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When his consciousness returned to him, Akira first became aware of how badly his muscles ached. There was something cold and sharp digging into him all over, from his face to his calves. His fingers spasmed when he attempted to move them, nearly against his will, and he winced at the painful twinge he felt in his limbs as a sudden shudder raced through him, aggravating wounds in more places than he could name. With a grimace, Akira fought to open his eyes, lashes fluttering as he wrestled with his own exhaustion, attempting to find out where he was. He had to blink several times for his vision to adjust, then heave his head off of the floor with great effort, looking up just in time for the familiar, dreary sight of Mementos to swim into view.
Akira felt his heart drop into his stomach. It was no wonder his injuries were like this, then. He'd been sprawled facedown across a set of train tracks for an unknown amount of time, but long enough for the angle his head had been at to cause an awful strain on his neck. Then-
His vision blurred when he whipped his head around in a panic, searching for the others. He caught sight of Ann first, the bright red of her outfit a stark contrast to the train tracks, and found the others sprawled across the ground just as he had been. Close enough that he knew that they'd all been wiped out at once, but too far for him to reach for them, that he couldn't even touch them unless he dragged himself towards them.
Akira swallowed the rising fear, the traitor in his mind that urged for him to check if they were even still alive. He wouldn't think like that. He couldn't. They were alive. They had to be.
He shuddered again, exhaling slowly through his teeth as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His breath was a small, white puff of cloud in contrast to the dark, red surroundings, and Akira realised that the icy chill in his bones wasn't from the cold tracks. Right. Of course it wasn't. He'd been equipped with a Persona with a weakness to ice when the Reaper had last attacked him, targeting that same flaw. He couldn't remember a thing after that, but it was easy to figure out what had happened from there.
By the time he'd managed to sit up, Akira was shivering so much that he wouldn't have been able to check anyone's pulse even if he had wanted to. However, he could see the gentle, if not pained, rising and falling of his teammates' chests, and found peace in that, before he averted his gaze. It was hard to look at all of them, but it was also hard not to when a trail of red led from one of his friends to the next, and the next. He wasn't doing much better with a telltale, awful pain at his side, and he could tell from how wet his shirt was that the fabric was soaked with blood.
Akira wasn't sure how severe the injury was, but the world tilted dangerously when he looked around for his dagger, and he could feel how much blood had seeped from his nose and mouth while he'd been knocked down. He spat as much as he could out of his mouth, hating how much he could taste in the back of his throat, and tried to focus elsewhere. Right, his dagger. He needed to keep it close in case he needed to defend himself, or the others. He didn't even want to think about what could happen if any Shadows started wandering near them, or, even worse, the Reaper, but it was a possibility he had to be prepared for. However, when he reached for it, his hands shook so much that it slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the ground in front of him.
Useless. The thought was as sudden as it was vicious.
It was embarrassing to scramble after his own weapon, and struggle to even pocket it, but he couldn't help it. Each breath was a struggle accompanied by another puff of white, and the thought of hypothermia was an ever-present alarm bell in the back of his mind. However, the back of his mind was where it needed to remain. He wasn't the priority. He was conscious. He'd be on his feet in a moment. His friends needed him. Akira could wait.
While it had been an awful spot of bad luck when the battle had started, to be cornered in a dead-end tunnel with no means of escape, now, Akira thought of it as good fortune. There was just one entrance for him to focus on, only one way Shadows could come in, and that was better than being trapped in a crossroads. That meant that he didn't need to be as high-alert as he might've had to, in other circumstances. Small victories, he thought.
As for Mementos itself, Akira hated how the familiar walls pulsed as if alive, how each inch of the strange place bled into another to the point where the floors were only distinguishable from one area to the next. Akira wasn't used to being outside in it like this unless he were in battle, and amongst it all he felt lost. He was way too far out of his depth. If he dwelled on it, on the weight on his shoulders, on the burden of being the only one who was awake and able to get the others somewhere safe, it would overwhelm him.
His eyes already stung with tears, and there was an ever-present lump in his throat from the stress and the fear, but he had to keep going. His teammates needed him. He needed to be a leader. He needed to live up to the title they'd all trusted him with.
While he dragged himself to his feet, Akira gritted his teeth in frustration in how slow his body was in responding to him. While he was becoming used to the near-constant shivering, and how each movement sparked a flash of fire around his ribcage, feeling his hands slowly going numb, and how his limbs felt as if they were locking up when he stayed still for a little too long was a strange and awful thing. Rubbing his gloved hands together to no avail, Akira abandoned the action, and surveyed his surroundings. He moved his head slowly, not wanting to chance any further nasuea.
Due to Takemi's SP Adhesive, he knew his strength would return in time. Soon, he'd recover enough to manage some of his lower-level healing spells, and then he could help the others. It was just a question of who to help first, and the idea alone made his stomach twist. He was repulsed at the thought of having to prioritise one person over the next when he loved them all so dearly, but he had to think logically if he wanted them all to survive.
