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 sits up with a gasp, hands instinctively coming up to defend his face. Cursed energy snaps to his fingertips, ready to cut with a moment’s notice–
“Hey! Itadori! You alright?” calls a faintly worried voice, swimming in and out of focus as his breathes punctuate slams of foot upon pavement, shaky and unsteady as something approaches him.
He glances up, breath catching, confused more than anything. 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? Yuuji was there. In Japan. With only himself for company, lacking anyone else to help him. Because he was the strongest.
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? A voice that had given up to the angels of death, the shinigami? Why is Yuuji hearing the voice of Fushiguro Megumi?
“Yo! Itadori-kun, you alright? That nasty guy didn’t, like, invade your mind, right?”
His breath catches. 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 way it could shift in an instant -- one moment, simple and sweet, the other, caring, the other, cold as blood sprayed before it, the next, a teacher-like tone taken. The voice that’d once said–
“Nah, I’d win.”
His eyes dart to the source of the voice, stopping when they land 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 silky fabric. Smooth skin, unfairly so. The height -- oppressive, but still reassuring in a way no one else could understand.
He backs away, breathing heavily as Yuuji stumbles back on his feet, nearly tripping in the process. Is Yuuji hallucinating? Is…one of the curses a mental one? That would explain everything. In that case, finding the core curse - the queen would solve everything, and the nightmare would end. There's no way, after all. No way Gojo and Fushiguro could be here, talking to him - their voice, floating through the air, nearly to delicate to touch-
“Yo!”
He chokes on his breath, stumbling and flailing backwards. Yuuji bites back a curse, already sensing the moment when pavement bends under his feet to make way for illusion, when the surroundings warp to match his likely twisted dream of reality. He catches 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 cover his callused ones, catching him and pressing his fists down. He was stupid to trust this, he knew, but he can't help but hope this wasn’t an illusion, hope this wasn’t another stupid mental curse. Yuuji's stupid, he knows. He's stupid for long-lost dreams of family, of teachers and students and friends and classmates and years that had been the best of his life-
“Itadori, you okay?” Gojo asks with lightly veiled concern, tilting his head. Yuuji can't see his eyes through the fabric covering the Six Eyes, but he can envision them, see them through it clearly. The spiralling fractals of crystal white against azure, taking in so much information yet never allowing the possessor a moment of rest despite their massive power.
His breath shudders, unsure and wavering even as his mind protests against the actions Yuuji's about to make. “You’re…You’re not real, right?” He backs away, slapping Gojo’s hands away, ignoring the slightly surprised expression on the fake’s face. “Get out,” he mutters, staring at the ground resignedly. “Get out.” Get out, get out, get out! His mind screams at him, berating him for causing such foolish happenings.
“Hmmmm?” Gojo waves a hand in front of him, snapping his fingers. It takes 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. Pesky little mosquitos, they were, but a necessary step to defeating them is going along with their illusions unless one has a partner, ready to aid one in attacking the curse from the outside. And Yuuji's alone. He always has, ever since Shinjuku.
He clenches his fists. Instead of weathered, hard skin, he meets soft, smooth skin. Surprised, he squeezes his hand again, heart racing against his will. Yuuji really is getting to old for this, it must be a phantom...wound-filling? The opposite of phantom pain.
Smooth, unscarred skin meets his fingers, clean and kept nicely. That was odd. He remembers his hands being weathered with countless fights, his pinky–
What?
His pinky is 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 fills that gap. Something warm and fleshy and human. Something that shouldn't be there, something that'd been lost as a trophy of sacrifice to defeat Sukuna back in 2018, during Shinjuku. Okkotsu. Copy. Kugisaki.
Yuuji grips his wrist, thrusting his hand forward as he clutches 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? Why was there a physical object existing in place of what should be nothing,
His knuckles turn bone-white at how hard he's clutching his wrist as his eyes dart over the muscle. Yuuji can flex the finger. It can move to his will, responding to his nerve-brain connection normally does.
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 asks 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 looks up, brow furrowed in confusion. “Demon?” he asks , mind whirling. “What do you mean, demon? Like a curse?” What was with the roundabout way of asking? And was the curse sentient? How would it know the term? Is Yuuji dealing with a Special Grade here?
“Oho!” Gojo raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the whole thing. “You know what curses are? And here I was thinking you were an innocent civilian caught up in all of this!”
“Sure,” mutters Yuuji. He's 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 scrubs 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 sighs.
Gojo twists his head back, looking back to a clueless Fushiguro. The black-haired sorcerer shrugs , blood dripping from the top of his head as his gaze flicks between the two like he was watching a ping-pong match, still a man of few words even through confusion and likely a curse's twisted take on his friend from rifling through Yuuji's memories.
“By curse, do you mean Sukuna?”
Sukuna.
Sukuna.
Deathblooddeathbloodfuneralsmahoragafushigurogojo-senseideathdeathdeathDEATHDEATHDEATHBLOOD—
He raises 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, it seems.
“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 tap his forehead in the next instant, fast but not quick enough to escape his eyes. Yuuji could have easily dodged, his instincts screamed at him to do so, but he didn’t. Why?
To be honest, he just wants 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. 2018's beginning, all over again. It's yet another foolish move from Yuuji, he knows, but he can afford to be...a little self-indulgent, can't he?
He falls to the ground, or so he thought he would. A pair of strong arms catches him midway, and his limp body sags into the faintly black fabric as he breathes in the scent. Familiar. It triggers a wave of memories, before everything leading to Shinjuku started.
