Chapter Text
“I’m not a hero.”
Megumi lowers his fists. The rain beats down heavily, obscuring his view, and yet Itadori’s face remains as clear as ever. He’s glad; he wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life.
“I’m a jujutsu sorcerer,” continues Megumi. A rare smile blooms on his face. “So, I’ve never once regretted saving you.”
Those must’ve been the magic words, for Itadori’s face grows lax, and that cruel, malicious glint in his eyes disappears. He smiles, eyes pinched in joy. Megumi’s never seen someone so happy on the verge of death.
He did that. Megumi made Itadori happy, even if he can’t stop Itadori from dying.
“I see! You really are smart, Fushiguro. You’ve put more thought into this than I have.” Itadori chuckles and ruffles his hair in that charming, bashful way of his. “I think your conviction is a proper one, but I don’t think mine is wrong either.”
Blood pours out from his chest. Megumi’s smile falters.
“Ah, sorry. I’m almost done for. Guess I don’t have to worry about you, Kugisaki, or Gojo-sensei, huh?”
Itadori stumbles. Megumi almost reaches out to catch him, but what would be the point?
His hands twitch, and he can’t look away, and he can’t do anything either.
“Live a long life…”
Without you, idiot?
But Itadori’s body—Itadori’s corpse— never hits the ground. As the boy fades away, eyes rolling back into his head, a pair of hands shoot out to catch him, and Itadori’s suspended in the air.
Megumi's heart beats a bruising rhythm against his chest.
He blames his CE output that’s exhausted beyond belief from Sukuna’s pummeling, his impending grief, the pouring rain—for the fact that he hadn’t noticed another person had showed up. There’s a tall, broad man behind Itadori, holding Itadori, and the rain’s pounding against his eyes so he can’t make out any specific features—except, is that pink hair—?
Megumi moves into attack stance out of habit. Itadori might be dead, but hell , if he’d let anyone desecrate his body. “Let go of him!”
“It’s not over for him,” a smooth voice says, a baritone so achingly familiar and yet so foreign to his ear. “I can heal him. I can save him.”
“You…” He’s lying. Not even Ieri-sensei can do that. “You can’t! Itadori’s dead,” cries Megumi, and he finally lets the tears fall, indistinguishable among the raindrops on his cheeks. “No one can bring back the dead.”
A chuckle, and Megumi’s almost offended. What exactly about this situation strikes him as funny?
“Wanna bet? Just say the word, Megumin .” A shiver goes down his spine at the affectionate nickname. Just who is this guy? “Do you want to save him?”
There’s no other option, never has been. Fuck whatever ‘responsibility’ he had in ending Itadori/Sukuna; whatever foolish notion led him to believe he could .
Because in every world, every time without fail, Megumi will always save Itadori. No matter the consequences.
“Yes,” he breathes.
The man manoeuvres Itadori’s body on the ground.
Megumi hastily crouches beside him, and his hand hovers over his head, hesitating, before he gives into the urge and combs through Itadori’s hair in gentle assurance—hoping it reaches him in the beyond, wherever the teen is.
You’re not alone, Itadori. Even in death, I won’t leave you.
Cursed energy—except it’s not, is it?—envelops the hand of the stranger as he places it on Itadori’s mangled chest. A white glow pours out from his fingers, seeps into Itadori’s skin, covers the wound entirely.
Amazed, Megumi watches as flesh, tendons, bones knit back together, and a new, fresh heart appears in Itadori’s chest cavity. It pumps anew, and Megumi swears he feels its rhythm in his own chest; his own heart beating along Itadori’s in perfect synchronicity.
The wound heals closed.
And Itadori takes one sharp, blessed, intake of breath.
Itadori fidgets underneath Megumi’s touch, and Megumi freezes. But then, his head lolls to the side.
He starts snoring .
“Unbelievable,” says Megumi, both at Itadori’s revival and the fact that this is the way the asshole chooses to come back to life. “You idiot.” But there’s a smile on his face and in his tone, and Megumi doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy to hear Itadori snore like a freight train.
Of course , Itadori would come back to life. It’s Itadori . The walking contradiction, the exception to all exceptions.
Excited, Megumi chances a glance at Itadori’s saviour, a dozen thankyous on the tip of his tongue, when ice fills his veins.
The rain has stopped. His vision has cleared. And he sees the man in front of him perfectly.
It’s…
“ Itadori?! ”
The man— Itadori , because Megumi would recognise Itadori anywhere, even when his face looks so mature and melancholic and sad— smiles and nods.
He reaches out to Megumi. Pokes him in the forehead. Unconsciousness licks at the edges of his vision, and Megumi feels the sensation of falling, of being caught, of being held— before everything goes to black.
“You’ve been through a lot. Rest .”
And Megumi does.
