Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 1: kids

It's a wet summer and Satoru is angry. A low simmering thing that won’t leave the center of his chest and spurs his ‘reckless’ behavior. He almost wishes he wasn’t angry but angry . The kind of anger that would make people shut the fuck up for three goddamned seconds and let Satoru figure out where he stands now as a sorcerer, and as a fucking human being. But he’s a simmering anger that makes him snappish and quick to pull up the new power he’s mastered. Shoko has started to avoid him at all costs if she notices he’s particularly assholery,  and he supposes he doesn’t mind. Their little spats are getting exhausting. Satoru is vaguely annoyed at everything, especially, and most recently, children he cannot find and wet summers. 

Thunder follows him back from the third elementary school he’d visited that week. He has a damp list he’s crossing prefectures and names from, tucked into his palm and with each school another layer of dread fills him. Satoru has been trying to track down Megumi Zen'in/Fushiguro for about two months at this point. It’s been a pain in his ass. No one takes too kindly to him requesting time off to try and find the child. It’s been a fight between going to all ends of the earth to fight curses and scouring Tokyo for a kid that he has no legal or familial right to approach. If anything Satoru has the complete opposite of legal or familial right to find the boy. He knows that he shouldn’t be annoyed that adults–adultier adults–are careful when he asks them, oh hey have you seen this child? Do I know more about him but his name? No! Is he missing? Not the slightest clue! Am I family? Hell no, me and his daddy played a sweet little game of mutual murder! Are the nightmares crippling? Hahaha. What nightmares? Sleep who?

Anyways. Did he mention how wet the summer has been?

Satoru ducks under an awning as thunder grumbles angrily from the sky. He stuffs the list into the pocket of his jeans and rubs at his eyes. He likes the rain. Or. Actually he liked the rain, but now the weather turns and Satoru’s body turns with it. Lights up with pain that he doesn’t want to remember. He aches down to his bones. The nerves in his arms flaring with agony like Toji is plunging a blade into Satoru again. His head throbs, but only on that one side, an ache that spreads down his brow to rest in his cheekbone. Satoru hasn’t mentioned it to anyone, even as the rainy weeks almost cripple him. He’s fine when it’s dry out, and he spent so long perfecting reversed cursed energy that to admit pain feels like personal betrayal. Besides, Shoko is busy half the time and annoyed with him the other half. 

The pain he can ignore, or at least compartmentalize so he can move on to better things, but he needs help finding the kid and he can admit that to himself. Satoru flips his phone open and considers his options. He ponders the long list of cons and the single pro of calling up his family to see if he can use some of their stalker equipment. They probably know exactly where the boy is, what he’s doing and the last time he took a shit. Nevermind. No pros. Satoru would rather track the little ferret down the old fashion way. So his family connections put to the side, Satoru has an even smaller selection of people still in his contacts.

Kento. The last thing he did was hit Satoru across the face and declare he was leaving the school. Satoru was ready to fist fight him in that moment, wanting nothing more than to hit something. Someone. To have someone hit back just as hard. But all Kento had done was hit him, and hiss that everything was Satoru’s fault. Which. Satoru knows that. So he’d laughed in Kento’s face and hadn’t heard from him since. A part of him, a very deep part of him that’s buried beneath anger and something he doesn’t have a name for, regrets it. Satoru chews his lip, presses his palm into his eye socket to try and soothe the ache and types out a short message one handed. 

Me: hey ned help u up 4 it???!?!?!

His other option. Shoko. Actually she doesn’t have a choice, and she’d already helped him in his initial insecurity of where to start by pointing out how much public information there actually is for Satoru to dig around in. 

There’s Utahime. Hm. Satoru…isn’t sure. She might have been the only one to actually get tears out of him in a spine cringing lapse of self control. They’d been talking about some bullshit meeting, Satoru wearing a uniform crusted in a week's worth of curse slime, his blood, food and other things. Both leaning over a table looking at reports and out of nowhere Utahime asked Satoru if he was okay . Holy fuck. So maybe he cried. Just a little. A few tears out of wide eyes before he breathed a laugh and lied. But. She’s in Kyoto and Satoru has barely spent time in Kyoto looking for the kid. He doesn’t think Toji would be anywhere near Kyoto, much less keep his spawn there, but completely ignoring it is stupid. 

Satoru rolls his neck, shoves his hand harder against his eye. 

Me: need a favor kno u got the timE :>

Uta: what.

Me: u in??????

Uta: details first.

Me: lookin 4 a child

Uta: no

Satoru is about to type out something vaguely annoying when the pain in his face becomes blinding. His vision whites out for a moment, his head going so silent it rings. He chokes on a little gasp when his vision rights itself. That’s not normal. That goes beyond the ache, beyond the double ache that seems to be connected to the weather. Satoru rubs gently, but firmly against his eye. His phone had dipped dangerously in his hand, sagging towards the hard concrete below. Satoru grips it tighter, brings the screen up to his face. The little chat log with Utahime blurs for a moment before clearing. 

Me: okey fine was gonna be fun

Satoru doesn’t wait for a response before he closes his phone and slides it back into his pocket. The pain has receded into a sharp hum that feels like it’s suctioned to the side of his face. If Satoru was none the wiser, he’d think he had a curse attached. Actually he might prefer that. He could kill it, be done with the pain and go on with his life. But no . That would be too damn easy. Instead he might be getting something like a head cold. Satoru stomps down the sidewalk in the vague direction of the train that’ll take him close(ish) to campus. He’s more so looking for something to eat. Something hot and hearty, maybe a quiet table to sit at in a dim corner. 

The day is well and truly over by the time Satoru drags himself back to campus. It’s still rainy and the satisfaction of a hot meal had been wrung once again from Satoru as the muggy night slipped between his clothes and made him sweat. It’s a terrible feeling to be wet with sweat and also warm rain. Campus is pretty much deserted; if anyone is still here they’re taking shelter from the never ending rain. Satoru makes a straight line to the boys dormitory. All lights remain off except for the bathroom and Satoru’s room towards the middle of the hall. He goes through his nightly routine feeling annoyed and getting irrationally angry when little things go wrong. There are no texts to read and a missed call from Yaga, probably telling him he’s going somewhere ludicrous in the morning. Satoru lets out a long breath, tosses his phone onto his bedside table and goes to sleep. 

In the interest of searching through as many schools as possible before a school break ruins all of Satoru’s work, he redoubles his efforts. For the most part that means hitting more schools in a short period of time, up to ten a day–he’s getting better at teleportation– or scouring public information about neighborhoods and urban sprawl. The thing that’s frustrating him, and every one he talks to, his how little information he has. If he knew what the kid looked like he could probably find him with the aid of Six Eyes. If he knew the kids' residuals that’d be even better. But Satoru is looking for  a needle in a haystack, unsure how much of what Toji told him is true. He’s tried the surnames Zen'in and Fushiguro at every school, in every public information office, and there has yet to be a Megumi listed among them. He does find a Tsumiki Fushiguro registered to a school close to Sanya. He tucks that into the back of his head for little more than the proximity to Sanya. But other than that he’s gotten nowhere.

“You started too late,” Yaga tells Satoru.

He’s letting Satoru nap in his office, a weird little allowance that Satoru has been too grateful for to question much. He sleeps poorly alone in the dorms so the naps in Yaga’s doll infested office are appreciated. Satoru has just finished bitching about his non-luck, a little drowsy and napscarred. 

“I didn’t have the time before now,” Satoru groans. “I know I should have gone immediately.”

Yaga pauses in his felting to look over at Satoru. He considers him silently;another slightly disturbing development. Yaga will just… look at Satoru for moments at a time, then look away and pretend he hadn’t been. 

“Did you ever see Shoko after your fight with Fushiguro?”

Satoru blinks at the ceiling. “Uh. No? Why would I need to? And why is that relevant now ? That was like a lifetime ago.”

“Eighteen months is not a lifetime.”

Satoru flaps a hand at him. It feels like a lifetime. Like two or three, and Satoru is some wretched immortal thing slogging his way through them. 

“I think you should ask Haruki.”

“Ugh. Nooo. I hate that guy.”

“He has information about both clans and acts as an unbiased party.”

“Bull shit . He always favored those Zen'in brats.”

Satoru rolls over on the couch, shoving his face into the cushions, putting his back to Yaga. He hears the man mutter something. 

“I don’t want to go to my family,” Satoru says, quieter than he meant. 

“Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want for the sake of others.”

Yeah. 

“I don’t want them to know.”

“That is a valid concern,” Yaga says. “But time is running out.”

“What does that mean?” Satoru asks the couch cushions. “Toji only told me the kid was being sold off soon and the Zen'in would have boasted about it if they already had the kid.”

“Satoru.”

That tone means, you’re smarter than that, you pig headed boy. Satoru closes his eyes. The Zen'in hadn’t bragged about it yet which means the kid is still out there which is good for Satoru, but probably not so good for the kid. Satoru knows that a mother is probably not in the picture, or if she is, she’s no better than Toji. What mother would sell their child to an incest ridden clan?

“I can arrange for a meeting with Haruki to happen on campus if that would make you feel better about talking with him.”

“ Fine ,” Satoru says. “See if he can come later this week.”

Satoru thinks he’s going to sleep again, the office is warm even as it storms outside, and Yaga is one of the more familiar things in Satoru’s life right now. A solid constant that makes Satoru feel almost normal. Yaga’s office is, admittedly, slightly creepy with a litany of half finished corpses, button eyes and glass eyes staring from all angles, but Panda is pretty much complete and he seems to enjoy Satoru’s company. The little creature is curled at the foot of the couch right now. Creepy, a smidge off normal, warm, inviting and with a blunt panda child to inform Satoru of all his flaws before demanding to be held. The perfect place for Satoru to bed down for a few precious hours. 

“Are you in pain?”

Satoru opens his eyes. 

“What?”

“Are you in pain?” Yaga is leaning over him, looking at Satoru with furrowed brows and something like disapproval.

“No?”

“No? Or No.”

Satoru sits up, squint-glares at his principal. “What makes you think I’m in pain?”

“You’re quiet. I’ve never seen you so quiet, and your residuals throb.”

“I’m achy,” Satoru says because lying to Yaga is a fool's errand. “When it rains I…hurt.”

More, he hurts more, in a less ignorable way. 

Yaga frowns deeper. “Where?”

Satoru points to his chest and the points on his arms that burn with sensation and the part of his throat that feels like suffocation, and finally the ball of agony on his forehead. 

“It comes and goes, and I’m not bleeding or anything.”

“Do you find it hard to function sometimes? Move your limbs and such.”

“Uh. Not really?” Satoru shifts on the couch. He’s not a fan of this interrogation and he’s feeling in every moment that passes that this was a cleverly devised plan to get Satoru talking about his weird pain. 

Yaga moves back towards his desk. He digs through a drawer, withdraws an old paper, and flourishes it towards Satoru. 

“Take this.”

“What is it?”

“A doctor in Tokyo. I want you to go and see him.”

Satoru laughs, then stops laughing when Yaga does nothing but furrow his brows at him. 

“A normal doctor? What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Tell him what happened.”

“I got stabbed several times by a magical dagger and should be dead ten times over?” Satoru says in disbelief. “I’m sure that’ll go over well and not get me locked in the nearest psych ward.”

Yaga crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell him you were attacked, stabbed multiple times and experienced heart failure.”

“And a brain bleed.”

Yaga’s brows shoot up. “You had a brain bleed?”

“I fixed it.”

At least Satoru thinks he fixed it. 

“Oh my fuc–okay. Yes, mention that, and tell him that you are experiencing residual pain that flares during storms.”

Satoru folds the paper and shoves it into a pocket. “Okay, I’ll do that in all my abundant free time.”

“I will make time.”

Yaga makes time. Satoru has an appointment set for the next day which is…unusual and so annoying that Satoru is pissed off the whole morning. He’d been out of the country for a few hours, over in some part of America that was so destitute Satoru doesn’t even know the name of the place. He’d teleported under the watchful eye of a supervisor who would then report back to the higher ups and inform them if Satoru was able to go the distance without vomiting. He does vomit upon reaching American soil but the supervisor wasn’t there to see it. Curse handled, a second grade in a town of conspiracy theorists– Suguru would have loved that–and Satoru is sitting in the waiting room of Tokyo general hospital. 

He’s not nervous, at least he tells himself he isn’t, but Satoru has never been to a normal doctor ever. Any medical issues he had when he was a child–he had bad sensory issues for a while, and then couldn’t eat most things until he turned like ten–were handled by a clan healer. The healing was a mix of jujutsu, spiritual and medicinal. Satoru had a lot of hot spring visits and isolation treatments. He’s not dead so obviously they did something right. Shoko knows a lot about normal medicine, she’d more or less rewritten most of the textbooks on healing that are at the tech. Everything is outdated and Shoko loves her morphine. 

Satoru’s name is called. He shuffles to his feet and follows a woman with a clipboard back into the hospital. She directs him where to go and Satoru steps into a smallish office. The doctor–Ryuzaki Shirogane–middle aged but close to older, looks up from his chart when Satoru comes in. The man looks surprised to see him,  put off by Satoru’s appearance, or maybe the sunglasses in a building. 

“You’re younger than I anticipated,” the doctor says. He motions Satoru to sit on the bed.

“Yeah,” Satoru says. 

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. I’ll be nineteen in December.”

A note. 

“Did your father make the appointment?”

Satoru barks a laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Okay…can you explain why you’ve come to see me?”

Satoru smiles with his teeth and explains, I was stabbed a bajillion times here, here, here, here. I died for like two seconds. Brain bleed, heart attack, all that jazz. Walked that off, but now it hurts off and on.

The doctor stares at him, somewhere during Satoru’s story he’d stopped taking notes. 

“That’s impressive. I should feel honored talking to someone who survived such a violent ordeal.” He writes a few more notes. “You’re here only for lingering pain, correct?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “It comes in bouts, and the level is always different. I notice it more when it rains.”

“Yes, it isn’t rare for people who experience chronic pain will notice flare ups when the weather changes.”

“Chronic pain.”

“I would almost guarantee it. I’d like to run some tests, maybe get you a CT scan to check on your head.”

Satoru isn’t actually sure he has time for this, but he agrees and sits getting his blood drawn and answering questions about sensation. At the end of the appointment Satoru is told to come back at the end of the following month for a scan, is prescribed a medication for his migraines and the worse of the pain and sent off with a diagnosis of severe nerve damage, chronic pain, acute malnutrition ,and something with his heart that made the doctor breathe a little quick. His heart had only been nicked though, so it can’t be that bad. 

The prescriptions procured, a sweet treat in hand, and a mood sour enough to curdle milk, Satoru wanders into the nearest elementary school. It's late enough that there aren’t many kids left behind but for clubs. 

“Hiya,” Satoru says to the woman at the front desk. She observes him coolly. “I was wondering if you had any Fushiguro’s in attendance here? I’m a cousin to Toji Fushiguro who, well,” Satoru makes a drinking motion and then slices across his throat, “if you get my drift. I’m trying to make sure his kid is okay.”

The woman glares at him. “I’m not at liberty to hand out information about our students.”

“Sure,” Satoru says easily. “Is there anything I can do to prove my intentions?”

“I need written permission from the guardian.”

“Ma’am,” Satoru says, “he’s dead as hell.”

He is then escorted from the property. 

That’s fine, Satoru thinks as he meanders school-ward, mouth full of crepe , that school was way too fancy for the Fushiguro whelp. 

One terrible, terrible trip to Belovo, a day in the library in Tokyo and Shoko inviting Satoru out for drinks solely because he doesn’t, Haruki comes to campus. 

Satoru watches him from the porch of the cafeteria. He stands with his hands in his pockets, feet spread wide. 

“You look like you’ve smelt shit,” Yaga mutters to him. “Knock it off.”

Easy for him to say. Satoru can smell shit and it’s walking towards them in a three piece suit, bald head gleaming in the sun, briefcase in hand like the prick Haruki Gojo is. 

“Little brother,” Haruki says after Yaga has tipped a bow to him. He steps up the stairs with his arms open like he expects Satoru to step into them. 

They aren’t brothers. Not really, not in any way that matters. The truth that Satoru’s dad had fucked some other woman came out a month or so after Satoru turned twelve. The result was a much older boy, damn Haruki, who called Satoru Pink Eye and put fish eggs in his bed. It wasn’t at all excusable. Haruki has several years on Satoru; the guy had beef with a literal child. But it was a little funny, the drama that came out of it. If it could be called drama. Infidelity in the Gojo Clan is as normal as breathing, but Satoru’s father had been so proud that he’d sired the Six Eyes. Twelve years of bragging and pointing at Satoru while standing several feet away and it wasn’t his ball sludge after all but something in Satoru’s mother. May he roll in his fucking grave. 

Haruki is painfully normal. As normal as a sorcerer can be. Short by Gojo standard, drab looking with hair brown enough that he prefers to be bald. He’d been put in charge of correspondence and records when his technique proved useful in gathering retained memory from objects. He’s also slimy and charming in an off putting way that makes people bend to his will. Satoru sees him like a traitor, he did favor the Zen'in children, offering them kindness that he actively refused to give the children of his clan. Politics be damned, it was shitty to grow up being escorted around by Haruki like a little prize or doll. A doll that gets thrown against walls and a prize that has never been dusted. 

“I’m not your brother,” Satoru says. 

Haruki clicks his tongue and reaches forward to grab at Satoru’s earlobe. He’s always yanked on it, not a tug, a full on yank that would pull Satoru’s head sideways. His hand hits Infinity and for a moment his face goes a little slack. Satoru takes a step back. 

“I need to ask for your assistance, which I am allowed to do without fearing any lingering debts, favors, ect., ect.”

Haruki recovers himself quickly, tucking the reaching hand into the pockets of his slacks. Expensive and a deep blue. At least he has taste in clothes. 

“Now, now, I’d help you out anyways Sat-o-ru.”

“Stop,” Satoru snaps. “I’m Gojo to you.”

“Fine. Gojo. What do you want from me?”

They end up in the campus library, closed into a quiet corner. Haruki has pulled up a laptop, a worn composition notebook and a little case that contains an assortment of talismans that Satoru eyes wearily. 

“Does the clan know you’re looking for one of their own?” Haruki asks as he types. 

“Eh. No. I have no plan on telling them either.”

Haruki pauses and looks over at Satoru. “Kidnapping is a crime.”

“Oh no. And selling a child to an incest cult isn’t?” Satoru rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “What are you doing anyways?”

“Social forums.”

“Seriously?” Satoru cranes around to look at the screen. “Why?”

“Because that’s the easiest way to track someone down.”

“Fuck me,” Satoru groans. He smacks his forehead down on the table. “Is this what you do all day? Fuck around on social forums?”

“No,” Haruki says. “You said Fushiguro?” 

“Mhm.”

“Okay well, does this look like anything?”

The laptop is turned towards Satoru. There’s an old posting, a grainy photo of, oh. Satoru feels his stomach turn uncomfortably. That's Toji Fushiguro. Dressed for a wedding, dwarfing the woman who clings to his arm smiling wide. It’s dated back to the late nineties. Right on the turn of the century. Toji is smiling, looking down at her, something kind, sweet. Satoru thinks he might vomit. 

“Yeah. That’s uh. That’s him.”

“Great.” The laptop is pulled away again. “So from what I’m seeing here they had a kid in two thousand and two, at–give me a moment. Huh. Nevermind there are no records in hospitals.”

“I could have told you that,” Satoru mumbles. “I’m pretty sure he was a homebirth or something.”

“The mother died whatever it was. Here’s an obituary.”

[Redacted] Zen’in Born May 11th  1975 Died December 22nd 2002 Sanya Tokyo Parents…

Satoru nods and nods and nods again. 

“There’s a Fushiguro in Sanya right now,” Satoru says. 

“When does Fushiguro come into the picture here?” Haruki asks.

“I don’t know,” Satoru says, “that’s what you’re supposed to figure out.”

Haruki presses his lips together. “You’ve given me nothing to work with.”

“And look how well you’re doing. Want a pat on the head?”

“I can’t believe you’re still such a child. I have half a mind to spill this little secret mission you have going.”

“You do that and I’ll kill you,” Satoru says.

Dark eyes narrow. “I don’t take kindly to being threatened.”

“Neither do I,” Satoru says.

“Do you know why I agreed to come and help you?”

“Because I hold all the power over you?” 

“No,” Haruki says through a scowl. “I agreed because I think you’re clever for grabbing this asset for our clan when the moment is opportune.”

Satoru frowns. “I’m not getting the kid for the clan. You’ll be lucky if I ever bring him to the compound. If he will ever know who you are.”

“You’re going to hoard power?” Said with disbelief but also the smug satisfaction of someone who thinks they caught a mouse in an open trap. “Don’t you have enough of that already?”

“Oh my god.” Satoru knocks his forehead against the table. “Why the hell would I need some brats power?”

“It's not about power?”

“I mean sure. Kid has a cool as hell technique and it better kick my ass one day.”

Haruki tilts his head, “that doesn’t make sense.”

Satoru shrugs, pulls out his phone and flutters his fingers at Haruki’s screen in a proceed motion. Haruki starts click clacks at his keys, and writes things down in his notebook. Satoru goes through his call log, scowling at the steadily rising number of missed calls. Yaga said he’d try to keep everyone off Satoru’s back today which appears to not be working at all. He’ll have to call some of these people back soon. He glances at Haruki. 

“I need to go make some phone calls,” Satoru says as he gets up. 

“If you aren’t going to help, I’m going to leave.”

Satoru points at his screen. “You see this number? That’s a first year student. She’s been here for a week and a half, this is her third curse. If they’re calling me, something went bad wrong.”

Haruki clenches his jaw but looks away. 

Something did go bad wrong. They’re down an assistant and the little first year–who Satoru physically hauled from the wreckage of a bathhouse–is missing an ear. It was a big curse, too big for a newbie and assistant. Satoru is furious when he gets back. Haruki? Gone. Yaga? Standing between Satoru and murder. Satoru paces in the hallway that Yaga has more or less barricaded him in, as if Satoru couldn’t just blow a hole through the wall and run away. He isn’t going to and Yaga knows it as much as Satoru does. Yaga also strategically placed Panda in the hall with a ball and a stack of blocks. The cute little fuck toddles back and forth with Satoru trying to snag his pants before he realizes he can do that better if he stays in one place. 

When Yaga returns, Satoru is laying on his back, arms spread, Panda curled in the center of his chest. Satoru frowns up at Yaga when he leans over his face. 

“I’m stealing this.” He points at Panda. 

Yaga almost smiles. “No.”

“You can’t stop me. I’m the strongest.”

“I’d be willing to fight you for him.”

“Really?!”

Yaga sighs, pinches his nose. “No. That. Came out wrong. My boy is not a prize won in a duel.”

Satoru blows a raspberry. “But look how much he likes me.”

Panda does like Satoru. He’s a shy little bear most of the time, but Satoru thinks maybe he gives off just enough weird vibes to be not quite human. They both hum with cursed energy, it runs in their blood and fluff in excess simply through the means of their creation and recreation. 

“We’re buddies.”

“I'm glad he could keep you contained,” Yaga says. 

“Oh. Right.” Satoru looks at Panda. “I forgot he’s used against me. Not cool, Yaga.”

“I can’t have you killing anyone, Satoru. No matter how angry you are.”

“They really, really deserve it.”

Yaga lifts Panda off Satoru’s chest, waking him in the process. “You aren’t the judge of that.”

Satoru sits up, rubs his forehead. Oh yeah. It’s raining. More. And he hasn’t taken his stupid pills today.  Panda reaches for him, one tiny, grasping paw. It eases the pounding ache and anger, leaving Satoru weary. He sways to his feet. 

“How’s the first year?”

Yaga shifts a squirming Panda in his grasp. Satoru holds out a finger for the kid to grab. Panda doesn’t chew but he absolutely grabs and holds and refuses to release until there is a new thing to grab or he falls asleep. 

“She’ll be fine. Shoko says the blood loss wasn’t as severe as it appeared.”

Satoru nods jerkily. He’s watching Panda tug his finger. “Haruki was a bust.”

“He left me some papers for you before he left.”

“Really? Huh. So maybe not a bust. But, I don’t really trust him.”

Yaga hums. “Is there anyone you do trust?”

“Panda,” Satoru says. 

Haruki tracked down where Fushiguro came into the story. A second marriage, one without pictures, nearly nonexistent, not of a clan, nor a sorcerer. There’s another obituary. A newer one from two thousand and eight. Satoru’s leg jumps. That proves it. Megumi Fushiguro is alone right now. Fuck. Maybe he’s dead . Satoru goes through the rest of the papers and decides that he needs to overturn Sanya. At the bottom of the pile is a page that looks like it was ripped straight out of Haruki’s notebook. It’s scrawled in his neat handwriting. 

Satoru, I was doing some work for the Inumaki’s a year or so ago and I came across a few interesting things. First, if you’re really in the business of teaching like you claim, there is a new child in the Inumaki compound who could greatly benefit from attending the Tech. I can give you further information on that if you so desire. Second, I came across a long lost cousin along our line. Yuuta Okkotsu . I was curious and followed a few leads. He's living as a normal in the east of the city. I was unaware of an outsider, you best be wary of him. Unless he is a normal and then that is a break in our bloodline and should, as such, be reburied. 

You and I are not so different, besides all the ways we are. We come from the same place. I am not as blind as you think I am. You need to open your eyes, Satoru. Isolation is how you–

Satoru folds the letter and sets it aside. He’s not taking advice from Haruki, but damn. He wishes he really wasn't much different from Haruki. Life would be so much easier. Satoru takes off his shades, digs his fingers harshly into his eye sockets. Thunder curls outside and catches along the inside of his face like a physical thing, a ringing that stays and stays and stays. It starts to rain. 

Chapter Text

Sanya is a cesspool of curses. The ground all but writhes with them as Satoru wanders in what is considered the slums of Tokyo. They’re the type of curses that make Satoru feel deeply into the recesses of himself. As a sorcerer you become immune to curses and how horrifying they are pretty quick. There was a curse in the chambers Satoru was birthed in, something born of his mother’s agony and stripped agency, one of the first things Satoru saw. He doesn’t like to think about that curse, about what it means for his existence. But the point is, curses are as familiar to Satoru as breathing is, and yet the curses in Sanya make him feel sick. 

Satoru follows the wear and tear of the place into a neighborhood rain drenched and slumping. It’s not raining this evening, the sun comes golden through the streets, yet the place is an oppressive damp. From the sidewalks and dark corners people call out to Satoru. Slurs mostly, incoherence. A man has a curse with a slimy hand wrapped around his throat. He’s crouched in the shelter of a dilapidated house, barefeet, toes curling and eyes unseeing as he stares into the street. Satoru waves a hand, gets rid of the thing like he’s batting at the numerous insects. The man takes no notice. Some curses cannot be so easily dispelled. It is the hardest lesson for Satoru to learn. A direct contradiction to everything that Satoru is. 

There’s a corner store tucked away a few blocks from the man. There are lights on and the smell of frying food mixing with humans and cigarette smoke. Satoru steps into the shop, quietly relieved to see a woman at the counter fanning herself, armed with a fly swatter. She looks up when he all but looms in the door, blinks several times at him and smiles a gap toothed thing. 

“I was wondering if you could help me,” Satoru says as he comes to her counter. 

There’s a cat draped over a back shelf with a fan turned onto it, orange fur being blown against the grain. The store is sweltering, there’s sweat along the woman’s hairline. Humans are funny creatures. 

“What do you need?”

“I’m looking for a Fushiguro. Any Fushiguro, but I know a Tsumiki might live close to here.”

The woman’s eyes light with recognition. 

“Ah. Fushiguro. Sweet lady. Not so sweet man. Hate to see it happen.”

Satoru nods encouragingly. “Are you talking about Toji Fushiguro?”

“Yes, yes. He practically lived here when his wife would dump him on the streets. Drank me out of my stock.”

Ugh, Satoru thinks he might have a panic attack. Which is stupid. He blew a hole through Toji. Carved him like a plank of wood. Liquified his insides, debated blowing another hole through him when the body fell over. He’s dead. But suddenly Satoru can see his hulking form by the low humming liquor fridge. Can see him leaning on this counter smiling the same grimace that haunts Satoru. 

“Don’t tell me you’re looking for him.”

“Ha, no. His kid actually.”

The woman frowns. “I haven’t seen Megumi in a long time. He was still fat and shapeless the last time Toji brought him in here.” A shake of her head. “Left me with him for a night. Damn pig.”

“But he did live around here?”

“Who knows. You don’t really live here.”

Satoru drums his fingers on the counter. “If he did though, or if he stayed here for long periods of time, could you give me directions?”

