Chapter Text
Nobara is the last one to go.
And he attends the funeral. Because despite the pain and the fact that yes, everybody’s well and truly gone, she deserves this and more.
She lived a full life – a very, very fashionable and wild one at that. Bright and brash until the very end, stronger than he could ever be when facing her own light fading, and Yuuji still feels the pinch she gave one last time before closing her eyes for good. An accomplished jujutsu sorcerer with a reputation which would last for another half a century, she left behind a legacy that ensured Yuuji’s wish in keeping track of the things he had told her that day after the Simurians left.
That and the sum of inheritance she spread out only between him and, surprisingly, the jujutsu school but perhaps he should have expected it the moment she complained about the meagre stipends the students have that they can’t splurge on other things (they’re not, it’s a very gracious amount, but Nobara sniffed at that anyway).
He is the one who takes her ashes home and she would cross the river back to punch him if he ever places the urn in her family tomb by the outskirts, so he uses the lot right beside Fushiguro. Oddly empty until today, but Megumi was always quiet in his care and observation.
It’s sunset when the incense is lit and the flowers (red roses as per instruction) are placed in the fresh vase, and he just stands there. It’s nighttime when he eventually moves, the wind turning colder and pushing at his hoodie as if even they are growing bored of him. He brushes his knuckles against the marble headstone, memorizing the smoothness before he gives one last look at both graves and takes a step back. The dead needs their rest and silence, after all, and Yuuji is now merely a visitor.
Her apartment is already empty and what weren’t carried to the Zenin estate storage for safekeeping (another of Megumi’s doing), have sheets covering them. Technically, it is in his name now and will remain so until he says otherwise (Nobara had been great in pulling strings and made people obey her as she grew older), but he isn’t staying. This, he knows Nobara knew and understood. It could be a nice place for Panda though, should he want to stay one of these days rather than tagging along.
A meow pulls him away from locking the bedroom door.
Lady is a young Maine Coon which had stayed by her mistress’s bedside until the end, loyal and very much spoiled, but she sniffs Yuuji’s fingers and nuzzles against his skin as he offers her favorite treat left by the kitchen table. She jumps into his arm, burrowing into his shirt and leaving hairs all over his suit jacket.
She meows again when he’s turning the lights off for good.
All the way down the stairs and into the streets, she remains curled against him. Tokyo is alive and bustling despite the late hours, it’s easier to disappear like this before any jujutsu sorcerer decides to have the idea to pin down his location once more.
Glancing over his shoulder one last time, he pets the cat’s head.
Good bye, he mouths. Good bye and thank you.
===
He doesn’t completely go away, but he doesn’t linger too long either. There is a distance he keeps always and it is a lesson he learned from a while ago. Observe and guide, if need be, but do not stay lest his presence stunt their growth. Yuuji is not Gojo Satoru and he won’t be him either. There’s no strongest of all time, there’re only those who keep moving forward. It’s a natural cycle, it’s just that Yuuji is an exception. And exceptions, he has come to understand, aren’t meant to be special to the point it becomes a yoke.
There are less curse users born and it becomes easier to keep track of them. The Jujutsu society still exists – will always be, yet their numbers are smaller too. He watches children born with Heavenly Restrictions and be counted because they matter. The clans have slowly – albeit a bit begrudgingly – worked together to keep a network on which cursed weapon is assigned to who, and if one is stolen or lost, well that’s become Yuuji’s job to retrieve them.
His friends are remembered in different ways and forms. Most are mentioned in the textbooks and speeches, a few have visitors to their graves. Those with children are with their children’s children now, and it’s two generations later that Yuuji doesn’t keep counting anymore. The names aren’t familiar anymore and no one knows who exactly he is.
His constants are Panda and the cat.
And he only lingers because someone has to take the fall, the blame for eradicating the curses. Yet nobody ever hunts him down, no one ever truly tries to. There’s no talk about it, no mention of it. Changes, yes, but no finger is pointed at anyone and the longer Yuuji waits, the more no one and nothing seems to come looking for him. One of the greatest things which humanity possesses is the ability to adapt, after all, and perhaps the changes are far greater than he has come to expect.
He still stays around though. For a few more months, for a few more years.
Until Lady also dies and still, nothing happens. She had become an ancient for cat years and Yuuji almost began to wander if she was a special curse before she made biscuits despite her arthritis on her beloved pillow and gone in her sleep in his lap. Lady was a sweet and sassy companion he could ever asked for and he buried her with her toys and catnip scented blanket.
