The battle only lasts a few minutes. Akira kind of wants it to go on forever.

But there’s something more important he needs to deal with first.

The Shadows’ remains are still floating on the air when Akira turns, stalking back towards Ito. With the fighting blocking his way to the exit, the doctor has taken to cowering in the corner, backed against the gaping hole in the floor where the tent hasn’t been fully constructed. When he sees Akira approaching, he lets out a squeak.

“My guards… You can’t have… Kurusu-kun, can’t you see, I didn’t have a choice -”

“Arsène."

Akira’s voice is colder than he’s ever heard it as he summons his Persona. He doesn’t feel numb anymore. Instead, he feels a frigid, simmering rage, different to any anger he’s felt before. It doesn’t burn. It freezes, condensing into something crystalline and perfect in his mind, letting him see exactly what he needs to do.

Like a cornered animal, Ito retreats even further. The heel of his shoe hangs over the precipice. 

“No… No, I -”

“How many people, doctor?” Akira interrupts, eerily calm. Arsène beats his wings behind him, the gust pushing Ito just a little bit closer to the edge. He whimpers. “How many patients have come to you, looking for help, only to join your little collection?”

 “They’re not… I don’t -”

“Do people die because of what you do?” he presses harshly. “Do you misdiagnose them on purpose? Do you give them treatments they don’t need? Play with them during surgeries? Just to see what their bodies are capable of? ”

“No, Kurusu-kun!” Ito wails. “It’s - it’s not like that, I swear! It’s… It’s not my FAULT -”

Akira’s vision tunnels. The order is on the tip of his tongue. Arsène knows one physical skill - Cleave - and though it’s not powerful, it would be enough to knock the doctor off-balance, send him careening into this yawning, liminal hole in his own mind. Looking into it, Akira can’t see an end. Ito could fall forever, or he could splat against some unseen surface, but either way the results would be the same. He wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else.

Akira swallows, wetting his lips.

(He gets the feeling he’s standing in front of some great precipice himself, on the edge of a choice he can’t take back.)

(It wasn’t like this, that night by the Samegawa, with Shido. Back then, Akira didn’t actually do anything.)

(He’s so sick of doing nothing.)

“Arsène -”

“Wait.”

Something wraps around Akira’s hand. Still high on adrenaline, he flinches, going to wrench his hand away - but the other person simply tightens their grip, refusing to let go. Akira turns to see reddish-brown eyes, watching him.

Akechi, to put it frankly, is a mess. His perfect hair is in disarray; his face is streaked with dirt where it was pressed against the tent floor; but worst of all is his white uniform, soaked in blood, blooming downwards from the open wound on his neck. The look on his face is also… complicated. He assesses Akira - a little curious, a little stern, sparing a glance to the Persona behind him. Contemplative.

“Before you go any further, I think it’s important for you to know: killing a person’s Shadow will lead to their death in the real world,” he explains crisply, his voice completely neutral. “And, even if you do think you’re ready to take that step…”

Akechi pauses delicately, as if waiting for Akira to respond.

Akira… doesn’t answer.

“...We have bigger problems to deal with than Ito. If we kill him now, Shido will know it was us. As you’ve seen, he doesn’t suffer betrayal lightly. He’ll send people after us - the Yakuza, the police, he has connections everywhere. We’d be dead before the end of the week, all without achieving our goal.”

“So you just want to - to let him go?” Akira grinds out, relishing in the way Ito squawks and covers his eyes. Akechi’s grip on his hand tightens, almost painfully.

“He’ll get when he deserves eventually. They all will. All I ask, is for a little patience.”

The seconds tick by as Akira stares at the doctor. Cowering like this, still covered in Akechi’s blood, he’s absolutely grotesque. Akira has never hated anything more - or, at least, never had the power to back it up before. He wants to tear Ito apart. And he could, if he chose to. The urge is shockingly difficult to control.

But… Akechi is right. Akira releases it in one long, deep breath, letting Arsène disappear behind him.

“A wise choice, Kurusu,” Akechi sounds pleased. Then, he turns his own attention to Ito, and his voice sharpens like a knife. “This is not a mercy, Ito. One day, I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done myself, and you’ll wish I let Kurusu deal with you now. You know what I’m capable of, after all. I’m your greatest triumph.”

The shark’s smile on Akechi’s face is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. Ito shivers.

“But - in the meantime, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Stay out of our way when we’re in your Palace, and never try that little trick you learned from Isshiki again. Is that understood?”

The doctor scrambles, bowing gratefully, practically babbling in relief, “Of course, Akechi-kun, of course, thank you, I completely understand -”

“Then leave,” Akechi interrupts.

And, tail between his legs, Ito goes.

Without anything to focus on, the strain of the last (ten minutes?) (hour?) (three weeks?) seems to hit Akira full force. He sways, Akechi’s hand darting out to brace him, pulling him to the side before he can fall into the pit himself. 

“Whoa…”

“I know. Awakening your Persona is truly exhausting, isn’t it? It would be a good idea to leave this place, before the Shadows regroup.”

Exhausting isn’t the word for it. Akira’s consciousness feels like vapour, like he’s only clinging to his body by a thread. Still, a dopey smile creeps across his face as he clutches Akechi’s arm, letting himself be dragged to the exit.

“Awakening my Persona … Ha. I did it. I finally figured it out.”

“Yes, yes, well done,” Akechi sounds almost amused by the punch-drunk tone of his voice. He draws Akira’s arm around his shoulders to support his weight, despite how it must irritate the inflamed skin of his neck. “Ugh… I don’t suppose your new Persona has any healing abilities?”

Fighting to stay focused, Akira flicks through his mind. It’s strange how tangible Arsène feels, a solid presence in the back of his subconscious. Just thinking about him seems to suffuse Akira’s entire being with warmth. He’s never felt so… complete. Even if he can’t see anything resembling a healing skill.

“No. Sorry.”

“A pity. In that case, we may need to improvise. Kurusu, can you…”

Another wave of vertigo runs through Akira. He veers forwards dangerously, legs giving out as he loses his grip on his own consciousness. Akechi’s voice drifts past his ear.

“-urusu?”

Akira’s shoulder throbs. His entire body is covered in cuts and bruises. Three weeks of fear and exhaustion catch up to him all at once, insidious and irresistible, like sinking into the ocean. Right there, right then, with Akechi’s arm wrapped protectively around him - Akira falls into a deep, blue sleep.