She gives him directions. Lines scribbled on old receipt paper. Satoru buys a bag of candy before he leaves. It's expired and the bright colored bag is riddled with fly poop. He stuffs it into his uniform pocket. The woman had seemed concerned for the first time when Satoru had pulled his wallet out. Her eyes lingering on his uniform. She’d asked if he was with the police and Satoru shook his head. He’s not sure whether or not it's a good thing that she seemed comforted that he wasn’t. Satoru wanders down streets, looks up at swaying apartment buildings where laundry is strung out on balconies and children sit with their feet swinging through gaps. 

He’s supposed to turn left at the intersection he has just arrived at, but he peers down an alley hoping for a short cut and see’s the back of a little boy with a worn and heavy backpack. His little frame is heavy with power. Satoru grins, how truly anticlimactic. 

When Satoru had first decided he could stomach thinking about Toji Fushiguro and thus the spawn he polluted the earth with, Shoko had been more wary about the prospect than he was. He’d gone to her first, when really he should have gone to his family, to the Zen’in, to Yaga. He went to Shoko. Sitting on the floor in the morgue he told her he was going to find Megumi Fushiguro. She’d had a whole human leg in her hand when she leaned around to look at him like he’d grown a second head. Her doubts were warranted but she agreed to help because at the end of long days they’re still Satoru and Shoko. She’d told him to be gentle. To handle this with care. This can't be brute forced, she said, you need to use your heart instead of your hands. He’d laughed at her. She was right though, in her blood stained doctor's coat and nicotine addiction. Satoru needed to be gentle. 

But that kid turned around, looked up at Satoru and Jesus Christ . That’s Toji scowling up at him. Just mini and wild haired. Satoru can feel the disgust that twists onto his face, and can feel his fight of flight rear its head. 

“Who are you? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Megumi’s scowl could peel paint, but there is a hint of fear behind his eyes, he grips the straps of his bag desperately. 

“Nothing,” Satoru says, “ha, you just look identical. Anyways.” Satoru crouches, gets eye level with the boy; green eyes. “I should probably tell you what happened to your dad, I ki–”

“I don’t care,” Megumi says. “I don’t care where he is, or what he’s doing. I’m not going to give away any money.”

Satoru blinks. “Jeeze, cold. Are you shaken down for cash often?”

More hair raising scowling, more desperate gripping. The shadows along the houses surrounding them flicker and flinch. Interesting. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything, you weirdo. Leave me alone.”

Holding up his hands, Satoru shuffles slightly back. “Let me get to the point then.”

He explains to Megumi what his dad had done. Cutting out as much of the legal jargon that he’d had to learn a few months ago when Megumi starts to look lost. He doesn’t know how much Megumi knows about sorcery or the Zen’in or clans at all. Satoru wants to tell the kid to hop along, I have the payment ready, let's go. But instead he lets the kid choose. 

“My sister–”

Oh dear and fuck.

“Will my sister be happy with the Zen’in?”

Satoru could laugh, instead he looks over the frames of his glasses. “No. I can guarantee that.”

Megumi nibbles his lip. A little chapped and cracked. “Okay.”

Satoru nods, “Okay. Also, You have a sister?”

“Yeah,” Megumi says. He turns to look up the road, hands twisting in his straps. “I need to go home.”

“Is your sister named Tsumiki?”

A suspicious glare. “Maybe.”

Well that’s…probably the worst news Satoru could have received. Aside from Megumi refusing his offer. Tsumiki Fushiguro is registered at the nearest elementary school in third grade. That’s a child .

“Are you coming home from school?”

“Why are you asking me so many questions?”

“Because I don’t know you very well,” Satoru says. 

Megumi frowns, unimpressed, uninterested and starts to walk away. He sags a little under the weight of his backpack. Satoru watches him and comes to a split second decision. Tomorrow he will have to go to the Zen’in. Tomorrow he will pull eleven million yen from his account and pay them for the boy and put into place his own safeguards to ensure Megumi is left alone. But tonight Satoru needs to make sure the kid gets home and he needs to speak with the sister. 

“I’m going to follow you home,” Satoru says, like announcing it will make it any better.

Megumi swivels his head around. “ Why?”

“Well, you’re little and this neighborhood is a bit sketchy, and I’d like to talk to your sister about everything.”

Megumi doesn’t amicably agree, but he also doesn’t tell Satoru to fuck off. They walk up the streets together. Satoru stuffs his hands into his pockets and admires the sun, sneaking glances down at Megumi now and again. He is everything Satoru was expecting. Slight and flighty. But he is also everything that Satoru didn’t really want to see, not just his twin appearance to his father, but the exhaustion under his eyes, the way his skin pulls over his cheekbones, paper thin. 

“I’m Satoru by the way,” Satoru says. “Satoru Gojo.”

“I don’t care.”

“Fair.”

They take a few more turns, walk down a dim alley and end up at a ground floor apartment building. Alarm bells start blaring in Satoru’s head immediately. He can smell the mildew. The front door sags on its hinges, the walls look wet and insects blanket them like wallpaper. Megumi bumbles into what looks like it might have once been a foyer for the building at large, but is now stacked with boxes and trash. Satoru follows him through the mess to the second door down the hall. Megumi has to put his shoulder into the door to get it open over water-swollen floorboards. Satoru wonders if this place was flooded. 

“Megumi your–” A girl. Tall for a child, rail thin, hair in a ponytail and dressed in a large shirt, stops short. “Who is that?”

She’s backing away from Satoru even as she reaches for Megumi. He goes to her and Satoru makes sure he doesn’t even look like he’s trying to prevent it. The girl–Tsumiki–grabs Megumi and pushes him behind her. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m Satoru Gojo,” Satoru says. He lifts his hands and looks around the apartment. 

It should be condemned. No light. Damp everything. Water dripping from the ceiling into a rusting bucket in the kitchen. And, oh hell no, that’s black mold creeping out of a corner. He knows there is an order this needs to happen, he can’t demand two children get out of the apartment so he can burn it and expect them to be okay with it, but well. 

“You guys need to get out of this place so I can burn it.”

Tsumiki recoils, Megumi recoils, Satoru is only half kidding. 

“ What? Megumi, what is happening?”

Satoru crouches again–is that a mushroom –and starts to explain again who he is, what he’s about. Tsumiki looks unconvinced, unimpressed. 

“I’m…not like Megumi,” Tsumiki says after Satoru tells her that Megumi is going to be taken into his care. 

“No?”

Tsumiki shakes her head, fists her shirt. “But. If–if Megumi can have a better place, please take him.”

“No,” Megumi murmurs quietly. 

“I can help you pack,” Tsumiki tells Megumi, she turns to him, cups his face. “You can take Mimi and m-maybe you can visit?”

“No!” Megumi clings to his sister's fragile wrists. “No. No.”

Tsumiki hushes Megumi, smiles like it hurts and turns back to Satoru. “Can he visit?”

“Kid,” Satoru says, and he’s burning inside, “I’m not leaving you here.”

“It's okay!” Tsumiki says, “Megumi should go. I’ll be okay as long as he can visit.”

Satoru shakes his head. He didn’t know about a sister. Toji never mentioned her. A normal child, uncursed, or blessed, depends who you ask, not worth anything. The Zen’in despise non sorcerers, finding them blots in the bloodline. Satoru wasn’t expecting another child, and had only made timid arrangements for one. He can’t leave her here. 

“I’m not going to leave you here. You can both come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Megumi asks, almost breathless, probably from trying not to cry. He’s pulling bruises to his sister's skin.

“Away from here,” Satoru says. He looks around again. “Get what you need and then we’ll go.”

The kids linger for a moment before they disappear down a hall whispering frantically. Satoru waits for the sound of a door closing before he moves into the kitchen and turns on the tap. Nothing. He opens the fridge. Warm. Any food left on the shelves has gone black and oozing like little curses. Satoru slams the door. He’s angry as he looks through cabinets, slamming doors uncaring if the kids hear him. He grows furious as he finds stacks of bills, and a hoard of betting tickets. There are dead memorial flowers dried and collecting cobwebs in a vase on the edge of the counter. Satoru yanks his phone out of his pocket and calls his uncle. 

The kids are back with a bag between them. Satoru smiles at them, swallowing back the rage in his throat. 

“Okay, great! We’re going to go eat and then we’re going to a non black mold infested apartment. Yay!”

He receives zero enthusiasm in return. That’s fine. He doesn’t mind. He takes the bags from the kids, worries for a moment over Tsumiki’s nightgown-esque shirt, but decides it's fine. He’ll purple anyone who gives them grief.  He herds them out of the apartment, slams the door and glares at the drunken eyes of the neighbor across the hall who had opened his door to watch them. 

On the phone with his uncle, Satoru had arranged for a small, really small, apartment to be leased to Satoru close to the tech and for the process of payment to be initiated immediately. It’s a rickety plan, strung together with tape and desperation, but money can make people move and Satoru gets a confirmation text that the place is his as he leads the kids through Sanya. He’d also texted Yaga nothing but a series of exclamation points and then asked for a car when Yaga had demanded what he wanted. 

“What are you guys feeling food wise?” Satoru asks after the kids have been placed into the back of one of the tech’s black vehicles. 

He’s leaning around the middle console from the passenger seat. The car is being driven by some assistant that Satoru doesn’t have enough brain space to recognize. She’s staring at the kids through the rearview mirror and then glancing at Satoru with fear. 

The children, small, filthy, gaunt, do not answer him. Satoru’s cheeks hurt from maintaining a smile. 

“Okay! We’ll go get burgers!”

He sits back in his seat and doesn’t put his head into his palm. 

They go to a chain place, something brightly colored, kid friendly, and Satoru buys food. And a lot of it. He’d tucked the kids into a booth towards the back of the place, ordered and then went to the bathroom to hyperventilate. That taken care of, Satoru saunters back out, collects the heaping trays and descends upon the table like a burger angel. 

“For you,” Satoru says as he slides a burger, fries, drink, and a few other appetizers to Tsumiki, “and you.” A twin pile to Megumi. 

The kids stare at the food. Satoru unwraps his own burger and Tsumiki bursts into tears. 

Okay. Here's the thing. Satoru forgot that children, you know, cry. He hasn’t been around a child younger than twelve in a long time. The last time he held a baby, it had been dead, and Suguru was carrying it’s dead mother. He doesn’t know what goes on in children's brains, he doesn’t know what makes them express emotion, but he's pretty sure it shouldn’t be burgers. 

Satoru stares at Tsumiki. She’s not wailing, but she is sobbing, staring at the food like it’s a monster, fat pearl-like tears sliding down her cheeks. Satoru is almost afraid that Megumi is going to start crying, but no. Megumi looks at his sister, then at Satoru, and lands a hard kick against Satoru’s exposed ankle. Satoru yelps and kicks back. 

“What the fuck?”

To both things, the tears and the angry little shit who looks like he’s about to jump the table and claw Satoru’s face off. 

“What’s wrong?” Satoru finally has the sense to ask. He reaches for Tsumiki, stops when she flinches back from him. “Hey, do you hate burgers?”

Tsumiki shakes her head, she wipes uselessly at her face. “I don’t have any money.”

“Yeah no duh,” Satoru says. 

She sobs with hiccuping sounds. Her thin shoulders hitch up to her ears. He looks to Megumi and gets nothing but a dark glower. 

“Are you guys not hungry? We can take it to go or. I can eat it.”

“I c-can’t pay you back,” Tsumiki says. She sniffs hard. It does nothing to dissipate the twin trails of snot dripping from her nose. 

“Uh. No. I wasn’t expecting you to?” Satoru looks down at all the food. “You’re like…ten.”

“Eight.”

Eight?

“That’s worse,” Satoru says. He takes a bite of his burger, nudges the food in front of Tsumiki. “Eat. Don’t worry about paying me back. My treat.”

It still takes a few minutes, but the kids eventually unwrap their food and dig in. They eat quickly, and with an urgency that tells Satoru that no they weren’t hungry, they were starving. They look it. Starvation is written into their irises. When Satoru goes to hell, his negligence here will be the worst of the blows he bears. He doesn’t eat anything but his burger and when Megumi quietly looks for more food, Satoru gives him his fries. 

The enormity of this is making itself abundantly clear to Satoru as the kids finish eating and sag with exhaustion. His little freak out in the bathroom wasn’t enough to clear his head, he needs like three more of those he thinks. For now though, his leg jumps as he waits for Tsumiki to finish every last drop of her soda. He takes their mess to the trash and texts Shoko seeing if she could come and do a quick health check. He also asks her to please bring the extra futons tucked into the storage closet of the boys dorm. 

It’s dark, and ozone wind blows up the street when they step out of the burger joint to wait for the car. Tsumiki and Megumi stand a few paces away, leaning on each other. Satoru bounces up and down on his toes. 

“How old are you, Megumi?”

“Twelve.”

“Ha, okay. So like, three.”

Megumi glares at him. Satoru didn’t even think kids could make such grumpy faces. 

“He’s six,” Tsumiki says, her voice quiet. “He started school a little bit ago.”

Ah. That probably explains why there were no Megumi Fushiguro in systems. 

“Do you guys go to the same school?”

“Yeah,” Tsumiki says. “I was supposed to go today, but my clothes are dirty.”

She looks deeply ashamed of herself, turning her face away so Satoru can’t look at her straight on. Satoru has purposefully skipped class for far, far, stupider reasons. And he’s less concerned with a missed day of school and more about clothes. He bets the shirt she’s in is one of Toji’s–his stomach needs to stop threatening evacuation every time he thinks of the man. He doesn’t know if she has under clothing, or socks, he wasn’t paying attention when she slid on her worn sneakers. Crap. He doesn’t know how to even approach this. Does he just take her to the mall, hand her his card and tell her to go wild? Is it even his place to ask if she is missing essential pieces of clothing? Is Megumi in the same boat? The boy’s clothing look over large as well, dirty and worn. Why did he think this was a good idea? What kind of fucking idiot–Satoru’s phone rings. 

It's Shoko agreeing to meet him at the new address with the futons and to conduct a wellness check. When he hangs up he texts:

Me: a sister 2. 8. might need some essentials 

Satoru doesn’t know when girls start their periods either. Eight feels way too young, but he’ll let Shoko talk with her and then just deal with it like a reasonable person. 

Shmoko: oh damn. ok

“Okay,” Satoru says, closing his phone and turning to look at the kids. “We’re going to a new apartment towards the edge of the city. You guys will sleep there and I’ll figure out your school stuff. My friend is a doctor and she’s going to come and make sure you guys are okay.”

Slant eyed suspicion from Megumi. “How can we trust you?”

Satoru shrugs. “I don’t know. You don’t have to. You just have to let me help you. And I did feed you. That has to count for something.”

“I don’t trust you,” Megumi informs him. 

“Kinda got that, bud.”

The car pulls up to the sidewalk, and Satoru herds the kids back into the interior. It's a silent ride out towards the edge of the city and to the building where Satoru’s new apartment apparently is. It’s a million times nicer than the hole Satoru extracted the kids from, ten stories high with bushes in the front. Satoru collects the key from the building manager who looks well paid off, and feels a flicker of relief that it’s a ground floor apartment. He didn’t want to have to worry about baby proofing a balcony. 

Inside is depressingly empty, but there is light and water and no black mold. Satoru sets the bags down in the middle of the empty front room. The kids, when he turns to look at them, look like little stains of mud on the pristine floors. They do a quick tour. Two small bedrooms, a loft, the kitchen and living area one large square, a bathroom tucked down the only hall in the place. It has western style fixtures that the kids ogle. All three of them smashed into the bathroom, Satoru can smell how rank the kids are. Mildew, body odor, maybe some urine. 

“You guys need to shower,” Satoru says. He’s already putting a list together in his head. “What did you bring with you?”

The contents of both bags include: some clothing, a wad of important papers that Tsumiki was aware enough to grab, school uniforms, a small lock box that rattles, and a pair of little stuffed toys that look like they came out of a claw machine. No blankets or bathroom supplies, barely anything personal. It's a sad little pile. 

That’s fine. Satoru was already putting a list together in his head. Soap, towels, blankets, some kitchen supplies, food, snacks, lots of snacks. He’ll pop–literally–to a store when Shoko gets here. Which happens not long after he has the thought. 

Satoru rearranges his face into something that doesn’t scream help me oh my god and opens the door. Shoko raises a brow at him, maybe he did a bad job rearranging, and steps past him into the apartment. 

“Oh there are two.”

Satoru sighs. “Why would I lie?”

Shoko shrugs. 

“Kids, this is Shoko Ieiri, she’s my friend, colleague and a doctor.”

“Hi,” Shoko says, raising a hand. 

The kids are not too happy that another stranger is in their space, but they let Shoko talk to them quietly and ask them questions. Satoru announces that he’s going to the store and pops out of existence not considering the consequences of doing that in front of a non sorcerer child. He collects as many of the items on his list as he can. Grabs a few things that the Shoko texts him after calling him an ‘ass of massive proportions’. Antibiotic cream, electrolyte drinks, bandaids, kids medication. He has a harder time teleporting back to the apartment with the bags, he manages but stumbles a little upon landing. Tsumiki startles badly and Megumi has to forcefully close his gaping mouth. 

“Sorry,” Satoru croaks, takes the smack Shoko lands on his shoulder, and holds up the bags.

The kids shower, both of them are old enough to do so themselves, thank fuck, and Satoru collapses onto the floor. He presses his cheek to hardwood and closes his eyes. 

“So,” Shoko says. “You found him.”

“Yeah,” Satoru breathes. 

“And there’s a girl.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, Satoru.”

Yeah. 

“Those kids are in bad shape,” Shoko says. Her foot is jumping against the floor. “You should–”

“I know,” Satoru snaps. “I know I should have gone a long time ago.”

Shoko is quiet for a moment. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you going to do with them? Two kids, Satoru. Two, malnourished, dirty, young kids. What are you going to do?”

Satoru sits up. “I’m going to the Zen’in tomorrow. I’ll pay for Megumi, tell them to leave him alone and if they don’t they’ll have to deal with me. I doubt they care about Tsumiki. I’ll put her name on the lease with mine, and figure out their school situation.”

“And what?” Shoko asks him, “you’re going to move here?”

Satoru shrugs. “Why not? I hate living on campus now, it's not far, and I have a phone people already abuse.”

Shoko narrows her eyes at him. “I didn’t think you’d drop everything to take care of your murderer's kid when you found him, Satoru.”

He flinches away from her. She looks regretful but doesn’t apologize. 

“I’m not dropping everything, I’m not dropping anything. We graduate soon anyway.”

“You aren’t built for this, Satoru.”

It's not even said cruelly or kindly, just with a sincerity that they both know is true. Satoru isn’t built for this, not born nor bred for it. But he’s also been dismantled and rebuilt before. He can do that again. 

“Maybe not,” Satoru says and leaves it at that. 

Shoko leaves before the kids shuffle back out into the living room. Satoru hadn’t allowed them to put on their mildew scented clothing and had picked up some simple sleep clothes for both of them. Megumi and Tsumiki cluster in the mouth of the hall peering at Satoru who sits on the floor reading through the messages he’d neglected. He needs to check his email too, but his laptop is at the school. He snaps his head around to look at the kids. They jump, he grins. 

“Wow the air is clearer now,” Satoru says. “You guys had your own clouds there for a while.”

“That's rude,” Tsumiki mumbles. 

“No, it's just true,” Satoru says. He gets to his feet. “Who wants to sleep where?”

They all bed down in the living room. Satoru feels like he could sleep for thirty years as he lays on a futon that smells like storage. He can feel Megumi’s eyes boring into him, even through the dark, that’s fair, Satoru thinks, his older sister is sleeping in the same room and Satoru is a stranger. He feels like he could sleep for thirty years, but he doesn't. He stays awake all night, watching over the two little lives he’s suddenly in charge of. 

In the early morning Megumi finally falls asleep and the room gets lighter as the shadows sleep with him. 

Satoru has a great distaste for the Zen’in. Great distaste feels like too big of an allowance actually. He doesn’t have words for how much he despises them. Most of his hatred is valid, reasonable, and backed by political and familial conflicts. And then some of it is because they represent everything that is rotten about sorcerer society. Don’t get it wrong, the Gojo clan is its own form of nasty. Blood purity, mob mentality, hive mind, indoctrination, cult like tendencies, rampant abuse, the list goes on. But while the Gojo clan takes great pains to hide, erase, shut up, that dark shit, the Zen’in wear it like a badge of honor and receive little to no consequences for their behavior. They had a leader a few years back who married a child and it was the most celebrated event in the political echelons. They hate, kill, banish, abuse any child born different and the women of the clan are treated lower than dog shit. They actively blocked a younger sorcerer from taking head at the same time Satoru did simply because Satoru started to slash and burn immediately. 

He hates them, and their stupid compound. Satoru is dressed traditionally in a long kimono, light blue and white that he had to get from the tech before his appointment. He’d been called out to Shirakawa at dawn that morning, sent by the higher ups to deal with a nasty curse. Satoru doesn’t think anyone else could have dealt with it, but it was still a pain to deal with and get back in time to shower and change. He’d had to push the meeting back almost a week. It took a lot to get the kids settled and to round up the needed resources to handle everything with the Zen’in. Yaga asked if Satoru wanted him to come along. Oh how Satoru had been tempted, but no. He needs to do this alone. 

“It's been so long since we’ve seen you, Gojo,” current clan head, and name not coming to Satoru, says. 

Satoru had been welcomed into an antechamber meant for high ranking guests. He’s settled on his knees on a thin tatami mat, smiling with a closed mouth. There is a committee formed around him and a will drawn up that Satoru is going to read as carefully as possible. He’s being watched from all sides. 

“I’ve been busy,” Satoru says, his tone light. “No rest for the weary.”

The clan head barks a laugh at him, like what Satoru said was truly hilarious. He smacks a rob clad knee and leans forward. He stinks of alcohol, on his breath and clothing. Oh. Naobito. Right. 

“How old are you now?” The man asks Satoru.

“Eighteen.”

“Ah,” Naobito holds out the h sound. “You’re real important now aren’t you? No more playing big shot.”

“I’ve always handled what I needed to, no matter my age,” Satoru says. 

“Course you have, what else should I expect from the Six Eyes. I am surprised you’ve been let off your leash. Or did they finally take your teeth.” Naobito bares his teeth at Satoru in an alcohol stained grin. 

Satoru smiles through a sigh. “I don’t really have the patience for this. Some of us have better things to do than sit on our asses and drink the Zen’in wealth away. How has your budgeting been by the way? Are you still in crippling debt?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do. I was the one who recommended the intervention of professional finance consultants. I brought in Iruka Matsuda who kept you from going bankrupt.”

Naobito scowls at him. Maybe that’s just a Zen’in thing. 

“Well. Nothing comes close to your greed.”

“Finally, we’re on topic,” Satoru says. “I’m here to discuss Megumi Fushiguro.”

“Zen’in,” Naobito hisses. 

“Fushiguro,” Satoru says. “I have gone to my legal council, and drawn up my own terms should they need to be enacted. I have the eleven million yen we agreed upon and once I have reviewed the will, I’m sure this can be handled smoothly.”

“We don’t want eleven million anymore. The kid has the ten shadows technique.”

Satoru was prepared for this. 

“Sure. We can bump it up to thirteen.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirteen.”

Naobito leans forward more, he’ll be mouthing Satoru’s chin if he gets any closer. “Twenty.”

Satoru bites back the poisonous words he wants to spew. He’s not a child, he will not be intimidated into immaturity so this mustached loser can get off on being right. 

“Twenty is a desperate number,” Satoru says, “arrogant too. You were willing to give Toji ten, I raised it by an entire million, and then by two when I knew you’d haggle. You should take what you’re given.”

“You say that like I’m a dog you’re throwing scraps too.”

“From the nicest table you can imagine,” Satoru says. “Thirteen.”

Naobito looks at the other people sitting around the room. His lips are going bloodless from how hard he’s pressing them together. 

“If you need time to discuss,” Satoru offers. He’d love to be kicked out into the garden for a little while. It’s stifling in the room. 

“Yes,” Naobito says. 

Satoru takes a copy of the will and is shown out to an enclosed space of a larger garden. There’s a pond under a tree hung with seals and other wards. It’s a gray day, threatening moisture in the late afternoon. Satoru walks around the pond and reads the will. It’s full of loopholes and pitfalls, and all the ways that Megumi could become Zen’in under ridiculous circumstances. Most of the will is built on the foundation of Megumi actually manifesting a technique. Satoru almost wishes the kid hadn’t yet, that Toji’s normal blood would have kept something so powerful at bay for a few more years. He also realizes how close he was to losing the kid to the Zen’in. 

The legal council Satoru had hired is a mix of non-sorcerer lawyers and sorcerer paralegals. It’s not the number one career choice for most sorcerers so there aren’t many lawyers to choose from but the clan business is too complicated and shady to trust normal lawyers entirely. Even then, the normal lawyers Satoru was able to hire are probably dealing in some dark business if they barely blinked when Satoru explained that he was buying a child . He’ll need to send a copy of this to them, but he feels confident in signing for now with the counter measures previously written up.

Satoru massages the back of his neck, watching a fat fish make lazy loops around its tiny pond. Not for the first time he considers how unfair all of this is. For the kiddos, absolutely, but also for Satoru. Who the hell tells some random teenager to go find a random kid and save them from a terrible doom? What was Toji thinking? Why did he look at Satoru and think of Megumi?

“Gojo? They are ready for you again.”

Satoru walks back into the chamber, kneeling once again in his spot. Naobito is leaning back watching Satoru, his head leaning in his hand. 

“So?” Satoru asks. 

“Twenty million and we let you add your amendments to the will.”

Fuck. That’s good. 

“All of them?”

Naobito nods. 

“That means it's virtually illegal for you to approach Megumi Fushiguro under both sorcerer and normal law,” Satoru reminds just in case they don’t understand how much Satoru is not allowing them access to the children. 

“We are not controlled by non-sorcerer law,” Naobito hisses. 

Satoru laughs, “Okay. Be sure you tell them that when you’re arrested for trying to interfere with the kid.”

“They can do nothing to me.”

“No, but sorcerer society can have you executed as a curse user if you attack them.”

Naobito closes his eyes, nostrils flaring. “Fine. Twenty million, Gojo.”

The clan is going to hate him. 

“I watch the amendments be made first. And I want you to remove the clause that discards the boy if he doesn’t manifest a technique.”

“He already has,” Naobito sneers.

“I want it gone. Any and all language about non-sorcerers.”

“Fine.”

They amend the will there, Satoru feeling a low simmer panic settle over him even as they do what he wants. This is a lot. He should have brought back up. All he has is a code for a wire transfer and his own power, one of which would bring sorcerer society to its knees if he uses it. Naobito signs the new will, then Satoru does, then a present notary. He’s more or less held captive until the money goes through. When it does, Megumi Fushiguro is Satoru’s. He feels sick with it.

“You know,” Naobito says as he walks Satoru out. “You’ve never been worth the weight of your name.”

Funny, that’s the second time someone has said something like that to him. Not in the same words, but meaning the same thing in their own convoluted ways. 

“I’d have drowned you the moment you mouthed off at me,” Naobito says, wistful like he’s imagining it now. Holding Satoru’s head down in that pond until he stopped thrashing, stopped talking. 

“I’ll be in contact if there are any issues or breaches of our contract,” Satoru says, ignoring everything else. He could technically consider what Naobito said as a threat and dismember him, but he’s not in the mood for dismemberment nor war. 

He doesn’t acknowledge the man in any way as he walks away. 

Satoru grabs food on the way back to the new apartment. He teleports into his room on campus on accident first, but he catches sight of his medication in the few seconds he stands there slightly confused. So he’d grabbed those and appeared in the living space of the new place. He startles Megumi who’s been crouched on the floor aimlessly playing with his toes. 

“Stop doing that!” Megumi shouts at him. 

“No,” Satoru says and sticks his tongue out as he goes to the kitchen. 

Laying out the food, Satoru wanders away to find a pen to write down the kid's new school location and schedule. He felt slightly bad about uprooting them from the old school, but neither had seemed too bummed about it. He’d had to forge paperwork binding the kids to him until he has the guts to maybe make it real, but for now that’s just not an option for several reasons, the main one being his batshit insane schedule. Satoru has no way to be here all the time. Not even he can pull off being in that many places at once. So he’s trying to work out how long he can leave the kids to fend for themselves before he’s no better than Toji. 

“Oh, hello Satoru,” Tsumiki says as she freezes mid step. 

“Hey,” Satoru says. “I brought food. Help yourselves.”