As soon as Ijichi calls him, and he hears the words ‘Special Grade’ come through the tinny of the phone speaker, Satoru drops his hold on the Grade 1 curse and warps to the coordinates he’d been sent.
Yuuji and Megumi are still here. There’s still a chance he can save either of them, if not both. Sukuna’s rampage can’t have gone on for long.
There’s still a chance .
Resolved, Satoru enters through the gate of the prison complex, his long legs taking long, determined strides towards the grey building he spies in the distance, when he stops.
There’s a blinding, overwhelming output of CE nearby—levels he’s not seen since the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. Since his own awakening, even.
A figure appears from the forested darkness, materialising underneath the moonlight’s illumination. Tall, broad, and carrying two familiar students on each shoulder.
It stops a few feet away from Satoru.
Satoru rubs his chin, bemused.
“Well, hello there, stranger. Care to explain who you are, and how you have the Six Eyes?”
“I’m getting a sense of deja vu.”
Satoru grins rakishly. “Get tied up often?”
“Yes. By you, in particular. I’m starting to think you get a kick out of it, sensei.”
“Is calling someone ‘sensei’ another kink of yours? You got a thing for authority figures?” Satoru taps his chin and hums, loudly and exaggeratedly, precisely in a way he knows comes across as obnoxious to others. “‘Cause I could’ve sworn you’re my age.”
The man smirks, and shrugs.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Or I did, once upon a time. Hard to find an authority figure to crush on, nowadays, since I’m the only authority around.”
“No higher ups where you’re from?”
“God no.” The man grimaces. “Just me and my students. We run things now.”
“Fascinating.” Inspiring . Exactly what Satoru has been aiming for all these years. “What’s that like? Things any better on your end?”
“Why don’t you untie me and I’ll tell you everything you want to know? I did save Yuuji after all. Haven’t I earned a little trust?”
“ Yuuji , huh? How informal. One would think you know Yuuji-kun quite well.”
“ Very well.” He grins. “More than anyone, in fact, even that damned curse in his head. But I assume that’s obvious, since we do look so alike, don’t you think?”
Uncannily so. Suspiciously so.
He’s hesitant in voicing his suspicions. Or to even give them concrete thought in his head. If he did, Satoru’s not sure what that would mean regarding his worldview. The foundations of his beliefs.
Could this man really be…?
“Besides,” the stranger adds, “you can easily subdue me. You are the strongest, after all.”
“I am,” Satoru confirms. He appreciates the acknowledgement at surface level, but there’s a glimmer of irony in the man's voice that snipes at Satoru. As if there’s some joke being told that he’s not in on.
Satoru likes jokes. Not at his expense, though.
Satoru snaps his fingers and the shackles fall off. The man sighs in relief and cracks his spine, twisting his muscular body around for relief from… what? Soreness? Doubtful, since Satoru’s convinced he knows RCT on top of everything else, from what Megumi told him.
How else did he bring Yuuji back to life? What kind of powers did this man possess?
Something comes to him. “You could’ve gotten out of those shackles yourself.”
“Thought it might’ve been rude. And ruined the moment.”
“Ah. So, you were enjoying the power play?”
“It’s not that deep. I got nostalgic, I guess. Being in this position with you again. It was comforting.”
Satoru swallows, and finally gives into his suspicions.
“You wouldn’t happen to be Yuuji, by any chance?”
The man smiles; sharp, like the slash of a blade, and the scar at the corner of his mouth ripples. Somehow, none of that takes away from the gentleness of his eyes.
“Heh. You got me. Hi, sensei. Nice to see you again.”
“Gosh. There’s so much I want to ask you.” Satoru taps his chin, thinking. “Where do I even begin?”
“Take your time. But first, I have a request.” Yuuji (?) furrows his brow. “Please hide Yuuji-kun from the higher ups. Get Ieiri-sensei to report that he’s dead, or whatever the protocol is. Your suspicions are correct. They want to kill him, and they’ll stop at nothing.”
Satoru leans forward, on the edge of his seat, quite literally and figuratively. “What makes you think that? It could’ve been an honest mistake. You know how it is, with age. These poor little grandpas on the council could’ve misread a thing or two.”
Satoru thinks that’s a crock of shit, of course—the higher ups did this deliberately, and the only reason he’s not gone after those old geezers yet is because he’s been with this strange version of Yuuji in his basement. Besides, both Yuuji—the younger version—and Megumi are upstairs, safe with Shoko, so he doesn’t need to worry about that right now.
Other-Yuuji looks at him like he’s stupid. And yeah, okay, he deserves that. But Other-Yuuji shouldn’t get too comfortable; Satoru’s not sure if he believes him yet. At least, not fully.
“Sensei.” Was that… a purr? “That would be too much of a coincidence. And you don’t believe in those, do you?” He rolls his shoulders. “Besides, I’ve gone through all this shit before. And last time, I did die, and I was dead for a while until Sukuna brought me back with a binding vow. Which kinda bit me in the ass, later.”