“It’s just you and me now, Panda,” he murmurs one gloomy morning. “Do you still want to come with?” He asks just because.
Panda pats his arm. “Of course,” he nods. “It would be much too lonely if otherwise, right?”
So, that spring, when almost four generations have passed, Itadori Yuuji truly disappears then.
===
“I’ve never been outside of Japan,” he muses as he sits at the airport. “I kind of want to know how it is….”
“Well, can you just teleport?” Panda asks, posing as a plushie with his head perched out of the duffel bag.
Yuuji leans back on the bench, the planes are busy moving about from the window he’s facing. “Would need a ton of energy for that,” he shrugs, “I can do it. But you know,” he crosses his legs, “this is also interesting.” He stares at the sky, cloudless and full of stars. “Besides, Gojo-sensei did this too all the time, right?”
Panda plops right next to him. “Yes,” he also looks to the sky, “he did.”
When the speaker announces their gate is open and they are allowed to board, Panda quips. “Frankly, I’ve never been on a plane before, I wonder how it feels.”
Yuuji smiles. “Yeah, I figured. So, let’s find out.”
His very first international flight is full of turbulence and the economy seat he picked is broken that it is stuck being upright, and they also have a delayed landing due to crowded lane. But it’s fun and he enjoys the meals, even finishes watching all the Human Centipede remakes they shockingly have on board.
The teen sitting beside him rolls his eyes at his movie choice but he melts when Yuuji lends him Panda after another turbulence shakes the craft.
“He’s cute. Is it a new version of a toy?”
Yuuji just chuckles. “It’s a special order.” And leaves it at that.
Panda plays along and chirps when his ‘button’ is pressed. There’s another forty-five minutes before the captain finally confirms they can finally land that the teen returns him.
“So, what brings you to South Africa?” The teen asks while the plane lands.
“Holiday,” Yuuji replies. “First time, actually.”
“Cool,” the teen opens his phone. “Say, I know some great places, so if you ever need a suggestion or two, just hit me up.”
“Oh, thanks,” he scans the numbers and it takes a moment for him to add a new contact because he never truly moved on from the smartphones of his thirties.
“Kind of an interesting choice though,” the teen tilts his head. “I mean, well, don’t Japanese people like Europe more?”
Yuuji just laughs. He doesn’t really know about that. He’s much too old to scroll the media for it. “I don’t know,” he answers. Ah, finally added him. “But, you see,” he looks out the window, “a good friend of mine visited this continent and he only ever told me good things about it, so I want to see for myself.”
“Aye, that’s super nice of him,” the teen grins. “And he’s right, lotta of cool things here. You really should check them out.”
There are old photographs in his bag, salvaged from the dusty storage before he made away with Panda. Nobody would mind that he took them, really. They can be a start on where to go.
“Yeah,” he nods, “Yeah, I will.”
===
So, he travels.
First, he tries to pass each country in Africa. It’s vast in their own way and the people vary so much, it can be overwhelming. He visits the savanna, runs through the desert, and probably scares a lot of the locals when he just breezes past a group of lions and pets some of the hippopotamuses. He gets introduced to spices he never knew and shakes hands with the elders and plays with the children.
His skin is often baked and he ends up being incredibly tanned Panda genuinely worries, while he keeps walking around and manages to meet with some of the local sorcerers who become ecstatic when they found out he’s also one. (Miguel, they said their great granddaddy was, and Yuuji didn’t say much about anything except nodding – senpai would have been happy they still remembered him and even kept an old photo on the wall of their ancestral home). They let him stay over and it is them with a couple of their kids who end up giving him a ride back to a harbor.
“Where to next?” Panda asks, fanning himself on the chair.
Yuuji reads the hologram pamphlet, swiping lazily. The bead bracelet clack with the movement. “Uh,” he flicks to the sea then back to the pamphlet, “How about… Spain?”
“Hm, never been there.”
“Me too,” Yuuji stretches. “It could be nice.”
Panda jumps on his shoulder and he heads for the ship.
===
For some time, that’s how he lives.
Moving from one place to another, learning and witnessing new things, and makes his own memories of them. It’s easy like this; nobody recognizes him and he assumes different identities as long as he can. Still alone with only Panda around, but it’s a freedom too. And it is also something that he never got to do before.
Duties and responsibilities had made him stay. One battle after another and after another another. Being a jujutsu sorcerer means, many times, to stand guard. And now, Yuuji wished Kugisaki could have enjoyed a long weekend shopping up and down Paris shops, he wished Fushiguro could have walked through the temples and sites of many, many old cities. But regrets and wistfulness have become long time ghosts by now, and Yuuji has known how to sparse them out.