They don’t, and won't, which is fine. Satoru will eat and then pretend he can’t hear them reheating stuff and eating it crouched on the floor. He’s getting good at pretending. 

“You look pretty,” Tsumiki says, she says it from behind her hands. 

Satoru looks down at his formal clothing. “Oh, thanks. They’re silk. Wanna feel?”

He holds out his arm. Tsumiki’s eyes grow wide but she shakes her head. 

“No. But I like the blue.”

“Me too,” Satoru admits. He doesn’t get to wear color very often. “You doing okay?”

Tsumiki looks a little startled by the question. “Yes.”

“Alright,” Satoru says, “you tell me if that changes.”

Everything is still so awkward. Megumi, Satoru has decided, is a hateful child that inherited his father’s hatred of Satoru. He’s made everything a fight. And well, Satoru fights back. He probably shouldn’t but he doesn’t have the time or patience for Megumi’s strategically planned tantrums. It’s an adjustment period, he’s in a new environment, yes, yeah, and? Why does that need to translate into him screaming bloody murder any time Satoru tries to address him in public spaces?

Tsumiki is a terrible opposite. Quiet and scared. Watching Satoru like he’s going to turn into the boogie man. He’s sure the literal popping in and out isn’t helping, or Satoru’s weird job, but there isn’t anything he can do about that stuff. He’s tried to be as nonchalant about all of this as he can. It's a ludicrous situation and he knows that neither child understands the situation very well. If Megumi knew his father, he’s probably wondering why his dad looked at Satoru and thought of him, too. 

Satoru leaves the kitchen so the kids will eat. He’d bought a couch the second day with beds for the kids. He collapses onto it now, creasing his clothing, and rubs his thumbs into his eyes. Pain today, about a six, but he can’t tell if that’s from his old injuries or the head splitting meeting with the Zen’in. He can hear rain start to lash the windows and the kids whispering about something in the kitchen. He pays attention to neither, let the rain lash, let the kids have their weird little secrets. 

A patter of feet, pausing by the arm of the couch.

“Satoru,” Megumi barks. Which is funny, because no matter how eloquent Megumi is for a six year old, he has a bit of a lisp. 

“What.”

“Tsumiki wants to watch a movie.”

Tsumiki gasps from the kitchen. “No! You were supposed to ask!”

“It was your idea!”

“I told you to say you wanted it!”

“I don wanna watch a movie!”

Tsumiki comes out of the kitchen looking stricken. “We made a deal!”

“You said I could have a cookie if I asked,” Megumi says. “You wanted to watch a movie.”

“Okay,” Satoru says. He sits up, smiles at the pair of them, moody, embarrassed, Megumi looking a little confused like he didn’t actually mean to betray her. “We can watch a movie, no problem. Let me get my laptop, you guys go through the discs.”

He leaves them to bicker and look through Satoru’s fat dvd binder. There aren’t really many child friendly options but there are a handful of Disney movies and some pg things they can choose from. Satoru steps into what is more or less his room, the second downstairs room–Tsumiki got the loft. He changes first then grabs his laptop. 

The movie chosen is something from a few years ago that Satoru found to watch with Suguru. Animated, about a stupid clown fish who loses his kid and has to team up with an even stupider blue fish to find him. Satoru watched it stone-faced and with a stomach ache from eating too many popsicles the summer of 2006. 

Satoru hands Tsumiki his laptop. She slides the disk in and leans carefully against the couch, watching Satoru from the corner of her eye. Megumi turns the laptop so Satoru can’t see, and keeps adjusting it any time Satoru moves to try and see the screen. 

In retaliation Satoru goes to the kitchen and eats the last of the cookies. 

Chapter Text

A few weeks into having two children in his life, Satoru is called into Yaga’s office. It’s been a long couple of days for Satoru. Getting the kids settled into their new school and having to dial the charm up to a thousand when speaking to principals and teachers has been tiring. Most of Satoru’s missions have thankfully been in Japan, but he’s still gone on two overnight trips in the span of a week and a half. And Megumi has decided that Satoru must reprove himself every twenty hours or he’s not allowed back into the apartment he’s paying for. Satoru gave up last night when Megumi refused to let him in. He’d slept on campus and that following morning an assistant came and told him Yaga was requesting his presence. 

“What?” Satoru asks as he bustles into the office, going immediately to mess with anything he can get his hands on. 

When Yaga doesn’t scold him for it, Satoru looks at him. The man’s face is hard, glasses on and hands fisted on the desk.

“Woah, who died? Wait, did someone die?”

“No. Sit down Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t sit. He hovers by the chair in front of Yaga’s desk, leaning a hand on the cushioned back. “What’s going on?”

“There have been reports of mass disappearances associated with remnants of the Time Vessel Association. Many of these disappearances are cursed humans that were being monitored by sorcerers of the area and a large number from a psychiatric hospital close to the location.”

Satoru swallows heavily. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t really want you to do anything. I just thought I’d tell you before you found out from a different source.”

“Why? Because Suguru is exploiting cursed humans? You think I’m going to fall apart knowing that?” Satoru scoffs. He folds his arms across his chest.

“Satoru. You blatantly refused to kill him. I didn’t want you to be blindsided by his capture or execution if they find him.”

“They won’t,” Satoru says. “I can’t even find him.”

Yaga raises a silent brow. “Yes. How hard are you trying?”

“I tried,” Satoru hisses. Okay so he is getting defensive. Give him a break .

The higher ups had him sniffing around for Suguru’s residuals for six months after his defection. They’d run him ragged using him as a bloodhound, threatening expulsion, banishment, death, if he appeared not to be trying. But Satoru had tried, because after he’d failed to talk him down, failed to kill him, sat in his grief, Satoru wished he had hit Suguru. One solid blow for throwing everything away. Throwing Satoru away. So he’d been fueled not by a sense of justice for the people Suguru was hurting, but by his own betrayal and frantic anger. He’d wanted to find Suguru just as badly, not to kill, but to shake around a bit and make him feel guilty. 

Unfortunately for the higher ups Suguru isn’t an idiot. 

And unfortunately for Satoru, they were connected at the hip for a few years and Suguru knows him. 

And yeah, Satoru caught a familiar trail, tracked it back to a dead end, and maybe he hasn’t tried so hard since then. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Yaga says, half amused and half grave.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Satoru mutters. 

“Of course, I can send you the reports later if you decide you would like to do some investigating.”

Satoru doesn’t really want to, isn’t sure he has the time, but he nods anyway. If they do, by some miracle, manage to get to Suguru, they’ll need Satoru. 

They sit in silence. Yaga clears his throat, shuffles a pile of fabric on his desk.

“How are the kids?”

“Oh just great. What little angels,” Satoru says bitterly. 

Yaga clicks his tongue at Satoru. “Give them time. This is still very new to them. You are very new to them.”

“Right. Yeah. Tsumiki is fine. Normal, its fucking weird. I don’t even know how to…” Satoru trails off.

“Because she’s a non-sorcerer?”

And a girl, and Satoru doesn’t know how to approach the absolute baggage she’s carrying. The apartment is practically a closet at this point, housing off the things they don’t want to talk about. Satoru can’t imagine trying to raise Megumi alone–oh. Wait. Nevermind. He can and it’s a nightmare. 

“I just don’t know how kids are supposed to kid,” Satoru admits. “It's not like I have any frame of reference, and non-sorcerer or not, Tsumiki isn’t a normal kid.”

“You were pretty good at being a kid, Satoru,” Yaga tells him, frowning. 

“Playing video games is an all person thing,” Satoru defends. “And I was using my own money to get the stuff I wanted. It’s not the same trying to offer that to kids I don’t know.”

Yaga’s mouth twitches. “I keep meaning to say that I’m proud of you.”

Satoru blinks at him. “What?”

“I’m not repeating it just so your head can swell. But it isn’t an easy thing that you’ve chosen to do. You’ve always been needlessly brave. To the point of stupidity.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks I guess.”

Satoru doesn’t feel brave. He feels like a baby bird that thought it knew how to fly but is currently laying in a splatter on concrete. 

“Have you been taking your medication?”

Satoru glares.

Under a cover of rain, Satoru waits on the front step to be let into the apartment. He comes bearing nothing but eyebags, so when Tsumiki opens the door looking confused he can only smile at her.

“Where’s Megumi?” Satoru asks as he slides off his shoes and limps towards the kitchen. He desires tea.

“Taking a nap,” Tsumiki says. She goes ahead of him to get a dish towel to mop up the water Satoru is trailing through the house.

“No way,” Satoru laughs, hushing his voice.

Tsumiki smiles at him. “Yes way. He…doesn’t like people.”

Satoru snorts into the mug cupboard. “No shit.”

The dish towel is draped over the sink and Tsumiki eases over to the stove. “I um. I was making soup. Because it’s raining.”

“Great time to have soup,” Satoru agrees, stirring honey into the tea that is mostly milk. 

“Um. I will finish that.”

“Sure.” 

They stare at each other, Satoru sipping at his mug and Tsumiki knotting her hands in her shirt. Satoru swallows his mouthful and cocks his head at her. 

“Do you need help with something?”

“No. But you’re in front of my cutting board.”

“Oh.”

Satoru limps to the other side of the kitchen and leans on a different counter. Tsumiki watches him go then pulls a little stool from in front of the stove to where Satoru had been standing. Maybe he should help her. She’s cutting mushrooms with a knife bigger than her head. He puts his mug down.

“Hey, let me cut those.”

“It’s okay,” Tsumiki says. 

“I can do it,” Satoru says more firmly. “I’m really good at cutting mushrooms.”

Tsumiki takes a breath but then turns and holds the knife out to Satoru. She moves on to onions and they stand together in the kitchen cutting vegetables and listening to the rain streak the windows. Satoru isn’t the biggest fan of shiitake soup, but he thinks it might be exactly what he needs today when his body is a mess of prickly sensation and aches. He hands ingredients to Tsumiki and she adds them to the pot on the stove. Soon the apartment smells devine and Satoru limps over to the couch to bask in the blanket of warmth. 

Tsumiki follows behind him.

In the living room, Tsumiki picks up a book, something thick and from the public library across the city. 

“Do you like to read?” Satoru asks.

“Mn. Not really,” Tsumiki admits. “I think it's sorta boring.”

“Why are you reading then?”

Tsumiki looks at the book, then shrugs. “Megumi wanted to go to the library and I figured I should get a book too.”

“Megumi likes to read?”

“Yeah, but he’s not very good at it.”

“Huh.”

Satoru ends up dozing on the couch as the soup simmers. When he jolts awake an hour has gone by. He should probably check on Megumi who he still hasn’t seen. Satoru levers himself up, pauses when his chest tightens with pain. The doctor had told Satoru that heart failure was rarely a gentle process and he might feel odd bouts of residual pain from his muscles. Satoru wonders, as he rubs at his heart in discomfort, if there is a way to take his brain out and put it into a better body.

He gets up.

Megumi is asleep when Satoru cracks his door and peers in at him. He’s drooling on his pillow. Black bedding because Megumi is six going on seventy three. Satoru enters his room and approaches the bed. A part of him thinks he should let Megumi sleep as long as he can, but dinner is on, and Megumi won’t sleep when it’s actually bedtime if Satoru lets him nap longer. Maybe. That might only be for infants.

He pokes Megumi right in the middle of his forehead. Hard.

It has the desired reaction and the expected one as Megumi shoots up with a snarl and snapping teeth. What a little wolf Satoru has living under his roof.

“Go away!” Megumi snaps. 

Satoru lifts his hands out of biting range, standing in a fluid motion. “It's time for dinner my spikey little friend.”

“I’m not hungry,” Megumi says. He flops back onto his bed and curls into his blankets.

Satoru frowns then rips them off. “I don’t really care, up and at it.”

“No.”

“Yeup.”

Satoru, in a not so rare show of reckless abandon, lifts Megumi up and out of bed. Megumi lets out a little gasp and Satoru is ready for a kick in the ribs, or an elbow to his nose, but Megumi goes very still as Satoru gingerly collects him against his body. Satoru doesn’t think he’ll ever understand the kid's brain, or maybe he’s just tired. Megumi flops his head onto Satoru’s shoulder and lets him carry him to the table. 

Tsumiki stares at them when Satoru gingerly puts Megumi into his seat, stacked up with books because he’s so tiny, Satoru flares his eyes and shrugs. 

It's their first homemade dinner together, sitting around their little table. Megumi is half asleep as he spoons food into his mouth. Satoru asks Tsumiki about school between bites of soup drenched bread. He’s eating a bit like a heathen, spoon all but abandoned, he eats with his hands, talks around mouthfuls. The soup is good . 

“It's fine,” Tsumiki says. “I met a really nice girl. I think we can be friends.” 

“That’s good,” Satoru says mid chew. “Any clubs catching your eye?”

Tsumiki perks up. “There’s some, I don’t remember any of them right now. Sorry.”

Satoru waves her away. “No worries. Is there, like, a certain time period to sign up?”

“Uhm. Yeah, probably,” Tsumiki says. She shifts a little uneasily in her seat. “I need to have parental permission.”

Satoru pauses, a wad of bread halfway to his mouth. He’s already lied to the school, he’s listed as guardian on every piece of paperwork, but the kids don’t know that. He didn’t explain all the inner workings of any of this to them; both of them are too little for it to matter much. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Satoru says. His bread falls apart, splashing into his soup. “Just give me the paperwork in advance.”

“Okay! Thank you, Satoru!”

Tsumiki kicks her feet under the table and Satoru smiles at her, finally collecting his spoon to pull out his drenched bread. 

“What about you Megumi?” Satoru asks. 

Megumi has both hands around his glass of water, carefully lifting it to his mouth. He glares over it at Satoru. 

“No clubs yet,” Megumi says. 

“No?”

“They don’t start for me till I’m older.”

Ah, okay. That’s good to know and a little relieving. 

“Okay, well do you like school?”

“No,” Megumi says. “Stop talking to me.”

Satoru shrugs and goes back to his food. After dinner Satoru helps them clean up. He limps around the kitchen, then into the living room where he considers his options. He has a mission tomorrow out in Sapporo, it has political entanglements too, which adds at least a few hours onto the whole job. The curse is also kind of unknown as well, there had been no grade assigned to it, but the damage it’s doing, has been doing, is enough that Satoru is being sent out alone. Meaning, under all the bureaucratic red tape, they want Satoru to blow this thing to the moon. 

“What is wrong with you?”

Satoru blinks, turning to look at Megumi. The boy has bundled himself into the corner of the couch. He’s scrutinizing Satoru, rolling the hem of his shirt between his fingers.

“Gonna have to be a little more specific my little friend.”

“You’re walking weird.”

“Oh. Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m not worried! Go away!”

Satoru pats his hair, works his fingers through knots until Megumi yanks his head away. “You should shower.”

“You should shower, you stink,” Megumi says, holding his nose. 

Satoru probably does stink of both cursed energy and day sweat. He’s been in his uniform for almost seventeen hours at this point. 

“Are you going to stay the night?” Tsumiki asks as she comes into the living area. 

“I don’t know,” Satoru admits. “I have to be in Sapporo early tomorrow. Don’t want to bother you two.”

“Good. Leave,” Megumi says. He kicks a tiny socked foot out at Satoru. 

“Ouch,” Satoru says, and he sort of means it. He doesn’t want to go back out into the rain, he doesn’t want to tap into reserved energy to pop back to the campus. He wants to stay here and sleep on the couch that his feet hang off of. Megumi’s dismissal, while not new, bristles against Satoru this evening. He sits down on the couch. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll stay.”

Megumi stomps out of the room. 

Satoru has come to terms with the fact that Megumi doesn’t like him. He has several people who don’t like him, welcome to the club, little shit. He doesn’t need a six year olds approval anyway. He continues to treat Megumi like normal, refusing to not annoy him when the kid is being a nuisance, and letting Megumi have some indulgences when he’s not being a complete ass. Some days they are almost civil to each other. Megumi likes to be held, he doesn’t like to admit this, but it’s true. He curls into Satoru’s arms when he’s picked up, even if he’s angry. He tucks himself under Satoru’s chin, lets out deep breaths. Admittedly it’s fucking adorable, makes it easy for Satoru to deal with the nastier parts of Megumi’s behavior. 

Most of the time. 

What he wasn't prepared for is a phone call as he’s appearing in the middle of a battlefield where the curses are winning. Satoru doesn’t answer. The phone goes off incessantly in his pocket for the entire forty five minutes Satoru is tossed around on the back of a multi limbed curse that has a concerning ability to regenerate even from Satoru’s hardest hits. When it’s finally over, when the thing has exploded in a fountain of blood, human body parts and something that smells like infection, Satoru is breathing hard and trying to siphon RTC back towards his brain. He can feel the lethargy, the pain, of overusing his power. He’s not a hundred percent good at the balance between keeping his body intact and using the bulk of his power on enemies. Satoru staggers towards a broken building to prop himself up for a few blessed moments and to his annoyance watches as a butt load of little curses come pouring out of an uncovered cellar. 

His phone rings again. 

Satoru answers the damn thing, barks an irritated what and is shocked to silence when the voice on the other end starts berating him for not answering his phone and to come get his child now.

There is no now for Satoru, and attempts to explain that are met with more irate insistence that he come get Megumi. 

Satoru is pissed by the time he makes it back to Tokyo. It's been almost two hours since the phone call, his head is splitting, he’s filthy, and the emergency response team had been too slow making it out to the town. Satoru had spent nearly an hour gathering what little survivors there were and performing sloppy first aid. A wife had lifted her dying husband and begged Satoru to perform CPR and save him. There was nothing he could do for a man cleaved in two. The whole mess will be on the news in the morning, disguised as a devastating rock slide and earthquake.

There was another mission later that day in a part of London that is constantly infested. Satoru has the higher ups, Yaga, and a British committee of sorcerers hounding him for a permanent solution. But instead of heading to his flight, scheduled to leave in two hours, he goes to the kids’ primary school. Striding through the doors he is greeted by a male teacher holding Megumi by his shirt like he’s keeping the kid from running. 

“Megumi,” Satoru barks. “Come here.”

Megumi, round eyed and quiet, shuffles towards Satoru. Satoru grabs the back of his bag to keep the kid close and turns to look at the clustered adults. 

“Any papers I need to sign?” Ninety percent of child care is signing damn papers. 

“He’s not to come back for a week,” the principal says. “We will give his homework to his sister.”

Satoru bares a smile at them and marches Megumi out of the school. They get off school property and Satoru lets go of Megumi’s bag, turning to loom over him. 

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Megumi mutters. 

“Bullshit,” Satoru snaps. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything!”

Satoru crouches, grabs Megumi’s shoulders, and makes the boy look at him. “You absolutely have to tell me why I was taken from my work to come and get you from school. What did you do? I’m giving you one chance to tell me.”

“Or what?”

Satoru stares at him. “What?”

“What are you going to do if I don’t tell you?”

“You don’t want to know,” Satoru says, “I’m not playing with you. Tell me what you did.”

“No!”

It takes patience Satoru doesn’t have to resist shaking him. Shaking children is bad, and Satoru is fundamentally against hurting children. He does grip Megumi’s shoulders tighter. 

“I didn’t have time for this, Megumi,” Satoru says. 

Megumi struggles against his grip. Satoru isn’t really expecting it and Megumi manages to swing his heavy school bag into the side of Satoru’s face. His glasses fly off and shatter on the ground. Satoru stares at them, arms bent, the left lens a pile of dark glass on the glaring white concrete. Okay. Fine. 

Satoru takes the bag that hit him in the face, slides it onto his own back and picks Megumi up. He gets a few kicks in the ribs, grits his teeth through it and reaches down to collect  his ruined glasses. He stuffs them into his pocket and wraps a secure arm around Megumi. He gets bitten, Megumi sinking his teeth into Satoru’s wrist.

“I’ve felt worse,” Satoru mutters, “keep biting kid.”

“Let me go!”

“No.”

“I hate you!” 

Another kick to the ribs. 

“Yeah? Well I hate you too,” Satoru says, his voice rising. “I’m not putting you down, kick, bite, I don’t give a fuck.”

Megumi lets out a half sob, half an enraged little yell, aims his kicks lower, maybe going for Satoru’s dick. Satoru grits his teeth, rearranges the kid so he’s sitting snug against his hip. Megumi gnashes his teeth, reaches for Satoru’s hair. Infinity slides over Satoru, stopping Megumi from grabbing his hair. His fingers skitter across the barrier. Megumi starts to cry for real.

It's a different kind of struggle getting home after that. Megumi stops fighting, puts his head on Satoru’s shoulder and sobs. Little back hitching until he’s letting out labored little breaths. Satoru walked without stopping, eyes straight forward. He’s beyond angry. He’s dizzy with how mad this child has made him. He feels a terrible vindication at Megumi’s tears as much as he feels a pity for the boy.

Satoru enters the house with his shoulder, hangs Megumi’s bag on its hook and turns to look at the boy for the first time since his glasses broke. Megumi is watching him, cheek smashed against Infinity, eyes teary, face puffy from crying. 

“I’m going to take your shoes off,” Satoru says, a little harsher than he means to. 

He works the little tennis shoes off, takes note of the hole already starting to form in the toe of Megumi’s sock. Satoru slides the shoes into Megumi’s cubby and sets him down on the step. Satoru absently cleans tear lines off Megumi’s cheeks. 

“Are you hungry?” Satoru forces his voice more neutral. 

Megumi just stares at him.

“Well I’m hungry. I bet Tsumiki will be hungry when she gets home.”

Which actually won’t be for a few more hours. It’s barely midday. 

“I can make a snack. Tell me what you want or I’m going to go with what I like,” Satoru says. 

He’s taking off his own shoes and peeling off his socks and uniform jacket. The pants will have to suffice. 

“Megumi?”

Megumi sniffles. “I hate you.”

Satoru sits down, puts his back to the door. “Cool. Established. Why?”

“I didn’t want you. It was better without you.”

“Is the ‘it’ you’re referring to your disease ridden apartment? Starvation? Is that was what better?” Satoru asks. 

Megumi’s little fists ball. “You. You didn’t even want me. Not for reals.”

Satoru swallows around the agreement in his throat.

“I want to go back.”

“I can’t help you with that,” Satoru croaks. “I refuse to take you back there.”

Megumi draws his knees up to his chest. “I hate you.”

“Okay,” Satoru says. He knocks his head back against the door. “But are you hungry?”

Another sniffle, and then a nod. 

Satoru ends up making fruit sandwiches. He loves fresh berries so he keeps the kids’ fridge stocked with them. He pulls down sweet milk bread and rummages through the fridge for heavy cream and sugar. It would be easier if he kept whipped cream on hand, but he’s always liked to make it. Satoru adds sugar to the cream and starts to whip it. He keeps half an eye on Megumi who has sulked into the living room and curled onto the couch. The kitchen is therapeutic, the rhythm to making something to eat is soothing, and Satoru regrets telling Megumi he hates him. God, he folded to a literal child’s level so fast. He makes strawberry for himself; he’ll have to get more strawberries soon, he eats them by the fistful. Megumi gets kiwi, tangerine, and a handful of nori shio.  

“Here,” Satoru says as he hands a plate over the couch to Megumi. 

The kid takes it, balances it on his little knees, slightly scraped from playground tumbles. Satoru sits on the floor with his plate. They eat quietly. 

“Megumi,” Satoru says when his first sandwich is gone. Megumi looks up at him, smeared with cream and bits of bread. “I don’t hate you. I’m sorry.”

Megumi swallows around his bite, looks down at the sandwich in his fingers–they’re slowly starting to get chub back–and shrugs. 

“It's okay to.”

“No,” Satoru says. “It’s not.”

“I–I broke your glasses.”

“Yeah, you did, and I’m pissed about it. But I don’t hate you for it.”

“I flooded the bathroom with bunnies.”

“I–wait. What?”

Megumi sniffles, puts his sandwich down. He rubs at his eyes with both his hands, wiping away new tears. “It was an accident!”

Satoru also puts down his sandwich. “Megumi, what are you talking about? Is that what happened at school?”

Megumi nods. 

“You flooded the bathroom with bunnies.”

“On accident!”

“Okay, okay. Tell me what happened.”

Between mouthfuls of food and occasional tears that Megumi seems to be angry at himself for producing, the story unfolds. Megumi was not having a good day at school. He was annoyed at everyone, loud noises were making him grumpy, the story they were reading had hard words, he wanted to go home. At break he went to the bathroom and apparently took too long because a teacher came looking for him. 

“I dunno what happened,” Megumi says, his voice dull. He’s slid down the couch so his legs hang off the edge, hands folded over his stomach. “I got really sad and mad and poof. A hundred million thousand bunnies.”

“Oh,” Satoru says. He doesn’t laugh, his voice has always been that wavering. “What happened then?”

“I shoved my teacher.”

Oh. 

“Why’d you do that?”

“So the bunnies wouldn’t kill him.”

“Murder bunnies?”

Megumi cranes his head up to look unimpressed at Satoru. “A hundred million thousand bunnies, Satoru. They’d crush him.”

“You counted them?”

“...yes! Obviously.”

“Okay, big brain,” Satoru says. He puts his plate to the side and gets up to look down at Megumi. “You got suspended for shoving your teacher.”

Megumi nods, “his hand went in the toilet.”

Satoru bites back a grin. “I’d suspend you too. More importantly though, your hundred million thousand bunnies are part of your cursed technique. I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Megumi says, scrunching his face up.

“Still impressive. You’ll have to show me.”

Megumi blinks. “I don’t know how.”

“Okay,” Satoru says, nodding. “Then I’ll tell you how and then you show me.”

Sitting up, Megumi looks apprehensive. “Right now?”

“No.” Satoru stretches, groaning when his back pops. “But I’m not leaving you here to your own devices for a week. You’ll be coming to work with me. The field at the tech would be perfect for bunnies.”

“I don’t want to go to work with you,” Megumi mutters. 

“Tough. Are you still hungry?”

Tsumiki gets home that night and immediately starts fighting with Megumi. Satoru has been in his bedroom talking on the phone with a bunch of people who are furious with him. He’s listening to Tsumiki and Megumi squabble, smiling dead eyed at the wall, while some British woman yaps in poor Japanese in his ear about how he’s incompetent, unreliable, a pain in her ass, on and on. They rebook his flight for Thursday of that week. There’s a crash from outside the door and Megumi’s high pitched squeal of rage. 

“You okay, Satoru?” Yaga asks now that it’s just him and Satoru on the phone.

“Peachy. I’m going to need another ticket though.”

“What for?”

Satoru opens the door to glare the kids down when the screaming grows insane. They pause where they’re physically fighting on the floor to stare at him. 

“Megumi got himself suspended.”

Megumi has the audacity to look offended that Satoru is telling his business to other people. 

“So he’s gonna be a tag along with me.”

“Is…that a good idea?” Yaga asks. 

“Nope! But maybe it’ll teach him a lesson.”

“Christ,” Yaga groans. “And the girl?”

“Well actually I was wondering if you could help me out with her.”

“I’m not a bab–”

“I have been working nonstop for four and a half weeks. I have travelled almost four thousand miles back and forth across Japan alone , and I’m dealing with British sorcerers.” Satoru says this all upbeat and smiling. 

Yaga lets out a breath that sounds like a curse word. “ Fine , I get it.”

“Yay! Bye now!” Satoru hangs up and looks at the kids. “What are you two fighting about?”

They explode in a flurry of emotion pointing and slapping at each other. Satoru separates them, sitting Tsumiki on the couch and hoisting Megumi up onto his hip for the second time that day. Megumi buries his head against Satoru’s shoulder, then nudges deeper for some reason. 

“Tsumiki,” Satoru says, “I already talked to Megumi about his suspension. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“He shouldn’t be naughty!” Tsumiki says.  She sticks her tongue out at Megumi when he unburies himself to glare at her.

“No, he shouldn’t. But it's not your place to yell at him. Only mine.”

Tsumiki huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, whipping her ponytail. “The whole school is talking about it. Some of the older boys are calling Mr. Ueda Piss Fingers.”

Satoru barks a laugh. “Piss Fingers! That’s perfect.”

Tsumiki’s expression sours. “Its im-ma-ture.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t find it hilarious.”

“Ha,” Megumi says. 

“Your behaviour isn’t funny,” Satoru tells him, “especially not afterwards. I’m not laughing in support of you.”

Megumi huffs, turns his face back into Satoru’s shirt. Satoru winks at Tsumiki; her face softens. 

“How was your day?” Satoru asks as they prepare dinner together. Megumi had fallen asleep on Satoru’s shoulder and he’d let the little helion sleep there while they made real food,until he got stupid heavy and Satoru had to put him down. 

“It was good,” Tsumiki says, but she rolls her eyes hard.

