Work Text:
"You lay on the couch / Three weeks / Until the color came back into your cheeks"
- The Mountain Goats, "Fresh Tattoo"
Wakaba used to tell Sojiro he needed to quit smoking.
It’s a bad habit, she would say. No wonder girls don’t like you—your car smells like an ashtray.
(You seem not to mind too much, Sojiro would say, and Wakaba would laugh, and in the rare event that Futaba was in the backseat, she would roll her eyes and grumble about him being corny.)
Sojiro smokes less now, ever since Ren and his gang of misfits came along and started giving him very pointed looks every time he lit up a cigarette behind the counter. It’s not as hard for him to kick the habit as he feared it would be.
He’s replaced it, however, with a far more dangerous habit: that of taking in strays. After all, no one ought to care if Sojiro poisons his own lungs. But if he can’t even keep the kids under his care safe, then what good is he? Maybe if he was more attentive, maybe if he put his foot down more, maybe if he wasn’t such a sad excuse for a father figure—
“Hello?”
It takes six tries before Futaba finally picks up her phone.
“Sojiro, I can’t—”
“Where are you?” Sojiro cuts her off sharply.
“I-I’m at home. Been home since last night.”
Sojiro tries not to let the panic creep into his voice as he says, “Futaba, I saw the news and I need you to explain to me what’s going on.”
“I’m really, really busy right now, Sojiro…” Futaba insists in a strained voice. He can hear her typing away at her computer, and the cat meows something on the other end.
“Futaba, sweetheart, I need you to promise me you’re safe, you need to stay in the house until Ren—” Sojiro’s voice cracks.
“Woah! Hey, Sojiro, Dad , listen to me,” Futaba cuts in. “It’s… it’s going to be okay. I have it under control, but you really need to trust me and let me go for right now.”
“Should I come home? Do I need to call anyone?”
“No, Dad, please just… stay there and try to pretend nothing’s going on, ‘kay? I’m sorry. I promise I’m safe at home. I’ll explain later but I really gotta go now. Loveyoubye!” Futaba hangs up and Sojiro sinks down to the floor behind the counter, clutching his phone to his chest. With Wakaba’s voice echoing in his head, Sojiro tries to rationalize the situation for himself.
Unfortunately, even his most rational thoughts don’t paint a pretty picture. Of course, Ren got caught. He’s only 16. It was bound to happen. Now, even if they couldn’t convict him of anything related to the changes of heart, at minimum they could send him to juvenile hall for violating his probation. But the public—and the police especially—have been frothing at the mouth for the “killer mastermind” of the Phantom Thieves to surface for quite some time, and it doesn’t take much to prosecute an innocent person in Japan.
Ren already knows that quite well, Sojiro thinks bitterly.
The best case scenario is he manages to secure himself a lighter sentence without too much turmoil. The worst scenario is, well…
The worst case scenario is they kill him.
Sojiro quickly derails that train of thought before it can overwhelm him. This won’t be like Wakaba, he tells himself, struggling to his feet. He just needs to get through the day. He needs to trust his kids. If he can’t trust the justice system, he can at least trust Futaba. She’s proven him wrong before. They both have.
He manages to keep the cafe running, and he even manages to keep himself together rather well, even though he sort of wants to throw up when a few of his regulars start going on and on about the latest news. Sojiro considers turning the TV off more than once, but he needs to know if anything changes.
This works well for him until just after closing, when the reporters announce Ren’s suicide.
Sojiro doesn’t think he’s breathing as he’s dialing Futaba’s number, over and over, and she doesn’t answer. What’s he going to tell her? Oh, god, what’s he going to tell Ren’s parents ?
There’s nothing you could have done , everyone said to him after Wakaba’s death. Even knowing what he knows, it still rings hollow, even now. He’s never felt like more of a failure.
His brain barely registers the chime of the bell over the door as someone enters, and he nearly barks at the intruder for barging in after closing time. But then he sees who’s just come in.
