The Scarlet Fever Incident

by infinite1diot

Summary:

The doctor looks like he’s choosing his words carefully. “The care taking instinct comes natural to some,” he begins slowly. “And, in others it lies dormant until something awakens it. Then, there are those in which it never awakens at all.” Gojo swallows thickly, a sinking feeling filling his gut. “But… that doesn’t mean it can’t be taught.”

Or

2 years into into raising the Fushiguro kids (but only about 5 months into actually trying) Megumi falls severely ill.
Gojo learns the hard way that sometimes his best isn't actually good enough, and that maybe, just maybe, The Strongest can't do everything by himself

Notes:

This work is in the same universe as my Missing Limbs series, but it meant to be able to be read stand alone.

This is all the context you need.

Gojo's about 21 years old here, if I'm doing my math right. He's been 'taking care' of Megumi and Tsumiki for about two years, but was doing a pretty piss poor job of it up until last summer. Megumi is a very angry and difficult kid. Gojo paid off the Zen'in clan for custody of Megumi under the pretense that Megumi never manifested a cursed technique and has little to no potential as a sorcerer. They wouldn't have let Gojo have custody of him if they knew the truth. He's currently trying to keep the kids and his in involvement in their lives a secret in order to avoid scrutiny and discovery of that secret. He currently doesn't have a good relationship with Shoko, and they aren't speaking. I also write his Six Eyes as giving him the ability to see through walls (up to a point, anyway. details get lost the more things are between him and what he's trying to look at).

Chapter 1

Summary:

“Some part of Gojo hears how her voice is pitching higher, distressed, and knows he should tone it down to comfort her, but his Six Eyes are trained on Megumi’s form on the ground. The kid doesn’t move an inch. Gojo can't see any details through the door, and realizes he can’t even tell if he’s breathing.
Oh.
Something’s actually wrong, isn’t it?”

Saturday, January 1st, 2011

 

 

Gojo’s never considered himself the jealous type.

He hasn’t had much opportunity to be jealous of anyone, after all. He has almost everything he could ever want. So, the moment he realizes the gnawing pit in his stomach as he listens to Ijichi on the phone outside is jealousy, it’s enough to ruin his night.

He’d always thought it’d be a cold day in hell the moment he’s jealous of Ijichi of all people, but…

The frigid winter breeze bites at Gojo’s cheeks as Ijichi’s voice floats in. “I love you, too. I’ll see you after this last ride.” Gojo rolls up the car window and, even if the cold can’t bite him now, the teeth in his gut bite even harder. Gojo frowns as he still manages to hear the man giggle from outside. “No, you hang up first.”

It makes Gojo’s gut turn. It also makes an ache bloom deep in his chest.

He lifts his glasses up and presses the hell of his palms into his eyes. He’s overtired; that’s all it is. The hotel beds he’s had over the past week have been pretty nice, but he still hasn’t been able to sleep much, despite them.

A moment later, the driver's side door tugs open. “Sorry about that.” Ijichi clears his throat, climbing in. He’s got snow in his hair from being outside so long.

Gojo suppresses a dirty look and pulls on a smirk instead. “So, who ended up hanging up first? You? Or her?”

Ijichi goes bright red. “I told you that was a private conversation!” He sputters.

Gojo snorts. “You think I wanted to listen to that?”

Ijichi grows impossibly redder and just pulls the car away from the curb, muttering a litany of curses under his breath.

Gojo leans his head against the window and watches the world outside fly past him. A thick layer of snow covers everything, making the world look soft and pillowy. Almost soft enough to crawl into and close his eyes. Maybe soft enough for him to forget the slew of mangled bodies from the string of cases he had across Europe this past week.

Merry Christmas and happy New Year to him.

Gojo clears his throat and not-so-subtly nudges the back of Ijichi’s seat with his foot. “So… what’s her name? I deserve to know that much after being forced to listen to all that.”

Ijichi bristles. For a moment Gojo thinks he’s not going to answer him but eventually Ijichi gives a brusque, “It’s Yui.”

“Cute. Where’d you meet her?”

“She and her mother hired our services after the disappearance of her father. I worked with the sorcerer on their case and interviewed them.”

“Did they find him?”

Ijichi’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “His body, yes.”

Gojo humphs. “That’s too bad,” he mumbles. His eyes trail the sides of the roadway, illuminated under each passing streetlight. The snow may be light and fluffy everywhere else, but pushed off to the sides of the highway it runs black and sludgy. It looks a lot like the poisoned blood of the victims he dealt with this week.

He clenches his fists, but then forces himself to abruptly lean forward, pushing himself between the front seats. “Bet you were a good shoulder for her to cry on, though, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Ijichi’s eyes go wide, face blanching, before he stutters, “It wasn’t like that!”

“Sure, it wasn’t.” Gojo winks at him. “Kiyotaka, you dog.”

Ijichi goes a vibrant crimson once more. “I was perfectly professional and gentlemanly!” He hisses, vein popping in his temple. “A trait she found endearing, as a matter of fact.”

Gojo settles back into his seat, smirking. “Uh-huh.”

“I swear!”

“I said ‘uh-huh’. Relax.” Gojo leans back in his seat again, easing up on the teasing before Ijichi bursts a blood vessel.

Gojo’s not one to get emotionally involved in his cases. He can’t. But, something got under his skin during this one. Christmas was a major holiday where he was. Those families should have been busy celebrating. Instead they were receiving the worst news of their lives.

He doesn’t look out the window. Instead, he decides to kick Ijichi’s seat again. “How long have you been seeing her? Is it serious?”

Ijichi shifts uncomfortably. “It’s… hard to tell. It’s only been a couple of months. But, we did spend Christmas Eve together, and she spent New Years this morning with me and my mother. We always go to the temple by my grandparents' house since they passed.”

“Spending the holidays together and partaking in family tradition? Sounds serious to me. Plus you’re seeing her again tonight after all of that?” Gojo whistles low.

Ijichi wears a soft smile and goes a little pink, then. If Gojo were prone to thinking such thoughts about the man, he might even think it a bit cute.

Ijichi nervously rubs the back of his neck, looking eager to change the subject. “What about you? Did you do anything special for the holiday?”

The cheery look slowly fades from Gojo’s face. He leans his head back in his seat and keeps his eyes trained upwards. “I was working, remember? You’re literally picking me up from my trip.” He just needs to sleep. That’s all. He just needs to fall into the very expensive, but very plushy bed at his house where nothing bad happens. Where he can bury himself in his dozens of pillows and be wrapped in his thick blankets that are just as soft as the snow falling from the sky. Where he can finally get a good night’s sleep. 

“Oh. Right.” The embarrassment is thick in Ijichi’s voice. “Sorry.” After an awkward moment of silence Ijichi clears his throat. “Does your family have any particular holiday traditions?”

He’s just trying to make conversation, Gojo knows, but he can’t help the short tone that comes out as he says, “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh.”

The talking stops after that.

They’re almost to Gojo’s house, so close to the bed where he can leave everything else behind him, when a buzzing starts in his pocket. He pulls it out, seeing the caller ID for the kids’ place flash across the top of the screen.

Gojo’s brows knit together and he answers. “Hello?”

“Um— Gojo?” Comes Tsumiki’s hesitant voice. “It’s me.”

“Hey!” He puts on a cheery voice for her. “What’s up?”

“Um. Megumi’s sick.”

Something sinks in his gut at the kid's name. The little shit has moved on to giving him the silent treatment. Before Gojo left for his trip, they went almost two weeks without Megumi acknowledging Gojo’s existence. He’d almost prefer the kid screaming at him again, at this point.

Megumi being sick will only add another layer of difficulty to dealing with him. Gojo pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t have the patience for this tonight. “Sick how?”

“His throat is sore, and his cheeks are red, and he’s been throwing up.”

“Did you take his temperature?”

“The thermometer’s batteries are dead and we don't have new ones.”

Gojo frowns. “What kind of batteries does it take?”

“Double A’s.”

He might have some of those at his house. “Well, I'm gonna stop by tomorrow. I can bring some with me, then.”

There’s a long pause on her end before she says, “Can you come by tonight? He's acting weird.”

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Just… weird.” There’s a tension to her voice that she only gets when she’s stressed.

Gojo glances out of the window. He knows these streets; they’re not 10 minutes away from his house, now. Not 10 minutes away from him being able to dive into that bed.

“…Please?” She says in a small voice.

Well, fuck. Now, he’s got to.

Gojo sighs begrudgingly. “Yeah, alright. I’ll start heading over. See you soon.”

He hangs up and takes his glasses off, scrubbing a hand over his face. The bed will have to wait just a little bit longer.

He puts his glasses back on and catches Ijichi’s eye in the rear view mirror. “What?”

“Are we changing direction?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you listening in on my private conversation?”

Ijichi goes red, again. “No, sir! I just— I couldn’t help it. On account that we’re in the same car and all.”

Gojo scoffs. “Yeah, fine, but you’re on thin ice. Got that?”

Ijichi swallows thickly. “Yes, sir.”

Ijichi pulls over and Gojo gives him the new address. It’s in the complete opposite direction.

Gojo can see the sag in Ijichi’s shoulders and he clasps him on the back. “It won’t be that much longer. You’ll have the rest of the night with your girl soon enough.”

Ijichi sobers a bit and nods. “I suppose you’re right.”

They pull back onto the road.

“Oh, but Ijichi?”

“Yeah?”

“We have to hit up a convenience store on our way over, first.”

Ijichi’s eye twitches. “Of course,” he says through gritted teeth.

 

-:-

 

Gojo drags his feet up the steps to the apartment, convenience store bag in one hand, suitcase from his travels in the other. He watches Ijichi’s tail lights turn the corner and out of sight. It’s a good thing. At least one of them deserves to have a fun night tonight.

He takes a deep breath outside the front door, trying to will his budding headache away and steels himself for whatever kind of boogery monster a sick Megumi will be.

“Hey, I’m here!” He calls out as he unlocks the door and steps in. He slips his shoes off just as he hears the sound of feet running over. Tsumiki skids into the entryway, a tense look on her face. “I was just about to call you, again.”

“Why? Little brat being too much for you?”

She shakes her head and then fidgets with her hands nervously. “He won’t answer me, now.”

Gojo pauses and he tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

A crease develops between her brows and she bites her lip. “Well, he was saying weird things that didn’t make sense earlier, but now he won’t talk to me at all.”

Gojo blinks at her, trying to figure out what the hell that’s supposed to mean. He can’t really explain it, but something about the way the house is just a little too quiet doesn’t settle right in his gut.

He sets the suitcase down where he stands. “Where is he?”

“The bathroom.”

They make their way over. “How long ago did he stop responding?” If the kid’s started giving his sister the silent treatment, too, Gojo swears he’s going to wring his skinny little neck. 

She shrugs. “Maybe 10 minutes ago?”

When they get to the door Gojo tries the handle. Naturally, it just rattles in his hand, refusing to turn. Gojo swears under his breath and instead knocks. “Megumi,” he calls.

There’s no reply. 

Gojo rolls his eyes. The kid’s still not talking to him, then. Great. He concentrates on his Six Eyes and, through the door, sees the shape of Megumi curled up on the ground, not three feet away on the other side. His eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Why is he on the floor?”

“He’s been sleeping there.”

“What?” Gojo looks at her sharply. “Why?”

She looks sheepishly back at him. “Well, he was throwing up a lot, so it was just easier.”