“What’s that for?” Satoru asks.  He’s in charge grilling salmon on their little stove, so he watches it diligently as he asks. 

“Nothing,” Tsumiki pouts. “Sometimes it’s annoying being Megumi’s sister. He created Piss Fingers and now that’s all anyone talks about.”

“Sounds tough,” Satoru says as sincerely as he can. 

“It is! I can make really good origami but all my friends wanted to talk about was Megumi.”

“Ouch,” Satoru says, sympathetically. “Maybe you should make Dookie Toes origami and surpass him.”

Tsumiki lets out a screechy laugh and bounces on her toes. “That’s nasty!”

Satoru shoots her a grin. “Yeah. But it might work.”

“No,” Tsumiki says. She rocks back on her heels, gripping the counter with her fingers. “I’m going to make the biggest origami flower ever, in the world, and then Megumi will be my little brother!”

“Sounds like a plan. Hand me those plates.”

Chapter Text

Satoru takes Megumi to work. It brings him no small amount of happiness to wake Megumi up at dawn. He’s grouchy and snappish, he eats the breakfast Satoru hands him mulishly. Satoru whistles as he swallows back his pills and digs a raincoat out of the hallway storage for Megumi. It’ll rain today, soon, maybe, forecasted by the weather channel and the thunder in Satoru’s marrow. He doesn’t bother wrestling the yellow coat onto Megumi yet, but he makes the kid carry it. 

The first mission for the day shouldn’t be that hard. Satoru will clean up and then collaborate with a few other sorcerers to fix some errors on a report. Which he is just so excited for. He has another mission in South Korea in the evening, but Satoru isn’t sure if he can bring a child that doesn’t have a passport into a different country. Not that Satoru goes through proper channels to get into different countries himself, but if something were to go wrong. He just doesn’t want to deal with that. So he’ll collect Tsumiki and hand both children off to Yaga for dinner. 

“Where are we going?” Megumi whines. He’s dragging his feet. 

If Satoru wasn’t worried about Megumi puking everywhere, or the logistics of carrying people with him through warp that he doesn’t have figured out yet, he’d scoop the kid up and be to Chiba in a blink.

“We’re going to the tech,” Satoru says. 

“Why?”

“Because I need to grab a few things and get a car.”

“You can’t drive.”

Satoru makes a face at Megumi. “I can drive.”

He won’t be, but that’s besides the point.

Megumi has stopped walking. Satoru can see a tantrum brewing. Balled fists, lowered brows, glaring holes into the sidewalk. 

“I don’t want to go to your stupid school.”

“Should’ve thought of that before getting suspended.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

Satoru honestly agrees, but you couldn’t torture that out of him in front of Megumi. He shrugs, nonchalant. 

“Just leave me home.”

“No can do, kiddo,” Satoru says. He pulls his phone out to check the time. “We’re gonna miss the train. Don’t make me carry you.”

“Not a baby!” Says Megumi, who then stomps his foot. Like a baby. 

They make it to the train. Barely. There are no seats left, even this early in the morning, so Satoru stands, holding a grab rail. Megumi clings to his pants, ducking away from the old woman who is smiling at him. He buries his face against the back of Satoru’s leg when she waves at him.

“He’s very cute,” she tells Satoru.

“Thanks, he takes after his dad.”

The old woman laughs quietly. “Yes, I can see that. How old is he?”

“Twelve,” Satoru says.

She blinks, smile straining as she reacesses Megumi. She glances back at Satoru and stops talking to them. She gets off at the next stop and Megumi casts a reproachful glare at Satoru. 

“You shouldn’t lie ,” Megumi says. 

“Well you lied to me first, harmless lies make life more fun, and it got her to stop talking to us, so.”

The train jostles, Megumi grabs Satoru’s pants again. Satoru ruffles dark hair. 

“And besides, it wasn’t all a lie.”

They have to walk from the little rundown station, the last stop on the line, to the school. It’s an uphill climb that’s the closest thing to death in the summertime. Satoru used to do annoying favors for Suguru so he could ride the dragon up the incline. Now Satoru and Megumi trudge up it, knees burning and breathing hard. Megumi doesn’t even have it in him to whine until they reach the barrier and the front gate of the school. 

“I thought you were magical,” Megumi grunts. 

“Holy shit, don’t offend me,” Satoru says. “Magical, come on.”

“I thought you could fly,” Megumi accuses, “and you poof all the time!”

“You might explode if I “poofed” with you,” Satoru tells him. 

“Would have preferred that.”

“Oh my god,” Satoru says to the sky. “You’re so dramatic.”

Campus is dead. Silent as a tomb and not just because it’s barely morning. They’ve had a slump in new coming students recently. They don’t have the resources to scout like in previous years. The current first years have also taken some devastating hits. Yaga is trying to initiate recruitment again, but his oldest students, usually the ones who at least scout out new blood,  are Satoru Must Be Everywhere Always Gojo and Shoko Highschool Med Major Ieiri. So it’s a little depressing to walk his kid through his school. Megumi, as usual, looks highly unimpressed. 

“Wait here,” Satoru says when they get to the temple that houses the higher ups. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Megumi looks unsure for a split second, but nods and squats right there in the middle of the gravel path. Satoru leaves him there. He doesn’t know where Yaga is this morning or he’d have told the kid to find him, he doesn’t really want Megumi anywhere near the higher ups. 

The temple is silent, his footsteps ring. It's a routine, yes I’m doing what you tell me, oops nearly slipped and purpled you all, ha ha! Just kidding, just kidding…unless. Satoru stuffs one hand in his pocket, mourns the premature death of his glasses and knocks on the huge doors that lead into the visitation chamber beyond. He’s let in by the usual attendant. A hunched blind man who was probably born the day the campus was conceived. No one really knows what any of the higher ups look like. Satoru has been working under them for nearly twenty years and he has no idea. There’s rumors that it’s a sacred seal thing, hence the blind assistant, but Satoru likes to think they’re all old dudes with baby heads and are deeply ashamed by them. 

“Satoru Gojo.”

Uegh. They hiss his name. Drag the s sound, make Gojo fill the room with disapproval, and burden. Remember your name they say, remember what you aren’t without it. 

“Morning,” Satoru says. “I’ve got nothing to report that couldn’t be an email, or a lengthy text.”

“We heard that you have the Zen’in child.”

Satoru scratches absently at an itchless ear. “Can’t recall having a Zen’in kid. Sorry.”

Silence. 

“The bearer of the Ten Shadows technique,” impersonal screen number five says with rising anger.

“Ohh. Yeah.”

No use lying. 

“Have you started to train him?”

“No,” Satoru says, “when am I supposed to do that? You’re sending me to clean up fly heads.”

“If you aren’t training him, what are you doing with him?”

Satoru makes a face at impersonal screen number two. “What do you mean, I’m not doing anything with him.”

A murmur. 

“Wasting him.”

“Hoarding him.”

If another person accuses him of hoarding Megumi Satoru is going to start throwing tables. He closes his eyes, collects himself, turns to impersonal screen number one. 

“He’s a child,” Satoru says. “His technique is fledgling at best. You can’t waste a resource you do not have.”

“So why is he still with you?”

Satoru stares. “What do you mean? I just said he’s a child.”

“Give him to the clan nursery. Let them raise him properly. He will be stronger for it.”

“Eh,” Satoru says. “I’m not too big a fan of indoctrination.”

“You have no claim to him,” snaps impersonal screen number three.

“I do actually,” Satoru says. “I can send you the receipt if you want it.”

More murmuring. 

“I need to be in Chiba, as per your orders,” Satoru says, “I’m going to London tomorrow. I’ll be acting as representative of Japanese Jujutsu society and the school. I have the seal you gave me and will resolve the issue to the best of my abilities.”

He walks away, his piece done and not willing to continue talking about Megumi. 

“You deny him his purpose,” one of them calls to him.

Satoru raises a hand in farewell. That’ll stick in his brain, Satoru can already feel it getting comfortable in his flesh, digging in razor claws. 

It’s misting when Satoru gets out of the temple. A fine pittle of water that turns everything a deep gray. Megumi is still crouched on the ground, he’s shuffled over close to the raised porch to stare at the outpour from the drain pipe. The rain coat is rumpled over his head. Satoru considers him, smiles when he sees what has the boy so enraptured. There's a frog sitting in the damp earth under the drainpipe, trying to make itself unseen. 

“You didn’t tell me there would be frogs,” Megumi says when he notices Satoru.

“Right,” Satoru says, smacking his forehead,  “how could I have possibly forgotten to mention our illustrious reptile population?”

“Amphibiam.”

“Amphibian. Whatever.”

Megumi stands up. “No. Snakes are reptiles, not frogs.”

“I know that. How do you know that?” 

Satoru holds out a hand, for some reason, and beacons Megumi get up on the porch. Megumi takes it, for some reason, and they walk along the covered porch to one of the outdoor corridors that leads down to the weapon caches. 

“NHK E,” Megumi says. 

“Ah.”

“Not stupid.”

No. No he is not. 

Satoru has a key to the weapons caches so he can access them any time he wants to. He’s not one for weapons, but he knows how to use almost the entire selection, all but the guns. He finds those hilarious and insulting. But they keep their seals, binds, wards, totems, talisman, the occasional too dangerous for the library grimoires, in the weapon caches as well and that’s what Satoru is after. He’s good at the…well fuck. The more “magical” elements of his craft as well. He’s gotten pretty good at symbols recently; he can draw a symbol circle around an apple and have it appear across the room, and he helps imbue the seals for the holding cell when it’s time for a refresh. Talisman and totems respond well to him, coming alive at Satoru’s beck and call, sometimes too much. He had a little talisman trail him for a week straight when he was a first year. 

Megumi sneezes from the dust that Satoru is turning up as he combs through the organized chaos. 

“You use a sword?”

“Nah,” Satoru says. 

“A dagger?”

“No.”

“A spear?”

“Nope.”

Megumi sighs. “Lame.”

“It's not lame that I don’t need weapons to kick curse ass,” Satoru says. “Makes me a hundred times cooler.”

“Mn. No. What are you looking for?”

“This,” Satoru says as he flourishes a stack of old gold paper bound with fraying twine. “And this.”

A charcoal pencil. 

Megumi wrinkles his nose at the items. “What are those?”

Satoru holds up the stack “These are talismans, but I call them seals because that’s more or less their primary function.” He holds up the pencil. “And this is a charcoal pencil.”

“Exciting.”

Satoru scowls at Megumi. 

“Come here.”

Megumi comes cautiously. Satoru sits on the dusty floor, folding his legs beneath himself. 

“What makes these cool is that they’re used for all kinds of things. Barriers, messages, rituals, protection.” 

Satoru takes a seal, he lays it on the floor and presses two fingers against it. He presses his intent for protection  into the seal, watching the word PROTECT trace itself across the gold, blue with Satoru’s cursed energy before it dies down. There’s an indent of the word left behind. Satoru folds the paper over long ways, then short ways and hands it to Megumi. 

“In your left pocket.”

Megumi takes the seal and examines it. “What will it do?”

“Ideally it will protect you from harm. Protection is hard to maintain if you’re not constantly feeding it CE but that should help you if you get in a mess, for a few moments at least. I invented that seal with the help of some dead guy from the thirteenth century.”

“Won’t you be there?”

“Course,” Satoru says. 

Megumi slides the paper into his pocket. “And what's the pencil for?”

“This.”

Satoru grabs a knife hanging low to the ground and cuts a shallow line across his palm. Then he grinds the pencil into the concrete floor until there’s a black smudge. He lets some of his blood dribble into it and dips the remaining tip into the tacky concoction. 

“Give me your left hand.”

“No.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“What is it?”

Satoru looks down at the pencil. If he doesn’t hurry it’s going to dry out. 

“It’ll help me find you if we get separated.”

“Why blood?”

“So many questions!”

“You’re doing the weird stuff!” Megumi tucks his hands under his armpits. 

Satoru rubs his brow. “Because for this to work it requires something like blood or spit from the searcher. That’s what creates a trace. I chose the cooler option of blood.”

Megumi looks unconvinced, but he holds out his hand. Satoru turns it over and writes SATORU, then draws a smiley face sticking its tongue out beneath that. 

“Gross.”

“Sure,” Satoru says as he rises gracefully and replaces the tools. He checks the time. “We’re going to stop by Yaga’s office to see if he’s here, and then we’ll get a car.”

Megumi follows him, staring at his hand while he walks. “Did you invent this?”

“No,” Satoru says. 

He’s not sure where the Jujutsu came from, but his father  had abused the shit out of it when Satoru was younger. It’s finicky power at best, quick to wear out and often creates a placebo effect, but Satoru can make it work for almost two hours if he uses blood. His father always used spit. 

“What happens if the rain washes it off?”

Satoru cocks his head. “I dunno. Maybe keep it covered.”

Yaga is not in his office and neither is Panda. This disappoints Megumi greatly. He’d told Satoru the first time he’d taken the kids to meet Yaga and Panda, that he didn’t like Panda, but he likes pandas. Satoru is pretty sure he was just being a snot and he likes Panda just fine. Satoru pats his shoulder when Megumi cranes around Satoru to look at the closed door like it will magically open to reveal his friend if he is the one looking at it. 

“You’ll see them tonight.”

“That’s so far away.”

Oh he has no idea.

Satoru arranges for a car, driven by an older assistant who is rumored to be retiring in the winter. He stares deeply at Satoru as he helps Megumi into the back seat. The kid’s feet stick out awkwardly from the seat and he can barely see out the window. Toji was a fucking behemoth of a man how is Megumi one size up from shrimp? Satoru buckles him in and then sits by the other window. 

“Are you not going to sit up front?” the driver asks. 

“Not this time,” Satoru says.

The drive is long and Satoru spends the time rereading his sparse notes from Yaga’s briefing. Most of what he wrote was nonsensical or mocking Yaga. Grade three curse, nothing Satoru can’t handle in a flick of the wrist. Yaga had mentioned it being stupid, slow, but causing more property damage than murder in a pointed way of telling Satoru not to cause anymore damage. Chiba isn’t the greatest area for Satoru to work, and he’s going to have to be even more careful with where he’s throwing power today. 

He looks over at Megumi. The boy is straining to see out the window, attention caught by Tokyo going by in a blur of rain and neon signs. 

“Have you ever been out of Tokyo?” Satoru asks.

Megumi swivels around to look at him like he forgot that Satoru was sitting a small space away from him. 

“Mn. No.”

“Tokyo is pretty cool,” Satoru says, “it's like everywhere at once.”

“You leave a lot,” Megumi says. “Do you like leaving?”

Satoru shrugs. “I wish I wasn’t going for work all the time, but I don’t mind traveling.”

It's not like Satoru considers Tokyo home. Not anymore. It’s hard to think of anywhere as home right now; they’re like the antithesis of each other. Satoru Gojo and home. They don’t mix. 

“I was born in Kyoto,” Satoru says before his brain can shut his mouth. “My family is from there.”

“You have a family?” Megumi furrows his brows like he’s seeing Satoru for the first time. 

Satoru laughs. “I had to come from somewhere, Megumi.”

“That doesn’t mean you have a family.”

“True,” Satoru says. 

Megumi nods and turns away, done with Satoru’s sorry excuse for small talk. Satoru looks out his window, cupping his chin in his hand. 

The curse is in the remains of an old children’s home. Oops. Maybe Satoru should have looked at the location details more carefully before he decided to bring his orphan to work. He has to hurry out of the car because said orphan has already thrown his buckle off and door open. Satoru catches him by the rain coat. 

“Wait,” Satoru says. “You are staying right here, do you understand me?”

Megumi yanks out of Satoru’s grip. “Yes.”

“I’m going to call down a curtain, you’ll be able to see it and won’t be able to get in.”
“That’s not fun,” Megumi says. 

“Tough.”

Megumi huffs. “Say something else. You say that all the time.”

“It applies to you, all the time,” Satoru says. 

He pushes Megumi gently back towards the car, putting his body between him and the expanse of the old property. He can’t see a curse, which is weird and wrong. Instead he can see…a lot of curses. A blanket of power that feels like radio static in his brain. He focuses his gaze on the largest of the dilapidated  buildings, trying to pick out a curse that should match the hulking, singular, thing that Satoru has been sent to dispose of. The buildings have been under restoration, that’s how the curse was first identified, but any work had been destroyed by its rampages. Satoru can see the damage, done by something big. Maybe?

It’s everywhere, Satoru can’t pinpoint the damn thing and he brought a child with him. 

“Fuck,” Satoru murmurs. 

Megumi jolts a little in his periphery. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Get in the car.”

Something in his voice is off enough that Megumi goes without question. 

Satoru walks out to the middle of an outdoor recreation area, following the writhing mess of energy and almost shapes. Overgrown weeds tangle the sidewalk that’s painted with bright colors and smiling suns. Satoru calls a veil, eyes shifting as it falls nauseatingly close to the parked vehicle where the energy field tapers off. He’s hoping that the curse will come out once the curtain starts to blare cursed energy across its claimed stomping ground. Satoru wonders when he’ll stop being at the end of some fucked up joke. He should have considered that this wasn’t going to be what it seemed. Satoru takes a breath as he turns in a circle, scanning through each building, rattling a metaphorical bucket as he broadcasts out his cursed energy. Nothing. 

Options: the curse is gone. Likelihood? Lowish. The curse was intimidated by Satoru's mere presence and killed itself. Likelihood? So low the likelihood is in hell. Something is purposefully concealing it from Satoru. Likelihood? Higher than Satoru would like. The curse isn’t what was initially reported and Satoru was given crap information. Likelihood? Most likely.

Satoru walks through the buildings, probably breathing in asbestos and other nasty things. The rooms are the perfect nesting place for a curse. There are even smaller curses that scuttle through the halls. Deformed things with the voices of children. Scared things, angry, hurt. There’s a flock of bird-like things, bulging eyes and swollen tongues that cluster together and whisper about him, he’s coming . They don’t attack Satoru, but he destroys them then and there, unwilling to let that linger here anymore. Big and stupid, Yaga had said. Satoru knows they shouldn’t assign personality traits to curses, especially not him, but most of Suguru’s curses were like little pets. Friendly, playful, moody, a little dumb sometimes. He knows the type, so he’s not really expecting it when the blanket of energy shifts, jolting like a sick stomach. 

Out of the buildings in a molding playground, the thing comes out of the ground. Or more like it is the ground, scuttling hunks of wood chips and sod all coming together to create a centipede like mass of flesh and soil. It lets out a cacophony of chattering voices. All small and child-like. Satoru feels a little gutted as the thing finishes forming. It’s not a centipede but a pill bug that rolls onto its back and wiggles its gross little legs skywards. This is barely a grade three. A bumbling thing that sounds like a toddler and giggles when it rolls onto its side. Satoru could have killed it when he was a toddler, but fear had choked him so miserably for those moments he couldn’t understand what was happening, that he feels sickened looking at the curse now that he can breathe properly again. 

“Sorry,” Satoru croaks, raising his hand. 

The curse turns to look at him, opens its nasty little mouth and screams. It hurts like a blade through the chest, agitates Satoru’s fine senses and drenches him in a sense of loss so profound his throat tightens. 

It blows apart easily. 

Satoru drops his hand, rubs at his eyes and turns to hunt down the rest of the remaining curses. 

Megumi is poking at early summer pill bugs in the cracks of the sidewalk when Satoru drops the veil. Satoru laughs when he sees it, the hand with his name written on the back petting over tiny silver shells, oh so carefully; Megumi looking at them with his cheek pressed against his squatting knee. Satoru laughs until he actually can’t breathe anymore and it’s not funny and he can’t breathe, and that’s not funny either. Satoru grabs his chest, it feels like a heart attack. Again. He’s dying, again. He leans over, gasps uselessly for breath, stares unseeing at the ground as his mind speeds into a blur. His hands go numb, tingling at the very tips of his fingers. 

“Gojo?”

There is barely room in his rushing ears for his name to breach his thoughts. He’s not even thinking, there’s everything in his head right now and he has no idea what any of it is. Satoru knows he should probably tell someone he’s having a heart attack. Ask them to hold tight while he figures out why his RTC seems to have abandoned him completely. 

“--back. I’ll ca–id. –car for now.”

He’s on the ground. Good. That’s. Yeah. Good. Satoru is on his ass, knees drawing up, breathing finally. Too much. He can hear himself panting like a dog in the sun, throat straining over hostile air. Satoru closes his eyes, gasps and gasps and gasps again. He can feel his stomach fall with air but then he can’t seem to remember how to make it inflate again. 

“Hey. Satoru.”

His eyes are watery when he opens them. The assistant is kneeling a few feet away, holding a phone outstretched towards Satoru’s face. That’s Yaga’s voice coming out of the little speaker. Oh good.

“Yaga,” Satoru groans, a pathetic sound that would have been a whimper on anyone else. “‘M having another heart attack.”

“Satoru, I need you to breathe,” Yaga says, his voice firm. 

“I’m trying to stop it,” Satoru gasps, desperate, embarrassingly damp. “I’m trying. I’m trying.”

He’s panting again, digging his fingers into his chest like he can brute force the stupid organ to get over itself. 

“Satoru,” Yaga says, “you aren’t having a heart attack. You’re having a panic attack.”

Satoru doesn’t know what that is right now. All he knows is a wash of meaningless everything. 

“Is Infinity up?”

When Satoru is slow to answer, Yaga redirects the question to the assistant.

“And be careful, he might bite.”

Satoru sees the hand coming a mile away, sees the hairy knuckles, knotty bones and thick skin. He sees it coming and yeah, he might bite, especially when it lands on Satoru’s shoulder. 

“Down.”

“Okay, thank you. Satoru, can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Satoru pants. 

He hates that hand. There might not be anything he hates more in the entire world. He needs it off his arm, he needs it far away. It’s a pale gray against the black of his uniform jacket, shaking slightly. Old person shakes. 

Satoru takes a breath. His chest eases out, the pain encasing him releases with it. Satoru pulls his shoulder out of the assistant’s grip. The ground is hard, there’s rumbles of thunder announcing rain as clouds roll over the sun. There are pill bugs meandering around the damp concrete. And Satoru isn’t having a heart attack. 

“Are you okay?” Yaga’s voice. 

Satoru lets go of the fabric he has wrangled in his unforgiving grip. He swallows, licks his lips, looks around.

“Fuck.”

Yaga’s sigh rattles through the speaker. “Did you hear anything I was saying? I was talking for a few minutes.”

“No,” Satoru says. 

Shame feels like a brand to the forehead. Satoru gets shakily to his feet, brushes his hands down the seat of his pants and doesn’t offer the assistant any help when he goes to stand as well. The feral wounded part of Satoru screams at him to get the fuck away. Warp to Antarctica where he can die in peace. But his rational side turns to look at the car and right at Megumi who saw everything. 

The day is well and truly ruined. It wouldn’t be if the assistant hadn’t called Yaga and if Yaga hadn’t picked up in the middle of the meeting he was sitting in. They are commanded back to campus for a forced medical evaluation not at the hands of Shoko but a few of the Gojo clan healers who are being brought to the tech. Satoru feels like punching the window he’s glaring out of. It’s loud in the car because it’s so damningly quiet. Satoru can hear Megumi’s stare. The kid looks traumatized. Not in a weepy, kind of cute, kind of pathetic way, but in a soldier been to war, kind of way. Satoru doesn’t think he’s blinked since Satoru ducked back into the vehicle. 

Satoru is tired. Well and truly. He’s done. There is nothing left in him, it's all back there on the pill bug infested sidewalk. He’s tired. 

“Stop staring at me,” Satoru mutters.

Megumi finally blinks. He doesn’t stop staring at Satoru though. He shuffles in his seat and then reaches a closed fist towards Satoru. 

“What?”

Megumi just nudges his hand closer. Satoru sighs and holds out a hand. Megumi deposits a little bug into Satoru’s hand. 

“Armadillidiidae,” Megumi whispers.

Satoru breathes a laugh as the pill bug makes little laps around his palm. 

“That’s not a word,” Satoru whispers back.

“Is. I just said it.”

“Is that his name?” Satoru asks, he turns his hand to keep the little creature from plunging over his wrist to a fatal drop onto the car floor. 

Megumi frowns. “His species. I name–well. You can name him.”

“I’m not very good at naming stuff,” Satoru says. 

“Mn. You could name it Gray.”

Satoru shakes his head. “No, that's terrible. He looks like a. Uh. Bug.”

 “Bug is a good name.” Megumi nods, very serious.

The kid curls into the middle seat, pulling his legs up to observe Satoru over his knees. He doesn’t ask, and Satoru is more grateful for that than he himself can fathom. He doesn’t know what he would say. Satoru leans back in his seat, tips his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. 

He loses Bug as the car turns up the incline. 

Satoru hands Megumi wordlessly off to Yaga. The man tries to catch his eye and Satoru refuses to look at him. He lets the set of his jaw speak for itself as he follows a young attendant towards one of the dusty chambers in the belly of a temple. It's a facade temple, so the interior is just stale smelling, bare rooms that are used as mass medical wards should the need arise. Satoru glares as the attendant turns to him and asks him to please remove his shoes, coat and shirt. 

“No,” Satoru says. “I’m not injured. I’m keeping my clothing on.”
“Don’t kill the messenger,” the attendant says. “I’m following orders.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off.”

There isn’t more time for a back and forth before the healers shuffle into the room. Satoru takes several steps away from them. 

“I’ll defend myself,” Satoru warns when old hands start to reach for him. 

He recognises the ancient one from his childhood. He remembers the smell and the wiry gray hair that tangles with drooping earlobes. The second one Satoru has never seen before in his life and is far, far younger. They must have sent him to try and intimidate Satoru into cooperation. 

“I’m not injured,” Satoru says again, backing towards a wall. 

“You still need to tell us what happened,” says the younger. His voice is rougher than his face suggests. “A panic attack is concerning to say the least.”

“It is unsightly,” says the ancient one who has no space to be talking about sight at all.

“I want my doctor,” Satoru says when there is nowhere for him to go.

Which is how Shoko ends up in the room, looking unimpressed and smelling like a smoke room. Satoru goes to her immediately, puts himself–pathetically– behind her. Shoko breathes a harsh sigh.

“Shoko Ieiri,” she says to the healers, bowing slightly. 

The healers do not appear very pleased with her presence, but they introduce themselves. 

“Can you please make him cooperate?”

Shoko shrugs. “I mean, I can try, but normally if a patient is lucid enough to not consent to being touched, I have to respect that.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, “I’m lucid as fuck.”

“Right,” says young healer–Satoru doesn’t care about his name. “But unfortunately we have been asked to perform an evaluation on him by our superiors.”

“It is our job to make sure the head of the Gojo clan is in perfect health.”

Satoru scowls. “I died and you guys didn’t even send me a get better soon card.”

The silence is stifling. Shoko rubs her brow and turns to look at Satoru. She inspects him with quick precision, asks him a thousand questions in the slight furrow of her brows. 

“What happened?” Shoko asks, “you appear unharmed and your CE is fine.”

Satoru swallows but before he can speak the young healer talks over him. 

“He had a mental failing. A panic attack as it is being reported.”

Shoko’s eyes go a little wide. “Really?”

“Yes,” Satoru mutters.

“Huh. Okay. Well. That’s not really my wheelhouse.”

“Nothing happened,” Satoru says, “it came out of nowhere.”

“Yeah that’s more or less their thing,” Shoko says. 

“We were thinking a trigger,” the young healer says. “We accessed his medical files a few months after his run in with the Zen’in and his brain seems to have taken substantial damage.”

Shoko goes a little stiff. “I didn’t release those files to anyone. You shouldn’t have been able to access them unless Gojo gave you explicit permission.”

“I didn’t,”Satoru says. But to be fair he didn’t even think he had a medical file. He knows Shoko writes stuff down but he didn’t think it was official or anything.  

“We received the proper permission.”

“Okay, whatever, I will deal with that later,” Shoko says. “You aren’t wrong though. The damage that Satoru sustained to his brain was severe, it was repaired by his RTC and there was nothing I could do when he returned to the school.”

“I’m not brain damaged,” Satoru snaps. “There is no way. My brain is constantly being repaired.”

Shoko turns to look at him again. “Yeah, but you’re putting constant pressure on it too. It’s kind of like the deck of a ship at this point, but that deck is on fire before being swabbed. It’s still under strain.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Satoru says. 

“What it could mean,” says young healer, “is that you have become fragile minded, your constitution weakened and therefore susceptible to triggers.”

“Fragile minded?” Satoru asks. “Susceptible to triggers? Fuck off!”

Shoko raises her hands before the healer can speak again. “Until Sa–Gojo tells us what happened, that's a harsh diagnosis. Panic attacks can happen for a plethora of reasons to anyone. Gojo is also on new medication–”

“ What?” Old healer rasps. “New medicine?”