“Good god, Ren, what the hell happened to you?!” Sojiro stumbles out from behind the counter and takes the kid from Niijima’s grasp. The pit forming in his stomach only grows at the sight of Ren’s eyes, drooping and red-rimmed, pupils dilated. There isn’t even room for relief to take hold in Sojiro’s brain. Horrified, he turns to the prosecutor.
“Did you let this happen?” he bites out.
Sae has the decency to look properly guilty at his accusation. “I… it wasn’t my purview. They were already done with him by the time I arrived,” she explains.
“And you continued interrogating him for hours, instead of getting him a doctor?”
“I had no choice ,” Sae snaps, eyes narrowed. “This is far more complicated and dangerous than you realize, Sakura. My interrogation is the only reason he stands in front of you alive tonight.”
Ren gives a piteous groan under his breath, likely a cue for Sojiro to lay off. Sojiro breathes and wills himself to remain calm. If things are as dire as Niijima says, Ren is going to need him to keep a cool head.
“You need to keep him hidden. If the wrong person finds out he’s still alive, we’re all in deep shit. And keep an eye on him; they injected him with something at the station, although he seems much more lucid now.”
“They drugged him?” Sojiro hisses.
“Yes, with some kind of truth serum. It should be leaving his system… but I don’t know what exactly they gave him. That stuff isn’t legal.” Sae checks her watch and then bows politely as if she hasn’t just turned Sojiro’s entire world on its head. “I really have to get going. If anyone finds out I’m here…”
Sojiro nods “Understood. I’ve got it from here.”
Sae excuses herself, promising to be in touch, and slips back out into the night, leaving the two of them alone in the silent cafe, the muted TV broadcasting news of Ren’s death to the public.
God, he hopes Futaba’s okay.
Sojiro finally gets a better look at Ren. Dried tear tracks cut across his cheeks. He’s pale, trembling, and damp through his school uniform.
School uniform. They did this to a teenager, gleefully.
“You look terrible,” Sojiro murmurs, at a loss.
Ren offers a lazy grin, split lip and all. “You should see the other guy,” he preens, before promptly dropping the majority of his weight onto Sojiro’s shoulder.
“Not funny. Let’s get you upstairs.”
With no small effort, Sojiro manages to guide the kid up into the attic and gets him situated on his bed before going back down to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water and a steaming bowl of leftover rice. He’d been worried that Ren would turn up his nose at the idea of eating anything, but at the sight of the bowl Ren’s face lights up like he’s never seen food before. Somehow, that worries Sojiro even more.
“Careful, I don’t want you to choke,” he chides softly while he watches Ren put away rice like it’s his thief’s duty. “When was the last time you had a meal?”
“Um,” Ren pauses with the spoon halfway to his mouth. “Yesterday at school? I think.”
Sojiro doesn’t know what to say to that. He waits for Ren to finish so he can put away the dishes, and then comes back upstairs yet again with a pot of warm water and a few old washrags. It’s not much, but at least he can begin to wipe away some of the dirt and grime and dried blood off of Ren’s skin, just to see what they’re really working with, and hopefully soothe away some of his horrible shaking.
Ren flinches when Sojiro dabs gently at the gashes on his wrists, but Sojiro hushes him.
“I don’t suppose this was all part of some grand plan, was it?” he asks.
Ren nods weakly. “It was, but I don’t—my m-memory still has holes in it, so I can’t—I’m sorry, Sojiro.”
“Hey, that’s alright. Don’t push yourself.”
“I couldn’t… r-remember why I was there,” Ren croaks. “I was so t-terrified.”
The admission takes whatever’s left of Sojiro’s cold, already-broken heart and shatters it into even smaller pieces. Ren isn’t keen on sharing his feelings, so for him to be this vulnerable is a sign of just how much the experience has shaken him—or how much the lingering drugs are loosening his lips.
“We didn’t think it would be that bad,” Ren continues. “Last time I got arrested, it was— Ow , Sojiro!”