His head whipped around at the sound of distant screaming, and while he’d been unsettled by the sounds of Mementos before, Akira had never been scared of them. Then again, he’d never been here alone. Every sound had him on alert, every slight twitch of a teammate, any minuscule shift in their breathing. Paranoia was settling in and even though he knew he couldn’t get carried away, it was far too easy to be swept up in how impossible it all seemed. Akira wanted to cry, to scream, to tear the Reaper apart with his bare hands for daring to do this to his beloved Phantom Thieves, but he couldn't. He couldn't do any of those things now, or anytime soon.
Akira angrily wiped away tears with his sleeve as they burned his eyes, knowing he didn't have the luxury of time to get emotional, regardless of the fact that the weight of the situation was so gigantic and ever-present he felt as if his lungs were being crushed beneath it, and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe-
But he had to. It was as simple as that.
He had to take a second to quell the twisting of his stomach, regretting moving his head around too quickly, clapping a hand over his mouth. Breathing slowly through his nose, Akira steadied himself.
In a moment, he would have enough strength to manage a Diarama for one teammate, the adhesive warming his ankle as it worked to return his magic to him. On one hand, he reasoned that the obvious choice to heal would be himself, as he needed to be in the best shape possible to guarantee everyone's survival, but, as he cast his gaze over the rest of the team, he faltered. He took in the blood, the scratches, the scars, and swallowed.
Make a decision. He urged himself, insistent, then scathing. Make a fucking choice, already. There's no time.
Morgana. Akira began limping towards him in the second his name came to mind, apologizing to the others through a shuddering sob, even though he knew that none of them could hear him. This was the best choice, all things considered. Morgana had the most healing spells at his disposal, and he was the main mode of transportation. If Akira was going to get everyone back to the entrance, or at least to the nearest platform or Safe Room, it wouldn't be on foot. Not like this.
His anklet was slow-going, but Akira forced himself to wait a few torturous minutes more after staggering to Morgana's side. He spent the time cataloguing what curatives they had left, and wasn't surprised at how many had been burned through in their last, short-lived battle. All of the heavy-duty items had been used, leaving only a few adhesive bandages, some over-the-counter medicine, and a low number of various drinks and snacks. Akira focused on the latter, shovelling strawberry jam-slathered bread from Shujin into his blood-stained mouth, and washing it down with a can of Mad Bull.
It wasn't much, but it chased the darkness crowding his vision away, and made him feel more alert. He'd save the rest for his teammates, and, with that in mind, he cast Diarama.
Akira propped Morgana up in his arms once the shower of sparkles had faded, shaking him gently, hoping to rouse him. "Mona." He urged. "Mona, wake up."
Like an answered prayer, Morgana twitched, and, slowly but surely, he awoke. He could barely keep his eyes open, and didn't even seem to recognise where he was. "...Huh?"
"Mona-" Akira skipped straight the point, despite his relief, "-can you turn into a car?"
Morgana blinked a few times, looking dazed and confused, like he hadn't heard Akira's question at all. His head lolled backwards, and Akira had to hold it upright for him.
“Mona, I need you to focus.” Akira insisted, shaking Morgana to keep him awake. “You have to turn into a car, Mona. Can you do that?”
“...Huh?” Morgana stared at him so blankly that Akira felt like he were about to scream in frustration.
“Mona.” He hissed. “Car. Turn into a car.”
Morgana closed his eyes, expression pinching with effort. Akira could see the strain was genuine, he was truly trying. After a moment, Morgana sighed. “Tired…” He groaned. “I can’t.”
Akira felt nasuea surging through him. “You have to try harder, dammit!” He whisper-hissed. “If you don’t, we’re going to die here! Mona- please.” His voice broke in desperation. “I need you.”
"...hurts." was all Morgana could offer, and, when his head dipped back again, he was unconscious. It took all Akira had not to sob into his fur.
A wet cough sounded from somewhere on his left, and Akira set Morgana down as gently as he could manage before he scrambled over to where Ryuji was curled up on his side. Blood dripped down his chin, seeping from the corner of his mouth, and Akira's heart was racing when he made it over to him, a hand on his back as he leaned over him. Ryuji was pale in the low lighting, and, if the blood meant anything, he was battling some kind of internal wound. Akira's anklet wouldn't be enough, at this rate.
He wasn't sure what curatives he could offer, not if Ryuji was coughing up blood, but again, time wasn't on his side. He had to steel his nerves. Ryuji's life depended on it.
The last stock their arsenal had of Takemi's products was one sleeve of Recov-R, as the rest of the ripped, blood-stained box had been torn to shreds in the heat of battle. Akira counted the remaining tablets with trembling, aching hands, and, by some miracle, there was enough for each of them. It was the last of their medicine, the weakest of it, and it wouldn't do much healing at all. Still, Akira hoped it would be enough to tend to the more life-threatening wounds. If it could just stablise his teammates, that would be enough. He could work from there.
"S-Skull," Akira wasn't sure when his teeth had started chattering, or if they had been doing so the entire time, and he had just been too preoccupied to notice, "Skull, p-please..."
He managed to sit Ryuji up against his chest, wincing as Ryuji grimaced while being moved, grasping at his ribs, even while unconscious. Akira didn't like to think about what had happened while he'd been out, nor all the injuries he was yet to learn about. He was their leader. He should've gotten them out of there. He should've been the last one to fall. He should've protected all of them.