“What do you mean, easier? How long has this been going on?”

She shrinks into herself. “He started feeling bad around the beginning of the week.”

That unsettled feeling in his gut turns abruptly cold. “You told me you guys were fine!” He hisses. He bangs on the door now, and raises his voice. “Megumi! Wake up!”

She takes a few steps back, eyes growing wide and wringing her hands so tightly her skin’s going red. “We were!” She pleads. “It wasn’t this bad, then!”

Some part of Gojo hears how her voice is pitching higher, distressed, and knows he should tone it down to comfort her, but his Six Eyes are trained on Megumi’s form on the ground. The kid doesn’t move an inch. Gojo can't see any details through the door, and realizes he can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

Oh.

Something’s actually wrong, isn’t it?

It’s an odd sensation that flows through his body when he realizes that. For a moment, time seems to abruptly slow to almost a stop. He can feel every bit of that cold feeling in his gut harden into an icy dread that wants to sink into the floor. He doesn’t really think, either. His mind, completely blank, is only aware of a peculiar sense of urgency that starts to flare deep, deep in some far off part of him he didn’t know existed. 

Then, that moment passes and the next thing he knows, he’s shouldering into the door with a burst of cursed energy. It splinters off its hinges.

Somewhere behind him Tsumiki screams, but it becomes background noise the second his eyes land on Megumi.

Megumi’s lying on the floor, curled up on his side and tangled in a pile of blankets. There’s sweaty hair stuck to his face, and his cheeks are beet red with some kind of rash standing out starkly against pale, white skin. The rash creeps down his neck in splotchy patches, starting to cover the backs of his arms, and his lower legs.

Not even the sound of the door breaking down pulls so much as a flinch from him.

For just one second, it’s like something seizes in Gojo’s chest, squeezing the very breath from his lungs.

For just one second.

Then, the sharp crack of adrenaline surges within him, kickstarting his heart. A lifetime's worth of training boots up in his system and tucks that tight, seizing feeling up into its own container off to the side. He can deal with that later.

The door clatters somewhere behind him. “Megumi,” he breathes, descending to his knees over the boy, pushing him onto his back.

Megumi rolls limply. He’s tacky with sweat all over, and Gojo’s not even felt his forehead and can already feel the heat radiating off of him. “Megumi,” he says a little more forcefully, voice tight. He grabs the sides of Megumi’s face, red patches rough on his fingers like sandpaper, and jostles him. There’s no change. He feels his forehead, and it’s hot.

Gojo lets out a shaky curse and, before he registers what he’s doing, there’s a phone dialing in his ear. As it rings, he sticks two fingers on Megumi’s pulse point just below his jaw, and finds a strong, rapid beat.

Thank god for small miracles.

An old, familiar, masculine voice picks up on the other line “Master Gojo, to what do I—“

“I need you. Right now.”

There’s a small pause. Then, in a very serious tone, the man asks, “Where?”

Gojo stammers a moment before he can recall their address off the top of his head. The moment he gives it he can hear shuffling and movement from the other side of the line.

“Who’s it for?” The man asks.

“My— uh. A boy. Seven years old.”

“Eight,” Tsumiki corrects behind him.

“Eight years old.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s sick. He passed out and won’t wake up.”

“Is he breathing?”

Gojo places a hand on Megumi’s stomach. “Very slightly,” he supplies a moment later.

“What’s his temperature?”

“I don’t know. The thermometer is dead.” He twists around to Tsumiki. Her eyes are wide and locked on Megumi, face pale as a ghost. He moves himself between them, blocking her line of sight. “Tsumiki,” he tries to level her with a steady stare, but he’s not sure how much of a confident air he’s giving off right now. “Can you grab the thermometer?” For a second it’s like she’s just staring through him. “Tsumiki,” he says again with a slight snap to it, and she startles, finally seeing him. Then, she nods and takes off towards the kitchen.

Gojo reaches over the bathroom door, lying flat inside the doorway, and feels just around the corner for the convenience store bag he dropped.

“He’s got a— a rash or something. I don’t know. All over his face and neck, and a little on his arms and legs,” he says into the phone as he finds the box of batteries he bought, tearing it open. “It’s bright red.”

“Is it rough in texture?”

“Yeah. Like sandpaper.”

“Has he had a sore throat?”

Gojo pauses, trying to remember what Tsumiki said earlier in the night. “I— I don’t know. Maybe?”

“When did the rash appear?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did his fever start?”

“I—“ Gojo breathes out sharply and leans his forehead onto the sink cabinet he’s crouched next to. “I don’t know.” He squeezes his eyes shut, gut curdling. “She said he started feeling bad towards the start of the week.”

“Here!” Tsumiki appears in the doorway, shoving the thermometer at Gojo.

Gojo puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the counter. He finds the battery compartment and switches out the old ones with the new in a matter of seconds. The screen flashes on and then he’s back at Megumi’s side.

He raises the thermometer and stops. He’s never actually used one of these before. “How do I do this?”

Tsumiki leans over his shoulder. “Hold it at his forehead and press the blue button.” Gojo puts the front end on his forehead. “Not that close.” He pulls it several inches away. “That’s too far, now.” He makes a frustrated sound and hovers it about an inch or so above Megumi’s forehead. “Press the blue button.”

It beeps a second later and Gojo’s stomach turns. “It says 104.9,” he tells the phone. “That can’t be right, can it?”

The man makes a displeased noise on the other line. “Unfortunately, it can be.” There’s the sound of car doors closing and an engine starting. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. What I need you to do right now is get as many cold things as you have - ice packs, bags of frozen vegetables, cold water bottles, anything - and put those on his armpits, groin, neck, inner elbows and wrists. I’ll call you when I arrive.” He hangs up.

Gojo glances at Tsumiki. “You hear that?” She nods. “Go start gathering whatever you can.” She takes off towards the kitchen.

Gojo looks back down at Megumi, and the ghost of that clenching feeling in his chest threatens to burst out of his box. He takes a deep breath, and then scoops the boy into his arms, surprised at how little he weighs. His limp legs bob as Gojo carries him into his room.

Once he’s laid out on his bed, Tsumiki comes rushing in, a bundle of things in her arms. Together, they put ice packs, frozen bags of stir fry and edamame, and chilled bottles of tea all around him. Tsumiki hands Gojo a cool, damp washcloth, as well, and Gojo folds it and lays it over Megumi’s forehead.

Megumi inhales sharply, brows furrowing, and tries to shrink away from the extreme change in temperature all around him. Relief floods through Gojo. “I know, buddy,” he tells him, gently pulling back one of his arms that tries to creep up and scrabble at an ice pack. “But, this is for your own good.”

Megumi can’t fight it, and after a moment he seems to give up. His hands fist in the sheets and he just lies there, breathing heavily.

Gojo swallows thickly. Tsumiki stands next to him, body too tense and picking too hard at her fingernails. He should tell her something to make her feel better, but he can’t think of anything to say right now. None of his training has prepared him for this. He doesn’t have any skills that are useful here. He has all of the power in the world and all he can do is just stand here.

He crouches by the bedside and keeps holding on to Megumi’s arm, watching his chest rise and fall. It’s all he can do to try and keep the lid on the box inside his chest from breaking open while he waits.

Notes:

For those of you who live in places that use units of measurement that make sense: 104.9 F = 40.5 C
Thanks for reading! I hope you like it.
Kudos make me kick my feet and squeal.
Those who leave me comments I'll gaze at longingly from afar with intense homoerotic subtext.

Chapter 2

Summary:

“Hire a babysitter. Make friends with the neighbors. Get a girlfriend. I don’t care. So long as they are a trustworthy, responsible adult that can watch them when you can’t.” The doctor gives him a look that’s sympathetic but firm as he says, “Otherwise, I can and will report you for child neglect.”

Notes:

***Mind the updated tags***

The doctor originally had a name. Then, I just kept calling him 'the doctor' and realized there was no point.

Also, I have fuck all in the realm of medical training and have no idea what I'm talking about. This is 110% asspull. To anyone with medical knowledge reading this: I'm sorry. I tried my best.

The second Gojo’s phone rings he’s on his feet.

He opens the front door to find a face he hasn’t seen in years.

The doctor is an older man, probably in his 70’s, with short hair that’s far greyer than Gojo remembers it being. His dark, inquisitive eyes are perched behind a pair of thin spectacles, and his signature frown is permanently set into the stern lines of his face. On the outside, he doesn’t appear to be very warm or comforting, but what he does bring is a sense of calm that only someone who’s an expert in their field can.

Right now, that’s exactly what Gojo needs.

The doctor gives a respectable bow. “Master Gojo, it’s been some time.”

Gojo waves him off. “Yeah, yeah. Skip the fanfare. He’s in his room.” Gojo ushers the man inside, helping to carry the large bag and collapsed IV pole he brings with him.

Stepping into Megumi’s bedroom, the doctor takes one look at him and frowns. “Just as I thought.”

Gojo stands back next to Tsumiki, just watching while he opens his bag and launches into a flurry of different tasks. He moves with a confidence that far succeeds anything Gojo has been capable of displaying tonight.

He takes Megumi’s heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature. He examines the rash all across his body, tests his reflexes, examines his ears, nose, and even briefly shines a light into Megumi’s eyes, finally eliciting a (very unhappy) response from the kid.

The doctor tsk’s, and nods to Gojo. “I need to examine his throat. Sit him up for me.”

Gojo removes the ice packs around his neck and torso, setting them at the end of the bed, and proceeds to lift Megumi’s shoulders up. His whole body bends like a limp noodle. His head and arms loll around, and Gojo struggles to keep him balanced while upright.

"Sit behind him," The doctor tuts. "Prop him up on your chest."

"Oh." Gojo feels his face heat. “Right.” He swings his leg over the small bed, practically straddling it, and pulls Megumi into his lap, leaning him back against him. His whole body is like a little furnace in Gojo’s arms.

"Much better."

Gojo helps hold Megumi's chin down while, gloved up, the doctor takes a tongue depresser and shines a light into his throat. He makes another disapproving tsk, and pulls a couple of long cotton swabs out of his bag, sticking them into the boys mouth.

A second later, Megumi jerks, making a sharp cry that quickly becomes a gag.

“I know,” the doctor says sympathetically, making little swooshing motions with the swabs as Megumi squirms and makes an awful sound. A couple of seconds later he removes them.

Megumi gags again, harder, and Gojo can feel it roll through his body. He almost thinks the kid is going to throw up right here and now but, thankfully, all he does is swallow with a wince and groan.

As uncomfortable as his reaction may be, seeing the signs of life within Megumi eases a tightness in Gojo’s chest. “Hey,” he rubs at his arms. “You did good, kid.” Megumi makes a disgruntled sound and tucks his head down, pressing backwards into Gojo like he's trying to shrink away. The heat of his body practically sears into Gojo and, suddenly, it feels like something is wobbling in Gojo’s gut. “What’s wrong with him?” He hears himself say.

“If my hunch is correct, he has scarlet fever.” The doctor says, back to Gojo while he does something at his bag.

Gojo’s eyebrows raise. “That’s still a thing?”

“It is.” The doctor holds up a little tube, then, and drips something onto a strip of some sort. “It’s more rare these days, but not uncommon. It’s the same thing as strep throat, except the strep bacteria also start to produce a toxin that results in a red rash. Hence the name.” Once the strip appears to be set he reaches over to the bedside table to put it down but does a little double take at the last second. His frown only deepens. “He’s already testing positive.”