Sojiro draws his hand back. “Sheesh, I’m sorry, kiddo.” He pauses to give Ren a moment to regain his bearings. He tries not to think about Ren waking up scared and confused in that dark room, struggling against too-tight handcuffs designed to make him bleed. Once the kid catches his breath, Sojiro wrings out a clean washcloth and wipes a streak of dried blood from Ren’s cheek. It’s something he could probably do himself if his hands weren’t quivering, but it’s all Sojiro can think to do for him. There’s more physical affection in the action than Sojiro remembers showing Ren over the course of six months combined, but Ren doesn’t seem to mind at all.
A tear slides down Ren’s cheek, and Sojiro wipes it away, dabs at his forehead and his jaw with the warm washcloth, unable to keep the concern off his face.
“You alright, kid?” he asks in a whisper.
“I thought you’d be mad at me.”
“It’s not you I’m mad at, big guy, trust me. I’m mad at the bastards who would beat and drug a child.”
“I’m not a child,” Ren counters, sniffling wetly.
Sojiro chuckles, to which Ren only scowls petulantly.
“My parents would have been mad at me,” he eventually says, under his breath.
Sojiro sighs. “Well, they’re not here,” he says, pointedly. “ I’m here.”
Ren stares at him meaningfully for a moment, eyes watery, before the ghost of a smile graces his features. The moment passes quickly, as Ren whimpers when Sojiro’s fingers graze a tender spot on the side of his head, where a nasty contusion is already forming.
“Holy hell,” Sojiro mutters, pushing Ren’s curls aside as gently as he can manage. “I’d really like for you to see a doctor.”
“Takemi,” Ren says.
“The doctor down the street?” Sojiro asks, to which Ren nods. “You trust her?” Another nod. “Alright. I’ll give her a call. Let’s get you changed out of that uniform, and then I want to bring you back to the house where I can keep you safe. Alright?”
“Mm. Okay.”
Sojiro slips back downstairs to make the call. When he pulls his phone out, he has several texts from Futaba.
dad oh my god i’m so sorry
i didn’t see you called i was in the middle of something
you weren’t supposed to hear the news report beforehand
the timing didn’t work out
sojiro?
i’m really sorry we didn’t tell you it just seemed safer
please don’t be mad
I’m not mad, Futaba. We’ll talk soon.
He sends off a quick reply before dialing the number for the clinic, squeezing at the bridge of his nose where he already feels a nasty headache forming.
“Hello?” comes the voice on the other end, sounding frazzled. “I’m sorry, I’m not open right now due to a—”
“Wait!” Sojiro blurts out, choosing his words carefully. “It’s Sakura. Can you… be discreet?”
“Sakura? Discreet?” Takemi’s voice grows cautious. “Is everything… okay?”
“It’s my kid. Can you make a house call? I’m sorry about the hour, but it’s kind of an emergency.”
“Your kid? Sakura, I know her situation is complicated but if your daughter’s having an emergency you really should be calling an amb—”
“It’s not my daughter.”
“What?” Takemi goes quiet for a few heavy beats. Then she gasps. “...Oh! Shit, okay. Yes. Yeah, of course. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
Sojiro breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. See you soon.”
He hangs up and goes back upstairs for the third time that night, where Ren is still sitting in the same position as before. He gives Sojiro an expectant look when he comes in.
“I called the doc. She’ll meet us at the house,” Sojiro explains, and gets a nod in return. “You gonna let me help you change, or are you gonna be prideful about this?”
“I got it,” Ren says, and then tries valiantly to kick off one of his shoes and manages to succeed in both launching it halfway to the stairs and nearly tipping himself over. “Um. I don’t got it.”
Sojiro just laughs at him and bends down to pull off his other shoe. Ren looks put out about it, but he nonetheless goes pliant and still so Sojiro can work. Too much so, actually, like a puppet with no strings.
“Ren, you gotta work with me here,” Sojiro huffs, tugging Ren’s soiled jacket off his shoulders.
“M’tryin,” Ren slurs.
“I know. Can you lift your arms up for me?”
Ren grunts affirmatively, but his arms remain limp at his sides.
“Ren?”