Akira struggled with the foil for a while, but managed to pop out a small capsule, and push it past Ryuji's lips. Holding him in place with an arm around him, he grabbed the half-full can of Mad Bull he hadn't finished, brought it to Ryuji's mouth, and tipped it, washing the medicine down. Ryuji coughed and spluttered at first, but, after a moment, relaxed, and drank.
That same, small glow that came with healing spells settled around his abdomen, and some of the tension in Akira's shoulders lessened at the sight. Ryuji's pained expression eased into more of a slight wince than a tight grimace, and his slow, careful breathing returned to something more natural.
"...cold..." Ryuji murmured into Akira's shoulder, almost too quiet to hear, "...you're so...cold..."
"Skull?" Akira asked, and Ryuji fixed him with a tired, strained smile, sliding a hand around the back of his neck.
With a gentle tug, Ryuji pressed their foreheads together, and closed his eyes.
"Skull?" He asked again in a small, hopeful voice. He waited to see if Ryuji was stirring, but there was no futher response. Ryuji seemed to have fallen into a sleep that looked more natural than injury-induced unconsciousness, so Akira tried to chalk that up as a win, no matter how painful it was to set his best friend back down, to leave him, and move onto the next person.
As wrong as it felt to do so, Akira needed a system. A way to know who he'd tended to, who was more stable than the others. After a moment of thought, he headed for Ann next, deciding that he'd work chronologically, tending to his teammates in the order of which he'd met them. It was already out of order, considering he'd gone to Morgana first instead of Ryuji, but he'd ignore that. It was the first thing he'd thought of, and the easiest way he could keep track, so, for now, it would have to do. Ann next, then Yusuke, Makoto, Futaba, and Haru. Unless someone took a sudden turn for the worse, like Ryuji had, then he'd go to them next. For the moment, having a set order took some of the stress off his shoulders.
The striking red of Ann's attire made Akira nervous that she could be sporting wounds he was unaware of due to the blood mixing with the fabric. As he had done with the other two, Akira propped Ann up in his arms before surveying her, hating how much he was shaking from the cold in his bones. Ann's face was bruised, marred with scratches, and her hair had come undone at some point. There was blood in her hairline, he noticed next, streaked through the waves of blonde. As gently as he could, Akira brushed the hair back from her face to get a better look at the wound, anxious at how much blood had seeped through. From how she'd been lying down on the tracks, he wondered if the injury was from Ann being knocked out, and hitting her head when she fell to the ground.
It wasn't like he could ask her, though, so he stopped thinking of the what-ifs, and found the Recov-R. He had to open another canned drink to wash it down, this time a Second Maid that he was glad he found, knowing Ann liked the flavour. It was a stupid thing to be glad about, given the situation, but he'd take what little comfort he could provide her. Akira was gentle as he brought the medicine and drink to her lips, a trembling hand struggling to keep her head level and upright, mindful of the head wound. Questions unfurled in his mind about a potential concussion, soon straying to thoughts of brain damage as an absolute worst-case scenario, and again, he tried not to dwell on either.
Any wound could be healed in the Metaverse. Any wound. No matter how bad it had gotten for the Phantom Thieves, that rule had stayed true, and Akira would not let it end now. He had to believe that brand of cognition would remain in place, no matter what, and if it ever faltered, he would strengthen it himself by sheer willpower alone.
The medicine stitched some of the wound back together, and he hoped that would be enough for now. He thought about waking her, asking questions and checking her pupils for signs of a concussion, but even then, there wasn't much else he could do for now. He would have to check on it later, like all of the others' wounds, when he managed to get everyone to a safer place than here. Then, he could worry about things like keeping her awake and monitoring her symptoms.
Akira set Ann down as slowly and carefully as he could manage, resting her on her back, with her hair cushioning her head. He touched his forehead to hers as Ryuji had done to him. An apology, a prayer.
Yusuke next, then.
While he'd meant to simply crouch down beside him, Akira staggered, collapsing to his knees at Yusuke's side, pressing a hand to the hidden wound at his abdomen. It hurt to breathe, and it was becoming more of a struggle to stay on his feet, let alone walk from one person to the next and assess their wounds. Darkness kept creeping into the corners of his vision, which blurred when he moved around too much. At this rate, he wouldn't be of much help to anyone, so, for once, he'd have to put his own needs first. Taking a slow, steady breath, Akira went back to their curatives, this time, searching for something to deal with his steadily progressing hypothermia. He knew that Reaper-inflicted ailments were a chore if not dealt with quickly, he did, but until now, it hadn't seemed important.
Akira found a set of hand warmers he vaguely recalled buying in Shibuya, and slipped them on over his gloves. The relief was instant, and soon, the chill began to fade from all over. Just to be safe, he found a warm, pulsing stone he'd managed to swindle out of a Shadow from a few Palaces ago, and shattered it in his hands. Not a moment later, his shivering slowed to a stop, though his skin remained chilled as ever. After recounting the leftover medicine, he decided to take one, just to stem the bleeding at his side, and make up for whatever blood he'd already lost. Some of his nausea faded once he'd downed the capsule, and it was such a comfort that it almost made up for the guilt he had for using their scarce resources on himself.