Gojo swallows thickly, getting a glimpse of the two vibrant pink lines. “If it’s just strep that means he’s going to be okay, right?”

“The illness typically responds well to antibiotics. However, I am concerned about how high his fever is and how long it’s gone untreated. Untreated strep can cause significant, life long kidney issues down the line.” He crouches down at the bedside and grabs Megumi’s hand, examining the back of it.

Gojo’s throat goes tight, his own stomach twisting. The doctor’s straight-forward nature is one of the reasons Gojo trusts him so much. “But, you’re here now, so he’s going to be okay,” blurts out of his mouth, anyway.

The doctor pauses, dark gaze flicking upwards. He looks between Gojo’s eyes, brows furrowing as if he’s looking for something. Gojo sees the surprise that flashes through him when he finds it.

“There’s no way to tell until later, but…” the doctor’s voice then softens in a way Gojo has rarely heard it, “rest assured, Master Gojo, I’m going to give him the best care that I can offer.”

Gojo clenches his jaw as he takes in a deep breath and nods.

The doctor clears his throat, going back to business. “Show me the back of his other hand.” Gojo grabs Megumi’s left hand and pulls it over for the doctor to see. The doctor frowns and shakes his head. “The right one is better.“

He gets to work setting up an IV. He sets up the pole and pulls out several bags filled with what looks like just water and hangs them up. A tourniquet gets wound around Megumi’s upper arm and he lays out a little tray with a needle, some tubing, and tape. After wiping the back of Megumi’s hand down the doctor says, “This is going to pinch a little, okay?”

Gojo’s not sure how aware Megumi is of any of this, but he soon gets an idea. Just as the needle pushes under his skin, the kid jerks him arm backwards, pulling it right out.

The doctor’s lips flatten to a thin line, but he keeps a gentle tone as he tells Megumi, “I know it doesn’t feel good now, but this will help you feel better in the long run. Just give me a couple of seconds and it’ll all be over.”

Gojo holds the back of Megumi’s arm to keep it steady as the doctor gets a better grip on his hand. Megumi tenses up.

“Hey, you got this, kid,” Gojo says soothingly into the side of his head.

“Alright,” the doctor says. “Let’s try this again… One, two—“ he inserts the needle swiftly and smoothly. Megumi gives a little jolt, but between Gojo and the doctors hold, his hand stays in place. The doctor makes a pleased sound.

It’s then that the oddest thing happens.

Megumi’s left hand grabs onto Gojo’s, squeezing so tightly his little knuckles go white. Like he’s holding on for dear life.

For what feels like just a second, everything zeros in on Megumi’s small hand wrapped around Gojo’s big one. Something Gojo couldn’t identify if his life depended on it wells up within him. It’s not a bad feeling, just unexpectedly big. Somehow, making sure Megumi can keep squeezing Gojo’s hand as long as he wants suddenly seems like the most important job in the world.

“Master Gojo,” the doctor says sharply, calling his attention back to reality.

“What?” Gojo’s head snaps towards him, startled. The doctor is standing next to the IV pole. It has several bags of fluid hanging on it, each attached to long lines of tubing that lead to a single line that snakes all the way down to a port taped to the back of Megumi’s hand.

The doctor holds up a few vials in his hands, and with a short tone like he’s just said this, repeats, “I need to know approximately how much he weighs.”

“I don’t know,” Gojo says, looking dumbfounded.

There’s a touch of frustration in the doctor’s tone, next. “Can we get in contact with their parents, then?”

Gojo’s face pales. “That’s unlikely.” It’s the doctor who looks dumbfounded, next.

Just then, Tsumiki perks up. “Oh! I think know that! Hold on—“ She takes off running.

The sound of things being pushed around in Tsumiki’s bedroom carries through the wall, filling the awkward silence between Gojo and the doctor. The doctor’s frown only deepens as the seconds tick on. “Master Gojo, where are their parents?” He asks quietly.

That wobbly feeling in Gojo’s stomach goes spinning again, and he stares back down at the little hand in his. “I’m all they have, now.”

There’s a long pause, and Gojo prepares for a disapproving lecture. Instead, the doctor simply asks, “Do you have legal custody over them?”

Gojo waits for another shoe to drop, but when it doesn’t, he cautiously nods. “Happened a couple of years ago.”

“When you took him to the doctors last, where did you go? I can probably make a phone call or two and get access to the records.”

“I—“ Gojo swallows thickly. His jaw clenches, and he looks away as he thinks about all the times he’s paid off the school to get them registered without having gotten physicals completed. He just didn’t have the time and they were always fine. “I’ve never—“ he shakes his head and chances a glance up only to be met with the very heavy, disapproving look he was afraid of. His stomach drops.

Just then, a flurry of pounding feet run up the hallway and Tsumiki bursts into the bedroom, waving a wrinkled paper on top of a pink, hello kitty folder clutched in her hands. “He’s 48 pounds!” She exclaims. She pushes them toward the doctor. “These are all our important papers. The last time Megumi was at the doctor is on top.”

The doctor tears his eyes away from Gojo to examine the folder being pushed into his hands. His eyes start scanning the paper on top and his face only grows darker. “This is from almost three years ago. Isn’t there anything more recent?”

She shakes her head.

He gives a heavy sigh. “This will have to do, then. How much has he grown since then?”

“He hasn’t,” both Gojo and Tsumiki say in unison.

The doctor blinks at the both of them, a little surprised, but then lets his eyes fall down to Megumi. He frowns even more. “I see. Very well.”

He scribbles some stuff in a notebook and then, with a couple different syringes, pulls liquid from each vial and then injects it into the IV bags from a port at the top.

When he caps up the last syringe and puts it away he nods to Gojo. “I’ve given him antibiotics and something to lower his temperature, so you can take the frozen items off of him. It’ll only serve to make him uncomfortable going forward.” Tsumiki begins to gather all the items around Megumi into her arms. “You can lay him back down now, as well, Master Gojo. I’m all finished."

Gojo looks down at the little body in his arms. Megumi still hasn’t let go of his hand. Angry little splotches of rash are creeping down his arms, a little further now than where they were when Gojo first saw him. He swallows thickly. “Shouldn’t someone stay to keep an eye on him?”

The doctor snaps his bag shut. “Yes, and you will. But, for right now, all we can do is wait.” He picks the bag up and makes his way to the bedroom door where he holds it open for Tsumiki, arms full.

Once she leaves the doctor’s eyes go to Megumi, then back up to Gojo. “Plus, we have a lot to talk about.”

Gojo swallows thickly, eyes darting away from him. He doesn’t move for several long seconds, but the weight of the doctor’s gaze becomes crushing, so he finally lets out a large sigh. He slowly stands up, gently laying Megumi back down. He doesn’t let go of Gojo’s hand the whole time.

When Gojo pulls away from him, Megumi’s empty hand falls to the bedsheets where he instinctively begins to grip onto those instead.

Gojo lingers by the bedside for a moment longer before the doctor says, “There’s nothing more to be done, Master Gojo. Let’s go.”

Gojo has to make himself look away.

 

-:-

 

In the kitchen, Gojo and Tsumiki put away all of the frozen items together. When they’re done, he closes the door and looks down at her. “Have you had dinner?”

She nods. There’s an exhaustion in her eyes that Gojo feels in his bones. Tonight must have been very stressful for her.

He offers her a weak smile. “Good.” He says and ruffles her hair. “You should get ready for bed, then. It’s late.”

She gives him a look that’s equal parts annoyed and amused and pushes his hand away. “Fine.”

“Actually,” the doctor interjects from the kitchen table. “I was hoping to take a look at her, too, if that’s alright.” His eyes flick between them curiously.

Gojo’s smile fades and he clears his throat. “Right. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Tsumiki is looking up at him, cautious look on her face, as if she’s waiting for him to tell her if it’s okay or not. She started doing that a couple of months ago and he’s still not used to it. It’s not bad, it’s just… weird, is all.

He touches her shoulder lightly and nods. “That’s my family’s doctor. You can trust him.” He nods in the doctor’s direction. “Go on.”

“That’s right,” the doctor says as she shyly approaches. “I’ve known master Gojo since he was this big.” He holds his hands about a foot apart from each other. His face goes soft in a way Gojo didn’t think was possible for him. Old age must be catching up with him. “Though that’s hard to believe looking at him now.” He glances to where Gojo now leans against the kitchen counter, the top of his head not too far away from the top of the cabinets behind him.

Tsumiki gives him a small smile and her body relaxes a bit.

The doctor pulls out the pink, hello kitty folder from under his bag. “Did you put this together yourself?”

She nods. “Mom would loose our papers a lot so I started holding onto them.”

Something grim flits over the doctor’s face, but he simply nods. “Ah, I see. How responsible of you.”

“Um.” She shifts back and forth a little, staring at her feet. “Is Megumi going to die?” She says in a small voice.

The doctor looks mildly surprised but then shakes his head. “No. But, he is very, very sick, and might be for some time.”

Tsumiki doesn’t say anything for a moment but, even from across the kitchen, Gojo can see how her bottom lip starts to tremble. A second later the first, big fat tear rolls down her face. “I’ve been making rice porridge because mom said it makes fevers better but today I woke up and-and- I was just so tired,” she says with a big, shoulder-shaking sob. Gojo’s gut twists. “I-I didn’t mean to fall asleep for so long but, when I woke up it was dark out and-and I didn’t make him porridge today and then he was acting weird so I called Mr. Gojo.”

“It’s okay. You did the right thing,” the doctor says soothingly.

She shakes her head and her shoulders hunch inwards. Her voice cracks as she says, “I never made him porridge today, so then he got worse. It’s my fault.” She breaks out into another round of heavy sobbing, hands coming up to cover her face. “I’m sorry!”

Gojo’s never known what to do when she cries under ordinary circumstances, but he’s never seen her cry like this. His stomach twists itself into knots. One part of him wants to scream that he wasn’t cut out for this and tuck tail and run, while the other can’t seem to move at all.

The doctor shushes her, gently taking her by the shoulders. “It’s oka—“ he beings to say.

She wiggles away from him, then, pulling her face up, eyes wide and desperate. “Please don’t take us away from Mr. Gojo! He’s really nice to us and he bakes with me!”

The doctor stares at her for a few moments, taken aback. Then, that grim look from before passes over his face.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “No one is going anywhere.”

She blinks at him tearfully but doesn’t say anything.

“I promise.”

She swallows thickly and nods. Her shoulders relax a little, but her arms curl around herself.

“Now, I have been a doctor for a very long time, so I can tell you for certain that your brother is far sicker than what any porridge can remedy, I’m afraid. Do you know what that means?”

She blinks at him a few times, tearfully, and shakes her head.

The doctor looks over his glasses at her, making sure she’s looking right at him as he speaks. “That means this isn’t your fault. Nothing you could have done would have prevented this from happening. Do you understand?”

Her bottom lip trembles a little more, and then she nods in jerky motions, wiping at her face.

“Good.” The doctor relaxes into a gentle smile. “Now, tell me, when was it that your throat started hurting, too?”

Tsumiki looks up sharply, surprised.

“You can’t fool an old dog like me.”

She quickly looks away, grimacing. “Three days ago,” she mutters.

Gojo’s stomach feels like it sinks to the bottom of the ocean. He closes his eyes, letting his head thud back against the cabinets. He clenches his fists until he can feel his nails bite into his palm.

“May I run a couple of tests on you?” He hears the doctor ask.