“They’re up.” It’s clear that Ren’s energy is flagging again, so Sojiro just sighs and pulls up on the hem of Ren’s shirt. He carefully guides his arms through the sleeves and tugs the garment over his head. Ren is so drugged and tired he doesn’t even offer an objection or a snarky comment at being manhandled. Sojiro tries not to let that worry him.
Once the kid’s only in his boxers, Sojiro surveys the damage. What he sees does not paint a favorable picture of the Tokyo police; there are mottled bruises marring his torso and a distinct bootprint on his thigh, and Sojiro has to swallow a string of profanity at the sight. With half a mind to march down to the police department himself and throw the whole charade into shambles, Sojiro distracts himself by focusing on getting Ren dressed in his loungewear and packed for a night or two away.
“Think you can make it down the street, or should I bring the car around?” he asks as he zips Ren’s backpack.
“I got it.”
“Are you sure this time?”
Ren has the nerve to glare at him, but true to his word, he manages to ease himself up off the bed and wobbles toward the stairs. He eases himself down one step at a time, clinging to the handrail, and by the time they reach the bottom he’s sweating and breathing hard.
Sojiro steadies him by the arm. “Easy, easy,” he says. “You gonna make it?”
Ren nods, but once he catches his breath, he leans on Sojiro for support the rest of the way home. Sojiro is relieved to find the streets of Yongen-jaya mostly empty at this hour, and no one pays them any mind, Ren’s condition far less visible in the darkness. He’s further relieved to see the light on in Futaba’s window when they reach the house, with Morgana’s face peeking out behind the curtain. Ren doesn’t seem to notice, laser-focused on not collapsing where he stands. He leans back against the wall while Sojiro fumbles with his keys, ragged breaths coming out in puffs of fog against the cold November night.
“Almost there,” Sojiro says, looking sidelong at him. “You okay?”
He gets a nod and a shaky thumbs-up in response before he pushes open the door, and Ren practically falls over himself to get inside. When they make it to the living room, Ren immediately makes a beeline for the couch—which, curiously, has already been decked out with what has to be every spare blanket and pillow they have in the house—and collapses onto it like a shipwrecked man washing ashore.
“The walk really take that much out of you?” Sojiro asks. It’s unlike Ren, who’s normally overly polite and cautious about overstepping, to make himself at home so quickly in Sojiro’s house. Not that he minds not having to pull teeth to get him to rest.
“Not just the walk,” Ren mumbles into a pillow. “The… everything.”
Sojiro chuckles. “Are you sure that’s where you want to crash? I was going to offer you my bed.”
“M’comfy,” comes the slurred response.
“You sure? I wasn’t going to be sleeping anyway, so don’t worry about inconveniencing me.”
“G’night.”
“The doctor will be here any minute, kiddo. You can’t go to sleep just yet.”
Ren groans and rolls onto his side so he can stare pitifully at Sojiro. “Am I gonna have to strip again?”
Sojiro snorts and reaches down to gently ruffle the kid’s hair. “Probably, big guy. Sorry, I know you’re tired. I wish I could give you some painkillers, but with drugs in your system…”
There’s a frantic knock on the door, and Ren jolts like a prey animal, then very quickly looks embarrassed.
“Must be the doc.” Sojiro pats his head. “Hang in there.”
He ushers the doctor in quickly, checking to make sure she hasn’t been followed. Takemi enters like a whirlwind, looking like she’s been on a similar emotional rollercoaster to Sojiro all day. Her hair is slightly messed up, eyes bloodshot, and looking hastily put together.
“He’s alive?” she asks.
“What, did you think I was having you examine a corpse?” Sojiro shoots back under his breath as he leads her to the living room.
“The news reports said—” Takemi stops in her tracks when she sees the kid. “Jesus! What did you get yourself into this time, guinea pig?”
Ren has the gall to look cheeky about it. “Passed my exams,” he says, shit-eating grin and all.
“Quiet, you.” Takemi kneels down beside the couch and starts digging in her bag. She looks up at Sojiro. “What happened?”
“Dontcha know what they do to guys like me in prison?” Ren slurs.