Shaking his head, Akira assessed Yusuke, and began searching for the adhesive bandages he'd found earlier once he noticed the scorched material of Yusuke's suit. Now, the slight tremble in his fingers as he unzipped Yusuke's suit until it exposed the worst of his burnt flesh was from fear alone. It looked like he'd been struck with a concentrated ball of flame and set ablaze, the damage made more severe with Yusuke's inherent weakness to fire. Akira needed to see how bad it was, though. He had to know. With a quiet apology under his breath, Akira took his dagger and tore through the rest of the suit, not having the time to peel it off him. Once exposed, Akira had to take a moment to will himself not to throw up.
Yusuke's abdomen was a mess of swollen, bright red, blistered flesh. Akira was no doctor, but he figured he knew a second-degree burn when he saw one, and, for once, he was glad that his teammate was unconscious. It was hard to even look at his skin, let alone imagine what Yusuke must have experienced in the battle before he'd been knocked out. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Yusuke woke up, other than try to keep him calm, but with the pain he'd be in... It was better to not think about it.
Akira did his best to move Yusuke upright without aggravating his wounds, feeding him medicine and a newly opened bottle of Udagawa Water with as much care as he could muster. While both items somewhat shrank the size of the burns, the severity seemed unchanged. He'd known not to expect much from the weakest healing items in their arsenal, but it was still a hope-crushing sight. Akira swallowed, then dragged himself to his feet, took a minute to reorient himself, then dragged Yusuke by the underarms to the nearest wall. Once leaning Yusuke up against it, Akira pushed the torn remains of his scorched suit aside, and surveyed the bottle of triple-filtered water in his free hand.
It was cold, Akira mused. It would have to do.
He tipped the entire bottle of water over Yusuke's burns, and the effect was immediate. Yusuke woke with a start, chest heaving as he flinched first at the temperature, then the god-awful pain.
"J-Joker?" Yusuke choked out, and Akira couldn't look at his face, it hurt enough to listen to his agonized breaths, "Joker-"
"I'm sorry," Akira's eyes filled with tears as he unfurled the adhesive bandage, beginning to apply it even as Yusuke recoiled at his touch, "I'm sorry, Fox, I'm so sorry."
Yusuke's speech became unintelligible in an instant as the agony of his wounds soon consumed him. His breaths were short, rapid, hissed through his teeth as he squeezed tearful eyes shut while Akira worked, winding the bandages around Yusuke's abdomen as gently as possible. When he'd finished, apologies spilling from his lips, Akira noticed the pale sheen of his skin, the sickly pallor of it, and helped Yusuke shift to the side so that he wouldn't through up all over himself. The movement aggravated the burns, each shift seemed to, and all Akira could do was rub his back, wipe the vomit from his face, and offer another dose of medicine. He'd thrown up the capsule he'd just taken, and Akira wasn't taking any chances when it came to curatives, not this afternoon.
He was lucky that Yusuke was just lucid enough to accept the medication, and another bottle of water. It was fortunate that Akira had gone on a frenzy of raiding vending machines earlier in the week. Even though the drinks and snacks the machines offered did not offer much in terms of healing, in enough numbers, they could. He could spare the water, at least, for Yusuke's comfort.
"I-" Akira's voice caught in his throat as he watched Yusuke down one bottle, then pour the rest over his wounds, just to keep the pain at bay, "I have to check on the others."
"Please don't go." Yusuke sobbed, and Akira's heart shattered at the sheer desperation in his voice. "Joker, I-I beg of you. Stay. Stay with me."
Akira's anklet had been steadily restoring his magic this whole time. While it wasn't the most logical thing to do, considering their situation, Akira knew he had to move on. He knew even if he cast Diarama on Yusuke, the burns would still remain, still cause him unjust suffering. Akira wouldn't leave him alone, nor awake, to deal with that. He tilted his head forward, pressed their foreheads together, and, with a soft, quiet, "I'm sorry, Yusuke,", he shuffled through his Personas until he found the one he wanted, and cast Sleep.
Yusuke's head dipped as the spell took effect, and, with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, Akira left him. Now, he had to find Makoto.
Makoto and Haru were sprawled across the tracks beside one another when he found them, and the sight alone was another punch to Akira's gut. Both were curled up on their sides, facing one another, and Makoto's arm was thrown over Haru in what Akira could only think of as protective. Had Haru been struck down first? Had Makoto tried to shield her from further attacks? He couldn't be sure. He didn't know a thing about what had happened to them, other than the fact that they were both hurt. Haru's leg was bent at an awkward angle that was uncomfortable to look at, and as for Makoto, the arm covering Haru wasn't much better.
Akira covered his mouth at the sight. Lack of medical expertise aside, he knew what compound fractures were, and what they looked like.
Steeling himself, Akira crouched down and rolled Makoto over with great care, delicately holding her fractured arm in place as he moved her. She winced, but didn't quite stir. Releasing a slow breath of relief, and chancing a worried glance towards Haru, Akira found his dwindling supply of curatives, and paused. He knew that healing spells and healing items did wonders, but now, he was nervous. He hadn't dealt with injuries as severe as compound fractures in the Metaverse, and now, he wondered if he had to set the bones back in place before administering any medicine. Surely not, right?
