Chapter 28: A Burden Shared Is A Burden Halved

For the next forty-eight hours, Hannah spiraled in and out of consciousness, feeling both near and very far away. From what, she didn't know. Oblivion perhaps.

Darkness gathered all around. Her arms would not work. Her lids would not open. A dull, aching sting pulsated up and down her spine and across her shoulders like a week old sunburn. Muffled voices dithered everywhere - faint enough to want them closer, but loud enough to make her wish they'd leave. They were speaking in unison.

"San…Michael…def nos…elio…insidias diaboli…"

Hannah recognized the Latin, their joined prayer building without end. She tried to move, the heaviness in her head starting to lift ever so slightly, but soon found it impossible. Her eyes were like lead.

Then came a separate voice, more somber and rueful, repeating something along the lines of "…my fault…my fault…"

Everything faded to black again.

The beeping monitors and the cold smell of antiseptic were what finally roused Hannah from sleep, the stark hospital walls shining a bright, superfluous white due to the harsh amounts of sun pouring in through the window. The light wetted her eyes and upon blinking to flush them out, she realized she was lying on a hospital bed flat on her stomach. Odd because Hannah never slept on her stomach.

Slowe to as a sloth, she maneuvered herself over to sit up, the skin of her back pulling in various directions. Hannah reached behind, expecting to feel scars or scab wounds but instead felt smooth, supple skin, fingers and toes tingling like pins and needles as though they hadn't moved in months. The hospital frock trapped little body heat and she shivered once the blankets fell past her shoulders. Weak and heavy lidded, Hannah tried rubbing the grogginess from her eyes, which hadn't adjusted to the brightness of the room, but then heard the clicking of heels and two hurried knocks at the door. It creaked open.

"Ah, I thought you'd be awake," a voice greeted merrily, bringing her more into awareness. "In case you're wondering, it is now three o'clock in the afternoon. The cafeteria won't be serving dinner for another hour or so, but we can get you something if you'd like."

Hannah didn't need to see to know who the voice belonged to. "Shoko," she grogged, throat raw and ragged like a toad's. She continued rubbing her stiff eyes and face. "Did you and Utahime-san take me out drinking again? I feel awful."

"Before I answer that…" The jujutsu doctor dished out a small torch from her lab coat pocket and flashed it in Hannah's eyes, switching left to right. The pupils shrank. She followed this up by pinching the sides of her patient's wrists for a pulse, turning towards the wall where a ticking clock hung, and began counting. Vitals were normal. Shoko stepped back from the bed. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Uh…" Hannah squinted hard at the jujutsu doctor. "Four."

"And what year is it?"

"2014."

"And can you name for me the current prime minister?"

"Cameron," she replied aptly.

Shoko laughed. "Of Japan."

"Oh." Hannah felt her cheeks burn. "Abe, I think."

Shoko placed the small torch back inside her coat pocket, pleased by the result. Looks like the blood loss didn't incur any serious brain damage. What a relief. She then crossed her arms. "Tell me the last thing you remember."

"The last?" Hannah bit her lower lip and tried recalling the last thing she did before waking up in a cold hospital room. Images of a racetrack swerving on a television screen with upbeat music floated aimlessly in her head. "I want to say Satoru was beating me at Super Mario Kart," she murmured. "It then got late and we went to bed. I suppose I fell asleep and…wait." She looked at Shoko. "How long was I out for again?

Shoko nodded professionally the entire time, but on the inside was thinking, Aw, they play Mario Kart together, then glanced back at the clock. "Approximately two days, ten hours, and eight minutes," she said without missing a beat.

Hannah's hazel eyes grew wide. Goodness, that wasn't what she expected her to say at all. "Do they know why?"

Shoko sighed. "To be honest, Hannah, we're still not sure. I'll give you the details later, but from what we've gathered, it seems you experienced a delayed, hypersensitive reaction from the Sukuna finger being in such close proximity for an extended period of time. Kind of like when your voice glitches on a Zoom call from being too close to the other signal until it crashes."

Hannah stared perplexed at the doctor. "What's a Zoom call?"

The doctor waved a hand. "Er, nevermind. No more thousand year old cursed objects in the house. That's the takeaway."

"But what about the voices?"

Shoko halted. "Voices?"

"I thought I heard Latin," Hannah clarified.

"Oh, that! Yeah, we had some Catholic priests come in and perform an exorcism on you. No biggie."

"What?!"

"Yeah, I was kinda disappointed. It was nothing like the movie."

The movie wasn't the problem. Hannah's face resembled the hospital walls. Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest she was surprised Shoko couldn't hear it.

Where she came from, exorcisms were exceedingly rare and required an onslaught of paperwork and bureaucratic hoop jumping. For one, you couldn't just go to your local parish priest and ask him to do an exorcism on the spot; only a select number of priests were trained in the ministry of exorcism. Mental illness and scientific explanations also had to be ruled out for fear of fakers and undiagnosed schizophrenics, as were most cases. If illness and science gave no answers and manifestations remained present in the afflicted, then the archbishop would have to be notified. And in especially severe cases, the matter would be left on The Association's front desk in Rome for further deliberation. Even then it could take weeks, sometimes months, for the assembly to decide whether utilizing the solemn rite was really necessary.

These decisions were not made in a vacuum, and yet a team of exorcist priests had prayed the solemn rite over Hannah without argument in lieu of nothing else. But why? She had just left the confessional last week. Never dabbled in the occult or touched a ouija board - couldn't even tell you what a ouija board looked like - and prayed the rosary like it was a daily vitamin. Why had she required a high-level exorcism?

"Um, Shoko, " she swallowed, "The priests. Did they find anything…amiss?"

