Chapter Text
The rich scent of pines, rustling through the undergrowth.
In.
Wet soil, rainwater seeping into the ground.
Out.
Blood. The metallic scent floating through the air.
In.
Burning human flesh, the rotten, acrid scent poisoning the air.
Out.
Yuuji sat up with a gasp, hands instinctively coming up to defend his face. Cursed energy snapped to his fingertips, ready to cut with a moment’s notice–
“Hey! Itadori! You alright?”
He glanced up, breath catching. Where was he? Last he remembered, he’d been walking through a forest, exorcizing any curses unlucky enough to cross paths with him. Hadn’t that one Simurian, Maru, asked him to drop by? He was…He was there, wasn’t he?
So why was he hearing a voice he’d completely given up on? A voice that had been forever marred by the King of Curses, puppeteered against the strongest sorcerer of the time?
“Yo! Itadori-kun, you alright? That nasty guy didn’t, like, invade your mind, right?”
His breath caught. It might have been sixty-eight years, but he’d never forget that voice. The teasing lilt. The carefree air, hiding a veiled undertone of concern. The voice that’d once said–
“Nah, I’d win.”
His eyes darted to the source of the voice, stopping when they landed on a head of silver hair. A dark uniform, hugging a lean frame. A blindfold wrapped around eyes, hiding the brilliant blue he knew was there, concealed by the fabric.
He backed away, breathing heavily. Was Yuuji hallucinating? Was…one of the curses a mental one?
“Yo!”
He choked on his breath, stumbling and flailing backwards. He caught himself out of pure instinct, raising his fists and calling on the blood rushing through his bloodstream like Choso had taught him–
Two long, slender hands covered his callused ones, catching him and pressing his fists down. He was stupid to trust this, he knew, but he couldn’t help but hope this wasn’t an illusion, hope this wasn’t another stupid mental curse.
“Itadori, you okay?” Gojo asked with lightly veiled concern, tilting his head. Yuuji couldn’t see his eyes through the fabric covering the Six Eyes, but he could envision them, see them through it clearly.
His breath shuddered. “You’re…You’re not real, right?” He backed away, slapping Gojo’s hands away, ignoring the slightly surprised expression on the fake’s face. “Get out,” he muttered, staring at the ground resignedly. “Get out.”
“Hmmmm?” Gojo waved a hand in front of him, snapping his fingers. It took all his willpower not to trigger a Dismantle at him. He’d had far too much experience with mental curses. If he attacked the nightmares they summoned, his brain would be fried until Reverse Cursed Technique kicked in.
He clenched his fists. Instead of weathered, hard skin, he met soft, smooth skin. Surprised, he squeezed his hand again.
Smooth, unscarred skin met his fingers, clean and kept nicely. That was odd. He remembered his hands being weathered with countless fights, his pinky–
What?
His pinky was intact. He’d spent the better part of the last sixty-eight years feeling the gap where the finger had been, taking a slight comfort in how the gap let his hand cool. But now, something filled that gap. Something warm and fleshy and human.
Yuuji gripped his wrist, thrusting his hand forward as he clutched his hand with his other, staring at it with confusion. There was no way a curse could replicate the feeling of flesh along with his memories. Illusions were intangible, he’d learned that so long ago, so why did he feel his finger?
His knuckles turned bone-white at how hard he was clutching his wrist, as his eyes darted over the muscle.
Gojo’s voice cut into his thoughts, light and carefree as always. “Hey, why’re you staring at your hand like it grew some eyes all of a sudden?” he asked lightly, leaning in. Huh. The curse even replicated his sensei’s abysmal sense of personal space. “Sure, there’s a centuries-old demon inside of you now, but that doesn’t mean you’re like that one guy in Parasyte, y’know.”
Yuuji finally looked up, brow furrowed in confusion. “Demon?” he asked, mind whirling. “What do you mean, demon? Like a curse?”
“Oho!” Gojo raised an eyebrow. “You know what curses are? And here I was thinking you were an innocent civilian caught up in all of this!”
“Sure,” muttered Yuuji. He was willing to put up with this Gojo’s antics, so long as he got to go out and back to reality. “Let’s just go with that.”
He scrubbed his face with his hands, tired. “So, who’s the demon inside of me? And who’s your master? Lead me to the curse already, I’ll fight whoever you need me to. Just let me out,” he sighed.
Gojo twisted his head back, looking back to a clueless Fushiguro. The black-haired sorcerer shrugged, blood dripping from the top of his head as his gaze flicked between the two like he was watching a ping-pong match.
“By curse, do you mean Sukuna?”
Sukuna.
Sukuna.
Deathblooddeathbloodfuneralsmahoragafushigurogojo-senseideathdeathdeathDEATHDEATHDEATHBLOOD—
He raised an eyebrow, blocking the still-fresh wave of coldness that swept over him whenever the name was mentioned. Even after all these years, he still hadn’t become completely indifferent to the King of Curses’ name.
