The pain came in waves.
Kishibe stirred beneath the layers of blankets in the infirmary, the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to his nostrils. His chest burned. His right side was bandaged heavily, arm strapped to keep him from tearing stitches. Shoko had told him he was lucky. Another inch and the cursed claw would've torn through his lung. He wasn't sure if it mattered. He was alive, sure, but it didn't feel like living.
He drifted between half-consciousness and pain-induced haze. In that in-between, dreams crept in.
---
In his dream, his mother stood in a sunlit field, her face worn but kind. The wind teased her hair. She looked at him like she was—proud, despite everything. Then the light changed. The field faded into a narrow alley. Rain fell.
The little girl from the mission stood there, barefoot and shivering, holding the hem of her dress. She didn't speak. She just looked at him. Judging? Asking?
"I tried," Kishibe whispered in the dream. "I really did."
The girl tilted her head.
Then the curse appeared. He couldn't move in time. Again. The nightmare was cruel like that.
He woke in a cold sweat.
---
Outside the infirmary, voices echoed in the hall.
"I'm just saying," Gojo said, louder than necessary, "you break one rib and suddenly you're the tragic brooding hero."
"Two ribs," Nanami corrected. "And a punctured shoulder."
"You weren't even on the mission," Geto muttered.
"Still," Haibara chimed in cheerfully, "it's kinda cool, isn't it? Kishibe-senpai, jumping in like that. Real 'my body moves on its own' moment!"
"More like 'my dumb friend's gonna die if I don't,'" Kishibe's voice rasped from the doorway.
All four heads turned.
Kishibe leaned on the doorframe, pale and bandaged but upright. Shoko was behind him, arms crossed, glaring.
"You're supposed to be resting."
"Rest later. Head hurts too much to sleep."
Gojo approached first, trying to act casual, but there was guilt behind the grin. "So… you're alive. Kinda wrecked the curse, though. Not bad."
Kishibe gave him a look. "You're an idiot."
"I know."
Geto folded his arms. "You shouldn't have had to do that."
"And yet I did."
Nanami stepped forward. "I heard you covered Gojo while he was vulnerable."
"More like while he was being cocky," Kishibe corrected, then winced.
Haibara rubbed the back of his head. "Still, that's really something. If I got hit like that, I'd be down for weeks."
"You'd be dead," Shoko said bluntly. "Kishibe's just too stubborn to die."
They chuckled, but the air wasn't light. There was weight behind their words.
Gojo looked down. "I fucked up."
"You did," Kishibe said. "But I'd do it again."
"Why?"
Kishibe looked at him—really looked. "Because whether I like it or not, you matter. You're gonna be someone who changes the world. If I have to bleed to make sure you get the chance, so be it."
That shut Gojo up.
---
Later that night, when the others had left and Shoko forced him back into bed, Kishibe stared at the ceiling. His body ached, but inside it felt quieter. Not peace. Not closure.
But understanding.
He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was living for something.
For Gojo.
For Geto.
For the little girl.
For the ghosts that lingered.