The physician turned around and shrugged. "No. Whatever happened was over by the time they arrived. You're not being possessed by a demon." She looked down at the bed. "Might want to stop squeezing the life out of that pillow now."

Hannah didn't know how the pillow landed in her lap, but she was, indeed, "squeezing the life out" of it. She released the cushion from her death grip and exhaled a long sigh. Thank God.

"Satoru was a big, heaping mess," Shoko went on, texting a message on her phone. "I forced him to go home for a while. He'll be back soon."

Hannah perked up. "Satoru? He was here?"

"Here?" The jujutsu doctor breathed out a chuckle. "The stubborn ass wouldn't leave. I forced Nanami to do me the honors, though I can't be too mad at him. The poor loser was worried sick about you. Heck, we all were." She gestured to a diverse pile of gifts lying in the corner. "GET WELL SOON, HANNAH-SAN" in bright red English was written neatly on a card; undoubtedly Tsumiki's handwriting, both her and Megumi's signatures visible at the bottom with smiley faces. Utahime had brought a 6-pack of her favorite craft beer from Niigata, while Nanami had prepared a tin of the oolong tea they shared at his apartment, signed simply "Kento." Hannah spotted a re-joined Stinging Nettle made whole again, Kumari's contribution, alongside a small mountain of lavish Boucheron boxes courtesy of Cressida. And finally Makoto had procured a single white lily, petalled without blemish, inside a glass bud vase.

Hannah's heart felt both a mixture of gratitude and guilter's remorse at seeing the gifts, thinking of the people associated with them and their kindness. "Gosh, I didn't mean to cause all this trouble," she said. "I'm so sorry."

"Actually, Hannah," Shoko stipulated. "I'd like to ask you some more questions, if you don't mind. On the grounds of doctor-patient confidentiality."

The auburnette smiled gladly. "Of course."

The jujutsu doctor cleared her throat and put her phone away. "Have you noticed any fatigue as of late? I mean, prior to the fatigue you're feeling now."

Hannah blinked, furrowing her brows. "No. I don't think so."

"I see," Shoko hummed, placing her hands in her coat pockets. "What about memory loss?"

"Memory loss?"

"Just a question," the physician assured, smiling.

Hannah peered down at her lap, touching her fingertips together to check they weren't tingling. Images of claws and scarlet eyes flashed across her field of vision and faded like a dream. It was only a dream. "No, I haven't noticed any memory loss," she admitted truthfully.

"And what about the 'light shows?' I assume you've kept those to a minimum too."

Her confusion reappeared. "Light shows?"

Shoko wiggled her fingers. "That weird healing trick you do."

Hannah felt like a burglar with their face mask ripped off, Ah ha, there she is. Take her away, officer. She quickly feigned innocence. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

Shoko rested a hand on her shoulder, a look of compassion softening her features. Hannah smelled the tobacco on her clothes. "Look, you don't have to tell me. Your business is your own, but for what is worth, I am a physician and consider you my friend. You can tell me anything. Like my grandma always said; a burden shared is a burden halved."

Or doubled, Hannah thought gravely, but kept that comment to herself. Cressida's reminder from her visit to the Gojo estate rang in her memory like choir bells, but the cat was already out of the bag. What good was it to hide the truth any longer? She'd seen too much. "You promise not to tell?" Hannah whispered. "Not even Satoru?"

She saw a flicker of concern linger for a moment on the doctor's face, but Shoko soon shot her a wink and crossed her heart. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?"

Encouraged by her confidence, Hannah parted her mouth to speak, ready to tell the jujutsu doctor everything and relinquish the burden, but was stymied by a third voice entering the fray.

"Hannah?"

Both women turned.

It was none other than Satoru waiting over by the door, standing tall and handsome as ever. His hair was dripping wet, maybe from a rushed shower, and he looked fashionable sporting ripped jeans, camel boots, and a sleek, black leather jacket. Yet despite the clothes, Hannah could see the dark circles hanging under his eyes like curtain drapes, their turquoise color less vibrant and blue than usual. He'd been sent home to rest, but it was evident he hadn't slept a wink and it showed. The Strongest looked positively exhausted.

"Satoru," Hannah said weakly at seeing her husband standing there so silent.

Shoko decided now was a good time to make her getaway. "I'll be outside," she said and quietly exited the room, door clicking softly behind her.

The spell was broken.

With great expediency, Satoru was soon hovering over the hospital bed and lowering the guard rail to reach out and cradle her to him. Hannah didn't reject the smell of his pine-scented body wash hitting her full-force, nor did she protest the feel of his lips peppering her neck and throat in short, desperate kisses. Safe, you are safe, they seemed to say. Her eyes closed, giving in to his relief though she couldn't understand what had happened to her. He swept her long unbraided hair to one side and buried his face between the crook of her shoulder and took in her scent. His wet hair dripped on her hospital gown but she hardly felt the drops. By instinct, her own arms circled around him, drawing his body as close to hers as possible.

"Satoru, I'm — "

"Hannah." He caressed her head. "Please, don't talk right now, alright? Just…" He staggered a breath. "Just give me a sec."

The vulnerability in his voice, the fear. This man holding her was nothing like the happy, fun-loving Satoru she knew, like an imposter had snuck in the middle of the night and mysteriously swapped places. Shoko said he'd been worried sick. His regret-ridden misery made her chest grow heavy and the tears well in her eyes, the hospital walls closing in on them.

"I want to go home," she whimpered in his chest.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he hushed soothingly in her ear. "We are going home."

"You promise?"

Satoru gave no reply and simply kissed her on the lips. Another promise made.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

For this chapter's notes, please visit AO3 (Same name).

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