“Sure,” he agreed. This was new, though. Normally even sentient curses still feared Sukuna’s name, even when they looked inside of his memories. Hey, maybe curses evolved past that. He hadn’t visited Tokyo in the last…forty years or so, after all.
Two fingers tapped his forehead. He could have easily dodged, his instincts screamed at him to do so, but he didn’t. Why?
To be honest, he just wanted the wave of nostalgia that swept over him to drown him in it. The familiar feeling, all those years and years ago. The very catalyst that had led to this entire mess.
He fell to the ground, or so he thought he would. A pair of strong arms caught him midway, and his limp body sagged into the faintly black fabric as he breathed in the scent.
Some kind of expensive cologne, woodsy, pine, maybe a hint of hibiscus. No blood. No gore. No flesh. Just…nice.
When had been the last time he’d just taken a moment and slept?
The last thing he felt before falling to sleep’s sweet lullaby was a pair of strong arms hefting him over one shoulder. His usual Blood-shield fell, perhaps reassured by the familiar aura of cursed energy.
Ah, yes.
So, it appeared he wasn’t affected by a mental curse. After all, he’d become somewhat of an expert on cursed energy in the…eighty or so years he’d been alive. And most of all, he would never mistake his beloved sensei’s cursed energy for something else.
It was unique. Controlled, tamed, but wild, a caged beast. Minimal exposure due to Six Eyes constantly regulating the flow. Smooth. The textbook picture of cursed energy. But it flickered with something, something no one else had.
Was it sadness? Nostalgia? Yuuji had never known. Sensei had died way before he learned to survive on his own, after all.
But now, in this moment, he realized a couple very important things.
One, Gojo’s cursed energy had a tinge of regret to it.
Second, this wasn’t a curse’s doing. His regrown pinky confirmed that.
Third, he fucked up. Like, royally.
Because why was he here, in 2018, when he first swallowed that accursed finger?
~
Yuuji’s eyes blinked open.
He pushed himself up, immediately on alert. Bright lights blared in his peripheral, but he knew better than to let his guard down in an unfamiliar place. A small orb of blood shot out, hidden behind his hand, ready to fire at a moment’s notice–
“Ya-hoo~!”
And fire it did – straight into another revered technique, in fact. The Limitless. Blood splashed to the floor, useless against the Infinity that the technique provided. Yuuji felt his connection to the orb reconnect in seconds, yet he did nothing to call it back, not when he was distracted by the new arrival.
“Yo!” Gojo sauntered in, plopping down on the chair next to the hospital bed. He wiggled his fingers, tilting his head at Yuuji. “So, how’re you feeling? Any inner demons screaming in your head? I can see your first instinct is to attack me, which is regrettable, but all’s okay in this house!”
Yuuji laughed dryly. “No inner demons,” he answered, humoring his teacher. “And sorry for the attack. Guess I’m high-strung, you know. It’s what happens when a mysterious person kidnaps me and,” he waved a hand at the room in a vague manner, “Sticks me in a hospital.”
Gojo leaned in. Yuuji noted the sudden high tension in the room, slowly tensing his muscles in response for an instant escape. He’d already concluded that some time-travel shenanigans had occurred, sure. But was he aware of the exact extent of it? Absolutely fucking not.
And, loath as he was to admit it, it was hard to remember what had happened eighty years ago to a perfect detail. He remembered most things, of course, but clearly, it’d already gone off the rails. For example, he didn’t remember waking in a hospital bed. And clearly, Gojo was suspicious of his Blood Manipulation. Gods. Had Yuuji already messed up?
“So,” Gojo started, all pretenses of comradeship gone as he leaned in. “Care to explain what happened on the rooftop over there, in your own words?”
“Is this graded, sensei?” Yuuji asked dryly, snickering a little internally when a silver eyebrow raised at his honorific. “Well, here I go.”
“It’s out of ten, Itadori! Better make it count!” Gojo chirped, playing along.
“Let’s see…” Yuuji’s eyes flicked to the floor, tracing the lines absent-mindedly. “So, I found a finger. And…I ate it. It was Sukuna’s finger, right? Oh, what am I saying, it was obviously him. Um…did Fushiguro save me…? Oh, no! You fought me, Gojo-sensei! I remember now! You told me to let him out for…like, one minute maybe? Was it one second? Anyways, you get me–”
“I’m gonna stop you right there, Itadori.”
Yuuji looked up, interrupted from his rambling. He met Gojo’s gaze (Maybe?) in confusion. He was sure he’d gotten the story right. At least, the important ones. So why was–
“I never fought Sukuna, Itadori. I don’t even sense his presence on you,” Gojo stared at him through his blindfold, expression unreadable. “So, what kind of tale are you spinning? Are you trying to escape execution or something? Because, I swear, if you tell me the truth, those dusty old higher-ups won’t lay a finger on you,” he swore.