Thus, he keeps moving, keeps walking. It’s a life of his, an opportunity to see everything a mortal could have only dared to dream could be a blessing in disguise for him. Yuuji takes another photo of the Mekong. He likes this camera he got from a flea market and has become quite great at using it. A couple of tourists raise their brows at him, at the now very old piece of technology in his hands.
===
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===
But home will always be home, and it is undeniable that he has come to miss it. Yuuji returns to Japan when summer is at its tail end, the cool wind greeting him as he makes his way out Haneda airport. The sun is still out and the moment he takes in the scent of the city, his shoulders loosen and a faint smile graces his lips. It’s familiar, it’s an embrace of a welcome back.
He swings by the school first. It never loses its ancientness and there’s a new barrier, smoother than what Tengen’s had been, yet stronger and much more technically engineered. Anyone else doesn’t feel the pinprick, but he does as he touches it with the tip of his finger. It hums, though he silences his own output that it registers him as a false alarm.
The training field is the same and the classes are still in that three tables format. The few new additions are the scanners and screens, along with the shiny vehicles which he suspects to be on loan by some big shot of today. He itches to try a car, but he’s not that good of a techie that he can bypass the identification key, so he just pats its hood and leaves before the students are returning from their mission.
Panda whistles when they take a look at the surviving estates. They seem to manage to thrive, keeping their lands and the architecture incredibly intact despite the faded wood and the unmissable scent of old rot wafting sometimes. The most used wings have been renovated, though they keep the façade well enough. And the guards are all new because when Yuuji’s hood slips off, they only clear their throat and stops him from entering the premise like one would do an inconvenience of having to steer a nosy tourist away.
Nobody stops him and there are no traces of “Itadori Yuuji” anymore which would have existed were he to step in front of the headquarter just ten years ago. Yet all the generations whose eyes had seen glimpses of him and whose ears had heard of him are gone, and before Yuuji fully realizes in the slowed time that his immortality granted him, it seems that the world has finally moved on. Oh, they would remember him again should he deign it, should he want it, but for now, for this century, it appears that he has finally been forgotten. Or at least, no idea of how exactly he is.
As he holds Panda in his arm, Yuuji eventually lets out a deep breath.
It’s odd. There is only nothingness that he feels.
That may as well be.
===
There’s a new complex around the apartment building. Yuuji ends up entering through the balcony and opens the door from there. He winces slightly at the dusts and quickly opens all the windows before Kugisaki really rises from the grave to knock his skull with her hammer. Water and electricity are still running, thankfully, miraculously, and he proceeds to spend the better part of the weekend deep cleaning and rearranging the furniture. All the while, Panda laughs and only perches on top of a shelf, pointing out which spot needs to be wiped next.
The poor man next door jolts when the apartment’s door creaks open and it takes Yuuji offering some fruit as placation before he calms down and, you know, not calling the apartment haunted. Posing as a busy freelancer manages to sell the story to the man and he only awes at the seemingly international lifestyle he has led.
And when the apartment is back to its sparkly, squeaky-clean sight, Yuuji throws the cleaning gloves away. He then proceeds to make his way to the last part of the city he hasn’t visited in a while.
“The pachinko parlor? Really?” Panda quips as he slides into the booth.
“Hey, a man can have his vices, no?” Yuuji feigns a hurt tone.
Panda stares yet shrugs in the end. “You’re an adult,” he acquiesces and, uncharacteristically, truly yawns. “Whatever, I think I’m taking a nap. Wake me when you’re done or it’s dinner time.”
Yuuji tilts his head at that. “Taking a nap? So suddenly?”
“Mm, tired,” Panda brushes him off. “Just wake me when you’re leaving.”
“Alright,” he says and his hands move on reflex to play. “I won’t be long.”
Panda already droops.
===
They form a sort of routine since then.
An incredibly normal routine at that. He shops for grocery, he cooks, he cleans, and on some days, he would visit the graves to clean and put fresh flowers and new incense. He keeps tabs still on everything, keeps his ears on the ground and is learning to tinker with a lot of the cameras and scanners and comms to do that – because he has nothing but time in his hands and he’s becoming better at studying (Todo would be proud, he’s sure of this).
Yet as the days go on, the normality gives way to an abnormality that is easily noticeable the third time it happens.