Did he have the luxury to take a guess, and hope for the best? Did Makoto and Haru? With his questioning, his concerns, would that affect the effectiveness of his cognition for healing items?
Akira felt like he was about to be sick. There were too many questions, not enough answers, and absolutely no time. The Reaper could come back for them at any minute, and finish the job.
He decided he couldn't risk it. He wouldn't. So, in a split-second decision, he rushed to Ryuji's side, swiped his weapon, and used his own dagger to tear up his coat-tails. Next, just as he had done with Yusuke, Akira used his dagger to tear up Makoto's sleeve to ensure nothing would get into the wound. Then, he used the combination of cloth and Ryuji's metal pipe to create a makeshift splint to keep Makoto's arm still and in place. It was amateurish at best, but it was all he could do. Setting her arm down, Akira tried his best to administer medicine without waking nor disturbing her.
Moving onto Haru, Akira repeated the process, using Yusuke's sheathed katana for her splint, and moving onto the medicine once he was satisified with her broken leg. He sat back, spent as he watched the magic take effect, but there wasn't much such weak medicine could do. At the very least, it stiched their skin back together, which was a relief in itself even if their bones remained broken. Now, he figured neither girl was at as high of a risk for infection. He could work with that. Haru would need help moving with her leg, but he'd cross that bridge eventually.
For now, Akira wondered if he should move everyone he'd tended to over to where Yusuke was, propped upright against the wall. Perhaps he would, after he checked on Futaba. Before he left Makoto and Haru, however, he pressed his forehead against theirs, one after the other. He wasn't sure what was so comforting about the ritual, but it was grounding. It was an apology and a promise to them, all of them, that he would get them out alive. He vowed he would.
Last but not least, Futaba was a little further away from where the others had been knocked out. To be honest, Akira had assumed she'd be even further back than where he found her, given the fact that she often stayed far from the battlefield and operated from a much safer distance. Had she come closer when the Phantom Thieves were knocked out, one by one? Had she tried to fight the Reaper, too? Akira's heart ached at the thought of Futaba, not a hands-on fighter by any means, scared out of her mind as she saw her friends mowed down while all she could do was watch.
When he reached her, he was relieved that she didn't seem as hurt as the others, and found some comfort in the idea that it might've been quick. Perhaps the Reaper had knocked her out with one blow. However, the obvious tear tracks on her cheeks, still wet, by the look of them, soon proved his theory was just wishful thinking. It made him feel even worse, imagining her confrontation.
She must've been so scared. Akira couldn't help but think. Oh, Futaba. I'm so sorry.
One potential positive of the situation, though, was that Futaba might not have gone out like the rest of the Phantom Thieves had. With her lack of fighting expertise compared to the others', perhaps she had just been knocked out by a simple attack, rather than had her health targeted and decimated in the brutal ways that the Reaper liked to do with the rest of them. If Akira was lucky, the Reaper may not have perceived her as much of a threat, may not have hunted her down in the fashion it had clearly done with their teammates. If that were the case, if she wasn't as injured as everyone else appeared to be, then she would be able to help him get themselves, and everyone else, out of this awful place.
At this point, Akira was running on fumes. He figured he could do with a small dose of hope.
Again, he fell into his now-established routine, pulling Futaba into his arms, administering the medication, and ensuring that it'd been washed down with a cold, restorative drink. Unlike with the others, Futaba didn't appear to have any obvious injuries that needed healing, so Akira wasn't quite sure what the curatives patched up. For now, he was working under the assumption that there was some unseen head injury that she'd sustained from the Reaper, and waited to see if there were any visible effects after the healing was over. After the usual soft green glow had faded, Akira couldn't tell if anything had changed. Futaba continued to breathe slowly and quietly, as if asleep.
It was comforting that her expression wasn't as pained as the others' had been.
"Oracle?" Akira asked with a gentle nudge. "Oracle, you awake?"
Her face twitched after the next push. "...Hm?" She mumbled. "J...Joker?"
"It's me." Akira breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm here."
"Ugh... I think the Reaper one-shotted me." Futaba groaned, shifting her goggles up and over her head so that she could rub her eyes. She blinked, then looked up at him, her face paling. "Joker..."
He didn't need to hear about how bad he must've looked, so he cut her off, "Do you have enough stamina for a healing spell?"
"Y-Yeah, but-"
"I need you to do it. Now." Akira felt bad for being so short with her, but he needed to be. Even if Futaba wasn't as injured as the others, she looked dazed. As harsh as it sounded, he couldn't afford having her pass out on him, not when he needed her. He gripped her shoulder to keep her alert and upright, and after a second of concentration, Futaba cast her spell.
Each Phantom Thief lit up in a small burst of green, healing light, and the sight alone was enough for some of his ever-present tension to fade. Akira felt some of the smaller scratches and cuts he'd sustained closing up, and soon vanishing. Futaba seemed a little more awake as well, though she still leaned against him for support. Akira squeezed her shoulder, then looked around. He could tell that he was just over half the strength required to cast Mediarama, thanks to the anklet. Just a little more, and he would be able to ensure that everyone was stablised enough to be moved.