Shoko presses her lips tight. 

“What medication?” the old healer makes to reach for Satoru. “What medicine?”

Satoru steps away, “none of your business. I’m an adult by clan standards, I don’t have to tell you anything anymore.”

And on goes this meaningless interaction. Satoru does eventually start to answer questions just because he’s hungry and if he’s hungry Megumi is probably starving, and it might be close to when he told Tsumiki he’d come get her and he refuses not to show up. He tells them an abridged story of what happened. But he doesn’t know . He’d been laughing one moment and the next it was like he was having a heart attack. As far as he can tell, there was no trigger. Shoko leans against the wall and stares at him as he hesitantly lets the healers press herbal remedies into his hand. They want to touch his temples. This he refuses. Satoru is warned that everything he refused to let them do, everything he didn't tell them, has been recorded and will be reported to the other high members of the clan including his uncle. Who cares? God who cares?

The attendant comes in with Yaga, then goes out with both healers. The room rings in its silence before Satoru sucks in a breath and looks up at Yaga.

“Why did you pick up the phone?”

Yaga hardens his jaw. “Because I knew something was very wrong if Dai was calling me.”

“Why didn’t you at least leave?” Satoru asks. He feels like a child with hurt feelings. 

“I should have,” Yaga says. “I’m sorry.”

Satoru scrubs at his face with both hands, digging his fingers into his scalp. 

“I don’t know what happened.”

“Really?” Shoko asks. “You have no idea why you might have had a panic attack?”

“Don’t mock me,” Satoru sneers.

“I’m not mocking you,” Shoko bites back. “I’m being dead serious, Satoru. You’re working non-stop, received a recent diagnosis of chronic pain you refuse to take seriously, and you picked up two kids you had no business burdening yourself with.”

“No business? You don’t know anything, Shoko!”

“You’re right! I don’t, because you refuse to talk about anything!” Shoko shoves her finger into Infinity above Satoru’s chest. “You hide behind me claiming I’m your doctor but you didn’t tell me you’re in constant pain. You refused to let me heal you after Toji nearly gutted you, I still don’t know the full extent of that damage. You didn’t listen when I told you to let the Fushiguro kid go because you can’t stomach thinking about Toji and now you have a little lookalike trailing after you! I can’t imagine what could possibly make you panic!”

“Fuck you, Shoko,” Satoru spits. “This isn’t Megumi’s fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Shoko says. “It's yours. What happened the last time you had someone on a mission with you?”

“Stop.”

“She died. And what happened the last time you cared about someone–”

“Stop!” Satoru smacks Shoko’s jabbing hand away. “Shut up.”

Shoko swallows. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at her feet. Satoru has to focus on not breathing harshly. Swallowing back the way his chest is starting to hurt again. 

“When did you get so cruel?” Satoru croaks.

“When did you start lying so much?” Shoko asks, her voice dead. 

“Okay,” Yaga says. He grabs Shoko’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “There is no reason to fight. The situation was not ideal.”

Satoru shifts where he stands. “Will it happen again?”

Something in Yaga’s face seems to break down for a moment. The quickest of collapses before the structure of his brows and lips right themselves. 

“I don’t know.”

Satoru nods, clenches his fists until his nails fit back into the groves carved out across the top of his palm. 

“Could it be from the medication?” Satoru asks Shoko.

Her eyes flicker up to him and she shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t understand your body enough. But I’m not saying to stop taking them, I’m just saying you’ve never been on meds before.”

“I’m a human,” Satoru tries to say lightly, “got the same biology as everyone else.”

“Normal humans aren’t half cursed energy,” Shoko mumbles. “Not even sorcerers.”

She steps out of Yaga’s grasp, sticks a toothpick in her mouth that she pulled out of a pocket. Satoru can see it split between her teeth. 

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you, Shoko,” Yaga says. “Let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”

Shoko sends half a glance at Satoru and nods once.

“You two shouldn’t be fighting like that,” Yaga says when the door has closed behind Shoko.

Satoru knows. Yaga’s words are a pitiful reprimand for the curl of longing in Satoru, the way he aches with loneliness and hurt. She wasn’t even wrong, and Satoru hates that. But she wasn’t wrong. He’s been alone for almost two years, handling things by himself, not having to worry about anyone getting murdered because he was too slow, too caught off guard. 

“Fuck,” Satoru murmurs. “I gave Megumi a protection talisman. I wrote a finding symbol on him. I thought I was going to puke when the curse was everywhere. I thought it was massive and I brought a–a completely helpless–” 

A rattling breath comes out of his chest. Satoru bites his back teeth, he refuses to do this again. He breathes out a little laugh. 

“I owe her something."

Yaga frowns hard at him. “Maybe start with an apology.”

The second half of the mission is a bust. The other sorcerers are going to have to get their heads out of their asses and fix the report without Satoru. He has a hungry six year old to feed. Megumi is playing with Panda when Satoru tracks them down to an interior garden. They’re building rock formations out of the large flat stones used to create the swirling zen patterns that paved the paths. There’s now a huge hole in the middle of a path. 

“Ru!” Panda calls. He gets to his feet, it takes a little, he’s a round little guy, and toddles towards Satoru. “Your son is so good at towers!”

“Uh huh,” Satoru says. He reaches down to pat between Panda’s ears. “He is really good at towers. You’re good at towers, Megumi.”

“I know,” Megumi says. He has also gotten to his feet. 

He looks a little ruffled and frumpy. The raincoat is twisted around his torso and it looks like he tried to roll his pants up to keep them out of the fine black sand he was just sitting in. He comes to Satoru with far less enthusiasm than Panda, who is still talking about something that Satoru has tuned out. The kid ages weird, so he can still be toddler sized and speaking like a much older human, or he can be child sized and be almost completely nonverbal. Yaga is still working out kinks. 

“Are you hungry Megumi?” Satoru asks when there’s a break in Panda’s yapping. 

“Yes,” Megumi says. “Are we going to leave soon?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “We need to go get Tsumiki, then we’ll go to lunch and I’ll drop you guys back here before I have to go to Korea.”

Megumi blinks up at him. “But. You’re sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Satoru says.

Megumi squints at him. “No. You’re sick.”

“I’m not–ugh. Nevermind. Let's go get food. Say bye to Panda.”

“Bye Panda,” Megumi says. “See you later.”

“Bye!”

They get another car back to the city. Megumi stares out the window and Satoru presses his eyes in the hopes that he will stop seeing. He does feel a little sick. Unsettled from the interaction with the healers and. Fuck. That screaming match with Shoko. He doesn’t want to think about that. 

“Can I wash my hand?” Megumi asks. 

The symbol on the back of Megumi’s hand has started to flake a little bit. It looks like Megumi had been picking at it before he enacted some self control that a child his age shouldn’t be so good at and stopped. 

“Does it itch?” 

Megumi nods, the fingers of his other hand twitch towards the symbol. And Satoru should be able to say, yeah kid, no problem. But he stares at the symbol. His name, a way to make sure Satoru can help him, and he struggles to reconcile the fact that it will be washed away with soap. It’s been over two hours, any kind of energy in the symbol is gone. He knows this. Satoru swallows.

“Yeah.”

Megumi watches him but doesn’t say anything else. Satoru curls away from him and wishes he’d sat in the front seat. 

Tsumiki is a bundle of happiness coming out of the school. Satoru stands by the car feeling awkward as mothers eye him, and raises his hand to catch Tsumiki’s attention. She’s with a gaggle of kids and she waves frantically at Satoru, then peels off and hurries towards him. 

“Hey,” Satoru says as he opens the door for her. “Good day?”

“Yes! Hey Megumi!”

Tsumiki crawls over to hug Megumi and then sits back to get buckled. Satoru takes her backpack and puts it in the trunk. He can hear her asking Megumi what he did today and pauses to thump his forehead against the open trunk when he hears Megumi’s voice get low. 

The car is silent when Satoru gets into the passenger seat and tells the driver where to go. If he’s going to be pitied by two small children he’s going to make an executive decision on where they eat. He makes the mistake of glancing into the rearview mirror. 

“I’m okay, Tsumiki,” Satoru says. 

She looks so sad, Satoru wants to rip his lungs out. 

“Are you still going to work?”

“Yup,” Satoru says, “I’m going to Seoul. Isn’t that cool? I’ll bring you guys something.”

Tsumiki fiddles with her hands in her lap. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Satoru says, “but that’s what makes souvenirs so fun. Let me know what you want and I’ll see if I can find it!”

Tsumiki still looks uncomfortable but she nods silently. Satoru rolls his neck, smiles harder. 

“Tell me about your good day.”

Satoru picks up a pair of stuffed animals from a store in Seoul. A frog and a moth. They sit in the corner of one of the dojos on campus and watch Satoru beat the living crap out of sparring dummies until he’s dripping sweat from his hair in pearly strings. It pours rain outside, the lanterns on the porch cast red globes against the dark, midnight floor. 

Chapter Text

“You said I could go!”

“Changed my mind.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Megumi, stop,” Satoru snaps. He’s packing a suitcase in his bedroom, tossing in clothes that he won’t get to wear. It’s early. So early that it’s still dark and Satoru’s knuckles still throb. 

“You said I could come.”

Megumi had been awake when Satoru drug himself back to the apartment, sitting on the couch like he was waiting to scold his child who’d stayed out too late. Much to Satoru’s annoyance he’d asked about London immediately. And Satoru had made the decision staring down at the dummy he ruined, and the rust flecks of his blood across the expressionless face, that he will be going to London alone. He even woke Yaga up to tell him he’d be watching the kids whether he wanted to or not. 

“Satoru!”

“Don’t whine,” Satoru whines. 

“I was good,” Megumi says. He yawns widely, blinks long, slow motions at Satoru. “I was good.”

Satoru stops for a moment, leans on his suitcase and shakes his head. “It's not about if you were good or not. I just decided that you aren’t coming, okay?”

“Who is going with you then?”

“No one,” Satoru says. He starts to refold some shirts that had rolled flat. “Just me.”

Megumi is quiet for a long enough time that Satoru looks up to see if he’d fallen asleep. He’s staring at Satoru, glaring maybe, it’s a little hard to tell with Megumi. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What about Dai?”

“No. He’s just an assistant. He’s not paid enough to leave Japan. Yesterday was probably a little over his pay grade anyways.”

“What about…do you have friends?”

Satoru rubs his thumb into his eye. His head hurts and he can’t tell if it's from his old wounds, an oncoming migraine or having to deal with a child who communicates ninety percent in questions at three in the morning. 

“Why are you awake?”

Megumi shrugs. Satoru reaches across the bed and gathers him up. Megumi burrows against him, yawns against Satoru’s collarbone. He’s deadweight in Satoru’s grip, a warm little ball of life and Satoru almost pauses in the small space of hall between their bedrooms just so he could hold Megumi a little longer. 

“It's going to be an easy mission,” Satoru says. “I’m just there to compensate for others' failings.”

“How far away is London?”

“You don’t know?” Satoru asks. He pushes Megumi’s bedroom door open. 

His room is depressing. Too clean for a six year old, lacking personality, color and life. There are only a few toys tucked onto a single shelf, displayed and put away like Megumi doesn’t know he can play with them. Satoru lays him on the bed, tucks the covers tight over him despite the mugginess of the night. Megumi makes a face up at him and Satoru refuses to flick his hair out of his face, to smooth it back away from his forehead. 

“London is fourteen hours and some change away.”

Megumi’s eyes grow to the size of saucers. “Fourteen hours? That's–that’s like a year.”

“Less than a day,” Satoru says. “And I might pull a sneaky and poof back here instead of flying.”

“Why are you flying in the first place?”

Because Satoru is exhausted. 

“I like first class,” Satoru says. “Now. Go to sleep. You have a long day of playing with Panda tomorrow.”

“Who will help you if you get sick again?” Megumi whispers. 

Satoru laughs quietly, tiredly. “That’s not going to happen again.”

“Oookay,” Megumi says. He rolls onto his side, buries his head against the pillow. 

The ratty toy that the kids brought from their old apartment is tucked under Megumi’s chin. The moth and frog are in Satoru’s other duffle. He’ll present them to the kids when he gets back from London and hopefully gets a break to finish his highschool career. Not that he’s excited for graduation. Not anymore. 

London takes about a day and a half to clean up. The bulk of curses were coming from an abandoned neighborhood that was the sight of serial killings. Satoru honestly isn’t sure if he can fix the problem permanently, but he spends the morning before he heads back home teaching some of the lower grade sorcereres how to respond to a new infestation. He’s not saying there will be, from there at least, he scorched the ground. Metaphorically. All in all it was a…productive trip. All work no play for him, not even time to grab any nauseatingly British souvenirs. Satoru breaks his promise to Megumi and pops into Yaga’s office first thing when he gets back. 

He ends up vomiting into a waste basket by Yaga’s desk while the man watches on.

“Ugh,” Satoru mumbles as he wipes a hand across his mouth. He didn’t really have much to throw up, but it’s all gone now. Plane food and the cupcake he took from some reception in the hotel lobby. “I would like some time off.”

“Yes. I will arrange that,” Yaga says. “I don’t know how much I can promise you.”

“Just some, please. I need a few days to just worry about school and the kids.”

Yaga nods. “Your grades are slipping.”

“Grades?! For what? I don’t remember the last time I did school work.”

“I’m kidding,” Yaga says. He stands up, righting the things Satoru had knocked over as he braced himself on Yaga’s desk. “I’ve counted everything you’ve done mission wise towards your fulfillment.”

“Good,” Satoru says. 

“Are you still planning on becoming a teacher?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I want to teach first years, and not just curse stuff. But math.”

Yaga laughs, reaching forward like he’s  going to touch Satoru’s shoulder before he drops his hand. 

“Well if you need assistance with any college prep, let me know.”

Satoru shoots off a mock salute.”Will do.”

“I’m being very serious. We don’t turn out the most socially…conscious students.”

“Couldn’t be me,” Satoru says. 

“Could only be you,” Yaga mutters. “The kids are out in the garden.”

The kids are in the garden. Like a few feet into the dirt. Muddy as fuck. There’s a mud ring around Megumi’s mouth and Tsumiki, picked up from school early because Satoru doesn’t think it’s fair Megumi gets to miss, sits by a rock covered in mud pies. The garden, once pristine, and carefully maintained by Yaga and other staff, is now a giant puddle. Satoru laughs as he steps into the mud in his uniform shoes, wading out to mess Tsumiki’s hair. 

“Hi Satoru!” Tsumiki says. “Want a pie?”

“Love me some pie,” Satoru says. 

He holds out a hand and she slides a glob of mud onto his palm. 

“Oh yummy,” Satoru says, and then he flings the mud at Megumi. 

It hits him square in the middle of the forehead, which Satoru wasn’t exactly meaning. Megumi reels back, blinks several times in a row and lets out an enraged little scream. It devolves into slinging mud and peels of high pitched laughter. Satoru manages to get mud caked completely in Megumi’s hair before he remembers that he’s  the one who will be responsible for cleaning it up. He stops short, letting out a few breathy laughs that are slowly drying up as he watches the siblings smear mud over each other’s faces. 

“Okay,” Satoru says, dropping what he was about to fling. “Okay, nice game everyone. But let's pause”

Megumi has mud in his teeth when he bares an evil little grin at Satoru. “You aren’t dirty! We don’t stop until we get you!”

Eh. Satoru was due for a long indulgent shower anyways. He drops Infinity and gets a wad of wet mud across his face from Megumi who cackles and hops away before Satoru can snatch him. Tsumiki gets his hair, rubbing brown down into his roots before she tells him how soft his hair is. Satoru wrestles his phone out of his pocket. 

“Picture! Come on, come on.”

They crowd together, muddy and grinning in the destroyed zen garden. Satoru snaps a picture of them, looks at it for a moment, smiling wider and takes another once. 

“We need a hose,” Satoru says.

In the end he takes them to the boys dorm to use the showers there before they head home. It feels a little strange to show the kids his room. Still his, but becoming a stranger. He sends Tsumiki into the shower first, tells her to call if she thinks she needs help, and goes rummaging through his drawers for something she can wear. Megumi sits on his bed. 

“Hey, no. Get off,” Satoru says. 

He has a bootleg Sanrio shirt he got from Shoko one birthday. There's a cigarette burn on the hem. Burned perfectly through where Suguru hadn’t noticed the butt of his smoke resting. It was big on Satoru, he sets it aside and pulls out one of his undershirts and a pair of shorts. They’ll be long, but they’ll do.

“Megumi, I’m not kidding.  I have to sleep there,” Satoru says when he turns back to the bed. 

“What’re those?”

Megumi is pointing a little finger at Satoru’s Patamon and Agumon on the window sill next to a dead pothos. Satoru crosses the room to pick them up and hand them to Megumi. The kid turns them over carefully in his hands. They’re not valuable in any way. Satoru picked them up in Akihabara one weekend. He’s not even sure they’re official merch, but Megumi handles them with care. 

“They’re Digimon. I can tell you all about it.”

“You like them?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “You heard of it?”

“Mn. Yeah. But I like Pokemon.”

Oh ho, duly noted. 

“What’s your favorite Pokemon?” Satoru asks. 

Megumi hands the little figures back to Satoru and he replaces them on the window to collect dust. 

“I dunno. I watched it only a little.”

“Well we’ll have to fix that,” Satoru says. 

Tsumiki comes carefully back into the room then. She’s in a towel clutching it tight and her hair is sopping wet. Satoru forgot the bathroom had a singular towel when he sent her in there. 

“Ah, sorry Tsumiki. Here.” Satoru hands her the clothing first then ducks out to go find a towel for her hair. 

Satoru bathes Megumi halfway through his own shower, still half covered in soap himself. He’d had to catch Megumi by the arm before the kid could go trailing dirty water through the dorm building. An attempt had been made by Megumi to clean himself  and the attempt left rivers of brown water streaming out of his hair. So Satoru wrapped in his own towel sets Megumi on a bucket and scrubs his head until the water runs clear. Satoru sprays the shower floor down after sending Megumi to stand grumpily at the door of the bathroom. The kid squatted down, towel pulled around him until he’s just a shivery ball of white fabric. Satoru looks over at him and startles badly enough that he nearly slips and cracks his head open on the tile. He feels embarrassed immediately after being spooked by nothing. Just Megumi, green eyes glaring at him from under a blanket of dark hair. Haa. Fuck. 

“Dry your hair kid,” Satoru says. He shakes a towel through his hair in demonstration, and stops looking at Megumi. 

Kids clean, mostly dry, hair spikey again, and exhausted, Satoru is finally ready to go home. He takes a stack of homework neglected for who knows how long, mostly because he has an annoying itch to do math. The kids say goodbye to Panda who had not been part of their mud fight, and they make promises to play again soon. Megumi falls asleep against Tsumiki’s side almost as soon as the car starts and sleeps through the entire drive back to the city. 

“Satoru.”

Satoru looks up at Tsumiki. She said his name so quietly he almost didn’t catch it over the sound of the car. 

“Yeah?” He matches her tone.

“How come sometimes I can’t touch you? Or feel that you’re close to me?”

Satoru looks at the space between them, there’s almost an entire middle seat separating them. But still, it isn’t enough that Tsumiki shouldn’t feel any body heat coming off of Satoru. 

“It’s part of my Cursed Energy. My technique,” Satoru says. 

“Oh,” Tsumiki says. “That’s probably why you didn’t tell me, huh.”

“No,” Satoru says. “Megumi doesn’t know either. I just. I won't talk about it if I can help it.”

“Oh.”

Satoru closes the introduction to Nuclear Thermodynamics–another gag gift that Satoru has read a couple dozen times and annotated the pages until there were no more margins. He looks at Tsumiki, she smiles at him, a thin thing that doesn’t match her face or energy. 

“You can ask me anything about Jujutsu Society and I’d tell you.”

“ I probably won’t get it though,” Tsumiki says. 

“Almost nobody gets my technique when I explain it,” Satoru says. “There is some complicated stuff and some stuff you might not be able to comprehend, but that doesn’t mean you can’t know.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Ask away.”

“Why do you leave so much? You leave more than you stay.”

It might have been better if Satoru exploded into a hunk of meat that’s been backed over by a truck. There is quiet judgment in Tsumiki’s eyes, and pure curiosity like she’s been trying to puzzle out Satoru’s flighty nature, unsure who to rest the blame on.

“Well I’m really good at my job, so I have to help everywhere.”

“You’re a teenager.”

“Eh,” Satoru says. “Not really. And it doesn’t really matter honestly. I’m still the best.”

Tsumiki hums a single note. She looks down at Megumi. 

“He’s going to have to fight monsters, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Probably. I haven’t really spoken to him about it though. His power is still tiny. He shouldn’t have to worry about it right now.”

Tsumiki rubs a strand of Megumi’s hair through her fingers, tugging on it in an absent minded sort of way. She wants to ask him something else, he can see it, but she doesn’t. She continues to kind of yank on her little brother’s hair, just enough to make Megumi’s face twitch in his sleep. 

“When is your birthday, Tsumiki?” Satoru asks her instead. 

“The very last day of September,” Tsumiki says. 

“Ah, that’s not too far away.”

Satoru is already thinking about ways to celebrate. He loves throwing parties. He’d throw a party for everything if he could, and a birthday party for a child would be a blast. Or maybe he could take her somewhere she’s always wanted to go. Paris or something. 

“It’s pretty far,” Tsumiki disagrees. “Months are pretty long.”

“Not when you get old,” Satoru says. 

Tsumiki purses her mouth. “Is nine old?”

“No,” Satoru laughs. 

He doesn’t remember being nine. He doesn’t remember being a child. Not in ways that matter, not in ways that were childlike. He remembers the little traditional wear, the way he was lifted and placed in certain areas whenever an adult wanted him somewhere. Held under the armpits and expected to hold still, never placed on a hip or held so he could curl against a chest. There was no throwing mud, or fighting siblings, or being vocally grumpy at mundane things. There was no NHK E or a fascination with things he could put names to. He liked fish a lot when he was small. He remembers the little flares of color in the ponds, the bloated carcasses of fish that weren’t removed before the winter freezes. He asked once what the fish were called and he was told that they weren’t pets so they don’t have names. That was a lie in Satoru’s mind. They did have names. Replicas of the names that Satoru heard around the compound. He wanted to know what they were called. What were they beyond fish ?

“Your age isn’t old either,” Tsumiki says. “Your hair kind of looks like old person hair, but the rest of you doesn’t look old.”

“Oh, thanks,” Satoru says. 

“Sure! I think white hair looks nice, but only on you probably.”

Satoru reaches for his own hair, combs through his bangs. “I think a lot of people think that. It was pretty rare for my family.”

“Obviously,” Tsumiki says. “I’ve never met someone with eyes like that, so obviously your hair matches them.”

“You make good points.”

“I have another question,” Tsumiki says, “do I have a curse?”

Satoru startles a little bit. “Why do you ask that?”

Tsumiki shrugs. “I don’t know. Megumi told me one time that there were creatures that came out of the walls and they seemed really attached to me.”

“No,” Satoru says. “No you don’t have a curse.”

“What if I get one?”

“I’ll kill it,” Satoru says. “That’s my job. The job I’m the best at.”

“But what if it’s too late?”

“Tsumiki.” Satoru shifts so he’s looking at her straight on. “I won’t let it be too late. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tsumiki lets go of Megumi’s hair. “I need some markers for a presentation board, I’m doing it on moss! And how the spores are affected by rain or no rain.”

Satoru stares at her as she rambles. He settles back against his seat. Right. Moss spores. That’s what they should be talking about right now. Is having children just experiencing intense bouts of emotional whiplash? Maybe Satoru should also refrain from considering this as having kids. But he does have them. 

“Do you need a board?” Satoru asks when there’s a lull in discussions of moss. 

“No. I’m using one that Aimee’s mom got for me.”

“Tsumiki, I could have gotten you one.”
Satoru isn’t entirely sure from where but that’s besides the point. 

Tsumiki’s hands lower and she looks shamefaced. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, but why didn’t you ask me?”

“I don’t know,” Tsumiki mumbles. “I didn’t think you’d have the time to find one.”

“That’s fair, I might not have had easy time, but I could have made the time.”

“Sorry,” Tsumiki says again.

“It's fine,” Satoru says, cringing at himself for making her upset over his own random bout of insecurity. “Do you need to collect samples?”

“I could,” Tsumiki says. “That would make it a million times more cool. But I think maybe just pictures would be better. Like some good moss for pictures.”

“Then let's do that,” Satoru says. “It's almost the weekend, and I have some time off. Let's go find some moss.”

“Yes!”

“We can go to Saiho-ji Temple,” Satoru says. 

“What is that?”

“It’s a temple in Kyoto that has some really cool moss gardens.”

Tsumiki practically vibrates with excitement. “Yes! Satoru, we have to go there.”

They’ve reached the apartment, Megumi jolts awake as the car slows to a stop. He glares blearily around the backseat and is immediately grabbed by Tsumiki. 

“We’re going to a moss garden, Megumi!”

“No,” Megumi says and attempts to lean on Tsumiki’s arms to complete his nap. 

Satoru laughs, leans forward to talk quickly with the driver and gets out to go around and collect Megumi. 

Satoru looks up reservations for the temple in the evening. They’ll go on Saturday and Satoru hopes that he didn’t lie about his time off, he doesn’t actually have confirmation about it yet. Still, he books them a walking tour, something quiet and long, where Tsumiki can enjoy the moss to all it has to offer and Megumi can sleep if he so desires. Satoru thinks that we would never dare do something like this if the kids were anybody but themselves. Speaking of. 

“I got you guys stuff from Korea I keep forgetting about,” Satoru calls as he puts his laptop aside and gets off the couch. 

The kids are in the kitchen, eating snacks and talking about whatever it is kiddos talk about. Probably something insanely deep like the sociopolitical state of the world. They perk up as Satoru walks past to find the gifts. His room is a bit of a nightmare, he’ll admit. It hasn’t been very long, but Satoru still isn’t sure if he wants to move into the apartment or not and the general state of mess reflects that. He finds the bag with the plushies tucked behind a pile of dirty clothes that he threw there when they got home. 

“Here you go,” Satoru says as he comes back out to the kitchen. 

He gives the frog to Megumi and the moth to Tsumiki. 

“I don’t know your favorite animals, you should tell me that, so I got the cutest one for you Tsumiki and a frog because you appear to like frogs, Megumi.”

Tsumiki holds the moth in her palm, away from her body and smiles tightly at Satoru. 

“Thanks.”

“You hate it.”

Tsumiki winces. “No, it’s very nice.”
“She hates moths,” Megumi says. “She’s scared of them.”

He is clutching his frog between his fingers like he’s afraid Satoru is going to take it away from him. 

“You’re afraid of moths?”

Tsumiki pouts. “They’re powdery and…wrong.”

“Oh, well, sorry,” Satoru laughs. “I should have asked what animals you like.”

“I like animals,” Megumi says, matter of factly. 

“Yeah I figured as much, you poked those rollie pollies .”

“Armadillidiidae are not –”

Satoru holds up a hand to cut him off. “I know , I was being general.”

Considering the moth, Tsumiki shrugs. “I don’t know what animal I like. I guess maybe something like butterflies.”

“Really?” Satoru asks. “Butterflies?”

“Yeah,” Tsumiki puts the moth on the counter. “Butterflies.”

Megumi stretches on his tippy toes to reach the moth, he collects it into his other hand. 

“Butterflies are not–”

“Megumi,” Satoru says, “please. We know.”

“Okay,” Megumi says. “Doesn’t seem like it though.”

He wanders away, moth and frog clenched under his elbows. Satoru sighs, leans against the counter. 

“I’ll find a butterfly.”

“You don’t have to,” Tsumiki mumbles. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“My feelings aren’t hurt,” Satoru assures. “I will get you a butterfly.”

Tsumiki nods and then awkwardly goes back to eating her snack. Megumi reappears then, standing on the seam between light hardwood and dark hardwood. He still has the animals tucked under his arms with the addition of ratty toy, he cocks his head at Satoru. 

“Where is Bug?”

Shit. 

The next day is Friday and Satoru wakes up in pain. He rolls his head deeper into his pillow, hisses out a low groan of agony as his body tightens and throbs. There’s pounding in his head that’s just a degree away from a headache, something that feels like it’s growing out of his bone marrow and drilling out of his forehead. His chest hurts too, a shadowed replay of that initial agonizing burn when Toji stabbed him. Each leg is a mass of painful tingling, little sparks of  horrible sensation that are exacerbated every time Satoru moves, and his legs twitch without his consent. This has only happened a few times before where the pain that is usually just a constant background noise, becomes a debilitating attack that keeps him immobilized until it rolls over. 