Tsumiki must nod her head, because the next thing Gojo hears is him give her a soft, “Thank you.”

There’s some rustling around the table, and a small, electronic beep. The doctor tsk’s and says, “101.2. That’s a fever, alright. Next, I need you to open your mouth wide.“ There’s a pause, then, “Bear with me just a moment…” Tsumiki coughs a little. “All done.”

Gojo takes a deep breath and looks back at them when he hears the doctor say, “Why doesn’t Master Gojo help you get ready for bed? By the time you’re done the test will be ready.” There’s a test strip on the table just like the one he used for Megumi earlier. “If it’s positive I’ll have a few pills for you to take. Are you able to swallow pills with a glass of water?”

She nods.

“Good. Then, Master Gojo…” the doctor turns his heavy gaze back on Gojo.

Gojo awkwardly clears his throat. “Right. It’s way past your bedtime,” he says as he walks over to Tsumiki, avoiding eye contact with him.

She blinks up at Gojo with puffy, red rimmed eyes. “We don’t have a bedtime.”

He gets that squeezing feeling in his chest again at the sight of them. “Yeah, well,” he gives her the best grin he can muster at the moment, “maybe that’s the problem. You punks stay up too late too often and you get sick.” She cracks the teeniest smile and it’s enough to ease some of the discomfort inside him. “C’mon.” He nods towards the hallway.

She doesn't actually need Gojo’s help with anything, so he stands awkwardly outside her bedroom as she changes into pyjamas, and then he hovers awkwardly just outside the bathroom as she brushes her teeth. He waits as she climbs into bed and gets settled before he turns off the ceiling light. He has his hand on the doorknob when he hears footsteps approaching outside.

The doctor comes up with a glass of water in one hand, and a couple of pills in the other.

The test was positive, then. No surprise, really.

Gojo takes the water and pills from him with a short nod and turns back into the room. After getting her bedside table lamp turned on, he sits on the edge of her bed. “So, I hear you’re a pill taking pro, huh?” She smiles a little and nods. “I don’t believe it. Pills are nasty. No way you can take them without gagging.” He hands her the medication and the glass of water.

She swallows them fairly easily with a big drink of water, only a slight wince to it.

Gojo raises his eyebrows for a moment, then narrows his eyes. “You’re hiding them In your cheek or something, aren’t you?”

She opens her mouth, giving him an, ‘aahhh’. Even with just the dull light from the lamp he can tell her throat is red, her tongue bumpy. His stomach twists, again. “Alright, alright. Gross. I believe you. Put that away, I don’t want to see that.”

She closes her mouth and giggles a little, settling into her pillow.

Gojo just looks at her for a moment, remembering how she sobbed that this was her fault. He stares down at his hands, hesitantly asking, “Why didn’t you go to the school nurse or something when you both started feeling bad?”

“It’s winter break. There’s no school.”

His face falls. “Oh. Right.” Another strike for Gojo. He picks at the skin around his nails. “What about a neighbor, then? Don’t you know any of them?”

Tsumiki turns into her pillow then, going a little sheepish. “Mom said we couldn’t go to the nurse or neighbors anymore.”

“What? Why?”

She grows visibly more uncomfortable. She ducks her face into the pillow and Gojo can just barely make out her mumble. “Last time we did they sent police here and she got really mad and said they were threatening to take us away. And, I don’t wanna go away.”

Gojo's face screws up in even more confusion. “Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”

She makes an unhappy noise and shakes her head, turning fully into her pillow. She doesn’t say anything else.

A curdling feeling slowly fills Gojo’s gut as it dawns on him that maybe the answer is something far bigger than what he’s ready to handle right now. “Alright,” he says softly. “It’s okay.” He doesn’t realize he’s started to smooth the line of her blanket over her shoulder until he stops doing it.

She pulls her face out of the pillow.

Part of him doesn’t want to look at her either now, not with the next question on the tip of his tongue, but he forces himself to. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks even quieter.

She shrugs her shoulders. Her nightlight in the corner projects rotating pictures of animals on the side of her wall. She watches it go round and round for a while, before saying, “You were busy. I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I could take care of it, anyway. I’ve done it lots of times before.”

There’s that feeling of something welling up inside him, again. For a moment he feels like he’s going to drown in it.

Gojo kneels at her bedside then, getting level with her, eye to eye. “I like it when you bother me,” he says softly. “So, don’t ever let that stop you. It’s my job to be bothered.”

She gives him a quiet, “Okay.”

He smoothes the covers over her shoulder one last time. “Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight,” she returns, voice already sounding sleepy.

He grabs the glass from the nightstand, and turns off her lamp.

The door gently shuts behind him as he steps back into the hallway. He stands there, just outside her door, and hangs his head, feeling the weight of everything that’s happened tonight.

 

-:-

 

The feeling of eyes on him creeps up the back of his neck after a few minutes. Gojo looks down the hallway to see the edge of the kitchen table, the doctor sitting beside it, stony face waiting for him.

Gojo clenches his teeth. He marches back into the kitchen and just growls out, “Don’t,” towards him. “I know I screwed up, okay? Save me the lecture.” He bypasses the doctor completely and goes straight to the sink.

“He could have died.”

Gojo swallows thickly as he begins to wash Tsumiki’s water glass. He doesn’t say anything.

“He would have died.”

Gojo’s brows furrow as he scrubs every inch of it, still ignoring him. It’s already clean but he needs to concentrate on the feeling of the rough side of the sponge rippling over the designs in the glass.

“He would have died and she would have had to deal with it all alone.”

“I know!” Gojo snaps, a little too loudly.

“Do you? Then why weren’t you here? Why has that boy been sick for a week and you know nothing about it? Why do you know next to nothing about either of these children that have been under your care for the past couple of years? Have you been here at all?”

“I’m here!” Gojo turns around and snarls at him. The doctor stares back at him, impassive.

Gojo shuts the sink off and takes a deep breath, reeling himself in. “I had a long mission that I couldn’t get out of this past week. But, they’re not as incapable of taking care of themselves as you think. We have a system that’s been working.” He pauses. “Until now… But, she knows to call me if it’s anything serious, which she did.”

The doctor’s lip curls. “She’s nine years old and thinks porridge is a legitimate remedy for a fever. She isn’t capable of determining whats serious or not!”

He’s right, of course. Gojo can’t think of a single argument against that which would paint him in a favorable light, and that realization immediately takes all the wind out of his sails. “I’m trying my best, here,” he says plainly. It sounds pathetic coming out of his mouth.

The doctor takes a deep breath and seems to ease up, too. “What is it that you’re even doing here? Who are these children do you? And, especially considering that they’re legally yours, why hasn’t your family heard of them?”

“I don’t—“ Gojo swallows thickly. “It’s complicated, okay?”

“Uncomplicate it for me, then.”

Gojo pauses. “His parents are both dead. I don‘t think she had a dad in the picture to begin with, and when I tracked her mom down to a bar in Osaka she signed over her parental rights in exchange for a shot of vodka. That clear it up?”

The doctor frowns. Gojo can see the cogs turning behind his eyes. “It explains why they’re in this situation. It doesn’t explain why you are.”

A litany of different voices begin to drift through Gojo’s mind.

‘Two or three years from now, my kid will be sold off to the Zen’in clan. Do what you will with that.’

‘Are you Satoru Gojo because you’re the strongest, or are you the strongest because you’re Satoru Gojo?’

‘I can only save those already prepared to be saved.’

‘Try to get strong. Strong enough to keep up with me.’

‘I can’t change peoples hearts… but I can nurture them.’

‘Don’t give up on him.’

‘I’m not leaving you.’

“I don’t know,” Gojo says truthfully. “They were left behind. They needed somebody, and…” he shrugs, uselessly. “I was there.”

The doctor studies him for a long time. “Are they both sorcerers?”

“He is. She isn’t.” Gojo stares at the cracks in the tile flooring.

The doctor nods slowly. “I see why the Zen’in’s wouldn’t be a good fit for the both of them, then.”

Gojo’s head snaps up, startled. “How did you…?”

“You think I’ve only ever served your family? I know a Zen’in when I see one, boy. He’s the spitting image of his father at his age. I was called to treat Toji Zen’in often, I’m afraid.” He pauses. “What I don’t understand is why you haven’t told your family. As head of the Gojo clan you have all the childcare resources you could ever want. Yet, this is the first I’ve ever heard of them. There’d be some pushback initially, of course, for them not being your children by blood, but once they came around I think the Gojo’s would be tickled pink to turn a Zen’in into one of their own.”

“They’re not my kids. I’m just taking care of them.”

The doctor gives him a look that he staunchly ignores.

The silence stretches on, and Gojo shifts uncomfortably. He supposes he has to ask the doctor to keep them a secret, already, so what difference does him knowing make?

“The boy is gifted,” Gojo says quietly. “His technique is… he’s gifted. Not quite as much as me but, he could probably give me a run for my money one day.”

The doctor raises his eyebrows.

“The Zen’in’s don’t know, otherwise they would have never let me have him. Then there’s the whole issue of his sister not being accepted by them. As for the Gojo’s, they’d be good to his sister, sure, but the second they found out about his potential?” Gojo shakes his head, a strange bitterness working its way up his throat. “His whole upbringing would be nothing but rigorous training. He wouldn’t get to have a life outside of it. He’s a kid, a thing for them to dig their claws into and use like a—“ the counter cracks underneath where he’s gripping it tightly. He stops short, uncurling stiff fingers he didn’t realize he was clenching. Gojo doesn’t know why he’s getting so upset about this. He swallows that bitterness down and breathes. “He’s just a kid,” he says, softer now. “He deserves to be one while he still can.”

Every bit of frustration and anger from before is wiped clean off of the doctor’s face. Replacing it is something softer. Something far more solemn. “I suppose you’re one of the only ones who knows what that’s like.”

It’s never really occurred to Gojo like that before but… he’s not wrong.

It’s the doctor that averts his eyes this time, staring at something faraway for a while. When he looks back at Gojo, he’s decisive. “I trust your judgment when it comes to that. It should go without saying but, I won’t mention anything about them to anyone. You wouldn’t be the first Gojo I’ve hidden the existence of illegitimate children for.”

A sense of relief washes over Gojo. On reflex he starts to say, “I told you, they’re not my—“

The doctor ignores him. “Your judgement when it comes to their care, however, is an entirely different matter.” He looks over his glasses at Gojo, eyebrows raised.

Gojo rolls his eyes. “I learned my lesson, okay? This won’t happen again. You have my word.”

“Indeed, it won’t happen again.” The doctor’s face begins to turn hard, once more. “You have my word on that, as well.”

Gojo pauses, something going uneasy inside him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What I have witnessed here today is grossly negligent. Children cannot be left alone like that, Master Gojo.”

Gojo’s lip begins to curl. “I know. I usually don’t. It was just this once. There were a string of cases overseas. I couldn’t exactly agree to one but not the others when they were right next to each other. And, there were no good explanations for completely blowing them all off, either.”

“I understand the challenges of your position, but that doesn’t make up for the gap in their care. Your upbringing may have been filled with caretakers being constantly in and out of your life, Master Gojo, but I assure you that is not the norm, and should not be recreated.”

Something flares hot within Gojo, all of the sudden. “Oh, but it was fine for me?” He sneers.

The doctor’s mouth snaps shut. A moment of silence passes as his mouth twists, wrestling with words before, softly, he finally manages to say, “You were never actually left alone, though I can see how it may have felt like it.”