Panda is nodding off again. Which makes Yuuji to immediately drop everything to make a diagnosis. He traces the cursed energy inside like a network, he uses reversed curse technique to find any crack or rip, but he finds nothing. At least, none which warrant the need for a direct action. Panda himself is the one who tells him.
“I’m just tired,” he says for each time he is asked. Then, with a sigh, he adds eventually, “I think it’s the years. Constantly living means constantly exposing yourself to experience, new information that you’ll inevitably keep storing, you know,” Panda crosses his legs and Yuuji mirrors him. “I don’t think Yaga meant for me to be like this,” he muses while the birds are flying outside.
“And what did he actually want for you?” Yuuji can’t help but asks.
Silence.
Panda answers after the sky turns orange.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I just think he really wanted me to live,” he concludes. “To survive.”
Not much to do about that wish now, doesn’t it? It has come true, after all. What happens afterwards is entirely up to the ones whom those things had been made for. There’s a thin a line of a wish and a curse, and every time someone does one, it’s a coin flip – and the heavier side always, always wins.
“Panda-senpai,” Yuuji begins, earning a glance from the doll because it’s the first time again he ever regarded him with that title, “what do you want to do now?”
It doesn’t take long to ponder.
“I want to rest for a while,” Panda replies. “I think that’s the best as of now,” he stands and walks towards Yuuji. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather do it here,” he leans against him, looking around the apartment, “it’s cozy and safe.”
Yuuji nods and he picks him up. Panda’s fur is soft and he’s nice when held and nuzzled. He carries him to the spare bedroom, with blankets and pillows and a couple of seals in his pocket.
“I’ll keep the place tidy,” he promises. “Don’t you worry a thing, senpai. I’m not going anywhere,” he smiles.
“I know you won’t leave me like that,” Panda pats his hand. It’s the same calloused hand, the same strong and youthful skin. “But Itadori,” he looks up, “aren’t you tired too?”
Yuuji seals the window and toggles with the temperature before regarding him. He doesn’t wear his hoodie indoors anymore and he just shaved the underside of his hair. To Panda, he’s both the Itadori of his junior and the Itadori of these long years. His smile doesn’t change, despite the weathered look, the deceptiveness of young eyes looking back at him.
“Good night, senpai,” Yuuji says instead. “Have good dreams.”
Dreams. Pandas can do and be anything, but dreaming has been difficult lately.
Maybe that’s how exhausted he is.
“See you later, Itadori,” he yawns.
Yuuji brushes his head with his knuckles. “See you, senpai.”
And like that, Panda sleeps.
===
Aren’t you tired too?
The pachinko pings and blinks. It’s crowded tonight, people keep brushing past him. He guides the steel balls to the left.
It has been a week since Panda closes his eyes.
And suddenly, the apartment is far too quiet.
He floats from one bar to another, from the park to the museum and back again. By now, he manages to finish two books at the café he has (dangerously) becoming a regular at, and is planning to get the third installment after this.
Aren’t you tired?
The numbers roll. One by one, it shows seven, then the middle shows seven too, and the last one… shows an eight. He leans back again. Tries again.
Someone curses and another sneezes, there’s a waft of smoke somewhere, the scent so familiar ever since he shared a pack with Shoko when he got curious. She was the one who discovered about his condition and had left a stack of her research on his desk later on. Yuuji sniffs the air. He thought that cigarette brand was discontinued.
Are you tired?
The lights spark in anticipation of the rolling numbers. Neon and cheery sounds accompany the numbers, and when they all stop, there they are finally. 777. Jackpot. The machine celebrates it with a bubble gum tune and the balls hit the tray merrily.
Yuuji takes it.
On his way out, he taps the smoker’s shoulder and asks about the cig. It’s a limited edition and apparently, he just missed the last batch for this year. The greying man balks at the tray he extends.
“For those two packs,” he points out. “Don’t worry, I know the boss – she’d let you cash in my winning.”
He walks into the alleyway with his head down, fiddling with the rusty lighter as he cups the flame. It’s a bit bitter than he remembers, but the smoke, he inhales, is just as good.
It’s raining, though the drops are sparse. Tokyo is a crowded city and each space is getting smaller and smaller with the buildings that keep appearing. Rain like this won’t reach the lower levels, especially with the billions of billboards and jutted out pipes and air conditioner units cramming overhead.
Yuuji finishes half a pack before he sighs and snuffs out the ashes.
He is tired.
===
What he does is this.