Satoru buries his face against his sheets, pants through the worst of the sensation, sucks back the feeling of sobs, and grits his teeth through the ache that moves down into his cheekbones. If he didn’t have time off, he does now, there is nothing that can get him out of this bed.

“Satoru.”

Fuck.

“Satoru.”

If he doesn’t open his eyes, Megumi doesn’t exist.

“Satoru, look.”

No.

“Satoru.”

Something wet, smelly, and furry is lowered onto the side of Satoru’s face. A piteous little mew makes his eyes fly open. 

“Megumi,” he croaks, “what the fuck?”

The kitten slides off Satoru’s face and lands with a damp plop onto Satoru’s once clean bedsheets. It’s agony to drag his eyes over the little mess of wet, shivering fur. The kitten has the audacity to spit at Satoru, as if it isn’t the one trespassing on Satoru’s space.

“Megumi, what is this?”

“Kitten,” Megumi says, “duh.”

Duh .

“Where did you get it?”

Megumi points out the door with a muddy hand. “Outside. I went with Tsumiki to meet Aimee and I heard it crying.”

Satoru closes the one eye that was observing the situation. “I need it off my bed.”

“It’s cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru croaks. “Please, get it off my bed.”

The kitten is replaced by Megumi. Satoru feels him touch his face. Infinity is down which is never a good sign for Satoru’s health.  Megumi pokes his cheek, then his chin, then–

Satoru lets out an undignified little cry of pain when Megumi pokes the old scar. The thing is normally not so sensitive, but it flares with pain when Megumi’s finger lands on it. Enough that it feels like Satoru is being shot through the skull. 

“Oh. What's wrong with you?”

“Get out of my room,” Satoru rasps,  harsh and a little broken. 

Megumi slides off the bed and disappears out the door, taking the little kitten cries with him. Satoru doesn’t have much brain space to feel bad about snapping. He’s bone tired under the pain and he reaches desperately for that fatigue. 

When he wakes up again he feels slightly better. The light has changed in the room. There’s a warm weight pressed against his legs. Satoru reaches for his bedside table where his medication is stashed. His hands shake as he rattles two pills out of the bottle and swallows them dry. He siphones some of his RTC towards some of the heaviest pain spots. It doesn’t work very well for wounds that are long healed, but it makes his brain feel less pickled. Satoru replaces the pills and picks up his phone. There are a few missed calls from Yaga and then a text telling him he has until Monday morning before he’s required to get back to work. The phone is tossed back to the edge of the bedside table. 

The warm weight is Megumi and the kitten. Satoru shakes Megumi awake feeling a flare of annoyance that the kid brought an animal into the apartment and back into his bed. 

“You aren’t dead,” Megumi whispers at Satoru once he’s gone through his ritual of spontaneous anger upon waking up. 

“No.”

“Kitten was here to eat you if you were,” Megumi says. 

“Are you trying to reassure me?”

Megumi pauses to consider this before he nods. “Yes.”

Satoru considers the kitten in Megumi’s hands. It’s orange now that it’s not covered in street and rain. Orange and small and held against Megumi’s chest. 

“Fuck me,” Satoru whispers. He buries his head in his hands, curls over his lap. 

“I thought we could name it Bug,” Megumi matches Satoru’s tone. “Since you murdered the last one.”

“I didn’t murder–you know what, how do you even know you can have a kitten, Megumi?”

“Please?”

Satoru massages his brows. The medicine better kick in soon, his legs are in so much pain.

“I can’t answer you right now,” Satoru is still talking in half a breath. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

Getting out of bed is like holding up the sky. Satoru braces himself against the bedside table, then the wall. His legs are stiff and his chest protests every step. He waits for Megumi to slide off the bed with the kitten, sending them ahead  before he leaves the room. Megumi watches him hobble his way into the kitchen, watches Satoru lean on his forearms by the stove to catch his  breath. His head is splitting down the middle, the pain migrating from a hemispheric throb to an eye peeling all encompassing pounding. The kitten is placed on the counter where it sits, still shaking but watching Satoru with sage green eyes. One of its ears is collapsed and it has extra toes on its paws. It hisses at Satoru again.

“Get the eggs for me,” Satoru tells Megumi. He counts to fifty then pushes himself off the counter to pull out a pan. “Do we have rice leftover?”

“Mmhm,” Megumi says. 

“Good, get that too.”

Satoru scrambles eggs and reheats the rice from the night before. It's a simple meal, served in two bowls and with no vegetables because Satoru is shaking too badly to handle a knife. He hands Megumi a bowl, then drops a little scoop of eggs onto the counter for the kitten. He gets a hiss for his trouble. 

“What is wrong with you?” Megumi asks. 

They sat together in the living room, and halfway through the meal, Satoru had to put his aside to ease the roil in his stomach. He’d been sitting silently since. 

“I’m in pain,” Satoru says honestly.

“Why? Is it from when you got sick?”

“No,” Satoru says, low, angry. 

Megumi pauses eating to stare at him with large eyes. Satoru looks away from him. Little shadow of Toji Fuhsiguro. He’s not. Not really, and it’s not fair to put Toji’s sins on Megumi’s little shoulders. But Satoru can’t look at him while his body reminds him of all the ways Toji hurt him, keeps hurting him. They share the same eyes. Satoru remembers Toji’s eyes better than he remembers Riko Amanai’s, the gleam of victory as he stabbed Satoru through the forehead. And then the way the light went out of them when Satoru blew a hole through him. 

A tremor wracks through Satoru. His head feels like it’s going to explode. He stands up and goes back to his room. For a brief and nonsensical moment he thinks about knocking himself, or killing himself. . Instead he crawls back into bed, pulls his blankets over his head and tries to go back to sleep. He doesn’t quite get there. He’s vaguely aware of everything going on outside. Megumi comes in and out, curls next to him on the bed, talks to the kitten, leaves the kitten on Satoru like that’s going to do anything. Enough time passes that Tsumiki gets home, he hears her call goodbye to her friend then the clattering of her dropping her bag, shoes and whatever else she’d come home with. She calls out for Satoru, it wobbles through the air like Satoru is under water in a tank and she’s shouting through thick glass. 

And at some point the pain eases off just enough that Satoru gets out of bed to make dinner, swallowing down vomit. The kids watch him with large distressed eyes and the kitten judges him. Satoru lacks the energy to do much more than wave at Tsumiki. He makes a repeat of breakfast and forces himself to eat all of it, hoping the medication will do its job better with a meal in his stomach. Satoru swallows more pills after dinner and crawls back in bed. 

Tsumiki comes in after a little while with a steaming mug. She sets it on the bedside table. 

“It's broth,” Tsumiki whispers. “I don't know what’s wrong, but broth is helpful.”

“Thank you,” Satoru whispers back. 

“Should I call Ieiri?”

“No. Nothing she can do. It’ll pass.”

Tsumiki nods and turns to leave. 

“Miki,” Satoru calls, his voice is hoarse,  his mouth tastes like death,“I want to talk to Megumi.”

“Okay, I’ll get him.”

Megumi appears at the door, stands there–a little shadow among the shadows, watching, waiting –he crawls onto the bed when Satoru pats the mattress. He doesn’t have the kitten and Satoru can only hope Tsumiki knows where it is. 

“I snapped at you for no reason. I’m sorry.”

“You’re mean when you’re in pain,” Megumi says. 

“I know. Sorry.”

Megumi lets out a long sigh. “It would be okay…if you let me keep Bug.”

“You little shit ,” Satoru laughs, regrets it and groans. “I need to think about it.”

“Bug is homeless.”

“Yeah.”

“And it rains all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“You’d leave Bug out in that?” Megumi crosses his arms over his chest. “That is so mean of you.”

“I already have two strays,” Satoru says. He reaches a shaky hand up and pokes Megumi in the middle of the forehead. “And one is a master manipulator.”

“Bug is tiny,” Megumi says, undeterred from his sales pitch. 

“Bug is tiny now.”

“Household cats actually–”

“Megumi.” Satoru crushes the kid to his chest. Rolls over to face the wall, grips tighter when Megumi squirms. “ Let me think about it when my brain isn’t coming apart.”

Megumi is quiet for a long while, going heavy against Satoru’s chest. 

“I think Tsumiki would like a cat.”

“No,” Satoru mumbles, falling asleep, finally. “You can’t use her against me.”

Megumi, Tsumiki and Bug are all on Satoru’s bed in the morning. They’ve pushed him to the very edge of his mattress, his left arm hanging off and his right asleep under his stomach. He’s not in agony anymore. Just the usual amounts of  whispery pain. Satoru thinks, now that he can think, that a migraine had hit and made everything a million times worse. He can normally deal with bad flare ups, but a migraine on top of it was unprecedented. Satoru still feels the desire to stay in bed all day, but he promised a trip to Kyoto, and the cat is sitting on his chest looks ready to smack the shit out of him if he doesn’t get his ass up. Satoru glares at the creature. He almost hoped the animal was just some pain induced hallucination spurred by Megumi making him guilty for losing the pill bug. 

“Are you feeling better?” Tsumiki has taken the cat off Satoru’s chest and is looking him over. 

“Yeah,” Satoru says. He sits up. “Migraine. What time is it?”

It is six in the morning. The broth is cold on the bedside table, congealed along the top with white beef fat. Satoru still drinks it as he knocks back more pills and thinks briefly of addiction and the curses that come out of it. Satoru eases out of bed, stretches until his back pops then turns to look at the kids.

“Ready to go to Kyoto?”

“We’re still doing that?” Tsumiki asks.

“Yeah, if we hurry we can catch the seven twelve train.”

Tsumiki bounces off the bed and runs out of the room, shouting at her brother to get going. Megumi looks pointedly between the kitten and Satoru. 

“We can keep it until we find a good shelter. But that isn’t a yes,” Satoru says. 

Megumi cheers, also bounces off the bed and makes towards the door. Satoru grimaces after them and texts Shoko asking if she wants to watch a kitten for a few hours. He hasn’t spoken to her since their fight so it's an olive branch too. She sends him back an agreement without any questions. They’ll talk and Satoru won’t lie. 

Chapter Text

Satoru does his homework on the train. Or at least some of it. He works through equations from his own papers and then a few that must have been Suguru’s, the paper tucked into the chapter they were on before everything went to shit. Satoru vaguely remembers taking this page and promising to complete the problems. Suguru was morally against academic dishonesty, but Satoru didn’t care. There were three of them on a good day and homework was a rare commodity. Yaga knew the difference between their handwriting anyways. That work is slightly easier, for a time gone by, the page covered in Suguru’s blocky handwriting and squiggly drawings. Satoru moves across the paper fast, his mind solving the problems like it’s impatient, hungry.  He has the answers to problems further down the page already figured out. His pencil doesn’t move fast enough and his numbers end up trailing and lost in the current of thought. Megumi is asleep, slumped against his side. Satoru wonders if it’s normal for a six year old to sleep so much. Maybe it’s the weather, the constant warm gray, muggy nights and the sound of rain rushing through drain pipes. Whatever it is, Megumi sleeps a lot, catches a nap wherever he can, dozes almost as soon as Satoru gets him into his arms. 

Tsumiki is carefully making a page in her notebook special for moss. She writes MOSS across the top then makes a numbered list that she then denotes with a series of letters Satoru doesn’t understand. She’s in a raincoat over her jeans and a boys t-shirt that has the Star Wars logo across it. She wears rubber boots, a match to Megumi’s, both purple with periwinkle soles and ugly little smiling suns stamped around the rubber. None of them are aligned properly, so they're slightly horrifying to look at.

Their shopping trip for clothing had been a little disastrous.

Satoru had fought Tsumiki's hair into a ponytail practically as they were running out the door, and it sags a little sad in a bobbled hair tie. He needs to get better at doing her hair. He will get better at doing her hair. She kicks her feet, hums something tuneless, and carefully closes her notebook. Tsumiki looks over at Satoru, eyeing his paper, and scrap paper where he’s recreating the equations. 

"Einstein," she tells him. 

“Numbers are my buddies,” Satoru says. “You should see some of the papers I turned in.”

Tsumiki giggles, swings her feet more. “You do look a little dyslexic.”

 “What does that mean?”Satoru laughs with a startled sound.

Shrugging Tsumiki laughs too. “I just don’t think you read a lot of books.”

“I read books.”

“Not math books. We can hate reading together. Like a. Hm. A, hate books, book club. We can have a secret handshake and no Megumi’s allowed.”

“Oh well,” Satoru says as he holds his hand out palm up, “you should have led with that.”

Megumi drools on, none the wiser. 

It's not a terribly long train ride, but Satoru gets through all of his math homework then redoes some of the problems to stave off boredom. He wishes he had graph paper so he could put the lines in his brain onto paper. 

“Oh, Satoru,” Tsumiki is straining to look out the window.

Kyoto is lovely. A beautiful place caught in the rainfall and going still in ways that he doesn’t think that Tokyo can. It’s still a hub of activity, but it knows how to calm itself, how to sleep. 

“Where were you born?” Tsumiki asks, still straining to see out the window across the aisle where a woman and man sit. 

“I was born in the Gojo clan compound, it’s along the Kamo. We might pass by it.”

“Point it out to me!”

Satoru would rather not but he nods anyway. At least she didn’t ask if they were going to stop and pop in for a quick family reunion. That would be drama, Satoru showing up dressed expensively and toting two young children. It would be funny if Megumi’s existence wasn’t so politically charged, Tsumiki wasn’t a non sorcerer, and Satoru was anyone but himself. No, they’ll make a wide berth around his family today. 

Satoru shakes Megumi awake so the kid won’t miss the beautiful entrance into the city, and so they’re ready to disembark the train. Megumi is more quietly enthused to be in a new place. Satoru lets the kids catch glimpses of trees and the odd temple before their stop and packs up their bags. He forces the rain coat onto Megumi before the train stops. It’s not raining badly, but the drizzle is enough to get socks wet and in turn make six year old little boys miserable. 

Their stop still requires them to do some train hopping and then a scenic taxi ride. Satoru gets squashed into the middle seat in the taxi and he has to lean over Tsumiki’s lap to point out the tall wall, tops of trees, buildings and shrines that peek over. 

“That’s where I was born.”

Then Megumi is literally clawing at him to get a look out the window. Satoru leans back as the kids look at the meager offerings the Gojo-Clan allows to the outside world. 

“Hmpf,” Megumi mumbles as he resituates himself in his seat. “Boring.”

“Was that wall always there?” Tsumiki asks. 

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “They’re a private and powerful bunch, they don’t like to be bothered.”

“Like you!” Tsumiki says brightly.

“Eh, I hope not,” Satoru says. He shifts a little uncomfortably. He’s spent his whole life trying to not be like that. 

Megumi pokes a finger against Infinity. “You have a wall, you have power, and we don’t know anything about you.”
“You know a lot about me,” Satoru defends. 

This is something he’s not used to. Children are brutally honest, it’s refreshing. It makes Satoru want to drop kick Megumi and his deadpan little face into the sun. People don’t generally hold their tongues around Satoru, they tell him how much they dislike him even if they don’t say it, but it gets under Satoru’s skin when it’s Megumi and Tsumiki making banal little comments about him oblivious to how torturously right they are. 

“You still have a wall,” Megumi says. 

Saiho-ji temple is a place that Satoru has been aware of for as long as he’s been alive. He knows the spiritual sights in Kyoto well. They act as wells of energy for the Jujutsu world, both sides of it, so Satoru spent many days of his rearing wandering temples and in precessions around gardens. He likes the place. It’s peaceful, quiet, he feels a connection to his power here that is purer than the sometimes gritty grip Satoru keeps it strangled in. It's also a widely well known tourist attraction, so he’s able to walk behind the kids, his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, and appreciate nature for it being that. Just nature. As he expected, the kids are well behaved. They walk the paths that cut through the moss garden almost reverently. Tsumiki squats to look closer at moss, or kneels to scribble in her notebook. She writes slowly, forming each sentence with a firm press of her pencil, carefully erases when she’s made a little mistake and cups the eraser shed in her hand. Satoru holds out his own hand to take the little peelings from her.Tsumiki snaps pictures of  mounds springing with spores, mounds on rocks and trees and scummed over the top of ponds. 

Megumi grows bored of Tsumiki’s lingering and Satoru lets him meander ahead as long as Satoru can still see the bright color of his raincoat, a flare amid the dark lush greens that surround them.  He tries not to think about anything in the first bout of silence in a long time. It’s a little startling to think about how long it’s actually been since he wasn’t doing something. And these places are for thinking, for looking deeply into yourself and picking out weight, worry, the world. Satoru isn’t too proud of how he shies away from doing that. He follows Megumi, keeping himself between both children, watching the pond, the dark fish they have swimming lazily under the rain rippled surface. Satoru holds out a hand above the water, lets Infinity fall and shivers at the first few raindrops that slide against his scalp and over the skin of his palm. It's a cool, dull sensation, not unique in any stretch of the imagination. Mundane. Satoru shivers against it. 

“Do you need a rain coat?”

Megumi is blinking up at him, scowling and drippy where his own raincoat has let rain over the lip of the hood. 

“I’ve got one,” Satoru says. 

“Then use it. You’re going to get wet.”

“Maybe I want to feel the rain,” Satoru says.

Megumi narrows his eyes at Satoru. “Why are you suddenly acting like a stuffy old man?”

Satoru breathes a sigh. “I can’t have a moment?”

“A moment of what?”

“The garden is about quieting your mind, Megumi. It’s about moments.”

Megumi looks around the garden, sniffles as another string of rain falls off his hood. He reaches up and pokes his own forehead, scrunches his eyes shut like he’s thinking really hard about something. His shoulders drop, his eyes open. 

“My mind isn’t quiet. Is yours?”

“No,” Satoru says. “It's not.”

“Is the garden broken?”

No. It's not. Everything outside of the garden is though. 

Satoru is tempted to ask the kid what he’s thinking about. What burdens his mind, if it is even a burden or if it’s just thought. A clear mind is hard to achieve, negative thoughts or not. Satoru is still crap at it, and when he was first trying to learn how to find a meditative state he would think about the stupidest stuff without even meaning to. What did they expect though, Satoru had told the bullheaded instructor that he receives so much feedback from everything that he has never known silence. He doesn’t ask because he doesn’t know if he can properly respond to whatever comes out of Megumi’s mouth. 

Tsumiki catches back up with them and the three of them walk towards a bridge that crosses a pond into an area that is somehow more green, more trees draped in moss cloaks.

“Megumi,” Tsumiki says, speaking in a whisper. “You have moss eyes.”

“Nuh uh,” Megumi whispers back. 

Tsumiki points to a tree that’s nearly been swallowed entirely by crawling green. 

“That’s the color of your eyes.”

Satoru considers the moss. The crawling mounds are slightly different hue from its bright counterparts. Turning a pine color and littered with bright splotches where it intertwines with vines of creeping plants. 

“She’s right, Megs, that’s the exact color of your eyes.”

Megumi’s nostrils flare. “No! And don’t call me that!”

“Sure thing. Megs.”

A stomped rainboot and Megumi goes marching away from them. Satoru chuckles and Tsumiki smiles so her teeth show. She takes a picture of the tree and lets out a happy little sigh. 

“This is the most pretty place I have ever been. No other place is like this place.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,”Satoru says. “And it is very pretty.”

“I want to live here,” Tsumiki says on a sigh. 

“In the temple?”

“No. Out here in the trees. Moss would be so comfy for a bed, the most comfiest.”

“I dunno,” Satoru says. I think it’d be a little wet.”

Tsumiki waves him away. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, whatever you say.”

She grins at him and skips away before stopping short and continuing in a controlled walk. Satoru smiles at the kids, little blots of color amid so much green. He looks back at the tree. Megumi’s eye color. Not Toji green and burned into Satoru’s nightmares. Moss green and tranquil. Okay, fine. Stupid garden. Satoru will take that happily. 

Megumi finds his way back to Satoru as the walk goes on. Satoru is astounded that Tsumiki has paper left, but she’s still scribbling away and who is Satoru to even consider rushing her. The rain has picked up a little, not enough for Satoru to be worried, but enough that the sound of water on the pond has grown and the scent of wet dirt blankets everything. 

“Can I do something for you, my spikey friend?” Satoru asks Megumi who slunk up to him like a cat and lingered by Satoru’s side. 

“I’m not your friend,” Megumi says.

“Aw. I thought we were friends.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything and when Satoru looks at his face, he’s pouting. The raincoat is beaded with moisture and Megumi looks gray. 

“I can carry you,” Satoru says quieter. “If you want.”

Megumi doesn’t reach for him or verbally say yes. But he nods a single jerk of his chin and Satoru crouches. 

“Want a piggyback ride?”

Satoru stands after Megumi gets situated on his back. He kicks his legs through the brackets Satoru has made with his arms, and he presses his chin to the top of Satoru’s head. He’s all damp plastic and sleepy weight. Satoru had let down his defenses so Megumi would have something warm to cling to, and he feels naked for it. A little bit stupid and confused by himself. 

“Don’t drool on me,” Satoru says. 

He gets a kick in the ribs. 

The sky breaks over them not long after. Satoru curses as the steady rain becomes pounding. Megumi is a sorry umbrella and Satoru is drenched immediately. Tsumiki lets out a little shriek and hurries for the cover of a tree. 

“Alright,” Satoru says, blinking rain out of his eyes and holding an arm over Tsumiki. “Do you have what you need?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay!” Satoru almost has to shout over the sound. “Let's go then!”

They hurry back the way they came. Megumi complaining loudly in Satoru’s ear and Tsumiki holding her notebook and the disposable camera against her chest under her coat. Some of the temple workers are out looking for them and an old monk opens an umbrella over Satoru’s head. Summer rainstorms are finicky things though, and by the time they’re back on the train, it’s cleared out and the sun glimmers gold through the dark blue cloud cover. Satoru looks down at his soaking shirt, at Megumi who is grumpy and Tsumiki who is happily going through her notebook, the hood of her coat flipped back, and decides that it was probably worth it. 

Ice cream in Tokyo at one of Satoru’s old haunts. He’s been here enough that the girl– Mio–working behind the counter perks up when he comes through the door. She knows his name, knows that he has a card for free ice cream at the end of every month, and knows that he likes cherry ice cream. Two scoops, whipped cream and a broken waffle cone so he can use it as an edible spoon.

“Hey,” Satoru greets. 

He’s rarely ever alone coming in here. It was always Satoru and his gaggle of friends, or first years that trailed after Haibara and Satoru had to begrudgingly accept, or Yaga when they went into the city for political stuff. But Satoru with two young kids who linger around his legs and peer at the bright lit shop is very different. He pushes them towards the display cases. 

“Whatever you want. The cherry is good, but so is the peanut–wait, are either of you allergic to peanuts?”

“No,” Tsumiki says. “Could I please have a sample of the strawberry?”

“Yes,” Megumi says. “Could I please have a sample of the peanut brittle?”

Mio, handing a little spoon of strawberry to Tsumiki, pauses to stare at Megumi before her eyes flicker over to Satoru. 

“Kid. Are you allergic to peanuts?” Satoru demands. 

Megumi reaches up for a sample that isn’t coming for him. 

“ Megumi.”

“No, I lied.”

Satoru scoffs in disbelief. “Okay. Anything without nuts in it until I can verify that.”

“...so no peanut brittle sample?” Mio asks. 

“No.”

Satoru gets cherry, Tsumiki gets plum and Megumi gets squid ink because he lives to prove a point that Satoru refuses to acknowledged. They sit on damp chairs overlooking a road that is usually busy but has been  slowed by the rain. Little rivers run along the sidewalk. 

“Thank you for taking us to the moss garden and for ice cream, Satoru,” Tsumiki says. 

Satoru, glaring at Megumi, nods. “Sure. You’re gonna have the best project out of all the projects.”

“Yup!”

Satoru hears her kick Megumi under the table. Megumi, a dark ring of sugar around his mouth, scowls. 

“Why are you glaring at me?”

“Oh, no reason,” Satoru says. 

“He’s waiting for you to say thank you,” Tsumiki says. 

“I’m not, actually, you don’t need to thank me for stuff.” He takes another bite of his ice cream. “I’m just wondering why you insist on being a little pill, Megumi.”

“I dun know what you’re talking about,” Megumu says. He takes a bite out of his cone and stares into Satoru’s soul.

“Yeesh,” Satoru mutters. “Two can play psychological warfare, little man. Watch yourself.”

Megumi sticks his tongue out. Satoru shakes his head and leans back in his chair to take some pressure off his chest. Well at least the day was a win for one of the kids. Megumi probably too, but his grace period for the day seems to be over, and Satoru will have to bear the rekindled scorn. 

At the apartment, Megumi dumps coat and boots in the entrance way and goes careening down the hall looking for the kitten. Satoru shouts after him to come back and pick up his shit–not in those words exactly–and then ends up scooping them up himself before anyone can trip over it. He offers to take Tsumiki’s coat as well when she’s done taking her boots off. She hands it to him and then follows Megumi, also looking for the kitten but with controlled enthusiasm. 

“What happened to you?” Shoko’s voice is husky, she carries with her the scent of rain and cigarette smoke. 

Satoru looks up at where she’s standing a few feet down the hall, arms crossed over her chest but smiling a strained thing at him. She must have just come in from smoking. 

“Rain,” Satoru says. He’s trying to get his wet shoes off. “Sudden downpour.”

Shoko nods, rocks her weight between her feet. 

Satoru straightens slowly. “Can we talk?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

The sound of the kids with the kitten filters in from the living room. They won’t notice if Satoru steps out for a bit. 

“Sure,” Shoko says.

They step out onto the tiny little ground patio out from the living area. It smells like cigarette smoke and Satoru can see a few butts floating around in a pot that was there when he moved the kids in. 

“Don’t smoke here,” Satoru says, which is a brilliant way to start off a conversation where he is the bad guy. 

“Sure,” Shoko says. 

They stand in silence. That’s the worst thing that’s come out of surviving. Of being left behind. The silence. The silence that eats only Satoru’s words,  something he’s not used to living with. 

Shoko lets out a breath. “Talk.”

“Uh. I’m sorry I didn’t come see you after Toji. I really didn’t need to.”

“Oh my god,” Shoko murmurs. She rubs both hands up her face. “That’s not the point, Satoru.”

“Then what is the point? I wouldn’t have been able to master RTC without what you told me. I’m not trying to one up you, I never was. It just happened.”

“That’s also not the point.” Shoko glares at him. “Did you think I was jealous of you?”

“No.”

“Then why would you say that?”

Satoru throws his hands up. “I don’t know! I’m just trying to figure out how to navigate this. I’m sorry I’ve been such a crappy person to hang out with recently.”

“You really have been. Fighting with you is exhausting.” Shoko swallows. “I don’t think you realize how much you haven’t talked to me. You came to me about Megumi but that’s it. Why?”

“It…it wasn’t anything you needed to know about.”

“I wanted to know,” Shoko says, “did you ever consider that I wanted to know that you weren’t about to go crazy like Suguru?”

“I’m not going to,” Satoru grits.

“Well how am I supposed to take your mood swings? You prowling around the school looking for a fight. Snapping at me anytime I tried to talk to you.”

“You started half the fights,” Satoru says. “And prowling? What does that even mean?”

Shoko frowns at him. “It means you have this terrible one track mind thing going on. You look…feral. You aren’t the only one who can sense out of whack cursed energy, Satoru.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Satoru says in response. “Is that what you want to hear? I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it, I can’t think about it. It happened, it sucked, I don’t want to think about it.”

“You should have just said that then,” Shoko says.

“Why? So you could bother it out of me? Get the details about how I was murdered down in a medical file?”

Shoko rolls her eyes. “This is the problem. You assume I’m going to do something, make up your mind about it and then refuse to let me defend myself! Fuck, maybe I’m worried about you, Satoru.”

“I’m sorry you’re worried.”

“That’s not how that works,” Shoko says. She slouches against the wall. “Will you answer questions if I ask them?”

“Yeah,” Satoru admits. He sits down, leans against the rail and looks anywhere but at Shoko. 

“What do you not want to talk about? Toji or Suguru?”

“We can talk about Suguru,” Satoru says. He pulls his knees up, puts his cheek on the boney cap.

Everyone always talks to Satoru about Suguru. Talk at Satoru about him like they forgot that they were best friends. He’s built up a firm resistance to outward feeling. 

Toji still makes him flinch and freeze.

“Can you answer straight forward?” Shoko groans. 

“That was pretty straight forward.”

“Fucking hell, Satoru,” Shoko sighs. She slides down the wall. Their toes touch. “So Toji. You can talk about Suguru but not Toji.”

