Archive of Our Own ^beta

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When Tommy woke up, it was to a searing pain in his leg- one that was different from the last time he'd woken up. Before the pain had been searing, but nothing he wasn't used to- it wasn't any worse than sticking his head out over the nether's lava and feeling the heat press back against his face; but this? This was different. Sharp and cold and slicing down his leg pressing down on the pain that was already present- it was like being slashed in battle but so much smoother and slower- it was precise and torturous and Tommy barely kept himself from crying out, not in pain but rather in fear. Because of all the people who'd want to hurt him, none would be so deliberate and concentrated. None except one, one person who loved to draw out his pain at their own leisure, to make Tommy feel every moment of the torturous movement of blade against skin. He couldn't see their face, couldn't feel their empty eyes leering down on him or hear the gentle words of comfort they'd coo at him all throughout the process, but it must be them. It had to be. They were all Tommy had after all, the only one who was patient and kind enough to tolerate him- who else could it possibly be? Tommy found that he didn't mind the sharp cutting pain in his leg- no, if anything what really hurt him was the quiet. He must've done something wrong, they never hurt him when he hadn't, they just needed to discipline him- to fix him. But where was their voice? The soft words and calloused hand in his hair? Where was the looming presence, the comforting wait of eyes watching, the familiarity? Where were they? Had he really done something so wrong that they couldn't bare to speak to him? What did he do?

Tears spilled down Tommy's cheeks as he searched wildly through his memory for what he might've done- he messed up often, he knew, but to have offended them so far as to draw silence? He must've done something horrible. Something irredeemable- and for a horrible moment, Tommy wondered if what he'd done had made him unfixable. Sharp stinging horror spread through his body and Tommy's chest heaved, his heart thumped in his chest louder than the ringing in his ears and he tightened his eyes (when had he shut them?) in fear. It took several moments for Tommy to calm himself, but eventually he was able to. They could fix him; they wouldn't be fixing him right now if it weren't possible, he reasoned. But still- what had he done? He wanted so badly to apologize, to let the desperate pleas leave past his lips and beg forgiveness, but he needed to know what he was sorry for- they hated when he apologized without knowing what he was apologizing for. Tommy thought and thought and thought and thought and thought and thought and thought, and eventually after a long time of pushing through the pain and the dizzy haze pressing down on his mind- it came to him. Tommy's chest deflated as if the air had been knocked out of him, and he honestly felt like it had. His eyes peeled open as quickly as he could manage and the world was a bright white blur- a figure stood next to him bent over to watch his face and the tears that had previously dried streamed down at a faster rate than before, he'd forgotten them. Their face, their name, the clothes they liked to wear, where Tommy had met them- hell he didn't even remember if it was a she a he or a they! 

The person above his face was blocked out by the bright white light, they were looking to his side and nodding at something when Tommy shakily reached his arm forward to pull at their clothes- green. They wore a green and black robe! Tommy remembered green- this had to be them! He tugged slightly at the chest of their shirt, arms suddenly far too small to reach, and he wondered if this was all a bad dream because his arms were much longer than this, but then he heard a sharp gasp and he abandoned the thought completely, it didn't matter right now. What mattered was the apology. "M' surry" He slurred out, breaths uneven and tears falling fast and seemingly unending and he hicced and sobbed, and he reached out his left arm towards there face and cried a bit harder when they leaned down so as to help him near. He hesitated for a moment, but he reached out his small hand and cupped their cheek as best as he could- his fingers refused to follow him, articulation failing as he desperately tried to grasp for the figure above- and let out a wracking cough before continuing, "m' surry I firgot you, I didn't mean to- m sorry, m so sosorry-" He cut himself off with a sharp cry of pain and sorrow and so much more all at once, but he felt relieved. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, he didn't have the strength, but he knew that had he been able to open his eyes to look and see he'd see a smile on their face. They just wanted an apology- one that he meant, and he really really meant it. The words had been stilted he knew, he couldn't understand much of Terran but it /was/ still his first language, often times when he got like this the few small Terran words he could remember would mix in with his common, leaving the sentence a broken and mangled mess- but they never seemed much to mind, if anything they usually seemed to think it was endearing. He hoped that was the case now, even with the gross snot and tears running down his face and the blood that was sure to cover his entirety. Tommy's hands fell from where he'd shakily forced himself to hold them and the relief he felt washed a sense of calm over his body. He quickly fell asleep despite his attempts to remain awake, and his arms fell from the fold of the figure's yukata to their lap as he silently cried in his sleep- breaths evening out and becoming calm.

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Yosano was shaken, her legs having gone weak and shaky the moment the broken English left the supposedly asleep boy. It had been horrific enough to see him wake up mid-surgery, but to see him cry and struggle desperately to get out the words- an apology of all things -was... it was indescribable. She'd gasped when she saw his tiny shaking arm paw at the President's yukata, hiccuping and sobbing as he tried to say something they couldn't understand. She stood now outside the room, the surgery was complete- and successful at that. It had been a concern at first that the time they'd spent stopped to breathlessly listen to the little boy would have an impact on the chance of success, but luckily it'd been a non-issue in the end. The child's leg was sewn closed, set, and ready to slowly heal, but Yosano had a feeling that his leg would be the least of their problems. The injury to his head would lead to permanent memory loss at worst, and at least a year and a half of recovery time before memories began to resurface at best; they didn't have that sort of time. Unless one of them took in the child on a more official scale, they'd be required legally to turn him back over to the childcare services eventually. Yosano had seen the look on Dazai's face, he'd be hesitant and would need some time- possibly even a good smack on the head or a talking to from Ranpo -but he would accept taking the child in; the only problem was that Yosano wasn't sure she trusted him to take him in. The man was kind when it suited him, and he certainly wasn't lacking in adoration for the child- hell, he'd spent hour's waiting outside for her and the president to return. Eventually Kunikida had dragged him back to work, but he'd very clearly been concerned; no matter how many times he said he was just waiting to be sure the president and her would return safely. There wasn't anything technically wrong with Dazai himself as an option, but Dazai could barely take care of himself! His apartment was a mess that he never cared to clean, the amount of cheap whiskey and soju bottles bottles on the ground had Yosano questioning how he'd not died of alcohol poisoning yet, and he tried to drown himself in every river he passed by! There was zero doubt in her mind that he'd take care of the kid as best as he could manage, but the problem was that Yosano was sure he'd be able to manage much for someone else when he barely managed for himself. 