Gojo feels himself pale. That’s a subject that’s perhaps better left buried. “What am I supposed to do?” Gojo asks, pivoting away from it.

“Hire a babysitter. Make friends with the neighbors. Get a girlfriend. I don’t care. So long as they are a trustworthy, responsible adult that can watch them when you can’t.” The doctor gives him a look that’s sympathetic but firm as he says, “Otherwise, I can and will report you for child neglect.”

A myriad of different feelings bubbling together in Gojo’s gut, combining together to feel like something acidic, eating him from the inside out. “You’d really do that to the head of the Gojo clan? I’m basically your boss, you know.”

The doctor doesn’t even flinch at the threat. “I once watched a little Zen’in boy get mistreated and kept my mouth shut because I was afraid of the power of his family, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I swore that never again I would do such a thing. I don’t care who you are or how you threaten me. I will do right by those kids, even if it means going against the likes of you.”

They stare each other down, but it doesn’t last long; Gojo breaks first. The doctor’s right and Gojo knows it. He’s just being an ass because he feels in over his head right now.

He takes his glasses off and scrubs a hand over his face. “I can’t leave them with a non-sorcerer, and I can’t just hand them off to someone I don’t know.”

“That’s why you interview people.”

“I don’t have time for that.”

“Then, make a friend.”

“Not my strongest skill.”

“There has to be someone you can trust.”

Gojo gives a frustrated sigh, but then pauses. He eyes the doctor with a raised brow.

The doctors face falls. “Someone that isn’t me.”

Gojo sighs again, shoulders sinking in defeat.

After a minute, the doctor gives him a look of pity. “It’s not a problem that has to be solved tonight. But, soon. I trust that you’ll stay with them at least until theyre recovered?”

Gojo nods. “Yeah.”

“Good. Then you have a bit of time to work it out.” The doctor glances at the time on the oven display, and claps his hands on his thighs. “It’s time I check on Megumi.” He stands up.

 

-:-

 

Gojo follows the doctor to Megumi’s room and hovers in the doorway, watching him run through his vitals. After checking his temperature, the doctor makes a pleased noise. “Down a whole degree, already.” He takes Megumi’s blood pressure on the arm without the IV and the kid doesn’t stir once while he does it. “Out like a light,” he says with approval.

The doctor may look happy, but all Gojo can see is Megumi lying limp on the bathroom floor, non-responsive as he grabs his face. Gojo suddenly feels queasy. “Is that normal?”

“Very,” the doctor says as he starts to pack up his bag. “Especially for someone that was in as bad of a state as he was. His body has been through a lot. It finally has the help it needs, though. It’s very busy combating the infection; there’s a lot of work to do.” Gojo’s not sure what his face is doing, but it’s enough to make the doctor do a little double take when he glances up. He gets that curious look on his face again, and adds gently, “This is a good thing.”

Gojo just nods at him.

“I’d expect him to be out like this for quite some time. At least a couple of days, I’m sure. He probably won’t want to eat or drink, which is fine. The fluids will keep him hydrated for now.” He gives a slight pause. “Does he have a history of bed wetting?”

Gojo makes a face and immediately blurts, “God, I hope not.”

The doctor suppresses a slight smile. “He may have been so dehydrated he won’t have to for some time, but in the event he wakes up needing to use the restroom, you’ll have to help him take his IVs with.”

Gojo makes a face, not looking forward to that.

The doctor then shows him how to switch IV bags of fluids when he finishes one and how to disconnect him from the ones containing his medication once they’ve been depleated.

When they’re all done he fixes Gojo with a tight lipped smile. “Well, there’s nothing left for me to do here, for now. I should be going.” He picks up his bag. As they make their way down the hall, he says, “I want you to check his tempurature every half hour for the next two hours. If it holds steady you can switch to every hour. If it rises above 103.5, give me a call.”

Gojo thinks back to how he was so eager to get into his bed tonight and almost laughs.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning to see how they’re doing. I should have proper prescriptions for the both of them, and we can go over their care going forward from there.”

Gojo just takes a deep breath and says, “Sure. Okay.” Because it’s all he can do.

The doctor pauses in the middle of putting his coat back. “You can do this.”

An awkwardness rises in Gojo and he fidgets where he stands. He doesn’t bother responding to that one.

The doctor shakes his head lightly, but finishes buttoning himself up.

Before Gojo opens the door for him, though, he pauses. “How did you know Tsumiki was sick, too? She looked fine to me.”

The doctor shrugs. “Call it intuition.”

“Oh.” Gojo looks down, not quite sure what kind of answer he was hoping for. “Right. Well… thanks for coming by on such short notice. Stay warm out there.” He reaches for the door again.

“Master Gojo,” the doctor interjects. Gojo pauses again, looking at him hesitantly. The doctor looks like he’s choosing his words carefully. “The caretaking instinct comes natural to some,” he begins slowly. “And, in others it lies dormant until something awakens it. Then, there are those in which it never awakens at all.” Gojo swallows thickly, a sinking feeling filling his gut. “But… that doesn’t mean it can’t be taught.” Gojo eyes snap up to his, then, to see the doctor giving him a warm look. “It’s obvious you care about them. That’s all that’s required.”

Gojo’s cheeks flare hot, and suddenly he just wants to open this door already so that the cool air can offset his face.

The doctor chuckles and gently clasps Gojo on the shoulder. “Once they’ve recovered, bring them by my clinic for full work ups and we can sit down together and go over what proper childcare should look like. In the meantime, however, it wouldn’t kill you to pick up a book or two about it. There’s no shortage of them.”

A relief floods Gojo that he didn’t realize he desperately needed. He nervously rubs at the back of the neck and laughs a little. “I’ll get right on that.”

He opens the door right as a big gust of wind blows through. Suddenly, a bundle of pine branches bound to a tall stick falls across the doorway. The doctor manages to catch it, but not before one of the pine branches falls out.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts.

“Oh. Don’t be.” Gojo reaches down and picks it up, tucking the wayward branch back into place. “I thought it’d be fun if the kids and I made our own New Years decorations this year. This was Megumi’s grand contribution,” he says dryly. He leans it back up against the outside of the doorway.

“I see.” The doctor steps through and eyes the decor. Megumi’s very simple branches lean on the left side, and Tsumiki’s pot with bound bamboo in the center and a modest amount of pine fit around it, sits on the right. If Gojo were being honest, they both look like shit, but he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

The doctor stares at them, his eyes going far away again in a way that makes Gojo feel uneasy. “Master Gojo, there is one last thing…” The doctor hesitates, then, expression turning odd. He starts and stops what he wants to say several times. “I said something earlier that perhaps isn’t quite as true as I would like it to be,” he finally gets out.

A pit starts to form in Gojo’s stomach, and suddenly he isn’t quite sure if he wants to hear this.

The doctor swallows thickly and continues. “I said that after watching the mistreatment of the Zen’in boy and not intervening on his behalf that I swore I’d never do such a thing again. But, I don’t think I stayed true to that, did I?” He looks up suddenly, right into Gojo’s eyes, expression going pained.

Somehow, Gojo knows exactly what he’s going to say next, and his gut curdles.

“I’m sorry I didn’t speak up for you.”

Something very deep within Gojo stirs, and he doesn’t even know what it is, but it has his heart pounding. Suddenly, he feels hot and cold, and yet completely numb all at the very same time.

The wind just howls between them for a moment, icy wind biting at Gojo’s exposed skin.

“They— They never—“ Gojo starts to stammer. He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. “No one could lay a hand on me if they even tried.”

The doctor nods. “That’s what I told myself the entire time, too.”

“I always had everything I wanted,” Gojo feels himself say.

“Except for the love of a parent.”

Gojo’s ears ring and, even if he could think of something to say right now, he’s not sure he’d be capable of forming the words.

The doctor looks back down at the bundle of pine and bamboo, mouth twisting into a grimace. “To your caretakers you were a job first, and a person second. I’m not sure if you being a child factored into that at all.” Gojo kind of wants to tell him to take his grubby eyes off the kids decorations if he’s gonna look like that at them. “As misguided as your actions have been with those two…” he pulls his head up to give Gojo a sobering look. “No one ever showed you the same kind of care and consideration as you have those two, tonight. Not even me.”

The doctor suddenly gives him a very deep bow. “You have my sincerest apologies, Master Gojo. I failed you back then.”

Gojo can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He just wants to be out of this conversation entirely. “Okay,” is all he blurts out.

The doctor stands up after a moment, giving him a solemn look. “I know that I don’t deserve—“

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, doc,” Gojo says stiffly. “Goodnight.”

Gojo closes the door before he can give any response.

All at once, the howling wind stops, the biting cold thaws, and Gojo takes a deep breath knowing that there’s a heavy, solid door between him and whatever the fuck that was out there.

He locks it for good measure.

Gojo stands there until he can hear the crunching of footsteps in snow retreat. Until the creak of the staircase down to ground level stops. Until the sound of a car starts up, and then pulls away. And then, Gojo just stands there, back against the door, breathing some more.

He works hard to shove back the onslaught of memories that threaten to tumble out from places he once neatly tucked them, with no intention of ever letting them out, again. He pushes back against memories of lonely bedrooms. Of hiding the thermometer while pretending to be sick so his caretakers would have to feel his forehead. Of crying inconsolably because his favorite afternoon caretaker couldn’t come in while he had the flu, because she had to stay home with her own son who had fallen ill, too. Of when a caretaker finally caught on that he was making himself throw up, so she left him alone in his room the rest of the night. Of one of his trainers stricken face when he asked him why his caretakers didn’t cuddle with him the way parents in the movies did with their kids. Of him sitting in front of the doctor with yet another injury that they both knew Gojo had the skills to prevent from happening.

All of it.

He pushes it all back.

With his Six Eyes, he looks to the kids’ sleeping forms and, instead, he remembers the first time Tsumiki grabbed onto his hand when they were crossing the street. And, the first time she screamed for him because there was a spider in her room and she was scared. And, how her face lit up when he bought them matching aprons for when they baked together.

His Six Eyes drift to Megumi, and his chest hurts. But, even if he can clearly remember every variation of scowl the kid has, or his tiny fists shaking in anger, or his reddened face as he screams at Gojo, all twisted fury, Gojo also remembers the way his eyes widened when Gojo snapped, ‘I’m not leaving you’ at him, as if it were the first time the concept crossed his mind. He can vividly recall the couple of occasions he’s given a tiny ‘goodnight’ at bedtime without Gojo saying it first. Or, how, even if he refuses to admit it, he always finds a reason to be hovering in the background when Gojo watches Digimon.

Somewhere along the way, what started as ‘become strong enough to keep up with me’ and ‘we’ll change the jujutsu world from within’ has somehow become something else entirely, and he has no idea when it happened or how he’s supposed to feel about it.

He thinks about a father who used his dying breath to tell Gojo about the deal he made to sell his kid off to the Zen’in clan. What the hell did he see in the 16 year old boy who just blasted a hole through his body that made him think he was a good one to tell that to? What was he hoping for?

Was it this?

Gojo presses the heels of his palms into his stinging eyes and takes slow, deep breaths for a long, long time. Once the feeling subsides, he lowers his hands and takes in the mess all around him.

The kids didn’t clean up at all while he was away. There’s socks lying around everywhere. Just individual ones, never a matching set. Dirty bowls stack up on the coffee table, and there’s garbage peeking out from under the couch. The couch pillows are strewn across the room, the blanket they keep in there a heap on the floor.