“Is that fucked of me?”

“I don’t know. Is anything not fucked of you?”

Satoru snorts. “I suppose that’s what this interrogation is for.” 

“Kento told you everything was your fault,” Shoko says. “He was wrong.”

“Oh please,” Satoru mutters. “I don’t need to be babied about the situation. It was my fault. I made a series of stupid mistakes that led to the domino effect and now here we are.”

“Do you think Suguru would have listened to anyone?”

“No,” Satoru says. 

But he thought that Suguru would listen to him . Satoru wasn’t anyone to Suguru. At least he didn’t think so. They were friends, bound together over the horror of their jobs. By a shared dorm building and the moments where they were just two teenagers picking on each other, playing with each other. They were close enough that Satoru met Suguru’s mother, drank cool tea in a cramped living room decorated with family photos and a little bit of hoard. A lived in, loved in home and a backyard where summer fireflies came out to get captured by Satoru and confined to a jar by Suguru. His mother who laughed at Satoru’s tall gangly form, and his inelegant manners. He remembers her pulling carefully on the new gauges in Suguru’s ear and commenting, jokingly, about Satoru’s lack of rebellion. Then she’d kissed Suguru on the forehead, kissed her own fingers and touched Satoru’s cheek and sent them to bed.

And Suguru killed her.

Satoru turns to put his forehead on his knees, burying his anger in his drawn up lap. 

“What are you thinking about?” Shoko asks. Her voice is quiet. “Tell me, Satoru.”

“I just think it’s funny,” Satoru says, “that I was really happy not too long ago.”

Shoko sucks in a breath, lets it out in a laugh. “Yeah.”

Satoru swallows back his nerves, an unwillingness that rises, a fear. “It hurt. It hurt more than I think I remember accurately. Dying. It hurt, and obviously, but. I don’t know, I never want to hurt like that again.”

He gets no reply, which means more. Talk more. Say everything that’s clogging up his chest. 

“I hurt. Felt every blow. My chest, Riko saw that. Saw me get stabbed through the fucking chest. I told them I was fine, but. I think I could have died from that alone. The sword  didn’t hit anything vital but I was bleeding. Badly. And then the other hits.” 

Satoru shivers. He didn’t die immediately when Toji stabbed him through the forehead. He’d used a different knife and Satoru felt it go in, felt it pull out like it was coated in static. He remembers gurgling a bit, doesn't think he was trying to say anything, but his chest was collapsing, lungs filling with blood, brain splitting and bulging. It’s a very strange sensation to feel your blood rush out of your body, to lay in it and know that you’re dying.  

“But then, god, I don’t know how to express how good I felt.”

Shoko makes a sound. “Sorry, what?”

“Nirvana.”

Satoru doesn’t know how to talk about this because even he’s  not sure how much of it was real. His body coming out of death’s grip, his senses exploding, wounds knitting themselves back together. It felt like something growing in him, a flower coming open. The pain in his skull growing white hot and blinding, then everything was blinding and gold, and everything that was ever wrong was right. Weightlessness without wings. 

“Satoru…” Shoko looks scared, leaning forward to examine Satoru more carefully. “Look at me.”

He looks at her, isn’t expecting her to reach carefully for his face that she cannot touch. Her fingers linger on Infinity, little points of thrumming. Satoru knows her. He’s known her as long as he’s known Suguru. He trusts her, but he cannot stomach letting her touch his face. Not right now when he feels sunburned or frosturned, just burned . 

“Look at me, Satoru.”

He jumps, looks her in the eye, silken layers of brown and browner. She studies him, lips pressed so tightly together they’ve gone bloodless.

“What is it?” Satoru asks. 

“What you’re describing, nirvana? That’s not normal.”

“I was diagnosed with ‘not normal’ when I was born.”

“Satoru,” she snaps, digs her fingers into nothing. “You needed to have me look at your brain afterwards.”

Satoru sighs. “Yeah, I get it. Brain damage.”

“No,” Shoko snarls. “This isn’t funny. Why the fuck do you think you felt like that?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru jerks his face away from her grip. “Power rush I guess.”

“You’re so frustrating,” Shoko says. “Satoru, did you ever think that it might have been from severe trauma? Your brain trying to make up for the trauma it just experienced?”

Satoru hadn’t really considered that. Not that he had thought much of it afterwards. Shoko’s fingers twitch towards the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. 

“What did it feel like, afterwards? Was there a come down?”

“Like drug withdrawal? No. I was just really tired.”

Tired and heavy and numb. He remembers talking to Suguru, barely remembers the weight in his arms. He remembers Suguru’s horrified face. Stricken as he stared at Satoru. Fear and grief in a way that only Suguru knew how to express. 

“What does it matter?” Satoru asks. 

“Well,” Shoko says. “I could give you an essay about why it’s a huge red flag for brain trauma. I could go on and on about how you’re probably at risk for seizures now, how your wires are crossed and you’ll pay for it for the rest of your life. I could demand you get a CT scan of your brain so we can do any kind of preventative care.”

“I am getting a CT scan,” Satoru says, interrupting her. “And it’s not going to say anything that we don’t already know.”

“And this is why medical stuff isn’t going to work on you. I can also say that you are my friend and it’s horrifying that happened to you and you just didn’t tell anyone.”

Satoru smiles at her. “There were worse things going on.”

“You isolated yourself, Satoru,” Shoko says. “I don’t think you realize this but you were gone .”

He does regret that. Between Toji and murder and Satoru being shaken until he was scared, he had jumped on any mission handed to him. And while he was off taking care of that, he’d lost something he will never get back. 

“I don’t know what kind of person gets traumatic brain injuries and then decides that a brain damaging permanent technique is a good route to go.”

Satoru makes a face at her. Shoko knocks her head back against the wall.

“I’m not looking to be saved, Shoko,” Satoru says. “I don’t need it, I don’t want it. But I’m sorry I didn’t come to you.”

“Suguru told me that Toji purposefully didn’t land any fatal hits on him. I healed him up in about two seconds. Easy even for a less experienced me. He said that’s how he knew Toji wasn’t lying about killing you.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Satoru murmurs. He’s watching water drip down from an upstairs neighbor's plants. Little spirals of water that catch the setting sun and look like faux gems. 

“He was satisfied,” Shoko says. “He didn’t feel the need to take out failure on Suguru.”

“Oh.”

At least Satoru being himself saved Suguru from one thing. And yet, Satoru will still be the person to kill Suguru.

“God,” Satoru says as he gets to his feet. “This is depressing as hell. I promise if I get any more brain injuries to tell you immediately, and I’ll try to be a better friend.”

Shoko looks up at him. “Okay.” She holds up a hand and Satoru helps her to her feet too. “You know, this didn’t help my desire to figure out how the fuck your brain functions.”

“I also promise you can have that when I die, s’not like anyone will need it anymore. Put it in a pretty jar.”

They can hear the kids inside, a rucous that is leaning towards disaster. Satoru swallows the urge to groan. He’s going to have to figure out accommodations for the cat tomorrow, and Megumi will probably never forgive him, and complete what his dad started. 

“Hey, can you figure out if a kid is allergic to something...ethically?”

“Oh my god,” Shoko mumbles. “There are literally so many ways. Why?”

“Megumi was a little shit and lied about being allergic to peanuts earlier.”

Shoko hums. “You should probably take them to a clinic in the city. I don’t have the proper equipment for that, but it's usually shots.”

“Ah,” Satoru grins. “Good.”

Chapter Text

Nothing could have prepared Satoru for two kids, one kitten, and one concerned vet who has passed judgment onto Satoru already. That’s saying a lot because Satoru just got back from a mess of a mission. Maggots. Oh god he hates maggots and that’s all that came out of the curse that took three hits to kill. His Sunday, the last day of his short break, was cut in half and as he was running out the door at dawn, told Megumi–who had followed him from his room, kid has like a sixth sense–to prepare the kitten for the vet. He’s back now, got back at noon, in a foul mood and listening to the cat doctor diagnose the kitten with ‘probably should not have been in your house’.

“Yeah, I can say confidently that our little friend here has some worms and nasty bugs.”

Megumi gasps. “Oh no!”

“Like fleas?” Satoru asks. 

The vet winces, smoothing the kitten's fur back. “Oh yeah. Enough that it’s impacting the little things' health.”

“My–the kids slept with him in their beds…”

“I recommend you thoroughly clean everything. Steam any carpets and use flea sprays on furniture especially the beds. How long have you had the kitten?”

“A few days,” Satoru says. He’s sort of panicking about the potential of a flea infested apartment. 

“Why was it not brought into a hospital sooner.”

Satoru kneads at a knot in his neck. “I didn’t have time.”

A scathing look of disapproval. 

“Is Bug going to die?” Megumi asks Satoru, his voice quiet. 

“No, kid,” Satoru says. “He’ll be just fine.” Then to the vet. “What can we do?”

The vet runs through a list of treatments, topical things to be administered every few hours and a prescription for deworming. Satoru nods and nods and nods but asks the vet to talk to him privately when the kids are distracted. 

“Listen, that little boy picked that kitten out of the rain, and I don’t think I have the time to properly care for it. What do I do?”

The vet strips off her gloves. “If you don’t think you have proper time to care for him, I would recommend letting someone else care for it. I know some good rescues that will find him a good home.”

Satoru looks past her to Megumi. He’s got his head down on the exam table, wiggling his fingers at Bug. Fuck. Satoru doesn’t have time to care for a kitten on top of the kids, he can’t leave two little kids to take care of it. But can he take Bug away from Megumi? Fuck. 

“We get a lot of animals in here that little kids get off the streets,” the vet says, like she can read Satoru’s mind. “It’s hard, but you haven’t had the kitten for very long. You are all very…young, and there are years worth of pets down the road.”

Satoru doesn’t know how to explain to this woman that he hasn’t had these kids for very long either. That he’s on the verge of ruining everything all the fucking time and he doesn’t want to hurt them. 

“They’re going to hate me,” Satoru mutters. 

“I can’t speak for them,” the vet says, she smiles at Satoru, “but they’ll be okay if you explain that it’s for the good of the kitten.”

“You promise he’ll go to a good home?”

“I promise I will try my hardest. Depending on how much you want to pay we can keep him here in the hospital first before handing him to a rescue to make sure he’s healed. That’ll give him a good chance of being picked up by someone who will love him.”

“Money won’t be an issue,” Satoru says. 

“Great. Then I will get the paperwork for an inpatient. Uh, good luck talking to the kids. I’ll give you guys some space.”

Send Satoru back to the maggots. Each step towards Megumi and Tsumiki feels like torment. He’s the worst person in the world. He’s a monster. 

“Megumi,” Satoru says, his voice calm, soft as he can make it. “Come here.”

Satoru kneels on the hard floor, smiles–god it's a grimace he’s grimacing–when Megumi approaches him. 

“We have to leave Bug here, don’t we,” Megumi says.

Satoru blinks. “I–yeah.”

Megumi nods, ducks his head, sniffles, reaches up to wipe balled fists along his cheeks. Satoru’s shoulders sag, he opens his arms, lets down Infinity. Megumi buries himself in Satoru’s chest, tucks his head down against his collarbone, but he doesn’t cry as much as he lets out one, two, three heavy sighs. 

“Aw, man. Megs, I’m sorry.” Satoru cradles him, a hand tucked up into his dark hair, an arm across his back. “I’m sorry.”

Tsumiki comes over patting Megumi’s back. Satoru ruffles her hair, grimaces at her in turn. She smiles back at him, pained and small. He almost wishes she would have a tantrum about it, but she takes it with so much grace. 

“We’ll think about a pet later, okay?” Satoru says. 

It’s a steep expectation to put in their heads, but something he himself wouldn’t be opposed to. He’s always wanted a pet. A dog mostly, but cats are good too. 

“Do you hate Bug?” Megumi whispers.

Truthfully, Satoru feels vague stress towards the little cat and not much else. Well besides the new soul crushing guilt. 

“I don’t hate a kitten, Megumi. That’s like villian shit.”

Megumi pulls away. He rubs a fist into his eye until it starts to turn red and then Satoru gently pries away his hand. He uses the hem of his shirt to wipe at Megumi’s face, inspecting his eye for irritants beyond tears. He smooths back unruly bangs absentmindedly, and presses his thumb to the little wrinkle of distress between Megumi’s eyebrows. 

“Where will Bug go?” Tsumiki asks. 

“I don’t know, but somewhere really nice,” Satoru says. “The vet says she’s going to make sure his worms and bugs are taken care of first.”

Tsumiki nods. “Do you think he will go to a cat cafe?”

“Uh, I guess. Maybe.”

“We’ll visit him if he does!” Tsumiki says. 

“Can’t say no to that,” Satoru says, his voice a little weak. 

He watches the kids go back over to the cat and say their goodbyes. It’s pitiful, but Satoru also feels a weird flare of pride over how they’re taking it, and then wonders if that makes him an even worse person. The vet comes back in with a chart that she hands to Satoru. He fills it out, winces reading the rest of Bugs’ ailments. Heart condition that might not allow him to reach adulthood and malnourishment from his stint on the streets that’ll follow him if he does get to grow up. The cost to house the kitten is hefty, and the stay is a vague guesstimation. Satoru will pay whatever he needs to. 

“Hey, is there a way to get updates where he goes?” Satoru asks the vet as he hands the chart back. 

“Not through me. You’ll have to contact whatever shelter he’s sent to.”

They leave the vet’s office not long after. The kids dry eyed and Satoru tired. It’s Sunday, the day, if curses and higher ups, and pain permit, when he normally tries to put in some physical training. He's torn between going home to let the kids be angry and sulky, or heading to campus to let them spend some time with Panda.

“Do you guys want to go home?” Satoru asks.

“Where else would we go?” Megumi mumbles.

“I normally go and workout at my school on Sundays, but uh. Anyways.”

Megumi’s face wrinkles up. “Work out?”

“Yep,” Satoru says. “That’s how I can carry you around so easily.”

“Will Panda be at your school?” Tsumiki asks. She’s holding the umbrella, by her own insistence, over hers and Megumi’s heads. 

“For sure,” Satoru says. 

“Can we come to your school then?”

“Yeah, course.”

Satoru calls a car and when he’s done, and while they wait, Megumi reaches up to tug on the hem of Satoru’s shirt. 

“Need something, little friend?”

Megumi curls his fist into Satoru’s shirt, stares at his shoes–black and red velcro, super cool. 

“Bug pooped in my closet. A lot.”

“Oh. W-why didn’t you tell me?”

Megumi looks a little constipated, shifting where he stands. 

“You were in pain. I thought the closet was a good kitty bathroom. The potty is too big for a kitty, Satoru. Duh.”

Satoru closes his eyes. 

“Is there a book on how not to traumatize children?” 

Satoru is shooting baskets in the gymnasium after a workout that was probably too intense after missing working out for almost two months. Shoko is in the bleachers and it feels almost like before. She’s flipping through a fat medical book, pen in her mouth like a cigarette. She snorts around it. 

“If there is, no adult in my life has ever picked up a copy. Why, what did you do?”

The ball swishes into the net, bounces cleanly back into Satoru’s waiting palm. He dribbles, once, twice, then holds the ball in the tips of his fingers, frowning out the open door to the flooding sidewalks. 

“I left the kitten at the vet’s, and signed off his life to someone else.”

Shoko makes a humming sound, vague enough that Satoru turns to study her over the rims of his–new, old–glasses. 

“What?”

“Why’d you do that?”

Satoru throws the ball back at the net. 

“I don’t think I can take care of him.”

Shoko shrugs. “Then you should have gotten rid of it.”

“Yeah, but that’s like, formative or something.”

The ball comes back to his hand.

“‘Formative’ huh, have you been reading parenting books?”

“Fuck no,” Satoru scoffs. Three dribbles, backing up to half court, arms up, perfect angle, swish. “But I’m not ignorant enough to not consider that I might have just become a monster to those kids.”

“They had the cat for barely three days, Satoru. Little thing was sickly too. Diarrhea.”

The ball misses Satoru’s hand on rebound. 

“Noooo.”

He sits down heavily on the court, then lays down, staring up at the old ceiling, falling insulation, and skylights that have never been cleaned. He broke one of those his first year, right after Yaga screamed at him not to throw a baseball as hard as he could indoors. Since when does he have to make so many choices? Since when has he questioned them so much? It used to be, to the wind! And whatever happens happens! Satoru rolls onto his side, watches the basketball roll to a slow stop at the foot of the opposite bleachers. 

“Wow,” Shoko drawls. “What a pathetic sight.”

“I don’t want them to hate me,” Satoru says, breathes really, hurts a little bit to say. 

He doesn’t want them to hate him, he doesn’t want them to resent him, he doesn’t want to make hard choices. Satoru doesn’t need love or approval, he gets plenty of that from his own power. He knows he’s powerful, he knows he’s scary and wanted and worth a huge bounty for all the nothing that means. He knows that his friendships are half illusion and half nostalgia, and he was never the glue keeping anything or anyone together. His value is in what others can get out of him, what he can do to maintain balance, to keep what few remaining young sorcerers there are alive. Satoru is at peace with this. But he doesn’t want the kids to hate him. He hurts to think that resentment might fester, that he causes hurts he can’t repair. 

“It was barely three days,” Shoko’s voice cuts through Satoru’s heavy thoughts. “They’ll be alright, Satoru.”

“Megumi named him.”

“He also had you name the rollie pollie he found, Satoru. He’s little.”

So little. Satoru curls around his stomach, feeling off. Not sick, but kind of nauseous. Sunlight breaks through the heavy gray sky, turning mounds of cloud gold on the edges. Like opening a window in the sky to let in the blue. It’s still raining, but there is sunlight. It comes through the skylights, slates shadows across the floor. The ball turning an oblong blue. Satoru sits up, tracks the shadows, outlining his own. The edges of his glasses and the mess of his hair, turned static and flyaway from laying on the floor. He gets to his feet, scoops up the basketball. 

“Are you leaving?” Shoko asks.

“Yeah. I’ll walk back to the morgue with you but I think I want to show Megumi something.”

Shoko flicks a hand at him, puts her pen back in her mouth and her eyes back on her book. 

Satoru jogs towards the little flickers of Megumi’s cursed energy in the bowels of the building that houses Yaga’s office and the classrooms that are near foreign to him now. He’s trying to beat the clouds, the tendency for a break to be just that. He needs the sun for this. 

The kids are playing with an arrangement of Yaga’s cursed dolls on the floor of his office, laughing loudly. Tsumiki holds the half stuffed form of a bear shaped thing with fat,blue boxing gloves in the place of paws. She’s making it drink from a coffee stained mug while Panda hops in a circle with a fabric passenger on his back and one tucked under his arm. Megumi has arranged his own collection around himself in a circle and holds a fat book in his lap, glaring down at the pages. 

“Heyo kiddos.” Satoru looks down and over the rims of his glasses. “What’re you playing?”

“Business man who has dealings with the Yakuza,” Tsumiki informs him. She covers the bear’s ears. “This coffee is poisoned. He’s going to die.”

“Ah,” Satoru says, “who poisoned him?”

He makes a show of pulling his glasses to the tip of his nose and looking slowly at Panda, then a drag of his gaze to Megumi. Tsumiki makes a little gasping sound, the mug thumps to the floor and the bear goes flopping with it. 

“He’s dead!” Tsumiki shrieks.

Panda stops hopping to stare in horror and clutch his own corpse–a fish maybe–to his chest. Tsumiki points an accusing finger at him. 

“You poisoned him for fame!”

“No!” Panda bellows, “I am so famous already! His fame is nothing to my fame!”

Tsumiki eyes him suspiciously. “How famous?”

“Super duper.”

“I don’t believe you. Say a famous person you’re more famous than.”

Panda wrings the shit out of his fish, his ears folding back. He turns to look at Satoru, big eyed. 

“I don’t know many celebrities that you’d know,” Satoru confesses, he can think of a few pop stars, but super duper is a hard act to beat, “though, you could say me.”

He grins. 

Panda’s ears flick up. “No.”

“I’m like…the most famous person you’ll ever meet, kid.”

“No.”

Tsumiki ponders. “You could make up a famous person.”

“Famous like papa!” Panda cheers. 

Kids are so weird. As if. Megumi rolls his eyes at this, but Satoru is sure it’s not for the same reason Satoru finds it ridiculous. Satoru shuffles over to Megumi and looks down at the book. Something about fabric history with margin notes about properties of imbuing fabric, what holds, what slips, what binds to what. Megumi has most likely processed exactly none of it. 

“I want to show you something, Megumi,” Satoru says, low, so the other two won’t hear over their play.

“What?”

“Something to do with your technique.”

Megumi closes the book, interest piqued. He extracts himself from his circle of corpses just as Tsumiki’s not poisoned corpse exacts vengeance on his fallen friend. She’s brutal; a pencil dagger to the back. 

“Tsumiki, do you remember where the dojos are?” Satoru asks.

“Mmhm,” Tsumiki says, not looking up at him. 

“Okay, I’m taking Megumi there if you need to find me. Don’t stab anything but toys.”

It is thankfully still sunny as Satoru walks with Megumi towards the dojos and the training room at the very back of the building that gets full sunlight in the evenings. Megumi is quiet, shuffling beside Satoru; damp shoes and eyes that still look a little irritated. 

“Do your eyes itch?”

“No,” Megumi says, like someone who’s eyes itch. 

“Okay.”

“What are you going to show me?”

“I don’t wanna spoil it, we’re almost there anyways.”

Satoru waves at the few lingering people in the dojo as they walk into the main entrance. Megumi grabs at Satoru’s leg, ducking away from the first years that call out to Satoru and the few staff that wave or nod in acknowledgement. Satoru pats Megumi’s head and decides not to torment him with introductions to people he’s not going to remember and will most likely not see again before they are brutally killed. Ah here they go, Satoru’s favorite room, blessedly empty. 

The training room is warm. Sunlight spilling across the polished boards. The air smells faintly of air salonpas and the wax that they buff the floor with every couple of weeks. Megumi follows Satoru to the center of the room, looks around, out the windows towards the field. Satoru sits on the floor, folding his legs under himself, patting the spot in front of his knees. Megumi sits, clumsily mirroring Satoru’s folded legs. 

“Are we medicationing?” Megumi asks with great suspicion and resistance. 

“No, we are not doing meditation. I’m going to show you how you can summon your technique.”

“We have to sit down for that?”

“You better hope not, that’s an easy way to get yourself murdered. But for now, you’re tiny and not very strong, so we start here and build up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Satoru says. “The cool thing about your technique, and mine too, is that they are so cool, so powerful that there’s a lot of stuff recorded about them. When I learned about you, and what you might manifest, I read a lot to try and better understand it.”

Satoru holds his hands out, wiggles his fingers, watching the long shadows he’s casting against the wall. 

“Your technique, the Ten Shadows, uses your cursed energy to summon shikigami. You following?”

Megumi nods. He’s staring at Satoru, not the shapes Satoru is dancing across the wall. 

“Shikigami,” Megumi repeats. “What…what does that mean completely?”

“Shikigami are spiritual creatures. You can summon them and control them using your cursed energy. They’re like your familiars.”

Megumi looks a little awed. “What do they look like?”

“They vary,” Satoru says. “I knew a sorcerer who’s Shikigami looked like a whale shark, and another who looked a little like a dragon if you squinted.”

“What will mine look like?” Megumi asks. “Bunnies?”

“Yes. But you’re special. You get ten.”

“There were more than ten,” Megumi says. 

“No, ten different animals.”

Megumi jumps a little where he sits. “ Ten?! ”

“Ten!” Satoru cheers. “Records say, wolves, a snake, rabbits, frogs, an elephant, owl, deer, ox.”

And a god. 

“That’s not ten.”

“You’ll have two wolves,” Satoru says, holding up two fingers. 

And a god.

“Still not ten.”

Satoru should just tell him that–deep breath– Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General Mahoraga, is his last shikigami. It’s the boy’s technique, he deserves to understand all of it. But Satoru can see Megumi crumbling under the sheer power of trying to summon that. An eager child unaware of what might happen if he succeeds. Satoru knows that Megumi’s ability to summon the deity is how he will surpass Satoru, and when he’s taller than a few thumbs Satoru will teach him how to summon victory and survive .

“I’ll tell you about the last one later,” Satoru says. 

“How come?” Megumi pouts. “I want to know.”

“And you will, but sometimes it’s better to wait on stuff. Now, what do you want to try and summon first? Rabbits?”

“Mno.” Megumi gets on his knees, worry twisting between his brows. “Dogs. But how?”

“I can show you how to channel your energy into a single point, place, but it's up to you to form them. I can’t help you with that.”

Megumi nods. 

Satoru clasps his hands into the shape of a dog's head. Makes the mouth move against the wall as he talks. 

“This is sorta like what happens when I call a veil or even use my own technique. The point is to control, contain and focus your energy. Sigils, signs, symbols, imbued fists, weapons, tools, these are all ways to contain and control your energy for use.”

Megumi watches the shadow puppet’s mouth move. His little hands are clumsy as he tries to imitate. Satoru corrects his fingers, presses pinky and ring finger together, then scoots away. 

“There you go,” Satoru says. “Now. Feel your energy, think about the bunnies if you have to. Can you feel anything?”

Megumi nods silently. He’s biting blood into his lip. 

“Okay. Picture what you want, push your energy towards the shape of your hands, the cast of the shadow.”

Nothing happens for several beats. Megumi’s eyes have closed, brows crumpled together, little fingers struggling to hold the form of the dog head. Satoru can feel the swell of energy. Darker than his own, dense, like fog. It is powerful, even from such a tiny vessel. And then Satoru’s shadow ripples, he grins something big and hooked. The shadows around the room, the largest from Satoru’s body, turn into pits of ink, tangible with movement and the struggling form of creatures that are powerful and wild. Megumi lets out a soft gasp, his dog head on the wall trembles, kicks hind legs and grows ears that aren’t thumbs. There’s even sound, a clipped bark, garbled by shadow. 

Megumi’s arms drop and Satoru shoots an arm out to steady him as he sways. 

“Good job,” Satoru says. 

Blinking and swallowing, Megumi looks back at Satoru’s shadow, normal again, turned long as the sun changes position. 

“I didn’t do it.”

“You did well,” Satoru says. “You’ve never done that before. That was impressive.”

Megumi pulls away from him, rubs at his eye. “Show me more.”

“Absolutely.”

Satoru teaches Megumi the hand gestures for all–most–of his shikigami. He’s delighted when Megumi manages to get the rabbits back. A flood of creatures that all morph into each other as the mass grows and grows. It’s a treat to watch Megumi use his technique even when most of them have no results. They’re big spirits. And it’s a treat to realize that Satoru can hold the rabbits. Cup them, one, or four in his hands and watch them watch the room with pink eyes and quick noses. Megumi holds them too, seems put out that he can’t hold all of them at one time, and passes an abundance to Satoru. In all of his research, from the school library and the library at the Gojo compound, he had never come across records of Ten Shadow holders petting their shikigami, talking to them, holding as many as they can so no one feels left out. And maybe that was what happened when the users were smaller, but it's been scrubbed from the records. 

Eventually Megumi gets tired. He slumps back on his hands, hanging his head and yawning. The rabbits fade away, the shadows go still again. 

“Is that last one a cat?”

“Hm?”

“The last animal, is it a cat? And you didn’t tell me cuz I’m sad about Bug?”

“Ha, no. Sorry kid.”

“Ah. Damn.”

“Don’t say damn,” Satoru says. “That’s a big person word.”

“Eh,” Megumi says. He yawns again, rubs more at his eye. 

“We should go home, clean your closet and then we’re going to call professional cleaners so they can come tomorrow.”

Find something to eat which Satoru hasn’t thought about for the entire day. Not since the maggots. Maybe something without rice tonight. Or he just won’t eat. Satoru gets to his feet, looks down at Megumi who shows no sign of getting up. 

“Do you want to be carried?”

“Yeah,” Megumi says, like he’s so burdened by the allowance. 

Satoru picks him up and Megumi falls asleep almost instantly. 

Yaga is sitting with Tsumiki and Panda when Satoru gets back. They’ve moved onto coloring in crappy little coloring books that Satoru realizes Yaga must have purchased solely for Tsumiki. She’s bent over a Sanrio book, coloring in a mouse. It makes Satoru falter a little, pausing to watch Yaga nod his approval when she shows him. Tsumiki sees him first, and comes bouncing over to show him the page. Satoru takes it with the hands that’s not supporting Megumi and also nods his approval. 

“Ready to go home?’ Satoru asks. 

“Yup! I need to go get my umbrella.”