The worry was eating her up inside any time she wasn't actively feeling like the void itself. Hearing the desperate cries and apologies from the boy, worrying about his memory recovery, finding somewhere to take him that they could access him and keep him safe, worrying about Dazai and the president and so much all at once- it was getting to her. She was exhausted, the surgery had taken hours and even longer had been the questioning she'd gotten about why she was with the boy and how he'd gotten so injured. He'd have to stay here at the hospital for a little while, a week at most, but visiting hours would be over soon and even if she'd done his surgery (The agency had a deal with the hospital. It was this whole complicated thing but in simple terms Yosano was allowed to give medical attention to case victims who were uncomfortable being chopped in half to heal with her ability, and to dazai who couldn't be healed with her ability.) she was not a doctor here so soon she'd have to go. The president was talking with the head of the hospital off to the side, working out the details of the kid's stay while Yosano cooled off, but he'd likely be done soon. God she hoped he'd be done soon- she had never wanted to go home and sleep more after a case, at least not after a case that wasn't complete yet.

The hospital was loud, people shouting orders and nurses rushing by- it was usually calmer but there'd been an accident somewhere nearby, she could hear two of the people who'd made it out cleanly talking about it somewhere down the hall. She could hear most things around her. Feet rushing, pens tapping, papers rustling, more yelling, beds rolling, children crying- and then it all seemed to stop. She heard a humming. She searched around, head rising from where it rested in her hands- when had she dropped her head? - and in the room to the side of the boy's was a hospital bed. The room was dark, the lights left off despite the light spilling in from the hall, a little girl laid back in the bed with the steady beat of a heart monitor droning on next to her. She had dark hair and closed eyes and a saline drip stuck into her arm, and there was a clear mask connecting to a metal tube on the ground keeping her breathing. A woman, presumably her mother, sat next to her holding the hand not receiving saline and the humming came from her. Yosano stared for a moment, the scene etching itself in her mind as he ear's began to ring. All she could focus on was that humming- she didn't recognize the tune but it still sounded familiar. Her ears slowly began to ran, getting louder and louder until it covered the sounds of shouting and moving and drawing and crying and everything else she'd heard, getting so loud she could even hear herself thing; and yet she still heard that clear tune- the humming invaded her ears, not getting loud or overwhelming but remaining over the ringing anyways somehow. Did it mean something? Does she want it to mean something? It all seemed to rotate over and over in her head-  The woman, the girl the humming, the woman the girl the humming, the woman the girl the humming, the woman the girl the hummin- 

...

A hand fell on her shoulder and Yosano startled violently in her surprise, head turning in a panic to face whoever had touched her just to find- the president. It was just the president. He seemed to be calling out to her and all at once the noise returned and the humming stopped, the ringing in her ears quickly dissipating to nothing as she desperately searched his face for something- for what, she wasn't sure. "Yosano-san, are you alright?" Fukuzawa asked in a kind and quiet tone, something soft that he usually reserved for Ranpo on the bad days or frightened children, and she almost let a tear slip past at his voice. Instead, she tilted her head to the side for a moment, perhaps hoping to catch a last glance of the woman, perhaps hoping to see nothing at all, but the woman was there. She'd stopped singing quietly to her child and had begun to look at Yosano Herself. She looked concerned- like she'd just seen someone lose everything, it was startling and confusing- Yosano hadn't lost anything, it hadn't even been a particularly hard night. Sure she was a bit shaken up and tired, but she'd only healed one person today, she was certain she was absolutely fine, and yet here was this woman holding the hand of her unconscious child in a hospital room and yet she looked at her with concern? It.. Yosano couldn't make any sense of it- it was, it was confusing and odd and wrong and- "Yosano?" The president. He was still waiting for a response, she realized, and she turned to face him, eyes taking a moment to leave where they'd locked with the woman to follow the movement of her head, and she looked him in the eyes. He was concerned. Why was everyone concerned? His hands shook slightly, and she couldn't tell if it were from earlier in the surgery or just because he was getting older. "I'm.." She paused, was she okay? Everyone around her seemed so concerned even though she was so sure she was fine so- so maybe she wasn't? She shook the thoughts away, she was alright. "I'm alright, Fukuzawa-dono. Have you finished your conversation with Miyani-Sensei?" She asked, begging all that was good in the universe to please let the man say he was /done/ and they could go the fuck home.

"Almost, we have one last thing to discuss before we can leave but I came over to let you know that if you'd like you can proceed ahead as this may take a while." Yosano could've jumped for joy, and the small smile the president let slip past at her sigh of relief told her that he knew all too well how she was feeling. "If it isn't a problem, then I think it may be best for me to return now to the dorms." She said with as much professionalism as she could muster, "Of-course. Have a safe trip home Yosano-san." he replied, and Yosano was quick to gather her things and head out the door.

Yosano had just reached the bottom floor, the basement level which let out into the parking lot, when she heard a light voice behind her sounding flustered and rushed. "Excuse me, miss!" She stopped, that voice sounded familiar. She turned slowly, letting the hand by her side reach up to hold onto the coat draped over her arm, and there she was. The woman.