---

When he next opens his eyes, it’s with the disconcerting impression that a lot of time has passed, without him being in control of his own body.

A sterile white light burns down at him. Akira blinks, and the motion is slow and uncoordinated, like wading through treacle. He feels like a piece of taxidermy - like his entire body has been broken down and sewn back together, glue in his joints, his organs filled with cotton wool and sawdust.

And his dream … Akira can’t quite remember it, but he has the feeling he was dreaming about something really important -

“Ah, Kurusu-kun! You’re awake!”

It’s laughable, really, how quickly the vestiges of sleep disappear at the sound of that voice. Ito. Akira sits bolt upright, only to hiss when the sudden movement twinges something in his arm. He looks down - the joint of his shoulder is tightly bound, packed in bandages and some kind of compression sleeve, poking out from under his shirt.

What happened?

Where am I?

What did Ito do to me?

His heart rate swells, panic threatening to white out his brain. He’s about five seconds from a full-scale panic attack when something solid, soft and warm lands on his other arm.

The weight is comforting. Familiar, even before Akira turns to see Akechi sitting on a chair beside his bed. There’s both warning and reassurance in his eyes, in the way his fingers squeeze Akira’s wrist, telling him to keep it together. You’re not in danger. He hasn’t done anything to you. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart.

It’s… actually pretty helpful. Focusing on that feeling, he breathes out slowly, and relaxes back into the bed.

“You were asleep for quite a while!” Ito continues happily, seemingly oblivious to Akira’s little meltdown. He moves to stand on the other side of Akira’s bed, dragging a little metal table on wheels with him. It’s filled with medical supplies. “How are you feeling?”

“I -” Akira tries to speak, only for his voice to come out hoarse. He coughs, "I’m… fine. But what happened? Why am I… here?”

Now that he can focus, he can see that here is Ito’s exam room. But it’s ever-so-slightly different. The shitty hospital cot he's lying on wasn’t here before, for one. There’s a cup of coffee and a selection of half-eaten pastries on Ito’s desk. The light flooding through the window is bright and new, early morning, and holy shit how long have I been asleep?

“No need to worry, Kurusu-kun! You simply fainted in the Palace yesterday - a natural reaction, I suppose, considering the strain your psyche must have been under. Akechi-kun managed to get you out, and Shido-san gave me permission to keep you overnight, just to run a few tests and check your injuries. So please, try not to move around too much. Akechi-kun really did a number on you!”

Akira’s brain whirs. The memories from yesterday come flooding back. Akechi attacking him - Shadow Ito - Akechi on the floor, watching Ito carve him open - awakening his Persona. The more he thinks, however, the more Ito’s words don’t quite make sense.

Akechi-kun really did a number on you.

“...Akechi did?” he mutters, a little dazed. Now that he thinks about it, he supposes he does have Akechi to thank for most of the injuries decorating his body. But that was before they realised Ito was the actual threat. Why didn’t Ito mention that instead?

Akechi clears his throat beside him, drawing his attention. “Actually, yes - I’ve been meaning to apologise to you, Kurusu. Rest assured, I didn’t intend to hurt you this badly. I was doing it to awaken your Persona, and perhaps I went too far. But all’s well that ends well. You did awaken your Persona, after all. Don’t you remember?”

Akechi’s eyes burn a hole into Akira’s skull. He’s trying to tell me something, Akira realises, though his brain is too sleep-addled to connect the dots right away. Then, Akechi’s eyes flick from him to Ito, and it all clicks into place.

Oh. Ito doesn't know his Shadow turned up. Akechi hasn't told him. He wants to pretend Akira awakened to Arsène because of him. 

…Well. Akira can't pretend to understand why he's done it, but that's fine by him. He doesn’t want to give Ito any credit either.

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember, Akechi. Don’t worry about it.”

Some of the tension dissipates from Akechi’s shoulders. He gives Akira a (reluctantly) grateful look.

“Yes, I believe congratulations are in order, Kurusu!” Ito says happily. Rummaging around in the metal table, he pokes and prods at Akira’s skull with gloved fingers, moving his head into the position he wants before shining a small torch in his eyes. Akira resists the urge to bat him away. “You finally did it! You awakened your Persona! I had full faith in you, my boy.”

Liar. The events of yesterday flash in Akira’s head, and he remembers the sheer disgust in Ito’s voice when he looked at him. Nothing more than some jumped up, supercilious gutter trash. His voice is completely deadpan when he says, “Thanks, Dr Ito.”

Akechi shoots him a warning glare, but Ito doesn’t pick up on it. He just keeps on chatting aimlessly, moving on to taking Akira’s temperature.

“It’s a shame Akechi-kun had to injure you so badly to accomplish it, of course, but what’s done is done. At least he’s trying to make it up to you! He volunteered to stay here with you last night, you know, just to make sure you healed properly.”

Akira raises his eyebrows in disbelief. For the first time, he notices a second cot, pushed against the far wall. It’s so neatly made, it almost looks untouched. “Really?”

“Yep! You should count yourself lucky - I could never get him to stay overnight at the hospital, even when he was the one being treated! It’s strange, because he was always so easy to work with otherwise -”

“Dr Ito,” Akechi interrupts. His fingers are twisted in his lap. “Please. I was simply doing what I felt was right, to repay my debt to Kurusu. We’re officially colleagues now, after all. It wouldn’t do to get off on the wrong foot.”

There. Akechi’s doing it again - saying one thing, when he actually means another. Akira meets his eyes, thinking back to yesterday, to the deal they made. What Akechi’s actually asking is this: do you intend to honour our bargain?

Akira examines the other boy. Yesterday, he got to see so many different sides to Akechi. His face hovering above him, twisted in a snarl, attempting to kill him; that same face pressed into the floor, thrashing like a caught animal while blood pooled down his neck; the blazing look in his eyes when he proposed the deal, promising justice against the men who did this to them.

Now, he just looks tired. Hair lank, cheeks hollow, purple bags showing under his eyes despite a valiant effort to hide them with makeup. By the look of him, he didn't get any sleep last night. Because he was too busy keeping watch over Akira.

Something in Akira’s chest stirs. Even he’s surprised by the depth of his reaction, a flare of conviction so potent and warm he doesn’t know what to do with it. He gives the boy a faint, secret little smile.

(There was never any question.)

“Colleagues, huh? I guess you’re right. Thanks, Akechi - I really appreciate it.”