“Hey! C’mon, Ren, knock it off,” Sojiro chides. “Sorry, doc. He’s had a rough couple days. I don’t know much more than you.”
“No, hang on,” Takemi says, voice like ice. “The cops did this to you?”
“They drugged him with something, too,” Sojiro cuts in, settling in on the couch to help Takemi sit the kid up and pull off his sweatshirt and pants. “Something to make him talk, I suppose.”
Takemi puts on her stethoscope. “You still feeling ‘em, guinea pig?”
“Less,” Ren says. “Still fuzzy. It was to get me to cooperate, but they gave me too much, so I passed out. Couldn’t remember anything.”
“I see. Take some deep breaths for me.” Takemi slips her stethoscope up the back of Ren’s shirt. He flinches, hands clutching at the blanket in his lap. “How’s he been faring?”
“He’s been mostly lucid since he got home, I’d say,” Sojiro muses. “But definitely coming in and out of it. More than anything, poor kid needs some sleep.”
“Well, your breathing sounds perfectly normal to me, which is a very good sign.” Takemi’s eyes flicker back to Sojiro. “Some cocktail of benzos, if I had to guess, or, god forbid, barbiturates. I can’t be sure without a blood test, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to get a decent sample out of him in this state.”
If the way his hand reaches for Sojiro’s sleeve is any indication, Ren’s certainly not too keen on the idea either. His back is to the doctor, but given that she’s still listening to his heart, there’s no way she doesn’t notice the spike of anxiety.
“Good stuff, kiddo,” she sighs, taking off her stethoscope. “Keep focusing on your breathing. Let’s take a look at the damage.”
Takemi examines each of his wounds, hissing at the particularly nasty bruises on his thigh and his temple. She lifts the hem of Ren’s shirt and prods at his ribs for breaks. Ren whimpers as his hands shake throughout the entire examination. With his free hand, Sojiro gently rubs his shoulder, half to soothe him and half just to keep him upright.
“Definitely some deep tissue bruising, but I don’t think anything’s broken, although I’d like to get him in for x-rays at some point,” Takemi reports, pulling out a small flashlight from her bag. “You’re going to need a lot of rest, guinea pig, you hear? And stay off that leg if you can help it. Here, turn to face me.”
Ren swings his legs over to sit on the couch normally. He’s still got Sojiro’s sleeve in a vice grip, although he doesn’t seem to realize it. Takemi shines the light in Ren’s eyes, humming to herself. Sojiro isn’t sure what she’s looking for, but whatever she sees seems to satisfy her, as she nods and puts the flashlight away.
“Alright, let me finish patching you up, and then I’ll be out of your hair. That work for you?”
Ren nods wearily. Already, his eyelids are beginning to droop. Takemi cleans and dresses Ren’s wounds with deft fingers; she smears thick ointment onto the cuts on his wrists before bandaging them, which only seems to relax him further. By the time she’s finished, Ren’s grip has finally loosened and his eyes have fluttered closed.
“All done, kiddo,” she announces, patting his knee twice. “Get some rest for me.”
Sojiro chuckles. “I think he’s one step ahead of you, doc,” he says softly. “I’m pretty sure he’s already out.”
Takemi breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I felt bad keeping him up.”
Sojiro lays the kid back down and walks the doctor to the front door. “I really can’t thank you enough,” he says. “Please, pretend you were never here. You don’t know anything, if anyone asks.”
Takemi smiles softly, hoisting her bag. “I’ve got it, don’t worry about me. Make sure he gets plenty of fluids and plenty of rest, okay? Get him ice for those bruises; should help bring the swelling down.”
“I got it. He’s in good hands.”
“Tonight might be a bit rough for him, flushing all of those drugs out of his system. He should be just fine, but if he develops a fever or any kind of respiratory distress, or anything else seems amiss, call me immediately. I’ll keep my ringer on.”
“I’ll stay up with him. Thanks, doc.”
“No need to thank me. Just keep him safe.” Takemi opens the door to leave, but before she does, she turns back to him and says, “He’s a good kid, Sakura. He didn’t deserve any of this.”