"Thank you, Oracle." He said, meaning every word. "Now, we just have to get Mona up and-"
The distant, familiar sound of rattling chains made it feel as if the entire world had fallen silent, save for that awful, eerie noise. They'd spent too much time here, Akira realised with a start. The Reaper had returned to finish them off.
"We have to go." He dragged himself to his feet, Futaba along with him, and hurried her over to where Morgana was curled up on his side. "Wake him up, I'll get the others."
Akira didn't wait for a response. They'd only have a few minutes before the Reaper figured out which section of the floor they were on, and he'd rather not have everyone trapped at a dead end when that happened. Ryuji and Ann were the nearest, so he rushed to Ryuji first, crouching down and heaving him over his shoulder. From there, it was a frantic rinse and repeat.
By the time Akira had dragged and carried the rest of the Phantom Thieves to where Morgana and Futaba were, Morgana had, thankfully transformed. The MonaBus was shuddering when he got behind the wheel, and Akira was far too aware that the transformation itself might not hold for long, given Morgana's condition. So, the second Futaba dragged the door shut, he slammed his foot on the accelerator.
Futaba yelped at the sudden jolt forward, and Akira shouted an apology to, well, everyone in the backseat as he sped ahead, swerving out of the dead-end and gunning for the nearest platform. It was two corridors away, if he recalled correctly. He just had to make it there, and drag everyone past the yellow safety line, and their cognition would shield them from the rest. It was simple.
Outrunning the Reaper, however, was easier said than done. With Akira running on nothing but adrenaline, he kept his foot flat and swerved past as many wandering Shadows as he could. More than a few times, he almost scraped the side of the MonaBus against one of the walls in a last-minute dodge, and was thankful that he missed it. He wasn't sure how long Morgana could keep up the transformation, nor how many hits he could take in his weakened state. Akira sure as hell didn't want to find out.
His heart felt as if it were about to burst out of his chest when he caught a flash of the Reaper's bright red aura, and for a second, he thought it was over. It was a stroke of pure luck that the creature's back had been turned, and it was yet to catch sight of them, but he knew the speed he was going at was attracting attention from the sight of them, and the sound of the engine alone. Futaba shouted for him to take the next left and he did so without thinking, slamming on the breaks at the miracle in front of him.
The platform. They'd made it.
Morgana's transformation vanished, leaving the Phantom Thieves to drop back onto the tracks in a sudden puff of smoke. Akira wasted no time in boosting Futaba up first, then handing her Morgana. The others, however, would be more of a challenge. He turned, unsure of who to take next, when he noticed Ryuji on his hands and knees. Akira rushed to his side, blurting out, "I need your help," and, with just one glance at their surroundings, Ryuji seemed to understand. While he struggled to get to his feet at first, having him at his side filled Akira with strength. Together, they managed to get their teammates, one by one, onto the platform, even as the sound of chains seemed to get closer and closer. Ryuji went up next, and as he held out a hand, his eyes filled with fear.
"Joker!" He shouted, and Akira didn't need to turn to know what he saw.
Without thinking, he grasped Ryuji's hand, and both he, and Futaba, hauled Akira onto the platform, the three of them crashing into a heap on the other side of the yellow line.
Like the clock striking midnight, it was as if a spell had been cast. The Reaper lost interest in all of them, and slowly headed the other way.
"Holy shit," Ryuji laughed breathily, "holy shit, dude. Never do that again."
Akira laughed as well, dizzy with relief as he looked towards the others. From what he could tell, most of them had been jolted awake when Morgana had de-transformed, and, while some were worse for wear, especially Yusuke, Makoto, and Haru, from what he could tell, it was a relief to see them up. Akira released a breath. They'd made it. They were okay.
His SP adhesive warmed the skin of his ankle once again, and with a dazed smile on his face at the reminder, Akira cast Mediarama. While it wouldn't fully do the job, he knew it'd at least get the worst of their wounds patched up. It was enough to have the rest of the Phantom Thieves slowly but surely make their way over to where he sat with Futaba and Ryuji, and collapse at his side.
"Joker," Makoto was in awe as she surveyed her homemade splint, then Haru's, "w-what exactly did you do? How... how did you manage this?"
"You took care of all of us, didn't you?" Ann said, her eyes filled with tears.
"You saved our lives." Haru sniffled, one hand over her mouth, the other delicately touching her injured leg. "I don't know how to thank you."
"I thought we were goners," Ryuji confessed to the group with a shaky laugh, "I mean, the second we started goin' down...I just..." He shook his head. "I'm just glad everyone's alright. And that we have an absolute badass leader." He nudged Akira's shoulder with clear affection. "I have no idea how we're gonna pay you back for this."
"That's our leader, alright!" Morgana tried to hide his tears with his usual show of pride for Akira, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Futaba hugged him to her chest, hiding her face in his fur.
"Thank you," Yusuke breathed, "for everything. What you must have risked for our safety, I can't even imagine. Gratitude can't express all I wish to say, so, for now, thank you, Akira."