Oh.
Right.
Sukuna had been a part of Yuuji’s soul for so long that his own soul had completely digested the King of Curses, burying his remnants under layers and layers of cursed energy. Even to the six Eyes, it was probably nearly impossible to pick out the small, remaining pieces.
Sukuna had died when Fushiguro was…defeated, after all. The only monster left was him.
So, it was safe to assume that the fingers would be undetectable as well. Which meant he probably had to gamble and guess what Fushiguro had told Gojo, or make something up entirely and risk having to run from a Hollow Purple.
Worst case, of course. Actually, would Infinite Void hurt more? He felt like the sure-hit wouldn’t be too bad on him, right? If he pumped Reverse Cursed Technique into his mind continuously…
“Earth to Itadori?” Gojo snapped his fingers in front of Yuuji’s eyes, jolting him out of his thoughts. “What’re you thinking in that brain of yours? Hello~?”
“Sorry,” Yuuji apologized hastily. “Um, so where were we?” he asked hesitantly, picking at the blanket. He traced the seams quietly, feeling the texture under his smooth, young hands. So had his body regressed as well? It seemed like it, to be sure.
“Tell me your story, Itadori!” Gojo crossed his fingers together, resting his chin on an interlaced finger-bridge as he leaned on Yuuji’s bedframe. “The real one. No fooling me! These eyes see everything!”
Not everything. Not the slash–
Yuuji stopped himself from going down there. He could break down later. For now, he probably had to get Gojo off his tail. What Gojo said, Gojo did, after all.
He took a deep breath, staring at the clean blanket. “My grandfather died,” he muttered, trying to shoot some credulity into his voice. “Fushiguro approached me, asking about a finger. My senpai were trying to open it, so I got nervous. When a curse appeared, I thought my only option was to eat the finger to gain power needed to exorcise the curse.”
Yuuji sighed in relief as Gojo stayed silent. Had he bought it? His eyes darted around, trying to figure out where he was as the older(?) man looked at him quietly.
“It’s a flawless story,” hummed Gojo. Yuuji looked up. “Matches up perfectly with Megumi’s accounts. But there’s one critical detail.”
Yuuji’s heart rate picked up. His fingers twitched, eyes narrowing out of habit as Gojo’s tone became coloured with suspicion.
“You referred to it as “Exorcising the curse.” Gojo’s voice dropped, and his fingers snaked up to his eyes, pulling down the blindfold. Azure eyes pierced into him, light hitting the cobalt fractals and spiralling in crystalline patterns. “Combine that with your prior slip-ups, the fact the Sukuna isn’t constantly taking over you, and your cursed energy, gives me one conclusion, and I don’t like what I’ve come to.”
Blood rushed through his bloodstream, answering to his call immediately. Small, microscopic droplets of blood swirled in his cursed energy, aiming for Gojo’s chest.
“Are you a curse user, Itadori? Was someone forcing you to do things?”
What?
Yuuji’s attacks dropped in seconds, and his mouth nearly dropped down with confusion and relief. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been…this.
“No!” he sputtered vehemently, shaking his head. “I–I, um…I’m not a curse user,” he denied furiously. “I just know a lot because…my…mom! Yeah, that’s right, my mom taught me a lot of stuff when I saw curses. That’s it.”
It wasn’t a lie, right? Technically, it was Kenjaku’s fault that he’d become entangled with jujutsu society as a whole. And if he was putting it into technical terms, he was his mother, right? If Kenjaku was in Itadori Kaori’s body when he was conceived, it wasn’t a lie.
“Your mother?” Gojo raised an eyebrow, looking momentarily taken aback. He rubbed his eyes, pulling his blindfold back on as he eyed Yuuji. “Y’know, it’s fine if you were a curse user. You’re too young to do this kind of stuff. Just admit to it, and Great Teacher Gojo™ will take care of everything!”
Yuuji backed away slowly, a sudden headache splitting his head. He sighed mentally, pressing two fingers to his forehead. He loved seeing Gojo-sensei, hearing his voice again was like heaven, but…decades without human interaction beyond the yearly “Hello” hadn’t done wonders for his mindset.
“Sure,” he conceded. Anything to get Gojo off his back for the time being, he supposed. “I’m a curse user, Geto recruited me, and I help him out sometimes. Happy?”
There. That would do it, right? Kenjaku was in the Special Grade curse user Geto Suguru’s body as of now. Even if Gojo discovered Kenjaku, he’d covered his tracks well enough to avoid any backlash. He nodded, pleased with himself.
“Hey. Itadori.”
He looked up. Why was Gojo speaking like that? And why was his normally well-suppressed cursed energy fluctuating like that?
“How do you know that name?”