Sojiro smiles. “I know, doc. Have a good night.”
After he sees her off, Sojiro returns to the living room to find Ren sleeping like a log on the couch. He hasn’t bothered to get his sweatpants back on, leaving him snuggled under the blankets in just his boxers and t-shirt. Sojiro puts together a few ice packs from the freezer and arranges them carefully against his torso and thigh. Ren twitches slightly at the cold, but otherwise doesn’t stir. Sojiro tucks the blankets around him and makes sure he’s sufficiently cushioned by the pillows.
“What am I gonna do with you, kid?” he whispers fondly, running fingers through Ren’s curls. “You’ve got the whole city wrapped around your finger.”
Ren doesn’t respond, of course; Sojiro pulls up a chair beside him and settles in for a long night, content to watch him sleep.
Some time later, Sojiro’s first indication that Futaba is finally emerging comes when the cat suddenly bounds down the stairs and into the room. He leaps up beside Ren and finds a spot to curl up against his chest. Ren makes a soft noise in his sleep and pulls him closer. Morgana doesn’t seem to mind at all, giving Sojiro a knowing stare with those bright blue eyes of his.
Sojiro is there to catch Futaba when she comes barrelling down the stairs in her socks and crashes into his chest, small hands curling into the back of his shirt. The knot in Sojiro’s chest finally starts to unravel.
“He’s already asleep, Futaba,” he whispers.
Futaba peers up at him with tear-stained cheeks. “Did he like the blanket nest I set up for him?” she asks.
“It sure seems like it,” Sojiro chuckles. “He’s barely moved a muscle since the doctor left a bit ago, so he must be comfortable.”
At the mention of the doctor, Futaba’s expression sobers. “How bad is it?”
“Ah,” Sojiro sighs. Best not to lie. “Well, they really did a number on him. He’s been only somewhat lucid since he came home. But the doc doesn’t seem to think anything’s broken, so he should be just fine with plenty of rest. I’ll keep an eye on him overnight just to be sure.”
Futaba seems relieved by that, nodding once before peeling away from Sojiro and scurrying into the living room, and he follows behind her. From the couch, Ren blinks blearily at her, barely awake. Somehow, he manages to give her a lazy grin, half-buried in Morgana’s fur.
“Ren?” Futaba whispers. “Did we do it? Did we really do it?”
At first, it seems as though perhaps Ren didn’t hear her. But then, slowly, one shaky hand emerges from beneath the blankets in a triumphant victory sign.
Futaba cheers and rushes forward to ruffle his hair, expertly avoiding his sore spot almost as if she already knew it would be there. For a moment, Sojiro wishes he could have captured the moment in a photo, but Ren probably wouldn’t appreciate that come morning. He commits the moment to memory instead, and silently asks Wakaba how the hell he ended up with two incredible kids.
The kids settle in on the couch with the cat, and Sojiro leaves them for the kitchen to make himself a pot of coffee. It’s been a long night already, and is only bound to get longer. Once he’s finally alone for more than 30 seconds, Sojiro’s brain screeches to a halt as it catches up with the night’s events, and he has to press his fingers to his eyes to keep from crying.
Just last night, he’d been worrying over the fact that Futaba and the cat had returned home late, without Ren, and in the span of 24 hours he went through the stages of grief only for Ren to show up bloody at his doorstep. It all reminds Sojiro a little too much of Wakaba, how she’d gotten herself into trouble Sojiro didn’t know how to get her out of, how she’d gone strangely serious and sullen in the days before her death. How Sojiro didn’t believe her until it was too late.
He’s not making that mistake again, even if it lands him behind bars himself.
When Sojiro returns to the living room, Futaba has fallen fast asleep. He carefully lifts her into his arms and carries her up to her room, Morgana trotting along behind him. The cat meows as Sojiro tucks her into bed.
“I’m entrusting her to you,” Sojiro says. Morgana meows again in response, almost affirmative. Sojiro shakes his head. “Look at me, talking to the cat.”
“Dad?” Futaba mumbles.