It was rare to hear any of them call each other by first name in the Metaverse, but Akira appreciated what it meant. He couldn't help but smile at all of them. "Of course- I mean, I don't know what to say. I did what I had to. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if anything happened to any of you. I just..." His features softened. "I love you guys."
He wasn't certain who initiated it, but before he knew it, he was surrounded by his closest, dearest friends. It sounded like everyone was in tears or near it, from what he could tell, mindful of each other's injuries as they clung to one another. Akira couldn't believe that he'd made it, that everyone seemeed okay. They'd survived, and it just didn't seem real.
"You'll have to give us the details of what transpired." Yusuke insisted. "What happened after the battle?"
"I don't mean to interrupt," Haru cut in, "but what about you, Joker? How are your injuries? As there was no one to take care of you as you did for us, I'm concerned-"
"I'm fine, Noir." Akira insisted, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment at all the praise and attention, "I-"
"No," Futaba's face had gone pale when Akira's movement shifted a part of his jacket, "Joker, you're not fine at all."
Akira blinked, noting that all of his teammates were now staring at him in nothing short of horror. Confused, he followed their gazes downwards, and, for the first time, assessed the wounds he'd sustained earlier. Until now, he hadn't had the thought to check on himself, he hadn't had the time to spare with the others' lives at risk. Even then, in the back of his mind, he'd hoped that Futaba's inintial spell, and the one he'd just cast had taken care of the worst of whatever injury he had. Now, he wasn't so sure.
The dark grey of his shirt, hidden mostly from the others with how his coat had been sitting, was stained with red to a severe degree. More than that, the fabric itself was ripped apart, exposing a large portion of bloodied, torn-open flesh from where he'd been hit. Akira knew he'd been hurt, but had... had the Reaper shot him? Instead of firing those gigantic revolvers in the air to trigger a magic-based attack, the Reaper had pointed it at him and squeezed the trigger? His stomach churned as he had a good, proper look at himself, and saw how much of him was covered in fresh, wet blood.
His own blood.
Akira's vision was flooded with nothing but green as Ann, Morgana, and Makoto, their resident healers, pooled their magic together to cast as many healing spells as they could manage. Akira had to cover his eyes at how blinding and consuming the display was, but the effect was immediate. Within the space of a few seconds, he felt his side begin to stitch itself back together, while his other wounds closed up and vanished without a trace. The exhaustion, however, remained, and the blood he'd lost wasn't something Metaverse magic was adept at replacing.
Likewise, the others seemed to be fine, save for the leftover blood and grime. The relief that settled in at the sight made Akira feel dizzy, and he tipped to the side for a second before Ryuji caught him.
"It's okay, man. We're okay." Ryuji hushed, rubbing his back. "More importantly, you're okay, too."
"Joker..." Ann stared at him in horrified disbelief, "why... why didn't you heal yourself?"
"I..." His responding laugh was shaky, "there wasn't enough time."
"That's bullshit!" Ryuji hissed. "Joker, you could've died."
"And if I wasted too much time on myself, everyone could've died." Akira retorted, but the exhaustion in his voice outshone the anger. "You guys... you didn't see how bad you were. I thought... I..."
"...Let's talk about this later." Makoto proposed. "For now, we can just focus on returning to the real world, and getting ourselves cleaned up."
"The bath house in Yongen?" Akira suggested, to which he received no objections.
As Futaba activated the Nav, and the Phantom Thieves returned to the real world, Akira felt every set of eyes on him. He knew that by the time they reached Leblanc, the others would want to know what had happened, and dread pooled in his gut at the idea. He could tell the others were torn between gratitude, rage, and disbelief over what had happened, and for now, he didn't mind what they felt.
He was just happy that everyone was alright.
It was a stroke of good luck that the bath house was empty when Akira, Ryuji, and Yusuke made their way inside.
Akira was just glad for the peace and quiet, and the lack of stares and questions the three of them might have received, given their current state. He was more than happy to douse himself in soap and start scrubbing, especially around his abdomen where most of the blood had congealed. He chanced a glance at Yusuke when the latter sat on his left side, thankful that there were no burns in sight. Likewise, Ryuji didn't seem to have any cuts or bruises left, and it was a relief for Akira to see him scrub the dried blood from his face, and wash the dirt and dust from his hair.
"Here, let me get your back, dude." Ryuji offered, and Akira smiled, turning on his stool. While Ryuji went to work, Akira offered the same to Yusuke, and they were done in no time at all.
He let out a long, pleased sigh as he sank into the bath, the hot water doing a number on his tired muscles. Akira stretched his arms high above his head, then dropped them at his sides, tilting his head back to rest on the edge. Yusuke and Ryuji sat beside him, seeming just as content at the temperature of the water. It was a nice reward, Akira figured, given how his afternoon had gone.
The others seemed happy to let him soak for as long as he wanted, grabbing a few snacks from the vending machine on the way out, before pooling into a booth at Leblanc.
"You're back," Sojiro remarked as the kids took their seats, "can I get you guys anything?"
"Just the usual, please." Akira said with a tired smile, and an even more half-hearted wave.