He kinda likes it, though.

His eyes drift towards the bathroom next and he sighs heavily. There’s still a sweat soaked pillow and blanket lying on the floor in there. There’s probably shattered wood pieces lying everywhere inside and across the hallway, too. He has to figure out what the hell to do with that door.

He could have just used the paperclip he keeps on the top of the door frame now. Why didn’t he think of that in the moment? He put it there for this exact kind of situation. Now, he has to buy a new door and fix the splintered frame.

He has to fix a lot of things really, doesn’t he?

He thinks about that luxurious bed of his that he was looking forward to sleeping in tonight. How he almost didn’t come here because of it. He has a feeling it’s going to have to wait a long, long time.

Lastly, his eyes fall to the Shime Kazari still lying on the console table just inside the entryway. He meant to hang up the little wreath he handcrafted with the kids before he left. It’s all lopsided and ugly and perfect in every way.

Suddenly, he thinks… maybe waiting isn’t all that bad.

 

 

Notes:

I gave myself the Big Sad writing this.

Chapter 3

Summary:

"I—" Ijichi starts and stops a couple of times, nervously. Then, quieter, he says, "I can take a look at it. If— if you want."

"You know how to use one of these?"

"Well, yeah. Like I said, the laundromat near my grandparents had these models; I spent a lot of summers there. I could operate one in my sleep.”

…That would be easy. It’s a little too close to the kids for Gojo’s liking but… it’s Ijichi. Plus, they’re asleep; it’s not like he’ll see them. It’s the best option he’s got. He sighs deeply and asks, “How soon can you be here?”

“Oh. You mean like… now?”

Notes:

This is your friendly reminder that this fic has the 'Vomiting' tag.

Realistically, would Megumi throw up this many times, and have anything left in him to continue throwing up? No. But, is him being an endless fountain of puke Gojo’s worst nightmare? Yes. And, oh how I love putting Gojo through the wringer.

Also, Solar by Shibaura Electric Co. is a real washing machine product, apparently one of the first domestic washing machines in Japan according to google. The rest is 100% made up by me to fit the plot.

There’s no more clean sheets left for the kids’ beds.

Megumi has puked on all of them. All of them.

Every.

Last.

One.

Out of desperation, Gojo resorts to lying out the blanket they keep in the living room across Megumi’s mattress for him to lie on top of, and then pulls the last clean towel in this entire apartment over his body as a makeshift top sheet.

“Do not puke on these, got it?” There’s a makeshift prayer behind his words that, hopefully, this time will be the last time. After all, there couldn’t possibly be anything left in the kid, could there? There’s no way.

Megumi just blinks at him, barely awake. He turns on his side and sighs, eyes closing peacefully, as if he didn’t just spew chunks everywhere like the girl from The Exorcist.

“Right. Got it.” Gojo hangs his head.

Once he’s back in the kitchen, his phone is at his ear.

The groggy, and slightly irritated, sound of the doctor comes through the phone. “Master Gojo, if he’s puked again, but there’s no other changes, this is not an emergency.”

“There’s these little red dots all around his eyes. And, I think I even saw some blood in the whites of his eyes, too.”

“It’s called petechiae. The little capillaries just under his skin and in his eyes burst from all the straining as he vomits. It’s unsightly, but perfectly harmless.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It was already present when I saw him in person. He’s going to be fine.”

Gojo’s leg bounces where he sits at the kitchen table, chewing at his lip. “Yeah, but like… he puked a lot. He hasn’t had anything to eat or drink in god knows how long. Where is it all coming from?”

“The human body is a complex thing.”

“That doesn’t seem right.”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end. “As I told you the first time, some kids are just pukers. He’s still on his IV fluids?”

“Yeah.”

“There was no blood in his vomit?”

“No.”

“Is his temperature still stable?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, he’s fine.”

There’s a long pause from Gojo. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” the doctor says brusquely. “Now, unless there’s anything else you need, I’m going back to sleep. I’d advise you get some shut eye in-between checking on the children, as well.” He hangs up.

Gojo tosses his phone on the table and stares, dismayed, at the pile of sour, puke-soaked towels and sheets he’s dumped in front of the washing machine. As if right on cue, the machine slows to a stop and gives a small beep, signalling that its cycle is done.

Thank god for small miracles.

They don’t have many spare towels and sheets to begin with. If Megumi pukes on what’s on his bed now, the kid’s sleeping in the bathtub. He probably should have done it from the start really, but everytime he pictures Megumi curled up on the floor his chest does weird things. The doctor probably wouldn’t be too happy to find him like that, either. Now, though, they don’t have any other options. The kid just has to hold off until this load can get dried and they’ll be able to get by.

Probably.

Gojo opens the washer only to smell his miracle whither away. He scrunches up his noise and recoils back. The sweet smell of the detergent he used is there. It just sits on top of a less than subtle sourness that permeates the entire load.

Great.

He shuts the washer door a little harder than he means to. He quickly turns around, using his Six Eyes to see if either of the kids wake but, thankfully, neither do. A heavy sigh leaves him and he lets his forehead fall against the machine.

It took him 30 minutes to figure out how to start the damn thing.

It’s not like he’s never used a washing machine before. Sure, he sends the vast majority of his clothes out for dry cleaning, but he does own a washing machine, himself. It’s top of the line, has lots of different settings, and is far more complicated than this ancient thing. So, that should make this easier to use, right?

He glances at the old knobs and buttons, half cracked and worn down from years of use. If there were any labels to begin with, they’ve seemed to have worn off since. There’s some black, gummy residue near the top corner where perhaps there was a sticker for instructions but that too, has long gone.

This was supposed to be the easy part. They had a bad start to the night, but they got through it. The chaos settled, and Gojo could simply monitor and maintain things from here. But, now Megumi is apparently possessed by a vomit demon, and he’s about ready to chuck this machine off the back balcony.

He can take on special grades, blast through mountains, and basically fly. He could be put in front of a thousand curses right now and he could fight them in his sleep. He can have super-human strength when he wants to, and is essentially the most powerful being in the world. But, take care of two sick kids and wash a load of laundry?

Children. The worst curse of them all.

30 minutes on YouTube and he still can’t make heads or tails of it because apparently this thing is that out of date. He briefly considers calling the doctor back, but decides he doesn’t want to open that can of worms any more than he has to. It probably wouldn’t go over well, anyway.

He scours the internet for a little while longer before a headache starts to build behind his eyes and words start to go fuzzy the longer he stares at the screen.

These kids really are going to have to sleep in the bathtub, aren’t they?

Something nauseous rolls through him and, combined with his headache, he knows he needs to get out of this room or else he’ll end up spewing chunks too. He needs to do something else. Anything. Anything that he can actually make a difference to.

He shoves his phone in his pocket and wanders back to the bathroom. He might as well make it semi-functional again.

He leans the fractured door against the wall right beside the doorway. It can be slid across the opening to create the illusion of privacy until he can get this fixed.

Little splinters and wood chunks are flung all over the bathroom, so he spends a while on his hands and knees and looking into every crevice to collect them. In the end, he winds up with a nice little handful and then searches for something to put them in. The plastic bag from the convenience store peeks out from where he first dropped it in the hallway.

He chucks the box of batteries and tissues he bought out, and deposits the wayward chunks of wood from his freak out, instead.

Fat load of good that stop did him. He should have picked up some snacks while he was there; the kids don’t have anything good here. He will admit, though, it was impressive that Ijichi managed to find the one store still open, especially on New Year’s Day. That guy can find just about anything.

Gojo pauses on that thought.

Ijichi is great at finding things. Like, really, really good.

He scrambles to pull out his phone. It’s nearly 1:00am but he’s called Ijichi under worse circumstances, hasn’t he?

But, Ijichi’s with his girlfriend. As much as he loves pushing the guy around, Gojo does have limits on what he’ll actually ask him to do.

He stares at the phone some more, then glances sideways at the bathtub. His gut clenches.

Worst he can say is no, right?

Gojo dials.

It rings several times before the line picks up and a dazed, groggy, “Hello?” follows.

“Ijichi!” Gojo says with a wide grin. “The man of the hour!”

There’s a small pause. “…Gojo?”

“The one and only.”

There’s a long, long sigh, and then a begrudged, “What do you need?”

“Ah, well you see. It’s the funniest thing. I’ve found myself in a bit of a bind. There’s some laundry that I desperately need to get done—“

“You called me this late to do your laundry?” Actual irritation seeps into Ijichi’s voice.

“Well… technically, it’s early.”

“Can’t this wait until morning?” There’s a bite to his tone that he’s never talked to Gojo with before. It’s enough to make him take a slight pause. Maybe this isn’t going to go well, after all.

The bathtub looms on Gojo’s right, though, and so he suppresses his grimace. Sick kids trump everything else. “No, actually. That’s the thing. Time is of the essence here, I’m afraid. The problem is, this washer and dryer aren’t like any I’ve ever used, and there seems to be no instruction manual.”

Ijichi is silent long enough that Gojo checks if he’s been hung up on or not. Then, finally, he says, “Is there a brand and model name on it anywhere?”

“Yes!” Gojo scrambles out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen. It’s one of the only things engraved into the side of the machine, surviving the test of time unlike the rest of the labels. He crouches down next to the washer and reads it off. “It’s a ‘Solar’ from the Shibaura Electric Company.”

Gojo hears some tapping from the other line, like Ijichi’s typing on his phone. “Oh, I know these.” His voice lightens considerably. “They were one of the first commercial grade washer and dryers on the market. The laundromat near my grandparents had these and they were old even then.” He hesitates. “Gojo, are— are you at a laundromat right now?”

“What? No. Why would I be calling you if I were at a laundromat?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Just tell me how to work this thing.”

“There should be some pretty clear labels, it’s not that hard.”

Suddenly, Gojo no longer feels bad for calling him. He grits his teeth and says, “The labels have all worn off.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “Yeah, I guess that’d be a problem. If it was a commercial model refurbished for personal use, they removed the standard laundromat instruction stickers too, didn’t they?”

“Yup.”

“I understand,” he says, voice going more serious. “Let me see if I can find a manual online.”

Gojo breaths a sigh of relief and lowers himself into a seated position on the floor. He listens to the sound of Ijichi typing. A few minutes pass. Then, another. Then, another.

Gojo grows antsy. "What's the hold-up?"

"I can't find—" Ijichi makes a frustrated sound. "It's a very old model. One of the firsts. The company isn’t in business anymore. It's quite possible that no one digitized a manual before they went under."

Gojo pinches the bridge of his nose. So much for easy. He doesn't say anything for a while as he tries to suppress a groan.

"I—" Ijichi starts and stops a couple of times, nervously. Then, quieter, he says, "I can take a look at it. If— if you want."

"You know how to use one of these?"

"Well, yeah. Like I said, the laundromat near my grandparents had these models; I spent a lot of summers there. I could operate one in my sleep.”

…That would be easy. It’s a little too close to the kids for Gojo’s liking but… it’s Ijichi. Plus, they’re asleep; it’s not like he’ll see them. It’s the best option he’s got. He sighs deeply and asks, “How soon can you be here?”

“Oh. You mean like… now?”

“I said it couldn’t wait. Weren’t you listening?”

“Yes! Sorry! I uh— Okay. I’ll— I’ll be right there.“

“Good. See you soon.”

Gojo goes to hang up but stops as he hears Ijichi blurt, “Wait!“

“What?” He snaps.