There's a second of consideration. Then, a corner of Akechi’s mouth quirks upwards, reflecting Akira’s smile back at him. It only lasts a second, before he turns back to Ito, business-like, with his mask cemented back in place.

“Anyway, Dr Ito - it’s morning now. How much longer do you intend to keep Kurusu? I thought you completed all the tests you needed last night.”

Ito lowers his thermometer uncertainly. “Well… yes, I did. I just -”

“And it’s Saturday,” Akechi pushes mildly. “A school day. If you remember, Shido-san doesn’t approve of us skipping - it draws undue attention. If Kurusu doesn’t get going soon, he might be late.”

Akira can barely imagine going to school in this state, but he still finds himself nodding eagerly, itching to be anywhere other than Ito’s exam room. He’s seen enough of this place for a lifetime. “Yeah. I don’t have my school uniform with me either, so I’ll have to go home first.”

Ito’s eye twitches, perhaps realising he’s being ganged up on. But Akechi’s invoked Shido’s name. He doesn’t have any choice but to say, “Right. Right you are, boys. Just… Let me sort out your medication, Kurusu-kun, to help you manage the pain. Then you can be on your way.”

Job done, Akechi smiles brightly, before standing up and smoothing the front of his uniform. “Perfect. I myself have an interview to attend, so I can’t stick around either. Kurusu - are you capable of getting home from here?”

If I say ‘no’, will you take my hand and drag me there yourself? Akira smothers his smile before it can come out, endlessly amused at what a mother hen Akechi turned out to be. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Yeah. I should be good.”

“In that case, I’ll take my leave. Nice seeing you again, Kurusu. Dr Ito.”

“Yes. You too, Akechi-kun,” Ito sounds distinctly sulky as Akechi heads for the door. 

Just before leaving, though, Akechi pauses. He turns a half-step, catching Akira’s eye while Ito’s back is turned. Then, with a meaningful look, he slips something  into Akira’s school bag, lying on the desk by the door. Next thing Akira knows, he’s gone.

Curiosity burns under Akira’s skin. He fidgets impatiently through Ito’s last-minute check-ups, taking the small collection of pills without a word. It’s only when he’s safely out of the hospital, leaving Ito sitting dejectedly at his desk, that he tears his bag open, looking for whatever Akechi left him.

It doesn't take long. Resting on the top of his bag, there’s a piece of paper - a business card, embossed with the hospital’s logo. Ito’s, perhaps, stolen from his desk during Akechi’s overnight stay. But that’s not important. What’s important is the neat, carefully printed handwriting on one side.

Meet me at the below address, Sunday at 17:00.

Come alone.

A.

Beneath the message, there’s an address for somewhere in Kichijoji. Akira flips the card, wondering if there’s anything else to it, but that’s all there is. He snorts. God, Akechi certainly has a flair for the dramatic, doesn’t he. What, he couldn’t just ask for Akira’s phone number? 

Still, Akira can’t deny the flicker of excitement that runs through him, putting a bounce in his step as he walks the familiar path to the train station. Yesterday, he walked this same path, thinking he might die. Now, he has a Persona. He has a deal with Akechi. He has something to work towards. For the first time since coming to Tokyo, Akira feels… well… alive.

(He’s going to make Masayoshi Shido regret ever learning his name.)

But first, he has a day at school to contend with. As Akira boards the train, he thinks - he should really go to the library.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay with this one! I caught a cold and apparently one of the symptoms is writer's block. This was also the last of my pre-written chapters, and since we're getting near the end of the 'Akira library' arc, I might take a brief hiatus just to collect my thoughts and write the next batch of chapters.

I also just wanted to thank everyone for their reaction to the last chapter! I got so many nice comments, it made me so happy. I was at my parents' house for Christmas when I got some of the email notifications, and I had to explain to them that people were being really lovely about me torturing my favourite characters lol. Hope you're enjoying so far!

Chapter 10: Goro; If I am the Fool (or what not)

Notes:

OK so I wasn't meant to post this today lol, I don't have enough chapters built up for regular updates again, but it's 2/2 and seeing all the cool artwork and fics made me go insane. So... have these two chapters.

TW for this chapter: blood and injury, Shido

In the aftermath of Kurusu’s awakening, Goro has no choice but to think fast.

Firstly: he drags Kurusu’s dead weight to the Palace’s safe room, torn between annoyance that God even now he’s so useless and amusement that at least this little experiment’s ending the way it started. It’s reassuring, in a way, that Goro isn’t completely superfluous. Not yet.

Secondly: he heals what he can. Based on experience, injuries sustained in the Metaverse become infinitely more real upon returning to reality, so Goro pours his bag of medical supplies onto the floor and despairs at how few there are. It won’t be enough - Kurusu looks like a fucking car crash victim, and Goro is kidding himself if he thinks some headache relievers and paper bandages will fix that.

You caused that, a voice whispers in Goro’s head as he examines Kurusu’s shoulder, the angle of it slightly off where Robin hit him. Goro thinks it might be dislocated. It’s your fault. If he wakes up and remembers that, what will he do?

He grits his teeth and begins tearing off bandages anyway, sticking them to every free patch of skin he can find. The cut on his own neck bleeds freely. He ignores it. His hair is long enough to hide it, and if he wants to keep Kurusu on his side, he has bigger things to worry about.

Thirdly: he returns to reality, to deal with Ito and Shido.

It’s a lot less graceful than usual. As soon as the air re-solidifies around him, his knees buckle, collapsing under the combined weight of gravity and Kurusu, still draped across his shoulders. He has just enough presence of mind to place Kurusu carefully on the floor, trying not to jostle his injured shoulder. 

“Akechi-kun!” Ito is the first to react, throwing himself down beside Kurusu with a cartoonish gasp. He snatches Kurusu's wrist to check his pulse, voice far too gleeful as he says, “What happened? Is he alive?”

Goro ignores him. Instead, he looks up at Shido, still sitting at the desk, unmoving.

“Well?” he says, voice sharp.

“Yes,” Goro says hoarsely. “He’s alive.”

Shido trails his gaze over the sleeping boy, eyes heavy-lidded. He takes in the half-faded cuts and bruises, the injured shoulder, the rise-and-fall of his breathing. “And were you successful? Does he have the same power you do?”

Goro breathes out raggedly. Despite himself, despite everything that happened, he can’t hold back a genuine grin of triumph.