"Looks like you need it, kid." Sojiro mused, half teasing, half concerned.
Once their orders had been taken, prepared, and placed in front of them, Sojiro stepped out to buy himself some cigarettes, and Akira knew it was time.
Without prompting, he started telling his teammates what had happened while they'd been out. How he'd woken up, alone and scared in Mementos. How he'd been battling an ailment and an injury that he was too hyped up on fear and adrenaline to spend too much time on, despite the pain and distress it caused him. How he'd gone to each of them, and done his best to care for them.
The Phantom Thieves' expressions cycled through various emotions as he spoke. Morgana looked ashamed of himself when Akira recounted how he hadn't been able to wake him up for long enough to transform. Ryuji winced at the retelling of his internal injuries, and seemed just as guilty as Morgana when Akira mentioned him waking up momentarily. Ann seemed close to tears at Akira's tale of how he did his best to tend to her, despite not knowing how to help her. Yusuke threaded his fingers with Akira's when it was his turn, seeming more aware of what had happened than some of the others.
"I remember it in fragments," Yusuke spoke softly, "but what I remember most clearly is you. Thank you for your kindness, for not leaving me to..."
Akira just smiled when he trailed off, and squeezed his hand in return.
Makoto and Haru were moved when Akira mentioned how he'd panicked when he'd found them, how he was so out of his depth, so afraid to hurt them or make their injuries worse, and how he'd done his best with what little he'd had. Futaba was in tears when he started talking about finding her, being scared for what had happened to her, and from then on, the others had been filled in.
"I don't want to criticize you, not after everything you did for all of us," Makoto started hesitantly, "but Akira, if anything of this sort happens again, you need to take care of yourself first and foremost. That's the standard protocol for first responders for a reason. I... I don't know what any of us might have done if we'd been too late to heal you on that platform. It..."
"It would have killed us, Aki-chan. Plain and simple." Haru cut in, harsh and gentle all at once. "I don't mean to overstep, as I haven't been here for as long as some of you have, but I know that you put far too much on your own shoulders. Yes, you're our leader. But you're our friend, too." She placed a hand over her heart. "Please, don't ever disregard your own health like that again."
"I don't think any of us are gonna be able to repay you for lookin' out for all of us like that." Ryuji added. "But they're right. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if we lost you down there."
"None of us would have been capable of such a feat." Yusuke agreed. "I don't believe I am exaggerating when I say that losing you would destroy us all. We revere you as our ever-capable leader, that is true, but that title is not meant to be a burden on you. It is not meant to imply that your health is second to our own. It doesn't mean you should sacrifice yourself for us."
"And don't apologize for it either, Aki. You don't need to." Ann hushed when Akira looked a little guilty at the lecture. "We just... we need you to know that we love you as much as you love all of us. If the situation were reversed, I'm not sure that we could all say for sure that we would've put ourselves first, either. But still, it's scary to hear that you put yourself on the backburner for the rest of us. It worries us."
"We're a team, at the end of the day." Morgana remarked. "We're going to take hits for each other, and worry about each other either way. It's just that..."
"You don't always need to play the hero." Futaba said softly. "I mean, you do it insanely well, obviously, but, next time, take care of yourself. Or I'll tell Sojiro."
The little threat at the end was enough to break the tension, and earn a few laughs around the room. Akira relaxed a little at the sound.
"You've been through a lot, today." Ryuji said after a moment. "I wouldn't blame you if you said you wanna sleep for like a week after all of this." He chuckled. "But, still, I wanted to ask if there was anything we could do. Y'know, to pay you back for what you did. I mean, it's Saturday. We could order food, watch some movies, or do whatever you'd like."
"I think you should draft up a list of requests." Futaba grinned with an over-the-top salute. "Whatever the King of the Phantoms orders, his loyal subjects shall do with honour!"
"You did save our lives." Ann giggled. "C'mon, Aki, surely you'd have at least a few ideas!"
"Anything you ask." Yusuke agreed. "If it's in our power, we'll do it."
"Within reason, I hope." Makoto laughed, though she looked concerned at Ann and Ryuji's scheming grins.
"Money is no object!" Haru chimed in, to which Morgana immediately begged Akira to request the most expensive sushi spread in the city.
Akira smiled, thinking it over, and said, "I think I'm definitely going to write up a list, but I can think of one thing I'd like for us to do tonight, as a start."
While the others began to guess, their suggestions ranging from mildly pricey to outrageously expensive to some things that seemed borderline illegal, Akira smiled at them fondly.
All he wanted, at the end of a day like this, was one little thing.
"Stay the night."
"Wait, really?" Futaba, while surprised, beamed at the idea. "You want a Phantom Thieves slumber party?"
"After everything," Akira admitted, averting his gaze, "it'd be a relief to have you guys nearby, y'know? To know you're okay."
The response he received was six teenagers tackling him to the ground for an aggressively affectionate group hug, and one not-a-cat(!) jumping to join them as well. At the bottom of the pile, Akira laughed, no matter how much it hurt to. It was enough to know that everyone was safe, alive, and well, and there were much worse ways to hurt than to be squeezed tightly in his loved ones' arms.