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 feels before falling to sleep’s sweet lullaby is a pair of strong arms hefting him over one shoulder. His usual Blood-shield falls, perhaps reassured by the familiar aura of cursed energy. Dangerous, but Yuuji's too lethargic to try and push the exhaustion weighing on him off his body - the effort'd probably be harder than anything, all things considered.
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 realizes a couple very important things.
One, Gojo’s cursed energy has a tinge of regret to it.
Second, this isn't a curse’s doing. His regrown pinky confirms that.
Third, he has fucked up. Like, royally.
Because why is he here, in 2018, when he first swallowed that accursed finger?
~
Yuuji’s eyes blink open, tiny specks of black darting away as his eyelids slowly push themselves up.
He pushes himself up, immediately on alert. Bright lights blare in his peripheral, but he knows better than to let his guard down in an unfamiliar place. Most likely not a curse's domain, as he'd deducted prior to this, but still better safe than sorry, right? A small orb of blood shoots out, hidden behind his hand, ready to fire at a moment’s notice–
“Ya-hoo~!”
And fire it does – straight into another revered technique, in fact. The Limitless. Blood splashes to the floor, useless against the Infinity that the technique provided. Yuuji feels his connection to the orb reconnect in seconds, yet he does nothing to call it back, not when he's distracted by the new arrival.
“Yo!” Gojo saunters in, plopping down on the chair next to the hospital bed. He wiggles his fingers, tilting his head at Yuuji curiously, expression obscured by the same blindfold that keeps Yuuji from gazing upon the Six Eyes. “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 laughs dryly. “No inner demons,” he answers lightly, 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 waves a hand at the room in a vague manner, “Sticks me in a hospital.”
Gojo leans in. Yuuji notes the sudden high tension in the room, slowly tensing his muscles in response for an instant escape. The door was just beyond Gojo, worst case scenario - the wall was simple plaster, easy to break and escape through. 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 therefore, better to gather information and get ahead of himself.
And, loath as he is to admit it, it's 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 starts, all pretenses of comradeship gone as he leans in. “Care to explain what happened on the rooftop over there, in your own words?” He begins to interrogate Yuuji, cursed energy not flickering in the slightest as he leans further and further into Yuuji's space.
“Is this graded, sensei?” Yuuji asks dryly, snickering a little internally when a silver eyebrow raises at his honorific added. It did seem weird to address Gojo without the "sensei" added. “Well, here I go.”
“It’s out of ten, Itadori! Better make it count!” Gojo chirps, playing along for the fun of it.
“Let’s see…” Yuuji’s eyes flick 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 looks up, interrupted from his rambling. He meets Gojo’s gaze (Maybe?) in confusion. He's sure he’d gotten the story right. At least, the important ones. The points Yuuji remembers are most likely the most important ones, after all. Nithing should be off. Mentally, he runs back his points, carefully noting every event mentioned. Nothing's off. So why is–
“I never fought Sukuna, Itadori. I don’t even sense his presence on you,” Gojo stares 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 swears solemnly.
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 snaps 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 crosses his fingers together, resting his chin on an interlaced finger-bridge as he leans on Yuuji’s bedframe. “The real one. No fooling me! These eyes see everything!”
Not everything. Not the slash–
Yuuji stops himself from going down there. He can break down later. For now, he probably has to get Gojo off his tail. What Gojo said, Gojo did, after all. Yuuji knows that better than anyone - the sheer amount of resources and determination Gojo can have is as limited as his technique, after all.
He takes a deep breath, staring at the clean blanket. “My grandfather died,” he mutters, 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 sighs in relief as Gojo stays silent. Had he bought it? His eyes dart around, trying to figure out where he was as the older(?) man looked at him quietly.
“It’s a flawless story,” hums Gojo. Yuuji looks up, attention honed as Gojo begins. “Matches up perfectly with Megumi’s accounts. But there’s one critical detail.”
Yuuji’s heart rate picks up, hammering against his chest for the first time in decades. His fingers twitch, eyes narrowing out of habit as Gojo’s tone becomes coloured with suspicion.
“You referred to it as “Exorcising the curse.” Gojo’s voice drop, and his fingers snake up to his eyes, pulling down the blindfold. Azure eyes pierce 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 rushes through his bloodstream, answering to his call immediately. Small, microscopic droplets of blood swirl in his cursed energy, aiming for Gojo’s chest out of habit - it's no use to recall them, he'll change the equation to hit through Infinity if he has to. He will. Yuuji will not hesitate to do what he can to survive.
“Are you a curse user, Itadori? Was someone forcing you to do things?”
What?
Yuuji’s attacks drop in seconds, and his mouth nearly drops down with confusion and relief. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been…this. A curse user? Where'd Gojo got that from? Was it the explanation, or the technique?
“No!” he sputters vehemently, shaking his head. “I–I, um…I’m not a curse user,” he denies 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 raises an eyebrow, looking momentarily taken aback. He rubs his eyes, pulling his blindfold back on as he eyes Yuuji with what appears to be pity. “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 shuffles away slowly, a sudden headache splitting his head. He sighs mentally, pressing two fingers to his forehead. and rubbing slow, soothing circles on his skin. He loves 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 concedes reluctantly. Anything to get Gojo off his back for the time being, he supposes. “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 nods, pleased with himself.
“Hey. Itadori.”
He looks up. Why is Gojo speaking like that? And why is his normally well-suppressed cursed energy fluctuating like that?
“How do you know that name?”