“Yes.”

Shido’s eyes shine. He stands, moving to kneel next to Goro on the floor, looking closely at Kurusu’s sallow face. He rests a hand on Goro’s shoulder.

“Well done, Akechi.”

(He’s proud of me.)

The praise is like a punch to the gut. Goro reels, unable to control the way his thoughts spin, spewing things like oh thank God, oh THANK GOD he’s happy with me, I did a good job, he does still need me -

“How did it happen?” Ito jumps in excitedly. “What triggered it? What form did his Persona take? Did you see my Shadow?”

Fourthly: Goro… pauses.

It’s strange, but he spends so much time around Shadows, he’s become a little desensitised to their true nature. They’re not real people, after all - only representations, buried millions of layers deep in a person’s subconscious. As such, they can only share information one-way. Shadows know everything their other selves know; but the other self isn’t even aware of the Shadow, can’t recognise or remember anything that happens to it.

So - Ito doesn’t actually know what happened in the Palace today.

Which means there’s nothing stopping Goro from lying.

“Your… Shadow, Dr Ito?” Goro asks. He’s always been a good actor, and it’s all too easy to turn his anger into honeyed, innocent confusion on his lips. “No, nothing like that. Why do you ask?”

And God, the look on Ito’s face is glorious. He splutters, cheeks turning red, looking at Goro like he knows, deep down, that he’s lying, but can’t possibly articulate how he knows that. His eyes flick to Shido with an abject expression of fear. Because, obviously, this means Ito failed. Goro was the successful one. 

(He’s the one who deserves Shido’s praise.)

“Never mind that,” Shido says, sounding like he couldn’t care less - though Goro doesn’t miss the way his eyes narrow. “How did it happen, Akechi?”

“Oh, I simply fought him - just as you asked, Shido-san,” Goro gives a humble little smile. “He was still quite stubborn, I’m afraid. That’s why he’s a little worse for wear right now. But eventually, I think the message got through to him.”

Oh, this is perfect. With this one move, Goro can claim victory; Ito will be disgraced; Shido will think Isshiki’s research notes are ineffective, keeping them from trying them again; and he’ll never know the true circumstances of Kurusu’s awakening, how he did it to save Goro following an embarrassing defeat, how Kurusu…

Slowly, little by little, a stone settles in Goro’s stomach. It dawns on him, the massive flaw in his plan.

Ito might not know what happened in the Palace today.

But Kurusu does.

It’s a disconcerting realisation - that Goro just lied, straight to Shido’s face, simply trusting Kurusu would go along with whatever he said. He hadn’t even stopped to question it. He’d simply believed that he would - and that’s dangerous.

Because, sure, they made a deal. But so what? People go back on deals all the time! If Kurusu does that, and tells Shido what really happened… that Goro actually failed, like Shido thought he would all along… and then tried to cover it up… Goro will be finished.

What the hell was he THINKING?

But the words are out, now. Goro can’t take them back. Skin crawling, he shoves his fears aside and refocuses his attention on Shido.

“Christ, what did you do to him, Akechi? Run him over?” Shido says with no small amount of amusement, pulling the neck of his shirt down to see the bruise blooming there. “Ito? Can you fix him up?”

“Of course, Shido-san!” Ito bounces to his feet happily. “I’ll need to run some tests on him anyway, now that he’s awakened his Persona - just to see if anything’s changed, you know. Ideally, I’d like to keep him overnight…”

He drifts off towards the end, perhaps realising he needs to ask Shido’s permission for something like that. Shido only scoffs.

“You’re the doctor, Ito. Keep him overnight if you want. Just make sure he’s ready to start work as soon as possible. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Ito makes a happy noise. Shido stands up, leaving Goro the only one still sitting on the floor. When the weight of his hand disappears from his shoulder, it leaves him feeling a little… blindsided? Is this it? After so many weeks trying to awaken Kurusu’s Persona, it’s over? Just like that?

Feeling distinctly dizzy, Goro tries to sort out his thoughts, focusing on Kurusu’s sleeping face. It’s oddly peaceful, even with the streak of blood drying beneath his lip. He’s struck with the bizarre desire to wipe it away. So many of his future plans now rely on this boy, and Goro doesn’t… he doesn’t know how to deal with that -

(And now, he’s going to start work.)

(Ito’s going to have him overnight, when he’s sleeping and peaceful and vulnerable.)

(Are you going to sit by and let that happen to him?)

Fifthly: Goro does something he really, really doesn’t want to do.

“Shido-san? Could I have a word?”

“What is it, Akechi?” Shido says carelessly. He’s standing by the desk again, pulling on his coat, getting ready to leave. The idea of having this conversation on the floor, Shido literally standing over him, is unbearable. Goro forces himself to his feet.

“It’s two things, really. For the first… I was just wondering, if it would be possible for me to stay overnight, too?”

At that, Shido pauses, hands stilling as they smooth the collar of his coat. “Hmm? You want to stay here, Akechi? What, is the apartment I gave you not good enough?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Goro laughs pleasantly. A part of him feels disappointed that his dynamic with Shido reverted to this so quickly, after that brief display of affection earlier. The rest of him wants to tear his own skin off for feeling that way. “I was just cornered by a Shadow earlier, when I was carrying Kurusu out of the Metaverse. I’m ashamed to say it caught me off-guard, and managed to do some damage. So, if I could just have a quick check-up with Dr Ito… Maybe help with Kurusu… It is my fault he’s ended up this way, after all…”

Goro has to force himself to stop talking, before Shido’s silence compels him to beg for something he doesn’t even want. In truth, he’d rather spend the rest of his life in the Metaverse than a single night under Dr Ito’s care. But if he stays, he can keep an eye on Kurusu. If he wakes up, they can have a little chat about what happened in the Palace today, and he can make sure the boy keeps his mouth shut. That, and… well…

(Whenever Goro stayed overnight in the hospital as a boy, he’d always been terrified, paralysed with fear that Ito would do something to him while he was asleep. His greatest, most childish wish had been simple: that someone would stay with him, looking after him as he slept. If he can do that for Kurusu - to earn his trust - so be it.)

“You’re hurt, are you?” Shido finally turns around, arching an eyebrow. “Where?”

The bastard can’t just make it easy, can he? Goro grits his teeth and turns around, pushing his hair to one side, ignoring the way his skin prickles at the sensation. He only has one injury he can show off right now.