He secures the apartment and ensures that it’s running on an independent power grid. Water he can always takes from a neglected pipeline and any signal use is done through his own mish mash of a network equipment. There are seals he keeps in a one kilometer and five hundred meter radius, and he erects a barrier around the property just in case.
To keep up appearance that the apartment is lived in, he ends up procuring a couple of household robots. Just enough to clean and crowd the place, and to manage the hologram rotation of a tenant.
He maintains access to the inner network the headquarter uses from a back door and gets a heavy duty server for that. And just one last time, he reads all the Heavenly Restriction people, the fewer curse users and the statuses of the weapons before he goes to sleep.
Because Panda is right.
It’s becoming exhausting.
Despite everything, he is technically a human. And humans aren’t meant to live forever, their bodies break down and their minds snapping into billions of overshooting synapses. He’s spared the ruins most are subjected to, yet half of him – the concept known as a soul, is not. It exists in the deepest depths beyond his marrow, beyond his brain matter, and it implores at Yuuji to stop for a moment.
He can’t be any help, can’t be any good suffering from lethargy and if he isn’t sharp, then one day, that would be a karmic thing. Yuuji must be ready, as long as he still is alive and he must be strong because the strength he possesses demands that responsibility.
There is the waiting also.
For what, he isn’t entirely sure yet. For an end, definitely, where he wants to face it with full conscience. For something else, perhaps, since changes always happen and maybe it is there eventually.
And Itadori Yuuji has done everything to wait aside from closing his eyes. If there is one thing which he dares himself to be a bit selfish (finally, at last, and all that), is that to sleep just for several years. Because no organism can exist in a state of perpetual constancy and those who do, are becoming victims of their own mind eating themselves inside out.
So, he chooses to sleep. In the locked bedroom that manages to still smell of roses and dog fur, and underneath the layers of blankets and pillows, the humming of seals and the clock he sets by the corner table, Itadori Yuuji lies down and just… closes his eyes.
He’ll wake up again.
This is a fact.
He is going to wake up once again.
Death hasn’t the time for him and life will always tug at him.
===
Seven years.
He always wakes after that.
There is a list he does. Clockwise, anti-clockwise. He’ll check things out, travels around to get a feel of what changed, changes and is changing – most importantly cleaning up some unnoticed messes at times, securing and resecuring cursed weapons, plays both devil’s attorney and a judge at times, beats a few troublemakers, and pays his respects at the graves, then proceeds to just watch.
To just… wait. Wait and wait and wait. It becomes a game he’s growing better at.
Hobbies help past the time and Panda stirs too. Currently, he’s really into papermaking and bookbinding and Panda provides the best support by sitting on the dry papers.
“Do not crease them,” Yuuji warns, elbow deep in a bucket.
“Oh, special order?”
Yuuji flicks away stray bangs sticking to his eye. “Yes, and they’re very specific.”
He doesn’t really need the money, but he has standards, alright. The shop is a bit of a happy accident, formed purely from messing around. Who would have thought papers are becoming like a vintage thing these days? He was sharing his results on the net and ends up taking orders now. Look at him, Itadori Yuuji, becoming a craftsman.
There is a growing of loyal customers as it goes and while none of them ever sees his face, they turn to post their sadness when he, inevitably and naturally, closes down. He scrubs his presence clean from the net.
Then, he goes to sleep again.
Cleanse and repeat. Repeat and cleanse.
Another seven years. And seven years more.
===
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===
It’s on a cold, cold spring when the cry wakes him up.
A tug and he opens his eyes. Panda snores on top of him, curled over his chest. The bedroom light clicks on, Yuuji quickly dims it. With a hand underneath Panda’s head, slowly he slides off the bed and secures the blanket over him. Rain must have just let up with how the droplets still drip down the window and the second he steps out to the balcony, the breeze blows harshly.
Oh, no wonder it’s so dark inside. He looks up. There are more skyscrapers. Tokyo has been overpopulated for the past decade and the government is laxing the rule on the height of a building to accommodate the urban demands. A property like his is rare these days and sells for egregious amount. Kugisaki was right. Picking this location was an investment.
A tug again.
He locks the balcony door, pastes the seal back and with the security system blinking green on the phone, he jumps across to the nearby billboard. Too many cameras lately, too many scanners, and he hasn’t forged an ID yet. But that crying starts again and Yuuji goes.
Over rooftops and lampposts, over fences and walls, he runs and runs. Crossing the river is easy when it’s practically deserted ever since its bank had dried up. The bustle is on full noise by the time he reaches the center, but Yuuji can only hear the crying and he picks up the pace. Tightening his hoodie, he weaves through the crowd.