“Hey, sweetheart. Did I wake you up?”
“Mm. No, it was Mona.” The cat yowls again, indignant. Futaba sticks out her tongue at him.
Sojiro sits down on the edge of the bed. “We can talk about everything in the morning,” he says. “But I need to know: are all of your friends safe?”
Futaba nods. “Thanks for trusting us, Sojiro. You promise you’re not mad?”
“I promise, Futaba. You’re safe, Ren’s safe, that’s all that matters to me right now. Now, it’s time for you to go to sleep .”
“Yeah, yeah. You should go check on Ren.”
“That’s the plan.” Sojiro ruffles Futaba’s hair and sets her glasses on her end table. “Get some rest, okay?”
“Mmhm. ‘Night, Sojiro. Love you.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
Despite the coffee, exhaustion eventually catches up with Sojiro and he dozes off, only to be awoken an undetermined amount of time later by Ren calling for him in distress.
“S-Sojiro?” he heaves. Sojiro snaps awake and alert almost instantly; Ren is sitting up, bracing himself on the edge of the couch with trembling arms. His breathing is ragged.
“Ren? What’s wrong?”
“I feel sick. I-I—”
“Okay, you’re alright. Are you gonna hurl?” Sojiro touches the back of his hand to Ren’s forehead; his skin is clammy, but not feverish.
Ren shakes his head. “No, just—everything hurts, m-my hands feel numb—”
“Woah, hey, alright. Take a breath.” Sojiro leans over and flicks on the table lamp beside the couch, bathing Ren’s pale face in warm light. “The doc warned me this might happen, with you coming down from those drugs. Stay here, kiddo.”
Sojiro gets up, ignoring the way his back protests, and rushes into the kitchen for a cold washcloth. Ren has scarcely moved by the time he comes back, hands shaking in his lap. Sojiro sits back down and drapes the rag over the back of Ren’s neck. Before he can think better of it, he takes one of Ren’s hands in his own and runs his thumb over his knuckles.
Ren squeezes back so tightly it almost hurts. He lets out a soft whine, halfway to a sob.
“Shh, you’re gonna be fine. I need you to breathe for me. I know you’re in pain.”
“I-I feel sort of faint, i-it’s like full-body nausea—”
“Ren, it’s okay. You’re panicking. You have to breathe through it. It’ll pass, kid, just breathe.”
Ren nods vigorously, trying to calm himself down. Sojiro holds onto his hand and assures him, over and over, that he’s safe, that the pain will pass, that he’s going to be okay. He breathes with him, slow and steady, until several minutes go by and it seems like the wave of panic and agony has passed.
“Futaba,” Ren chokes out between sharp breaths.
“She’s alright, bud. She’s upstairs with the cat.”
Ren nods, and some of the tension seems to leave his body. He releases Sojiro’s hand, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“She was down here with you earlier. Remember?”
“Blurry,” Ren breathes out. “But I remember.”
“Good. Whatever they gave you was nasty; Niijima said you were barely coherent by the time she got you out the door.”
Ren winces, but his breathing seems to have returned to normal when he admits, “That I don’t remember so clearly.”
“That’s okay. Takemi said that’s normal.”
With a stuttering exhale, Ren nods again. He clenches and unclenches his fists a few times, shaking feeling back into his hands. Sojiro resists the urge to smother the motion out of concern for his shredded wrists and instead removes the wet washcloth from his neck.
“Feeling better?” he asks, wiping sweat from the boy’s forehead.
“Yeah,” Ren says. “Sorry.”
“Don’t,” Sojiro chuckles. “Gonna go back to sleep now?”
Ren lays back down and curls himself back into his blankets. His eyelids are already slipping shut. “Don’t do drugs, kids,” he mumbles.
“Ha, ha, very funny,” Sojiro sighs fondly, adjusting the blankets and patting Ren’s shoulder. “Get some rest, smartass. I’m not going anywhere.”
Ren hums and settles in. Sojiro lets his hand linger for just a moment, brushing a sweaty curl from the kid’s face before he goes to pour himself another cup of coffee.