“...Here.”

Shido lets out a low whistle, and Goro can only imagine what he sees. A bright red laceration, cutting horizontally across the knob of his spine, deep and gaping, like filleting a fish. Parts of it have already begun to scab, making the whole thing itch unbearably; some parts are still bleeding sluggishly, spotting his shirt with rust-red flecks.

“That’s a nasty one. What did that to you?”

“I didn’t get a good look at it,” Goro lies through his teeth. “I was too busy trying to get Kurusu to safety.”

“Hmm,” Shido hums thoughtfully, before snapping his fingers. “Ito? Can you take a look at this for Akechi, too?”

Fuck fuck fuck. Goro knew it was inevitable the second he opened his mouth, but he still tenses as Ito turns to him, eyes catching on the wound with far too much interest. Yeah, look all you want, you disgusting piece of shit. It's your handiwork, after all.

“Akechi-kun! You should’ve said something!” he scolds lightly, making his way to Goro and immediately probing the cut with a gloved finger. Goro’s mind flashes back to Ito’s Shadow form, those black gloves with the endless stream of blood, and bites his lip to keep from crying out when he applies pressure. “Of course, if you want to stay overnight, you’re always welcome.”

“Much appreciated, Dr Ito. Shido-san,” Goro grinds out. 

“What else did you want to talk about, Akechi?” Shido prompts, checking his watch impatiently, clearly too important to linger here any longer. Goro takes a deep, steadying breath. OK. This is another gamble, and a dangerous one at that. He needs to stay calm.

“It’s about Kurusu, sir. You see… Even after awakening his Persona, I’m afraid he might not be ready for active duty yet.”

“What?”

At the sound of Shido’s voice, sharp and barking like an angry dog, the room instantly drops several degrees. Ito mumbles some half-baked excuse about going to sort out some beds, practically running from the room, leaving Goro alone with Shido. He straightens his shoulders and meets Shido’s gaze evenly.

“If you remember when I first awakened, Shido-san, my powers were quite weak. It was some time before I was able to start work, and that was largely due to Dr Isshiki’s instruction. I can help Kurusu to get stronger, but I’m afraid he won’t be able to hold his own in the Metaverse for some time.”

“But that was two years ago, Akechi. Are you telling me you haven’t found an easier way to do it? In two years?”

Shido’s voice twists, mocking and cruel, daring Goro to say that yes, he is that weak, that useless, that expendable. It rankles him, but he doesn’t let it show. He’s right, after all. And Shido knows it.

“I’m afraid not, Shido-san. Causing a mental shutdown or psychotic breakdown always involves a physical altercation with a Shadow - and, if Kurusu tried that right now, I don’t think he’d survive it.”

He drops his eyes, subtly, to the boy still lying unconscious on the floor. It’s a more persuasive argument than anything he could possibly say. Across the room, Shido clenches his fingers into fists.

“How long do you think he’ll need?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” Goro says carefully. “For me, I think it was about… six months?”

“...You have one month,” he says, so cold and rigid Goro doesn’t try to argue. It’s still a victory. “Understood, Akechi? One month, to turn Kurusu into something capable of standing on its own two feet. And you’re going back to work. I don’t care if it’s too much - if you start slacking, I won’t give a shit that Kurusu is too weak. You’ll be done, and Kurusu will be your replacement. Is that clear?”

Goro bows reverentially. Blood dribbles down the side of his throat.

“Of course, sir.”

Shido’s only reaction is a muffled curse. Goro doesn’t raise his head. He hears the man grab his things - move across the room - open the door, too roughly - and slam it shut behind him. And still, he doesn’t raise his head for a few minutes, instead letting out a slow, even breath.

It’s going to be a long, long night.

When Goro looks up again, the first thing his gaze lands on is Kurusu, still splayed on the floor. In all the commotion, everyone really forgot about him just lying there. It would be funny, if he didn’t look like absolute shit.

…Well. If he’s going to do this, he might as well do it properly. Ignoring how his muscles protest, he hooks one arm under the boy’s shoulders and one under his legs, lifting him gently to avoid making his injuries worse. Despite his best efforts, Kurusu’s face contorts in pain, but he doesn’t wake up as Goro lays him on the recliner. He stands there for a moment, just looking at him.

What am I even doing.

Before he can think too much about it, his eyes catch on something shimmery, lying on the floor. He bends down to pick it up - it’s Kurusu’s glasses, mercifully intact. Goro doesn’t know how they ended up here, or how they didn’t snap in half during the events of the Palace, but he’s not in the mood to question it.

He examines them for a moment, wondering what kind of boy wears fake glasses, what kind of boy he’s entrusted his mission to, willingly or not. As he slips them carefully onto Kurusu’s face, he thinks -

You better be worth this.

Chapter 11: Goro; Soultini

Notes:

TW for this chapter: parental neglect, reference to past injuries

Kurusu, true to form as an awkward bastard who only exists to make Goro's life difficult, doesn't wake up during the night spent in Ito's exam room. But in the end, it doesn't matter. Goro catches him just before he needs to leave in the morning, and the look on his face when he realised Goro stayed with him - so warm, so trusting, how precious - is enough. He seems happy to go along with the deal.

For now, at least. Goro still wants to put something more formal in place before he truly relaxes.

For that reason, he slips Kurusu the note, and spends the next day and a half collecting his thoughts, preparing to meet with him again. As far as Goro can tell, Kurusu can be one of two things. One - he can be the best thing that ever happened to him, another asset in his mission against Shido, someone on his side, which Goro has never had the opportunity to benefit from. Or, two - he can be a fatal liability, who betrays Goro at the first turn, or says something stupid that puts everything at risk. There's no in-between, and no matter how Goro looks at it, he can't figure out which is more likely. Even now, he can never just figure Kurusu out -

Worse than that, he can't see any way to mitigate the risk, either. If Goro could only put a failsafe in place - some way of betraying Kurusu before he can return the favour, or some kind of leverage to keep him in line - that would at least be something. But there's nothing. Goro has placed his life in this stranger's hands, and there's no way to take it back.

Goro can't stand it.

Maybe that's why he feels... not quite anxious, but certainly tense when he boards the train to Kichijoji. He spent far too long getting ready for this little rendezvous (an embarrassingly long time, if he thinks about it for longer than a second, nerves making him insecure), and he pulls at his white shirt and slacks as he waits for the train to stop.