The streets are packed. Too packed. His phone warns of multiple street closures and traffic jams – a parade is about to begin for a new festival, yet another one for spring. There are neon lights blinking and holograms dancing overhead, the smell of sweat and oily street food wafting along with them. A flute is being played somewhere, soft and buoyant, and like that flute, Yuuji focuses. Curses might be fewer, but cursed energy remains still and prevails even – where humans are, the accumulation of negativity follows, that is the bitter truth (yet so does the good things, the great and kind ones), and it is incredibly entwined with the hum of life that narrows down his search amongst the noises.
The crying perseveres. Yuuji purses his lips and fists his hands. He slips past barricades, vaults over ledges, forces through narrow alleyways. Closer now, he should be closer. He turns left, avoiding abandoned trash and toppled barrels full of burnt twigs and ashes. The deeper he goes to this web of back alleys, the more what residents remain in these older parts lean away into the shadows. His boots splash on the puddles from a leaking pipe as he arrives at a corner of an abandoned park. It’s quiet despite within the perimeter of the festival, a blind spot which nobody cares or perhaps, the better explanation is that it has been completely covered by the bridges and the huge billboard promising expansion from a mayoral candidate.
The cherry blossoms here remain natural and undeveloped, managing to be lush enough to obscure the moon and what streetlights remain. In any other time, he would have sat down and watched the petals. Yuuji skids to a stop when the crying is actually heard now and he follows until he reaches a rickety shrine.
Behind it, he sees them.
Blue eyes. But they belong to a small face and they aren’t alone. Yuuji observes the infant, held by pale arms – and this is where the world slows. In front of him, two pairs of eyes look at him. Two painfully familiar ones.
“What…” He murmurs, a million questions in his mind before he stops in his tracks.
There is a pointed blade. A tanto. Sleek, sharp and glinting. Stained already with red and Yuuji raises his hands before he almost steps forward because that red is all over the place and he doesn’t know yet whose it belongs to.
“I don’t mean harm,” he opens his palms, “I am unarmed.”
The tanto is still raised. Yuuji begs his heartbeats to calm.
“There’s blood,” he points out and kneels just enough for a distance, “Are you hurt? Are you both alright? I know first aid.” Whatever the things he has had learned in times such as this dissipate. He purses his lips. Get a grip, Yuuji. Get a fucking grip.
The young man holds the tanto and there’s a wild look in his glare. A cornered animal, a wolf trying to protect his cub. Yet some intelligence still shines through when Yuuji doesn’t move and keeps his voice gentle. Keeps himself calm.
“Here, I have some water with me. At least, we should wash off the wounds…” He places the bottle in the middle as an offering. As bait because he needs to know if they are hurt. “Please,” Yuuji murmurs, “he’s still crying.”
Sobbing, but he knows it’s the tiredness instead of the relative safety. The infant’s face is pink and snot wets the kimono he’s hiding his face into. The other flicks a glance to the small thing, tightens his hold as he tries gently swaying while simultaneously readying to swing his tanto.
Then, Yuuji blinks and he turns around.
The park is not empty. He stands and his shadow covers the two. His move jolts the young man but the cawing sounds freeze him.
“Don’t,” Yuuji tells him before his energy spikes and ready to attack. “Hide it.”
Shikigamis. About a dozen. Rabid in their pursuit. So different from Mei Mei’s refined ones.
“Do not move,” he whispers, “I’ll come back.”
He flares up his own presence and they zero in on him. He heads to the canal, where the water rushes enough to drag smaller bodies. Toppling a couple of boxes and stepping on bushes, he makes his footsteps obscure enough and nods to himself. The crows circle above him and he senses a low-level sealing before he cuts them all. Burns them too, when they hit the ground. He doesn’t doubt someone would have done some research and compiled all the techniques he possesses in their database, the best he could do is messing things enough to avoid connection. The shikigamis are the usual things created by the usual sorcerers – the only thing different is how they do not have any signature scent of the makers.
He disperses the ashes with a swipe of his foot, watches as the wind carries them down the water before he teleports back to the shrine. The water bottle is opened, and it’s being poured over the infant’s leg when Yuuji arrives.
“They’re gone for now,” he placates the other. “I promise I took care of them.”
It’s the first time the young man cracks open his mouth. “… Thank you.”