Yuuji? Dead?
The mere idea of it shoots sharp fear through his being. He struggles to keep his face neutral.
Yuuji could’ve died today (and in another world, another timeline, he had). The naive, well-intentioned teenager—who’s just a little dumb that it’s entertaining rather than annoying—who has, somehow, landed himself in Satoru’s good graces despite Satoru’s impatience with said dumb people—could’ve died today, and been at the mercy of Sukuna, demanding god knows what from him.
And then those sly, old sacks of shit would’ve won this endless chess game between them and Satoru, killing the boy he’d moved heaven and earth to save. Yuuji is just a pawn to them. He was to Satoru as well, in the beginning—a key player in his mission to transform Jujutsu society—and then… well.
The boy grew on him.
And Satoru finds that he… cares for Yuuji. Wants him to be happy. Enjoy his youth. Like all young people should.
He can’t let him die.
The sound of a deliberate cough pierces through the maelstrom of Satoru’s thoughts, and he realises he’s been quiet for far too long.
Right. On with the interrogation.
He drawls, “ So. You from the future? Or a different reality altogether?”
“I have no clue. But if I was from the future, I’d remember this, right?”
“If it’s closed loop time travel, yes. If it's an open loop, who knows? But you’re telling me you’re changing things. Wouldn’t you have started disappearing by now?”
“Well, I’m still in one piece. And I don’t feel much different.” He cocks his head, and glances at the ceiling. “How are the boys holding up? They’re upstairs, aren’t they?”
He’s probably sensed their cursed energies already, so there’s no need to lie. “Yeah. Megumi’s fussing over Yuuji. Won’t let the kid out of his sight. You’d think he died or something.”
Other-Yuuji sighs fondly. “Of course. Always worrying over me. As if I’d disappear if he looked away. I thought preventing his grief over me would stop that, but I guess not… I guess that’s just how he is.”
“Megumi’s just a big old softie. He likes to pretend he doesn’t have a heart but to the contrary—it’s there and it bleeds .” Satoru rests his cheek on his arm. “He gets attached to the most random things.”
“We have that in common. My younger self is already repeating my mistakes: getting too attached to things—or people.”
Yuuji gives him a pointed look, as if Satoru should glean some deeper meaning from that.
But Satoru’s never been particularly good at reading between the lines, so he barrels on. “And you’re here to prevent that? What are your intentions?”
“I want better for Yuuji-kun. There’s other stuff I’d like to change too. I don’t want this timeline to end up like mine. While I’m here, I refuse to be a sitting duck.”
“If you and Yuuji-kun truly are one and the same, you can imagine the problems this will bring, right? Both of you in the same timeline?”
“I don’t intend to stay for too long,” other-Yuuji assures him. “Once I find the curse that brought me here, I can get it to bring me back. My world needs me. But I’m not too worried at the moment; I trust Todo to keep everything in check until I return.”
“Todo? As in Todo Aoi? The Kyoto student?”
“The one and only. My brother.” Other-Yuuji smiles. “He’s saved my ass on many occasions. He’ll do it again—or, rather, he’ll do it for the first time, I think—at the exchange event.” He lets out a baffled laugh. “This time-slash-dimension travel is getting confusing. It’s hard to believe you’re even in front of me right now. I can’t stop looking at you, sensei. I’m scared you’ll disappear, and this is all a dream.”
Satoru tries not to ponder on what Yuuji’s words imply about his own existence in the other man’s future. Instead he grins, he deflects, like he always does when he’s unsettled.
“My, my, Yuuji—you're making blush. I’m flattered you dream of me, but I assure you I’m real.” He thinks. “I admit, it feels weird to have a grown man like you call me sensei. How about this: I call you Itadori, and you can call me Gojo-san. Deal?”
“Gojo… Gojo-san,” Itadori says, slowly, testing the words in his mouth. “Feels weird, but okay. You know, I’m actually older than you, so maybe you should call me Itadori- san , instead?” he teases.
“Ah, ah, don’t push it, Itadori- kun .” Satoru grins, feeling some of his discomfort seep out, and allows breathless excitement to take its place instead. There’s probably some rules around time travel he should be wary of, lest he fucks up the future completely, but they don’t come to mind right now: Satoru wants to know everything .
Especially, this one thing:
“Will you finally tell me then, how you have the Six Eyes?”
Itadori’s smile flags. It’s a minute detail, but Itadori’s eyes are still as expressive as Yuuji’s, so Satoru recognises the sadness, the pinch of his mouth.
There’s another pair of eyes Satoru also recognises. Underneath Itadori’s brown ones, where Sukuna’s slits should be, there are a smaller pair of blue eyes instead. They blink at the same time as the main pair, and they’re staring at Satoru just as intensely.