(When he reached for his usual argyle sweater vest, he'd hesitated, as if appealing to Kurusu's atrocious sense of fashion would give him an advantage in the upcoming meeting.)

(Instead, his petulance had reared its ugly head. He'd snatched a dark green one from the back of his wardrobe instead, one he rarely got to wear because it hadn't been approved by his stylist, just to show Kurusu they could look good.)

It's busy in Kichijoji. Goro moves along with the crowd, keeping his head down to avoid being recognised. He really, really doesn't have time for fans today. It shouldn't be a problem once he reaches his destination, though - it's why he chose this place to begin with.

The Jazz Jin.

It's a homely, hole-in-the-wall kind of place, which has been Goro's sanctuary for as long as he can remember. Truth be told, he was reluctant to share it with Kurusu at first. Still is, really. But it's the only place where the meeting will be entirely on his terms. Shido doesn't know about it; the owner, Muhen, has a soft spot for him, and has historically thrown out anyone who bothers him; Goro knows the layout and all the exits like the back of his hand. So, once again, he has little choice but to share this part of himself with Kurusu.

Still, as he rounds the corner to the jazz club, he finds himself slowing down. Kurusu's already here. He leans against the wall by the entrance, dressed in jeans and a casual black blazer, and seeing him here is...

Wrong, Goro decides, striding forward. It's wrong. He doesn't deserve to be here.

"Akechi," Kurusu greets first, restless eyes spotting him when he's still a few paces away. His eyebrows raise slightly, examining Goro in a quick, surreptitious motion. He coughs. "You - you look good."

The petty part of Goro preens. He tries to control the smugness in his voice when he responds, reminding himself why he's here: to gain Kurusu's loyalty.

"Oh? Thank you, Kurusu. Are you implying I usually don't?"

"No," he says quickly. "It's just, you know... a lot happened yesterday. I wouldn't have blamed you for ditching the sweater vests today."

Ah. At the reminder of the scabbing across the back of his neck, Goro's mood sours. He pins his smile in place and speaks quickly.

"Yes. Well, I've been doing this for a long time - and I'm a celebrity, after all. I hold myself to higher standards than that."

"How's your..." Kurusu glances at the people surrounding them, before lowering his voice and leaning in. "Sorry, I meant to ask yesterday, but - how's your neck?"

Goro stares at him. He'd helped Ito treat Kurusu yesterday. He can list each and every one of his injuries, from his dislocated shoulder, to the square foot of bruised tissue down his back, to the array of burns on his arms and legs. All of them, caused by Goro himself - and yet Kurusu is asking about his neck injury?

"It's... fine. Ito stitched it up yesterday," he says stiffly. A crease appears between Kurusu's eyes.

"Ito stitched it up?"

"I didn't exactly have much of a choice, Kurusu," Goro snaps before he can control himself. It was a nightmarish scenario - feeling those fingers on the nape of his neck, sewing up the wound they helped inflict in the first place. And it wouldn't have happened at all if it weren't for the boy in front of him.

Still - he can't afford to pick a fight. He coughs, going to take it back, but before he can say a word, Kurusu raises an apologetic hand.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. Just... do you want me to take a look? Make sure it's all OK?"

There's another moment of staring. God, how can Kurusu be real?

"No. Thank you, Kurusu, but I know what getting stitches feels like. I would've noticed if Ito did something wrong," Goro says politely. Really, it would be a good show of trust to let Kurusu look at it, like an animal exposing its soft belly. But so many people have poked and prodded at his wound already. The idea of one more person doing it is intolerable.

Kurusu simply nods, like he understands. Happy to leave this strange moment behind them, Goro pulls up a smile and nods towards the entrance.

"Shall we go in?"

"Erm..." Kurusu casts his eye over the Jazz Jin uncertainly. "Sure. What is this place, exactly?"

"A jazz club. I come here to unwind."

When Kurusu makes no effort to move, Goro leads them through the entrance, following the stairs down into a dimly-lit, yet warm, underground club. Just stepping under the archway makes the tension in Goro's shoulders disappear. He glances over his shoulder to see the rainbow lights reflected in Kurusu's glasses, his eyes flicking around the space in blatant curiosity.

"Do you like jazz at all?"

So absorbed, it takes Kurusu a moment to realise the question is for him. "I haven't really listened to it before," he admits. "We don't have anything like this back home."

"Ah. Well, even if you don't like it, I'll be glad to provide you with a new experience -"

"Akechi-kun?"

Goro turns as someone calls his name. It's the man behind the bar - a tan man wearing sunglasses and a broad, welcoming smile. Muhen.

"I thought it was you. Had enough of the life of the rich and famous? Back to slumming it with the rest of us?"

"Muhen-san," Goro greets, smiling easily in return. "My apologies - it has been a while. I'm afraid my schedule's been quite hectic."

"I can see that - you're never off the TV these days, are you?" Muhen says wryly, before glancing over at Kurusu, hovering at Goro's shoulder like a lost puppy. "And who's this? Friend of yours?"

"Actually, this is my colleague, Akira Kurusu. We have an internship together," he says brightly. "Kurusu, this is Muhen. He runs the club."

"It's nice to meet you." At the introduction of someone new, Kurusu's 'shyness' has come back full force. His voice is quiet and neutral, and his glasses hide his eyes as he bows.

His FAKE glasses, Goro reminds himself, narrowing his own eyes slightly.

"You too, Kurusu-kun. It's about time Akechi-kun brought one of his friends here. I could use the extra business," Muhen raises an eyebrow at Goro, who laughs sycophantically until he stops. "Alright, boys. Cover's ¥3,000 and the special tonight is a Soultini. Mocktails, of course - I won't be serving you any alcohol. What'll it be?"

"I'll pay the cover, Muhen," Goro says quickly, before Kurusu can be irritatingly chivalrous and offer to pay. Judging by how his shoulders slump, that's exactly what he was planning on doing. "And I'm happy with the Soultini. Kurusu?"

"...Yeah. Same."

"Alright. Thank you very much, Akechi-kun, and I hope you two have a good night."

"We will, Muhen-san. Thanks."

Once again, Goro leads the way through the artfully cluttered chairs. Usually, he prefers a seat next to the stage, where he can listen to the music properly and chat with Muhen when he isn't busy. Today, however, he commandeers a booth near the back, half-cast in shadow, where they are unlikely to be disturbed.