Yuuji smiles. “So, how are you two? I…” He scratches his head. Right. He forgot. “Sorry,” he squats down and pulls off his hood, “I’m scaring the little one like that, sorry. My name is Yuuji. Could you tell me your name?”
Two things happen at once.
The tanto clanks to the ground and the other shoots up in a flash. A certain light shines in those eyes. Hope. Desperation. Imploration. It pushes at Yuuji to straighten up lest he topples over.
“Yuuji? Itadori Yuuji?”
Many years have passed for someone to say his name besides Panda. And it would have brought another smile if it weren’t for the fear and the blood and the zing of a vow blazing like a chain around his very being.
“Yes,” he answers. “I am.”
That wrenches out a choked-out sound.
“Please,” the young man half crawls, half runs up to him. “Please, help us. Rika said you could, she told me to find you…” He trails off as he looks down at the confused, confused infant in his hold. “I don’t know where to go…” He murmurs and before he rambles off – concussion, Yuuji suspects, and blood loss – Yuuji puts a hand on his arm.
“Let’s go somewhere safe first,” he tries. “We need to get you both looked over an-” He braces the second the other’s eyes roll back and he catches him.
His back hits the shrine and it creaks its rotting wood.
The child, now pressed against him, glances up.
He begins to cry again.
===
The rain resumes as he throws the mud caked sandals away. Getting the young man inside means water and dirt trails into the living room, but at least, the cleaning robot distracts the child enough to loosen his death grip and Yuuji manages to place the other on the couch. His reversed curse technique had never been the greatest, only the long practice he subjected himself into made him a good enough healer.
The towel and bucket quickly turn pink, and he murmurs an apology before wrapping the young man in a kimono he managed to rummage through the back of the wardrobe. It pales in comparison with the ruined one – it’s silk, the kind which Kugisaki had collected once and now in a fabric museum, an omeshi type or something similar. But Yuuji doesn’t linger long on this. Instead, he notes the curious bangle, a disguised jammer with a powerful chip which also had fizzled his own device. It is sequence locked. Perhaps by the other’s own or….
The child sniffles and Yuuji pulls out the duvet and mattress. He’s so small for someone housing the Six Eyes within those equally tiny eyes. Had Gojo-sensei been this fragile? Been this soft and burdened by too many things at once he doesn’t know yet? Yuuji pulls the curtains close and shuts everything up except the fridge to make a sound. Its hum seems to lull the child. Enough to sway and finally passes out too. He piles enough pillows to make a fort and covers the cracks with a blanket.
His eyes water and he wants to hold him but fights his own arms down – this is a small human incapable of weathering the crushing hug he wants to give, after all – and wrenches his focus to the poor thing’s leg that had been washed by the water. Yuuji narrows his eyes when he finds the faded, thin line circling it.
“Who did this?” He holds the tiny, chubby leg.
But this is not the man who could understand and answer, and Yuuji is only met with sniffled out souns. He looks down at this child who bears too striking of a resemblance than just those crystalline orbs of inheritance, at the wet cheeks and red nose. Then, slowly, he goes back to the other again. Another familiar face, another mirror. An existing impossibility.
Yuuji closes his eyes.
What happened?
Then, to himself, he chastises.
How did I not notice?
===
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===
There is a man.
Or… was.
The hands are not his and he’s much too tall. The voice is his and he doesn’t understand what is said. It’s a summer, the sun warm but he can’t feel it. The room they are in is wide and the sliding doors are all pushed opened, the engawa and the garden in full view.
“Just for precaution,” your mouth moves.
It’s bright yet it’s also kind and friendly. It’s someone who lives a full life and with their loved ones walking around in this house he had come to call home.
“I’m sorry to put this burden on you, but you’re the one I can trust with this.”
There are regrets he has, but this is one he won’t have.
….. but he is not old yet.
“Should you be able to meet again,” he says, “look after them, please?”
And it becomes much too bright.
“Of course.”
“……. Thank you.”
===
A ceiling greets him.
It’s clean, the paint fresh, and… modern.
“Satoru!”
He scrambles up.
The side of the couch is cold, there is nothing, and he doesn’t feel any warmth-
“He’s over here.”
A voice. To his left. He turns and it is then the sound of the radio reaches his ears. It’s like the one back at storage, a bit cleaner though and maintained enough the music isn’t scratchy. The floor is warm and soft, his feet digging into the carpet as he hobbles to Satoru.