Satoru stares back. Like when he stares back at himself in the mirror in the morning as he’s brushing his teeth, or styling his hair, or tying his blindfold.
“They’re mine, aren’t they?”
Itadori nods, and his face is so full of heartbreak that Satoru almost doesn’t want to keep asking.
Weird; he never feels that merciful. Satoru’s not above punching through people’s emotional defences like a battering ram to get the answers and outcomes he wants, whether through sharp tongue or physical means.
But the thought of upsetting Itadori makes his heart clench.
“Is it alright if I don’t tell you right now? Maybe some other time? I promise I’ll answer anything else. Just not this—not now,” pleads Itadori.
Satoru begrudgingly accepts that, but his suspicions don’t cease, and as much as it pains him to say it out loud—“I’m dead, aren’t I? In the future you’re from?”
There can’t be two Six Eyes holders at once.
But—
If Itadori’s around thirty, Satoru should be in his forties. He highly doubts he died from natural causes. So, what could’ve killed him? Is there something capable of killing him?
Itadori doesn’t look any less miserable. “You are.”
“How long?”
“I’ve mourned you longer than I’ve known you.”
“Poetic, but not what I asked. I want to know when, where, how. You said you’d answer everything else.” Satoru pouts. “How cruel, Itadori. Don’t leave me in suspense.”
Itadori scowls. “You really wanna know when you die? What does it matter? I’m gonna prevent it.”
“If anything manages to kill me, I assume it’s stronger than me. Than you,” adds Satoru.
“And yet, you say you’re the strongest,” Itadori snaps. “You promised me that you’d win. But you lied.”
“You can’t blame me for something another version of me told you.”
“ You promised Yuuji too. Or did you forget?”
Satoru moves to argue, when it occurs to him. His conversation with Yuuji, some weeks ago, right before they went to see Yaga.
But would you lose?
“I lost against Sukuna?”
“You did,” Itadori confirms.
I lost against Sukuna…
How? How could the demon in Yuuji’s head overwhelm him ?
Sure, Sukuna has been undefeated as of yet, since the Heian era—but Satoru wasn’t around back then. Those archaic sorcerers from back then don’t hold a candle to Satoru’s might. They weren’t him. He’s supposed to be different, better.
The pinnacle of jujutsu. The enlightened one.
What could have gone wrong?
Itadori senses the conflict in him, or maybe Satoru has let the silence go on for too long as he tries to piece his shattered ego together, because he moves closer and places a hand on Satoru’s shoulder.
The sudden touch shocks him. When did he lower Infinity?
Right. I always have it off around Yuuji.
If he had any doubt left over whether this is Yuuji or not, that solves it. His own technique speaks the truth.
Itadori grips him tightly; it’s solid, and it grounds Satoru. He’s pulled back out of his thoughts, back into the present, where he stares at Yuuji’s matured face, with scars and an extra set of eyes and a sharp jawline that could cut through glass he’s never seen before. He’s willing to bet his alternate, dead version hasn’t either. Wouldn’t be able to recognise this Yuuji.
He’s aware he’s gaping at Yuuji like a fish, but he’d rather ponder Yuuji’s older and, admittedly, handsome face than thoughts of his own death and what that all entails.
Itadori lets him take his fill, and smiles. It’s small and teasing, as if he knows what Satoru’s thinking.
“I’m sorry,” says Itadori finally. He squeezes Satoru’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t blame you. You did what you could. You went all out. It’s selfish of me to blame you.”
Satoru desperately grabs Itadori's hand on his shoulder. Satoru's hand still dwarfs his.
“No. You should blame me. I let you down. I let you all down.”
How can Itadori even look at him right now? Satoru deserves his ire. His hate. Satoru wants it; he needs it. He needs it to so it can push him to be better than the other Satoru, who was never around to see what he'd done.
He could maybe live with the fact that that Satoru had disappointed this alternate version of Yuuji (even if it's currently grinding his ego to dust), but the thought of him disappointing his Yuuji—his precious student—who looks at Satoru like he hung the moon, is unbearable.
“You’re not invincible, Gojo-san. And it took me a while to realise that. You’re human too, just like me. I put you on a pedestal and I shouldn’t have. But I know better now.”
Itadori shuffles even closer, their knees knock together, and he grabs a hold of Satoru’s other shoulder. He leans in, invading Satoru’s personal space (Satoru wonders if this is how others feel when he does it to them, and he’s confused on why they’re complaining all the time—he doesn’t mind at all, and Itadori’s face is rather nice up close).
Itadori looks earnest, open and vulnerable, and his eyes—all four of them—search for Satoru's behind his blindfold, calls for his attention (and Itadori has it; has had it the entire time).
“I know now that you need me as much as I need you,” continues Itadori, “and this time, I won’t let you do it alone.”