"You don't know what a Soultini is, do you?" he says bluntly as Kurusu slides into the seat across from him. The other boy gives him a sheepish look.

"Was it that obvious?"

He really is a country boy. It's kind of sweet, in a way. It probably wouldn't kill Goro to take him under his wing a bit.

"It's kiwi syrup and soda. To be fair, I recall at our first meeting you said you 'weren't good at drinking'. Perhaps I should have explained before we ordered."

At the reference to Shido's party, God fucking knows how long ago at this point, Kurusu's smile brightens, like he's surprised Goro remembers. "Nah, I trust your taste in fancy drinks. Kiwi syrup sounds good."

They lapse into silence while they wait for their drinks to arrive. Kurusu's eyes can't stop moving, seemingly fascinated by everything around him. He's so much more animated when he doesn't think anyone's watching him. Goro's own eyes remain fixed on him until Muhen arrives, placing the bright green drinks on the table in front of them.

"There you are, boys. Enjoy."

"Thank you."

"Yes, thank you, Muhen-san."

Kurusu peers at the drink, which really is an alarming shade of green, before immediately latching onto the straw. His eyebrows raise when the taste hits his tongue.

"Up to your standards, Kurusu?" Goro asks, a little meanly. Kurusu hums.

"It's good. Really sweet. I like it."

"Glad to hear it."

And with that, Goro straightens, folding his arms in front of him, trying to adopt a more business-like approach. They have a lot to talk about, after all. If Kurusu notices, he doesn't react, mouth still firmly attached to the straw.

"Now then. Kurusu. I invited you here for a reason, as I'm sure you know. And you showed up, so you must be willing to go along with this deal of ours. Am I correct in thinking that?"

There's an obnoxious slurp as Kurusu reaches the dregs of his drink, before he looks up at Goro. "To clarify - the deal is to work together behind Shido's back, to get some sort of revenge. Correct?"

Lying on the table, Goro's hand flexes. "Correct."

"Then yes, I'm in. Though you'll have to fill me in on the logistics."

"All in good time."

Goro's heart pounds steadily. OK. So far, so good. Now, for act two.

"First, I think it would be a good idea for us to clear the air. Kurusu, I wanted to... express my gratitude... for your help in the Palace yesterday. I know I wasn't performing at my best, but you still managed to pick up my slack. It was very appreciated -"

"Akechi," Kurusu interrupts mildly. "Sorry, but can you... not do that?"

"...I'm sorry?" Goro says, voice carefully controlled.

"Just... Look. Yesterday, I watched you decapitate a Shadow using a lightsaber. You held a gun to my head. You stopped me from... well... My point is, don't feel like you have to go all Detective Prince-y on me now, OK? I like it, when - when you're not hiding."

That... wasn't what Goro was expecting. He blinks at Kurusu, trying to figure out if he knows just what he's asking for. (No-one has ever wanted Goro as he actually is.) But those stupid grey eyes are as sincere as ever. He doesn't have much choice but to sigh, and agree.

"Alright, fine. I'll drop the act." Dismantling his Detective Prince persona, his voice automatically drops half an octave; it makes Kurusu's smile twitch. "But in return, I want you to return the favour. No more lies. If we're going to do this, I need full reassurance that I know who you are. That I can trust you."

He's lying, it should go without saying. It would be beyond stupid to fully trust Kurusu, given the circumstances. But Kurusu doesn't seem perturbed at all. He sits up straight and nods firmly.

"Right. No more secrets."

Goro considers him for a second more, trying to find any sign of doubt. Nothing. Either this kid is the world's best liar, or...

"Perfect," he says briskly. Leaning forward, he picks up his own drink, wrapping his mouth around the straw as he gets to the part he's actually interested in. "In that case, can you please explain how you met Shido, and how he enlisted you? As you've already figured out, Shido never actually told me, and everything I've heard since has been second-hand. I'd like to hear the story from your own mouth."

Kurusu starts fidgeting again, but still nods. "I mean, yeah, I guess that makes sense. You already know the basics though."

"Then humour me."

"...Fine. So it all started with this fish in my hometown, right..."

By the time he's finished the story, Goro's drink is empty. He puts the glass down with a thud.

"Seriously? A story like that, and you start by talking about the fish?"

"It was important set dressing!" Kurusu protests. Secretly, he seems glad, like he's happy Goro isn't just fawning over him after hearing his little sob story. He doesn't want to be pitied. Very well - Goro can respect that.

"What about after?" he presses instead. "After you were arrested. What happened?"

"Well..." At that, Kurusu's fidgeting gets even worse, pulling on the end of his fringe so hard Goro wants to physically tear his hand away. "Shido visited my parents. And my lawyer. He said, if I pleaded guilty, he'd strike a deal with the judge and reduce my sentence to probation in Tokyo. He even threw in an 'internship' at his office - said he'd spin it as a social justice thing, to support young offenders to re-enter society."

The derision dripping from Kurusu's voice is music to Goro's ears. It's the angriest Goro's seen him outside the Metaverse. He kinda likes it.

"My lawyer loved it, of course. He knew we had no chance of beating Shido otherwise, and God knows what he would've gotten the judge to do to me if I said no."

"And your parents? How did they react?"

It's a touchy subject, clearly. The look on Kurusu's face almost makes him regret asking. But Kurusu is such a matryoshka doll of a boy - Goro thinks the only way he'll ever understand him is to peel back these layers, one at a time.

"...You know in detective movies, how they always say the criminal gets 'one phone call' after they get arrested?" he says abruptly, eyes downcast, not looking at Goro. "I dunno how true it is, but they always say it. Well, when I got arrested, my parents were out of the country. They do it a lot, I was used to it. But I tried calling them from the police station, and they just... didn't pick up. So I'm thinking, fuck. There goes my one phone call. And the cops were just looking at me with this - this stupid expression on their faces, like they didn't know what to do either."

Kurusu's voice has dipped, so quiet Goro has to lean in to hear him. He doesn't mind.

"So, I don't know if its illegal or whatever, but they let me try again. And again. And again. For five days, I keep calling, and they don't answer. And I don't really have any other family, or any adults I really know in town, so it's not like I can call anyone else. The cops are getting angry, thinking I'm just messing with them, but I'm underage so they can't just let me go without releasing me into somebody's custody. They start calling my parents themselves. They still don't answer."

Finally, Kurusu looks up again. A part of Goro thinks: he looked like that when he awakened, too.