“Um… where are you?”

Oh. Yeah, that might help.

 

-:-

 

Gojo paces by the front door for twenty minutes until his Six Eyes see Ijichi approach. He opens the door before Ijichi can knock.

Ijichi jumps back a little, startled. “Oh! Uh— Hi.“ He gives an awkward little wave and a bow.

Gojo holds open the door and motions with his head. “Come in, but be quiet.”

“Oh. Uh— Okay.“ Ijichi tentatively steps inside. He hangs up his coat, and takes his shoes off, setting them next to a pair of small, pink sandals with butterflies on them and a pair of tiny, worn down sneakers. His eyes then drift towards the two child sized backpacks sitting on the floor nearby.

Ah, fuck. Gojo didn’t think about that.

The question is written all over Ijichi’s face, but he takes one look at Gojo standing over him stiffly, and gets the hint. He keeps his mouth shut.

Good.

Ijichi needs to just get in and get out, and then everything will be fine. “It’s in here,” Gojo says as he leads Ijichi through the living room and down the hallway. Ijichi’s head trails after the bathroom door, but he’s smart enough not to ask about that, either.

Once in the kitchen, Gojo gestures, frustrated, to the washing machine. “I ran the load but it still smells disgusting.”

Ijichi frowns and crouches in front of it, inspecting it all over. When he opens it, the sour, putrid smell hits him and he recoils. “What is that?” He rasps out.

Gojo shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, looking anywhere but at Ijichi. “Puke.” He says innocently. He can feel the look that’s glared at him.

“…Could have warned me…” Ijichi grumbles as he closes it and tries to wave the lingering smell away. “Did you rinse the items off before you put them in there?”

Gojo looks at him like he’s stupid. “That’s the machine's job.”

Ijichi’s face falls. “If it’s bad enough you still have to—“ he shakes his head. “Okay, well. That’s your first problem.” He stares at the settings, touching where the wording has faded off, then un-depressess a button on the right. “That’s your second. You had it on the recirculating setting. It was using the same puke-filled water over and over again to wash the items.”

“Oh.”

Ijichi turns a few other knobs, then glances up at Gojo. “It should be good to go now. It just needs some new detergent and to be re-washed on a regular cycle.”

“Is that what you just put it on?”

Ijichi nods. “If you have tape and a sharpie I can rewrite the labels where they’ve worn off.”

“Uh... maybe? Hold on.” Gojo goes into the living room. There’s a table in the area behind the couch where the kids like to dump their school stuff. He sifts through wayward pencils and markers until he finds a single sharpie. He returns to the kitchen and tosses it over. “Just write directly on the thing. I’ll probably buy a new one after this, anyway.”

Ijichi scribbles away on the machine. As it starts coming together Gojo lets out an, “Oohhh.”

When he’s done, he caps up the marker and turns around. “Where’s your detergent? I can get this load started.”

Gojo grabs the little bottle from under the kitchen sink and hands it to him.

He looks at it for a moment, then says, “Uh… Gojo? This is fabric softener. It’s not going to clean anything.” He points to the tiny writing in the corner.

“What?” Gojo snatches it out of his hands. It does, in fact, say fabric softener. He makes a frustrated sound. “Why can’t they make it more obvious?!”

“Is that all you have?”

“I’m sure there‘s some here somewhere. I just— I don’t know where they keep it.” Gojo squats down and opens the cabinet under the sink, preparing to take everything out when, suddenly, a noise makes him freeze.

From down the hall, comes the sound of muffled retching. Gojo pales. “No.” He scrambles to his feet. “No no no no no—“

He bursts into Megumi’s room to find the kid sitting up in bed, towel pushed to his feet, and his hands cupped in front of him, filled with his own bile.

Gojo makes a face in disgust. “Why are you holding it?!”

Megumi blinks, dazed. “You told me not to puke on the towel,” he rasps out.

Gojo did say that, technically.

He swears. There’s puke all down Megumi’s chin and chest, and it’s dripping from his hands into his lap. He just stands there, stunned, for a moment because he doesn’t have anything to clean it with besides the towel, and once he uses that up, that’s it. The kid’s actually sleeping in the tub. It’s really going to happen. The doctor is going to be so pissed.

The floor boards creak behind him. Gojo whips around to see Ijichi, nervously inching into the room. He startles at Gojo’s sudden movement. “Sorry! I-I don’t mean to interrupt, it’s just…” he holds out something in his hand. “I f-found this wedged between the washing machine and the cabinets. It must have fallen.” It’s one, singular dish towel. A little dusty, but dry and perfectly primed for wiping up messes.

It’s like the skies part. The heavens sing. Gojo could kiss the man.

He takes it and begins to sop up the mess in Megumi’s hands and lap. Ijichi hovers awkwardly behind him, and when the bulk of it is wiped up, he reaches for it. “I’ll take care of that. Here.” He grabs the soiled dish towel and in exchange gives Gojo a small package of travel tissues.

Gojo looks at him, confused.

Ijichi rubs at the back of his neck, going a little pink. “I don’t go anywhere without them; you never know when they’ll come in handy.” He then gestures to Megumi’s mouth and neck. “They’ll be good to wipe him down with.”

Gojo looks down at the package in his hand, feeling oddly grateful. When he looks back up, Ijichi’s already gone, door shut behind him.

Gojo strips Megumi of his puke soaked clothes, officially seeing way more of that kid than he ever wanted to. As he wipes off everywhere where puke soaked down to his skin, Megumi’s eyes gently close. The fact that he’s not fighting Gojo for any of it makes that thing in his chest twist; it’s proof of just how sick he is. He even cooperates while Gojo gets him back into clean, dry pajama’s. As he’s pulling the towel back over him like a blanket, there’s a gentle knock at the door.

Ijichi peeks his head in and offers a nervous smile. “Sorry, I just wanted to suggest—“ he looks down and fiddles with something. The door creaks open a bit more and he pushes the kitchen garbage can in, a fresh bag inside it. “To puke in, going forward.”

Gojo’s face falls. Why the fuck didn’t he think of that?

Ijichi nervously sets it off to the side and glances in, eyes landing on the pile of puked on pajama’s. “Oh, I can— I can take those.”

Gojo just blinks at him, a little too dumbfounded to say anything.

“Uh… okay. I’m just gonna—“ Ijichi creeps in and quickly grabs the clothes and used travel tissues before slipping back out the door.

The top of the garbage can is level with Megumi’s mattress when Gojo pulls it over. “Alright, this is where you puke from now on, got it?” He points into the can with a raised eyebrow. “No more spewing chunks everywhere.”

Megumi just slowly blinks.

Gojo sighs and pulls the towel up over Megumi’s shoulders, tucking it in around them. “There you go.” That wibbly wobbly feeling in his stomach comes back. He should pull his hand away and go back into the kitchen but, instead, his hand drifts up, resting on Megumi’s forehead.

It’s still hot, but not as bad as before. He checked his temperature just before Ijichi came over. It’s still holding steady, just below 103. He doesn’t really need to be feeling his forehead, but Megumi closes his eyes and takes a nice, deep breath, head turning into his hand a little, so he holds it there for a few seconds longer. When a strange lump starts rising in his throat, he pulls it away.

Back in the kitchen, Ijichi is squeezing water out of Megumi’s pajamas in the sink — no doubt having just been rinsed off. Gojo closes the door behind him quietly and just stands there for a moment, watching him.

It’s weird seeing him out of a suit. His shirt is a little too big, and the right leg of his sweatpants has a small area by the knee where it looks like there once might have been a hole, but someone stitched it up. Both pieces look soft and comfortable. He looks just like a regular guy, now. A little disheveled, maybe; there’s wrinkles set into his clothes, like they were left in a pile instead of being folded. But, normal.

Gojo sometimes forgets that Ijichi has his own life. It feels weird to remember that. What’s more is that he took time out of his own life to come save Gojo’s ass tonight.

Gojo slides into a chair at the kitchen table and scrubs a hand over his face. At the noise, Ijichi glances over his shoulder. “How is he doing?” He asks quietly.

Gojo pauses. Are they going to go there? Megumi certainly blew Gojo’s plans of bypassing all mention of the kids tonight out of the water; it’s inevitable now, isn’t it? “He’s fine.”

Ijichi nods and returns to wringing the clothes out. They’re silent for a little bit, until Ijichi says, “Oh,” and turns around again, “Do you need me to go buy some detergent?”

Gojo blinks at him. Is that it…? Is he really not going to ask anything more about the kid? “Uh— No,” Gojo shakes his head and clears his throat. Alright, then. That makes it easy. “No, they have to have some around here, somewhere. I just have to find it.” He looks around the house. He’s really not as familiar with it as he should be. He’s been here a dozen times and he still doesn’t know where everything is kept. That’s on him, and he should be the one to remedy it. His eyes catch on the oven’s display clock. A touch of guilt curls in his gut. “You can go, honestly. I can handle the rest. I’m sorry for pulling you away from your girlfriend in the middle of the night.”

“It’s fine.” Ijichi tosses the damp, wrung out clothes on top of the pile of everything that still needs to be washed and leans back against the counter. He stares down at the floor. “I, uh… I wasn’t actually— well. We—“ he squirms a little in place. “It didn’t end up working out between us.”

Gojo’s face falls. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Ijichi tries to shrug nonchalantly. “It turns out her ex-boyfriend wasn’t as out of the picture as she said he was.” When he glances up at Gojo, the kitchen light catches his face in such a way that Gojo can see it more clearly than before. There’s the very start of some bruising under his eye, and the tiniest split in the side of his lip.

As irritated as he was having to listen to them earlier, knowing that someone in their line of work could have something more was… nice. An unexpected pit opens in his stomach. “That sucks.”

“It’s fine. My mom didn’t like her, anyway. She said she was bad news. Some part of me knew she was right, but… I just didn’t want to see it, I guess.”

Gojo’s heart squeezes in a very different part of his chest, then. His eyes drift off to a faraway place. “Yeah,” he scoffs lightly under his breath. “I know what you mean.”

“…Do you?”

Gojo is snapped back to the present to find Ijichi’s dark eyes piercing into him. When he realizes what he said out loud, his face rapidly grows hot.

Ijichi’s eyes turn curious. He inhales and opens his mouth, and Gojo knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that whatever it is he’s about to say next is going to be way too intimate for what Gojo can handle.

Just then, Tsumiki’s small voice comes from behind him. “Um… Gojo?”

They both turn to look at the entrance of the kitchen where Tsumiki stands in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes.

Gojo doesn’t know whether to kiss her for rescuing him or to tear his own hair out because both of these kids are determined to make themselves known to the whole world, apparently. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel good.”

“What doesn’t feel good?”

“I don’t know.”

Gojo hangs his head. “Okay, well you’re sick. It’s pretty normal to not feel good. Try going back to sleep. The doctor will be back in the morning with more medicine.”

She nods, but doesn’t move, staring straight at Ijichi. “Who’s that?”

Gojo sighs. “This is Ijichi. He’s my—“ he struggles with his words for a long moment. What are they? Ijichi’s the person he sees the most often out of anyone. They talk nearly every day. The guy probably knows more about him than anyone else, as well. Does that make them friends? “We work together,” he blurts.

Ijichi gives her a little wave. “Hello.”

She bows. “My name’s Tsumiki Fushiguro.”

Great, now he knows her full name, too. Gojo’s eye twitches. “Okay. Time for bed,” He says shortly and motions with his fingers for her to turn around.