“Satoru…” His hands lift the boy and Satoru reaches out too, slapping a chunk of fruit against his shoulder. He’s always like this when he’s happy, always eager to share when he sees him. He slumps. Taking deep, deep breath of… baby powder and cotton. The clothes he’s wearing are colorful, all bright stars and clouds. They never gave him this-
“It’s alright, it’s alright.”
That voice again. The man almost reaches the top of the bookshelf and the width of his shoulders are blocking the door despite the distance. Pink. Cherry blossom pink for hair. A splash of color on the otherwise dark garb he wears.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” he tries to relax. Tries to not be rude by pulling Satoru far away from the high chair. “I… Thank you. At the park. I didn’t know it was you.”
“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” the man – Yuuji. Itadori Yuuji. Rika had made sure he remembers it well along with the kanji and the description of his person – and he shrugs, hand gesturing to the other empty chair by the kitchen island, “Please, have a seat. I’m making tea.”
He’s doing more than just tea. There are a pot and a pan, and the small bowl with the same fruit Satoru is nibbling now. When he glances up, he realizes there’s a projected rotating picture of a shore that Satoru is also observing. It’s beautiful. He’s never been there.
The steaming cup is placed in front of him and after a second, he finally sits down. Satoru settles in his lap and he pulls the bowl closer. Safe, he reminds himself. This Itadori should be safe. You can trust him. It’s good that Satoru isn’t throwing a tantrum in a stranger’s face. Safe, he repeats, if Satoru doesn’t fuss, then it means it’s safe.
Yuuji takes a seat across, sipping at the tea without blowing.
“I know you know my name, but I haven’t gotten yours,” he begins, finger tracing nonsensical circles, “Could you tell me now?”
Nobody ever really asks. Everyone knows just who he is back home. Except Rika. Only she ever did that the moment they met for the first time. The newness hasn’t really settled at the back of his mind.
Thus, it is with a careful breath, he answers.
“Yuuta,” he forms his own name, “My name is Yuuta, and he’s… he is Satoru.”
And the man has a similar smile to Rika when he tells his name. A smile and not a smile – which is odd, but it doesn’t matter. It does not at all.
“Yuuta and Satoru,” Yuuji repeats. “Those are good names.”
He doesn’t know about any good for any name. Now with blood in his hands and the disappearing concept of home, Yuuta doesn’t believe he truly knows anything.
“We… I need your help.”
“I know,” Yuuji nods and he turns off the stove. “But first, let’s have dinner, yeah? Bet you’re hungry after all that running.”
Satoru seems to agree. He keeps grabbing the bowl despite being already empty now. And his stomach churns too. If he has counted the sunsets correctly, it might have been about three days since. It had been poor planning and he lost their bag a couple alleys down after leaving the grounds.
It’s safe, he repeats to himself. It’s safe and Satoru is here – already cleaned and changed and warm. It’s safe. He should eat. With how his arms tremble he really, really should.
Itadori Yuuji smiles again when he nods and it’s easier to stop thinking and just holds Satoru closer to his chest.
Later, he can gather his mind later. After they all eat. It’s safe, it’s safe here. Rika swore it will be with Itadori Yuuji. And he has nothing else aside from that trust in her. He hopes she is alright. He hopes they do not destroy the ring.
===
Yuuji leaves them alone to grab a couple of sauce bottles from the pantry. He leans back behind the door. For a moment. Just a for a moment. The past is sitting at the kitchen island and suddenly, he is fifty, thirty, twenty, fifteen all over again.
What you would have given? To have a good meal together with everyone?
It’s a dangerous thought and it’s a trap he has always refused to bait into. He isn’t his mother, he isn’t his father. There is no need to hold onto corpses and sully the memories of the dead. His mothers are gone – all ashes and even those exist no more, and Kenjaku’s deeds are twice cleaned and forgotten by this era. He and everyone had made sure of that, had only allowed the proof of his acts to be him and only him.
It’s like he’s fifteen all over again.
And this is the first time, he truly dislikes it.
Yet he pushes himself off the door and steps back out. There are sen…. Yuuta and Satoru, and they are famished. This, at least, is easy. This, he thinks, is something he can do.
He scoops the rice and pours the miso soup, and as he places them in front of Yuuta sen… Yuuta, his hand does not shake. Then, Satoru tugs at his sleeve, demanding with all the strength an infant could muster and it is so much like his sensei when he didn’t get his way, and Yuuji almost fails.
Was there something else?
He cuts up the fish and diced the steamed tofu, knife almost nicking a finger.
Was there something I had missed?
Yet there is no one who can answer.
After all, Itadori Yuuji is the only one left.