"Finally, on the sixth day, they just - show up, at the police station. With Shido, wearing that stupid bandage on his head. Turns out, Shido called them the day after I got arrested and told them everything, including the deal he wanted to make. They spent the last six days working it out, travelling back to Tokyo to meet with him. By the time they came to pick me up, they'd already decided everything without me."

Goro stays silent for a moment, digesting this information. Then -

"Your parents are pieces of shit."

Kurusu laughs - maybe from surprise, maybe from Goro swearing so casually, he isn't sure. The sound is a little wet.

"I mean... yeah. I guess. They thought I'd ruined my life, though. They were just doing what they could to salvage it."

Privately, Goro doesn't agree. They could've responded to Kurusu's calls at any point. They should've been at least a little suspicious of the smarmy, rich, powerful man, taking such an interest in their underage son. And they could have simply been there for Kurusu in the first place, instead of leaving him home alone.

(If it had been Goro's mother, she would have -)

"Do you want another drink?" he says, instead of saying any of that. Kurusu looks grateful.

"I'll pay this time."

By the time they're settled again, Kurusu is back to his usual self. He sips at his drink thoughtfully, slower this time, looking at Goro from behind his eyelashes. 

"What about you?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. "How did you end up working with Shido?"

Ah. In truth, Goro had been hoping to avoid this topic for a while longer. But Kurusu is nothing if not perceptive.

"My story isn't quite the same as yours, I'm afraid," he says, tone deceptively light. Because no - he doesn't have the moral high ground of being forced into this, like Kurusu has been. "I sought Shido out. I asked to work for him."

"Huh?" The straw falls from Kurusu's mouth. "But - I've seen the way you look at him. You hate him even more than I do. Why would you want to work with him?"

"I trust you're familiar with the phrase 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer'? I've been playing the long game, Kurusu. I want nothing more than to destroy Masayoshi Shido, even if I need to work with him to do it."

"...What did he do to you?"

Kurusu leans forward, resting his elbows on the table so they're only a few inches apart. They meet each other's eyes evenly. Kurusu's look like molten silver.

"...I don't think I need to tell you."

"What?" Kurusu says, indignant, and the momentary spell that came over them is broken. "You just said 'no more secrets'."

"Actually, you said that, Kurusu. I said 'no more lies'," Goro says, not even trying to keep the savage triumph out of his voice. Kurusu rolls his eyes.

"And I'm not lying to you. You must realise you have a distinct advantage over me. If I go to Shido, and try to tell him any of this, he'll accuse me of being jealous and trying to usurp your place. Besides - everything you've told me, he already knows. But if you go to Shido, and tell him my secrets, he'll listen. He won't need me anymore. He'll get rid of me, and replace me with you. So forgive me if I don't want to spill my guts just yet."

Kurusu clenches his jaw. When he speaks, it sounds like a promise. "I won't tell him."

Goro smiles. He really thinks he's a hero, doesn't he.

"I'm sorry, but I just can't afford to believe you right now. Maybe in the future," he amends, lying through his teeth, "but not right now. I hope you understand."

This is a critical moment. Kurusu seems to be thinking hard, dark eyebrows drawing together while he glares down at the table. Goro can't quite read the direction his thoughts have taken - and when he eventually nods, expression smoothing out once again, he feels a surge of relief.

"OK, Akechi. I trust you."

Victory.

Goro keeps a tight hold on his expression, trying not to let any of his glee shine through. Kurusu trusts him. Kurusu trusts him. It's almost pitiful, but this means he's on Goro's side, he's Goro's collaborator, Goro can use him as he sees fit. As of this moment, he's never been closer to his goal.

"Perfect. I trust you as well," he nods, settling for a warm, slightly toothy smile, before getting back to business. "Now. Since we're working together, I'll need to be able to get in touch with you. Would you mind sharing your contact details?"

"Sure."

As Goro saves Kurusu's number in his phone, he feels strange. He hasn't given anyone his actual number in years.

"We'll also need to discuss weapons. Now that you have your Persona, that will be your main form of offense, but it's always good to have a back-up as well. I think your Metaverse attire spawned with a knife, is that right? We might be able to get you something better."

"Cool."

"Guns are also useful. Feel free to do your research, and see if you have any preferences. They don't need to be real - as long as they look realistic, they work just fine in the Metaverse, as you've already seen."

Kurusu wants to tease Goro's Featherman blaster again, he can practically see it in his eyes, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut this time. "Got it."

"Other than that, I've bought you a month of training before you start work properly. Good news is, that will give us some time to plan. Bad news is, it means we'll have to see Ito again sometime soon. I'm in charge of your training, but he'll want to be involved anyway. He always does."

Kurusu's lip curls. He nods one more time. "Right."

Goro flicks through his mental list one last time, but he thinks he's covered everything he wanted to. Now, he looks at Kurusu critically, hoping all that information actually penetrated his skull. He's just been nodding like a bobblehead for a while now.

"Have you got all that, Kurusu? Or do you have some questions?"

"No, I think I've got it. Although... actually, wait. I do have one question."

"What is it?" 

Interestingly, Kurusu seems to hesitate before responding. It isn't the same hesitation from before, where he obviously didn't want to talk about it and had to force himself to answer. It's more like... he's choosing his words carefully. Like he doesn't know how to explain it.

"When you awakened to your Persona, did you ever have any... weird dreams?"

Weird dreams? Goro fights the urge to scoff. Is Kurusu coming to him about some nightmares?

"I can't say I did, no. Why? What have you been dreaming about?"

"...Doesn't matter. Guess they're just from stress."

Goro narrows his eyes. That was a terrible lie - Kurusu didn't even sound like he believed it himself. He's about to demand Kurusu tell him anyway, if it was so important he just had to bring it up now, but Kurusu speaks before he has a chance.

"Right. What do you say then, detective? Friends? Teammates?" he meets Goro's eyes, sticking his hand out over the table expectantly.

"...Teammates is acceptable," Goro says slowly. He reaches over to take Kurusu's hand and shakes it. His grip is strong and firm. The contact, such as it is, sends a rush of warmth running through him.

Kurusu's eyes flash. There's a hard edge to his smirk. "Pleasure doing business with you, Akechi."

Notes:

Akira's being manipulated by a pretty boy and it's exactly where he wants to be.

Fun fact, I based the ingredients for the Soultini on one of the drinks from the Persona 5 cafe.