She continues to just stand there, this time staring at Gojo, her brows drawing together.

“What’s the problem?” Gojo asks, exasperated.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

Gojo blinks at her a few times. “Okay, well go to the bathroom then?”

“Okay.” She nods and her feet pad down the hall. Moments later comes the sound of her retching, quickly followed by the start of hitching sobs.

Gojo sinks his face into his hands, sighing deeply before he picks himself up and joins her in the bathroom. On the floor, he kneels next to her. He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do, but finds himself holding her hair back as she retches, trying to hide his own gagging. Between bouts of vomiting, he helps wipe her mouth up with toilet paper, and dry up her tears, and somewhere along the way ends up just rubbing her back for a while.

What feels like an hour later, but is more realistically like 20 minutes or so, she finally says, “Okay. I think I’m done.”

“You sure?”

She nods and sniffles. “I feel better.”

He has her wash her hands before going back to bed. Thick, blue liquid pumps out of the soap dispenser, but it does an awful job at lathering. Gojo pulls a face, and dabs a little between his fingers. It feels like soap, and smells sweet like soap, but… “What is this?”

“The hand soap ran out so I refilled it with the soap from the laundry,” Tsumiki says as she rubs her hands under the water.

Gojo stares down at her for a moment in disbelief. “This is laundry detergent?”

She nods. When she sees his face her brows draw together, confused. “What?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh.” She pulls a face. “Why? It’s still soap.”

Gojo doesn’t even know how to answer that right now. “We can talk about this later. You need to go back to bed.”

“But, my mouth tastes bad.”

Gojo makes a frustrated noise. “Fine. Brush your teeth, then.”

From down the hall comes a soft, “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

Gojo sticks his neck out of the doorway to see Ijichi awkwardly hovering near the entrance of the kitchen. “Sorry. I don’t mean to intrude— um, again. I just— It’s not good to brush your teeth right after vomiting. With the stomach acid in her mouth still, and all.”

“I have acid in my mouth?!” Tsumiki looks to Gojo, horrified.

“Not like that. You’re fine.” He gives her a soothing look and then sticks his head out again to glare at Ijichi. But, this time, he isn’t there.

“…Ijichi?”

“Hold on,” he calls.

Tsumiki starts to panic about stomach acid and he has to convince her Ijichi was just kidding. By the time she’s calmed down Ijichi’s at the entrance to the bathroom, holding a glass of water in hand. When Gojo takes it, it’s warm to the touch. “I mixed some salt in, just in case she has a sore throat.” Ijichi says. “Gargling that will help it. Otherwise, have her just rinse her mouth out with that. She can brush later.”

Gojo kind of wants to ask him how the hell he knows all of this, but now isn’t the time. “Uh— thanks.” He takes the glass and gives it to Tsumiki.

Somehow, it actually does seem to help.

After another crying fit about being sick, Gojo finally gets Tsumiki tucked back into bed. He closes her door softly behind him and takes a deep breath. It feels like this night has dragged on for eternity.

He heads towards the kitchen and finds Ijichi sticking his head through a door Gojo’s never actually looked behind before. He toes quietly up to Ijichi’s side and then says, “Find anything good?”

Ijichi nearly jumps out of his skin with a yelp. He slams the door shut and goes beet red. “No!”

Gojo’s eyes drop to the bottle of laundry detergent in his arms. “You found it! Nice.”

“Oh. Um… Yes.” He adjusts his glasses and looks away. “It— it was in the bathroom. I heard her say she refilled the hand soap with it, so. It was just under the sink.”

“Right. Yeah…” Gojo’s face falls at the reminder of that unfortunate detail. A light shines out from under the door Ijichi was just looking in. “What was in there?”

“Nothing.” He says quickly. “I was just— curious. It’s nothing.” He swallows thickly. “Um. I should get this started.” He gestures with the detergent bottle towards the washer and scurries away.

Gojo gives him a weird look. “Well, you left the light on for nothing, then.” He grabs the door handle and opens it. Then, his face falls.

The kids have never mentioned it. They’ve always walked past this door like it didnt exist. Honestly, Gojo thought this was just a pantry, since it opens up to the kitchen, or perhaps storage. But, what he finds isn’t a pantry or storage at all.

It’s a bedroom.

What hits him first is the smell. Stale nicotine and musty mildew. Stuffy, like the room hasn’t been opened in years which… is probably true.

A thick layer of dust covers every surface. From the queen sized bed that’s unmade with covers rumpled and half hanging onto the floor, to the ashtray on the windowsill with cigarette butts still in it, to the tiny TV propped up on a tall, skinny dresser shoved in the corner, to the crumpled beer cans and empty bottles of booze that cover every available surface just as thickly as the dust does. Maybe even more so.

Gojo doesn't know why it hasn’t occurred to him before. It’s obvious, in retrospect. In order for parents to have abandoned their kids, the parents had to have lived here to begin with. It’s just… never come up before. Not once, in the 2 plus years he’s been coming here. Those people were already ghosts in this house long before Gojo came into the picture. But, here it is. Proof that, at one point, there was a family here, for however brief a time.

Toji left long ago. That was, ultimately, Gojo’s doing, and he’s still not sorry about it. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get the full story about what caused Tsumiki’s mom to leave. As he stares at the series of fist shaped holes along the far wall, he thinks that maybe that story is a long and complicated one.

His eyes drift to all the things she left behind. The mess of booze, the scattered pieces of clothing and shoes across the floor, a perfume bottle still on the dresser. His Six Eyes look to the kids’ sleeping forms in the adjacent rooms.

He stiffly flicks the lights off, and shuts the door.

 

-:-

 

Back in the kitchen, the air is clean and fresh. It smells slightly sweet now that the laundry is properly going.

Gojo sinks into a seat at the table and takes a few deep breaths, having to remember where and when he is. As he blinks up, he does a little double take at Ijichi standing at the sink. “Are you washing dishes?”

Ijichi stiffens like he’s been caught. “Uhh. I, um— well… yes.”

“This isn’t your house.”

“I know.” He pauses briefly. “It just… it seemed like. You could use the help.”

Ain’t that the fucking truth. The fact that ijichi can see it so plainly is pretty pathetic, though. Gojo should probably be embarrassed. He would be, ordinarily. But, not now. Not after what he just saw. What Ijichi saw, too.

The guy’s seen way more into Gojo’s private life than he ever wanted him to, tonight. It’s that thought that has Gojo’s face heating. That causes his stomach to curl sickly.

He steels himself and decides that it’s time to address the elephant in the room. “That’s not my room, you know that right?”

The movement of Ijichi’s arms slow to a stop at the sink, but he doesn’t turn around. “I figured. You don’t drink, for one. And, it’s far too dusty for anyone to have been in there for quite some time.”

“And they’re not my kids.”

“I know. They’re a little old for that.”

Some part of Gojo is relieved to hear that. He should probably let the subject drop there but something else within him pushes the words up his throat. “But, I am watching over them from now on.”

Ijichi pauses for a while. Then, he just nods and says, “Okay.”

Gojo’s heart hammers in his chest. He swallows thickly and follows up with, “And, I don’t talk to anyone about them. I like to keep this part of my life private, and I want it to stay that way.”

Once again, Ijichi just nods and calmly says, “Okay.”

Gojo’s suddenly aware of how quiet the rest of the house is. There’s nothing but the sounds of the washing machine and the steady stream of water coming from the sink. They sound deafening in contrast and it makes him want to squirm. “Okay,” he echoes, just to fill the space with something else.

This is why he doesn’t try to get close to anyone. This is so awkward.

Ijichi finishes up at the sink. He shakes his hands out over the sink and absentmindedly wipes them on his shirt since there’s no dish towel to dry them off with. He leans against the counter and cocks his head at Gojo then. “Is this your first time?”

Gojo blinks at him, surprised. “What?”

“Taking care of sick kids.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah.”

Ijichi nods. “It gets easier as time goes on, and the older they get. I have a ton of nieces and nephews. When they’re young it hits them hard, but they always manage to bounce back like nothing ever happened.”

Gojo thinks of Megumi and hopes that’s the case. He rubs at the back of his neck and clears his throat. “I didn’t know you had siblings.”

Ijichi nods. “An older sister and brother. Four kids each.”

Gojo's eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “Four?!” He sinks into his seat grumbling, “And, I can hardly handle these two…”

Ijichi laughs. “Well, they have their spouses to help, and of course me and my mom, and their grandparents. It’s easier when you have people.”

Gojo frowns. “Oh.”

“You know,” Ijichi hesitates and shifts awkwardly on his feet. “If you ever need help from time to time… well. I have a lot of experience. I could— I mean, only if you want— I-I—“

Some part of Gojo immediately wants to shut him down. To tell him that, no, he’s already seen enough and it’s time for him to get the hell out. But, he thinks back to what the doctor had said to him earlier: ‘make a friend’. Is that what this is…? Ijichi would be the last person on earth he’d think to choose for this. But, the doctor said it needed to be someone responsible, someone he could trust. And, somehow, this skinny, twitchy, wallflower of a man who a stiff breeze could knock over is… exactly that person.

So, instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

“Okay,” Ijichi breathes a sigh of relief and gives him a small, supportive smile.

“Okay.” The truth of it feels oddly foreign, but he’d be a liar if he said some part of him didn’t feel good about this. Neither say anything after that, and when the house starts to feel too quiet again, he clears his throat. “Anyway…”

“Right.” Ijichi rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s um. It’s late.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you should probably go.” Gojo stands up.

At the front door, right before Ijichi turns to leave, he pauses. “Oh, um. I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t have any throat lozenges, or honey for tea. And, you’re running low on miso. Oh, and milk, too.”

“Did you look through the whole fridge?”

Ijichi goes bright red. “I was looking for the detergent. You never know where kids think to put things.”

He’s not wrong.

Ijichi continues. “You also need real hand soap for the bathroom.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, good idea.”

“I have a light day tomorrow. I could, uh. I could pick some stuff up and bring it by. If you want.”

Gojo fights the urge to squirm. He can’t deny that it’d be a huge help, actually. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Uh. Thanks.” When the hell did he get as awkward as Ijichi?

Ijichi bows goodbye. “Text me if you think of anything else you want me to pick up, or if the washer gives you any more trouble.”

“I will.”

Ijichi leaves, and Gojo closes the door behind him.

For the second time tonight, he leans his back against the door and tries to process everything that just happened.

So, Ijichi knows now. It’s a weird feeling. But there’s also a huge weight that’s no longer on Gojo’s shoulders and that’s strangely comforting.

Gojo finishes washing the last of the dishes. He takes stock of what they have in the fridge and texts Ijichi to pick up some ginger and tofu, too. He gets a thumbs up as a response and he stares at it until the washer beeps, signaling that it’s done with its cycle.

Gojo opens the washer up and the sheets smell nice.

Really, really nice.

 

 

Notes:

I don’t know how to write budding friendship, I only know how to write flirting/underlying romantic tension. I tried very hard to make Gojo and Ijichi’s budding awkward friendship not feel like that. I don’t know if I’ve succeeded in that, but I did succeed in convincing myself to ship them. I don’t know how I feel about this.

 

To every person who has commented:
Thank you very much!! I'm absolute trash at coming up with meaningful replies but I want you to know each and every single comment makes my day.

 

I love you and I'm writing your name in my diary with little hearts around it while kicking my feet

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Lost & Found