Satoru lets her run down the hall, back towards Yaga’s office before he turns back to the man. 

“Coloring.”

“It's an enriching activity,” Yaga says. “Panda enjoys it.”

Grinning Satoru tilts his head to the side, “Well thanks. I appreciate you helping Tsumiki feel included.”

Yaga looks a little taken aback, then suspicious, before Satoru’s unwavering smile melts that away. 

“She told me about the cat.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, his smile dipping. “Yeah.”

Yaga doesn’t berate him or offer advice or even ask if Satoru needs advice. He just gives Satoru a nod that Satoru isn’t sure how to translate. 

“Your boy seems tired,” Yaga does say, jerking his chin at Megumi. 

“Ah, yeah. We worked on summoning creatures today.” Satoru looks at Megumi’s slack face. “He sleeps a lot. Is that normal?”

“I…don’t know,” Yaga admits. “If you’re worried you should have a doctor look him over. Kids are known to nap though.”

“Maybe I’ll take him in when I go for my scan,” Satoru mumbles. 

Panda approaches then, showing Satoru his coloring page. Anthropomorphic hedgehogs. Panda’s coloring is weirdly impeccable. The colors are a little strange but everything is neatly in the lines. 

“Very cool,” Satoru says.

Panda drops the book on the floor. “Can you carry me too?”

“I could try,” Satoru says, “but I'm leaving and you have to stay here.”

Grabby paws. Satoru sighs. He hefts Panda up, lets the kid scramble up to his shoulder where he sits, putting his chin in Satoru’s hair. 

“I’m taller than you now,” Panda says. 

There’s a clap of thunder that eats Satoru’s reply. He turns to stare in disbelief at the rain that drops out of the sky in a blanket of wet. Yaga grunts, gathering up the coloring materials to keep them out of water. 

“Is this ever going to stop?” Satoru whines. “I don’t like the rain.”

“Be grateful for it. Rain is better than drought.”

“Yeah until the storms turn into tsunamis,” Satoru says. 

“What’s a tsunami?” Panda asks. 

“Noth–”

“Big waves that eat the land up and cause a lot of messes that sorcerers normally have to help clean up,” Satoru says, cutting off Yaga. 

Panda’s eyes widen, he whips around to look at Yaga. “Is that now?”

“No,” Yaga says firmly. “It's just a rain storm.”

But the damage is done and Panda requests to be placed down so he can go and hide his face in Yaga’s leg. Satoru shrugs at the scathing look Yaga sends him. 

“He’s going to experience one eventually.”

And now Tsumiki is back, looking put out by the storm as well. She opens her umbrella and tip toes in a useless attempt to get it higher than Satoru’s shoulder. 

“No need, Miki,” Satoru says. “I’ve got my built-in umbrella, remember?”

“What about Megumi?”

“I’ve got him too.”

It's not going to be a long distance to a car anyways, and they’ll hurry. 

"Is Megumi allowed back at school?” Yaga asks before Satoru can take Tsumiki’s hand and duck into the storm. 

“Yeup. Little sh–guy is reformed.” Hopefully. “Back to school with both of them starting tomorrow.”

Yaga nods. “That’s good. I need you in my office first thing tomorrow.”

“Something bad?”

“When is it ever good?”

Satoru shrugs. “When you send me somewhere really interesting it's slightly better.”

“That’s not fair.”

They both turn to look at Tsumiki. Her brows are lowered, the umbrella clenched in a fist.

“What’s not fair?” Satoru asks. “Megumi going back to school? I thought that would be abundantly fair.”

“No. He went to work today,” Tsumiki tells Yaga as if he wasn’t one of the people on the email chain. As if he didn’t correspond with Satoru over the phone when he got to the site.  “He wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“It just happens sometimes,” Yaga says. “There isn’t much to be done about it.”

“But you told him he could have a break, didn’t you?”

“I…did. But some things can’t be helped.”

Tsumiki frowns harder, looks at Satoru searchingly. Satoru grins easy. 

“Yeah Yaga, you told me.”

“The hard truth is sometimes Satoru has to let go of things he’s been told he can have to help people,” Yaga says to Tsumiki. He doesn’t look at Satoru.

And sometimes, most times, Satoru doesn’t get a choice or a chance to even have what he was told is his before it’s gone. 

“I don’t like that,” Tsumiki says.

“It's just how it is,” Yaga says.

Satoru pats Tsumiki’s shoulder. “I appreciate it, but I can handle it just fine.”

“But wasn’t it a lie?”

“Nah,” Satoru says, “I wasn’t promised anything. As Yaga says, it's just how it is.”

Tsumiki lets out a little puff of air. She shakes her head like she would rather be wagging her finger at the both of them and saying for shame! Tsumiki holds out a hand, which Satoru takes, she thanks Yaga for the playdate and coloring book, promises Panda that they’ll play again soon, and walks off taking Satoru with her.

Satoru makes the kids strip their mattresses when they get back home, and pile all the laundry in one stack by the in-unit laundry machines that Satoru has never used. He tackles the closet which is overwhelmingly disgusting and he will be talking to Megumi more in depth about this serious lapse in judgment. The mess cleans up with only a bit of persuasion and for that Satoru is forever grateful. Still, he feels gross and slightly sick when he’s done. The kids shower, Satoru showers, the bedding gets tossed into the machines and Satoru has to blip to a store to find soap. He picks up furniture cleaning spray while he’s there, and blips back home. Tsumiki is in the kitchen making lunches for her and Megumi and Megumi, upon some light searching, is asleep on Satoru’s bed. He leaves the kid for now. 

An hour later and there is soap overflowing from the machine. Satoru massages his eyes as he stands ankle deep in the stuff and Tsumiki politely explains where his error was. Too much soap, the machine was already over full with all of their bedding. 

“You’re a good kid,” Satoru tells Tsumiki as they mop it up with all the towels they have. Which is three. 

Tsumiki smiles at him. “Thank you.”

Satoru sits back on his knees. “How do you feel about what happened with Bug?”

She pauses, sits back too. “I’m sad about it.”

“I know,” Satoru says. 

“I’ll probably be sad about it for a while,” Tsumiki says like she’s warning Satoru.

“That’s alright.” 

At least he thinks it is. 

They finish cleaning up and find Megumi sitting on the couch eating whatever Tsumiki had been in the process of making. She scowls at her little brother and marches back into the kitchen to finish. 

“You go help,” Satoru says after he’s scrutinized the boy for any signs of technique induced fatigue. He nudges Megumi off the couch and collapses into his spot.

Satoru is proud of what Megumi had done today. The kid is strong and he’s a fast learner, surprisingly open to being taught. They’ll have to make a habit out of it. Satoru makes a mental note to tack that onto his hopeful Sunday schedules. Graduation is in a few weeks now, and Satoru wouldn’t mind being on campus a little more, especially now that he and Shoko are friends again. He’ll talk to Megumi about it, see what he wants to do. Satoru will have to have the conversion with him eventually, tell him that he is more or less required to attend the school; he still hasn’t really told Megumi the terms of the contract, they don’t talk about it. Satoru takes his glasses off, lays his arm over his eyes. 

Oh. He forgot to spray the couch.  

If there is one good thing that has come out of being constantly busy, it’s how tired Satoru gets. Sleep and he aren’t very good friends. Never have been. Not even as a child where he’d spend hours staring at the ceiling making up sensations in his body–hunger, thirst, the weird need to be crushed– that kept his mind running. Suguru, however, was a heavy sleeper, enjoyed naps, liked to go to bed when Satoru insisted they stay up stupidly late for the heck of it. And because Suguru was so good at sleeping, Satoru was often lulled to sleep next to his best friend. In the field after running laps, on the floor of the gym, in Suguru’s room with an old fan laboring over their bodies no matter the season. He calmed Satoru’s hyperactive mind, his thrumming body and constant need to be doing something. A hand on Satoru’s jumping leg or a “satoru shut the fuck up before i kick you out, i'm not kidding ” to make him quiet long enough that he was able to sleep. But then Suguru stopped sleeping. Satoru knew that. He could see it in the lines of Suguru’s face, the coloring under his eyes. Satoru knew it. And before Suguru stopped sleeping, sleep was ripped out of Satoru by something Toji tinted and he’s never known it the same since. 

And then Suguru left and Satoru hopes he’s sleeping again.

This to say that in the past few months Satoru has felt tired. A deep yawning pit that eats his energy and makes him feel lethargic in moments of down time. His little brain refreshers still work, because obviously, but he gets worn down enough to physically feel the need to sleep. The mattress in the apartment is nice, no expense spared, and the blankets are Satoru’s from the school. A mix of tech issued covers, things bought or gifted, and one blanket that smells like a weird mix of his friends’ old nicotine addictions. It’s fading out fast and Satoru doesn’t know how to feel about that. He sleeps in fits still, his brain kicking itself awake and his body coming with it, but he sleeps. That night, emotionally exhausted and satisfied from working out, Satoru takes his medicine and crawls into bed expecting it to be a run of the mill six hours and fifteen minutes. But no. Satoru has a nightmare.

Honestly he should have expected one sooner rather than later. They were like a constant cold those first weeks after Suguru left, in the few scant hours Satoru’s body would forcibly stop running. Satoru would wake up angry at Suguru, having spent an entire dream screaming at his indifferent face. Or he’d wake up his tongue plastered to the top of his dry mouth, shivering even if he was sweating hot. As far as he’s aware he doesn’t scream or make a big production of coming awake. Small blessing especially with Megumi next door. Except tonight.

Satoru chokes on his own hoarse yell as he’s yanked out of the dream like he’s falling. His legs jolt, he shivers and rolls over to hang his face over the edge of his bed as his stomach flips. He pants, blinks moisture out of his eyes, tears, sweat. His back twitches with tremors, if he has a flare up he’s going to throw something. Satoru presses his eyes closed, swallows back spit and sits up slowly. It’d been, fuck. Fucking Toji. He needs to start paying Satoru goddamn rent for squatting in his damn brain. Bum in life bum in fucking death. 

Toji normally shows up in Satoru’s dreams to kill him in a variety of fun and exciting ways. He’s dramatically bigger than he had been in real life and sometimes half curse, and occasionally half Suguru. Tonight though, Satoru was bleeding out–as per usual–head turned, locked in place as he watched Toji move with strides turned into something gnarly by the dream. He had the knife that went through Satoru’s forehead, he killed Riko then turned and stabbed Suguru point blank in the face. Then Megumi who had no right to be there but suddenly was, dressed in a raincoat and rain boots, crouched looking at a bug. Toji did the same to him, face curled up in a smile as he’d done it. He’d knelt, turned Megumi’s face towards Satoru, mouth the only real intact part left besides a single eye, and done it again and again and again and–

Satoru gets out of bed. 

He goes to the living room. 

Sits on the couch that smells like the spray. 

Puts his head in his hands.

Rain pelting the windows across the room. 

So much rain. 

Satoru misses the sun. 

There’s the creak of a bedroom door.

Megumi’s energy clinging to the wall. 

Flickering in Satoru’s periphery. 

Watching him. 

Chapter Text

“Megumi.”

His voice is the same tone as the dark living room. As the rain on the window panes. He doesn’t turn to look at the boy, but he sees him jump, sees the darkness around him grow deeper.  

“Go back to sleep. There is nothing for you here now.”

The bedroom door creaks again. Closes almost silently. 

The kids go back to school and Satoru goes back to work. He also tries to go back to school but he only really manages to get to the campus for a few hours the entire week. There are little signs that the school is gearing up for graduation, and a hint of excitement in Satoru’s underclassmen when they greet him as he comes out of the Higher Ups temple. Satoru has been all around Japan Monday and Tuesday, managing to get home only a few hours after the kids. He brings food and on Tuesday evening he brings a tv and dvd player. The kids stare bug eyed at him as he gets the thing set up. It had been an impulse buy but when it's set up it makes the living room feel more cozy, so Satoru is pleased. 

On Wednesday Satoru stays in Tokyo tracking a weird energy source that is powerful and evil and ancient. He got to take the kids to school so he can’t be too upset that the mission is mind numbingly boring. Resting in the damp cover of an outdoor patio, Satoru watches people meander past. He’ll call the mission before the kids get out of school in a few hours whether or not he’s managed to find the energy source. Satoru sips at the drink he’d bought to pay for his loitering, dragging his eyes over the crowds before they’re drawn and linger on a familiar head. 

Satoru is standing and hurrying to grab Kento’s shoulder before he can get eaten by the crowd at the crosswalk.

“Nanamin!”

Kento freezes, turning just his head to eye Satoru. For a moment there’s no recognition, normal for anyone just grabbed in the street, before Kento's face is going carefully blank. Satoru waves enthusiastically with his free hand. 

“Hey! Long time no see!”

Kento shakes Satoru’s grip off and pivots to look at him fully. He’s in a school uniform, his hair is combed back in a neat curve from his forehead, still a little awkward looking but it no longer obscures his face to makes him look sullen. 

“Gojo. What are you doing here?”

“I’m working. Got some nasty energy that's worrying the old farts,” Satoru chirps. 

Kento’s eyes narrow but he nods tightly. “Yes. I can…sense it. It’s been a little nauseating.”

“Do you live around here?” Satoru asks. It isn’t a residential area, but it is a nice part of the city with housing above cute little shops. 

“...no. I come here often after school though.”

“How is that? Normal school.”

Kento’s mouth goes tight. “Do you need something from me, Gojo?”

“No. I just…I thought I’d say hi when I saw you. We haven’t talked since…well not in awhile.”

Kento doesn’t say anything. 

“I was sitting at that cafe,” Satoru says, knocking a thumb over his shoulder to the table he had vacated. “We could talk, I’ll get you a drink. My treat.”

“I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Aren’t you busy?” Kento says in answer to the question. 

“Well yeah, but it's kind of a hurry up and wait situation right now. I was told specifically not to blow up any streets or sewers.”

Kento’s nose wrinkles before his face goes slack and he takes a step back. Satoru’s smile wanes a little bit. 

“I won’t force you,” he says. “If you don’t want to, that’s cool.”

“I…fine. One drink and one hour.”

“So calculated! Let's go!”

Kento is stiff in line for a new drink, stiff giving his order, stiff as Satoru whips out his change from earlier and pays, and stiff when they sit at an indoor table. Satoru grins at him and Kento doesn’t smile back. It's fine, it's cool. They aren’t buddies anymore, and maybe buddies has never really described their friendship. It doesn’t matter,  Satoru can carry this conversation. 

“So, normal school. Fun, boring, easy?”

“Safe,” Kento mutters. 

Satoru laughs. “Yeah that’s fair. Anyone cute in your class? I bet you’re super popular with the…super popular.”

A glare. “My classmates are good peers.”

“Nanaminnn, that’s boring . You don’t have a single crush? What about friends?”

“Don’t call me that. And yes, I have friends.”

“Good! Clubs?”

Kento’s drink comes then and he takes it gratefully, immediately swallowing a few sips, looking away from Satoru. When he puts the cup down he sits straight and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Why do you care?”

Satoru shrugs. “I haven’t seen you in so long, I want to know what you’re up to.”

“You never cared about it before now.”

“Yeah I did,” Satoru says. “We were friends.”

Kento raises a brow at him. “Were we?”

Satoru suddenly wishes that he had gotten another drink so he could put his hands around something. But it's just an empty expanse of table between Satoru and Kento, like a vast plain that Satoru has stranded himself in. 

“I thought so,” Satoru says. “We hung out a lot.”

“I ‘hung out’ with Suguru, Haibara and Shoko.”

Satoru frowns. Trying to maintain a smile was starting to make him feel demented. “Yeah, we were a group.”

“That doesn’t mean I was friends with you, Satoru.”

“Ouch,” Satoru says, laughs, blows out a breath. “Well damn, I thought we were friends.”

“Did you forget our last interaction?” Kento says. He takes another sip, casting his gaze across the room in discomfort.

“No. You hit me, that’s pretty impressive.”

Kento winces, looks down at the table. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my emotion manifest itself in such a manner, even if I was angry with you.”

Satoru waves him off. Smiling again, something smaller and contained. 

“It’s water under the bridge.”

“I still find myself angry with you,” Kento tells the table. “I seethe when I think about you.”

Satoru doesn’t have an answer for that. He doesn’t know all the layers behind Kento’s anger towards him, or how it’s tangled up with everything that happened. 

“How come?”

“You are never affected by anything,” Kento says. “You’re so… flippant about everything. You don’t care about anyone. Haibara died and you didn’t care. Suguru left and you didn’t fight it.”

Satoru barks a laugh, tips his head up and sighs. 

“See, this isn’t really an appropriate place to laugh,” Kento mutters.

Leaning forward, elbows on the table, Satoru taps his own temple. “I’m a bit fucked in the head.”

“You’re apathetic,” Kento says. His voice is harsh, that same animosity from their last interaction coming back. “It makes you intolerable.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Satoru asks. “Kill a village of non-sorcerers and my innocent parents? Walk away?”

Or was he meant to die? Would that have saved something that he so obviously couldn’t and can’t alive?

“No,” Kento snaps. “But you came out unscathed from all of it, why–” 

He stops talking, shakes his head, ducks it down. 

“Why what?” Satoru presses. 

“Why do the rest of us even matter anymore?” Kento raises his face. Old pain is new in his eyes, amber and tired and guarded. “Why do we have to risk our lives when you exist? You’re like a bomb. Devastating when you hit the targets you want but in the aftermath the fallout has no one target.”

That plain, the space of the red wood tabletop between them, expands out to a sea. Kento is staring at him with exhaustion, waiting for the answer. He wants a hard truth but the hard truth is that Satoru isn’t infallible. There are dead friends and kids he was meant to protect, and best friends he let slip clumsily through his fingers, that all speak to how Satoru Gojo fails . He gets tired, and he’s still learning some things about this fully realized power. He's hungry most of the time, starving if he thinks about it too much. Occasionally his nose will bleed and won’t stop. And one day Satoru Gojo will die. This he has known since he opened his eyes as an infant coated in amniotic fluid and knew everything in that space of time; as every human will grow to know and understand. But in his invincibility death is tucked into every strand of Satoru. He. Will. Die. In eighty years, or in ten years, or tomorrow. He can’t forget it and for others it is too easily forgotten.

“You’re right, suppose none of you matter, if you look at it like that,” Satoru says. “I could handle it all.”

Kento searches his face for a long time. Long enough that Satoru drops all pretense of bravado and slumps down in his chair, picking at the edge of the table. He’s waiting for the then why don’t you that he doesn’t have an answer for. 

“Are you sick?”

Satoru blinks. “What?”

“You’re pale. And you look…exhausted.”

He is both of those things. Very observant of Kento. 

“Can we be amicable if not friends?” Satoru asks instead of explaining why he looks so haggard. 

Kento looks slightly taken aback. “I just said some very cruel things to you.”

“I think brutally honest people are funny,” Satoru says. Megumi and Kento would get on like a house on fire. 

A frown from Kento, but this time it’s accompanied by an eyeroll. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Yeesh, making it sound like an interrogation,” Satoru laughs. He looks down at his phone to check the time. “I think it’s almost been an hour.”

Kento lets out a long labored sigh. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t mind staying a little long.”

Perking up, Satoru pulls his wallet out of his pocket and stands to go get a new drink shouting over his shoulder for Kento to stay put. It draws the attention of everyone else in the cafe, makes Kento glare and blush. 

“Okay,” Satoru says when he slides back into his spot. “Where are you staying?”

“I’m staying in my grandparents house. I’m taking care of it while my grandmother is in the hospital.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing is wrong with her, she’s just old, at a high fall risk, and had a case of pneumonia that was really bad.”

“Did your parents die?”

“No,” Kento says, “but they only live in Japan for part of the year and rent their house out the other time, remember? My transfer from the tech was unanticipated to put it lightly. It is simply easier for me to live in my grandparents house, and it aids them.”

“Got it,” Satoru says. 

A waitress brings over Satoru’s drink, he takes it gratefully and sucks down a few mouthfuls. Blessed caffeine. It’s a bitter drink for his standards, espresso shots in coffee with sweet cream, too warm for the muggy day but sends a happy little buzz right to the epicenter of Satoru’s brain. 

“Do you like it better than living on campus?”

“Do I enjoy my own space, peace, quiet with no curse riding and ridiculous fights over food? How could I possibly miss it?”

Satoru laughs. “It wasn’t that bad!”

“It was terrible living in the same building as you and Suguru,” Kento says. He even shudders. 

“We made everything lively and fun.”

“I think you’re just good at convincing people to follow your stupid plans,” Kento mutters. He sips at his quickly disappearing drink. 

“You’d be surprised how many pranks were Suguru’s idea. He was just better at acting like a kiss up.”

Releasing low level curses that would cause inconvenience into every cupboard, drawer, closet, toilet, fridge anything that could be opened, was Suguru’s idea. He had a collection of doe eyed fairy looking curses that clung to hands like bees who’s hive you just stuck your arm in. They released nasty scents; fart bomb-esque and bit like mosquitoes. Satoru’s hands were covered in little bites from shoving fistfuls of them into cereal boxes. But they hadn’t known that they’d multiply rapidly when confined to a space so instead of a few hundred curses, thousands spilled out into the dorm. God Satoru’s ribs hurt from laughing at Kento’s yelps and Haibara’s high pitched screams. They caused an infestation across the entire campus and Suguru swept in to oh so graciously collect them and Satoru got detention. 

“Your poker face has always been terrible,” Kento agrees. “I suppose sometimes I miss the campus just because I knew that I fit in there. Which is in and of itself a discomforting thought.”

“Yeah, at least we’re all freaks there,” Satoru says. He raises his mug before taking another sip.

“Since when do you drink coffee with no sugar?” Kento asks.

“It has sugar.”

“I can still see the coffee color.”

“I’m busy,” Satoru says, “it's made me appreciate coffee at its most basic form.”

One of Kento’s brows climbs his forehead. “You are sick.”

“Fuck, I hope not. Last thing I need.”

“Gojo, what is the matter with you?”

“Abridged version or no?” Satoru grins at him. “I wasn’t lying. I’m busy.”

“Busy.”

“Oh. And I have two kids.”

Kento stares at him. “You don’t.”

“I do.” Satoru swallows heavily, looks down at his coffee, swirls it in the mug. “I do.”

It’s Kento’s turn to lean heavily on the table, hand on his forehead like the sky just fell. Satoru would laugh at him, but that’s more or less what he’s felt like for weeks. Blindsided and disbelieving. 

“Where did you get children?” Kento rasps. “Do I even want to know?”

“It's kind of a long story,” Satoru says. “But, yeah. Two kiddos. Boy and a girl.”

“Gojo. What the fuck.”

Satoru does laugh now, rubs his forehead and laughs until his shoulders are hitching with giggles. Kento just stares, leans back to run a hand down his face and stares some more. 

“I don’t even–what in the–w-what are their names?”

Satoru sucks in a breath, hiccups on a few loose giggles. 

“Megumi and Tsumiki. Good kids.”

“You take care of them.”

“I try.”

Kento swallows, looks down at the table like it has all the answers to the questions he wants to ask. 

“Are they sorcerers?”

“Megumi has cursed energy,” Satoru says. “Not Tsumiki.”

“That must be interesting for her,” Kento says. “I know being a sorcerer trying to live in an ordinary world is hard and alienating.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Satoru says, “they spend most of their time in the ordinary world, so it shouldn’t be that bad. Their parents were both normal, so I tried to ease the culture shock. She’s taken everything well though.”

“How old are they?”

“Six and eight. Tiny things.”

“Oh god, Gojo,” Kento murmurs. “When did you get them? I haven’t been gone that long have I?”

“No, it all moved really fast actually. I was kind of scrambling at the end there. Tsumiki was a surprise I hadn’t accounted for. I’ve had them for almost two months.”

“I feel like I can’t ever have a normal interaction with you. You’re always doing something ridiculously out of the realms of anyone's imaginations.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment!”

“Don’t, it's exhausting.”

Satoru smiles. “You should meet them. I think you and Megumi would get along well.”

“When am I supposed to meet your kids?”

“You could come over for dinner or something like that.”

Kento narrows his eyes. “This isn’t a scheme to get me to watch them when you need a babysitter is it?”

“Pfft, no. Besides, Yaga is a great babysitter.” Satoru digs his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “I should actually get going. I wasn’t kidding though, you should come for dinner, meet the kiddos. I’ll invite Shoko. Get the group back together.”

Kento winces. “Maybe.”

“Cool! I’ll text you.”

“I…changed my number.” Kento pulls his phone out too. Something different from the phone he used to have. Silver and new looking, missing the sticker Haibara had smacked on the front that Kento couldn’t get off. 

“How’d you fuck up your old phone?” Satoru asks as he takes the device that Kento cringes to hand over to him. Satoru flicks it open and whistles low at the sleek keyboard. “Nice.”

“I didn’t. I just wanted a new one.”

Satoru inputs his contact, and then texts himself before handing the phone back to Kento who looks vaguely sick. Satoru gets up, so does Kento. They stare at each other and Satoru realizes that he doesn’t know how to say goodbye to him. Kento settles on a curt nod and leaves. Satoru watches him go and leaves the cafe only after Kento has crossed the busy street. If they’d left together they’d have been walking in the same direction. 

The source of the cursed energy is a talisman that someone had laid linoleum over in the back of a corner store. The owner of the place had mold sickness symptoms going on for a few days, set on fast, threatening blindness,  but inspections were unable to find mold anywhere. Satoru rips up the linoleum, squatting between two teetering stacks of cardboard boxes that smell like prawn crackers and freezer. The owner's son cusses at Satoru for property damage and then shuts up when Satoru shoots him a nasty little glare over his shoulder. He holds his hand out over the talismen, testing its power before grabbing it and crushing it in his fist. It was probably left there in hopes of attracting some nasty curses, bit ones, which there are no reports of, so it must be relatively new. Not a great sign. 

“Some of my people will come and pay for that,” Satoru says to the store owner's son. “The store should be fine now.”

That handled, a talisman acting like a caged bird in his pocket, Satoru pops over to the primary school where the kids attend. He stands in a gaggle of other adults waiting to walk their kids home. Not many, most trust their kids to get to and from school alone, but there are at least three mothers and some elderly women who eye Satoru dubiously. The last bells ring and it takes a few minutes for the doors to swing open and kids to spill out. Many are totting umbrellas, tripping over them in their haste, lacking balance due to their large backpacks. Satoru spots Tsumiki first, he raises a hand towards her, she sees him, waves back, says something to her friends and comes skipping towards Satoru. 

“Satoru!”

“Hey! Did you have a good day?” Satoru takes the umbrella from her. It’s a drizzling evening. He opens it, holds it over her as Tsumiki wrangles her bag off her back. 

“Yes, look at this!”

She depostites a thing into Satoru’s palm. He can’t tell what it is. Something made out of clay, a pot? Maybe. Lumpy, slouchy, bulging. It’s painted dark blue with greenish yellow spots. 

“What is this?” Satoru asks. 

“It's a mug,” Tsumiki says. “My class is doing a pottery tent for the end of the year festival, and we’re making mugs. That’s my favorite one.”

“Oh,” Satoru says. “I like it. It’s very. Shapeful.”

Tsumiki preens. “I know! I painted it like the night sky.”

Ah, yeah she did. Satoru can see it now that she mentions it. 

“Is it water tight?”

Tsumiki shrugs. She takes the mug back from Satoru and lays it back into a nest made out of crumpled paper that Satoru hopes isn’t homework. 

“I’ll carry it, just to be sure.”

“You do you.” 

“What did you do today?” Tsumiki asks, she’s rocking back on her heels, waving to a few kids that walk past. Her hair is a bit of a mess, falling out of its tie and flecked with bits of leaves. 

“I went to work, met an old friend.”

“At work?”

“Eh, sorta.”

Tsumiki hops suddenly, waving her hand high above her head and almost frantically. Megumi has come slouching out of the school building. Satoru frowns at him. He looks tired and his eyes are pink even from a distance. 

“Do you see Megumi a lot during the day?” Satoru asks Tsumiki.

“M’no,” Tsumiki hums. “I only sometimes walk past the little kids' classrooms when I’m running errands for my teachers. I do that cuz they trust me.”

“As they should,” Satoru says. “Let's go meet him.”

Megumi comes right to them, thunks his head down against Satoru’s thigh and sighs. Satoru feels his forehead, concern making his throat tight. The skin is cool, but Megumi is weirdly clammy. Satoru kneels so he can look at Megumi’s face. His eyes are irritated, puffy and weepy. Shot through with blood. 

“Do you feel bad?”

Megumi nods silently, which is pretty fucking loud when it comes to him. Satoru scoops him up when Megumi’s mouth trembles. He keeps the umbrella over Tsumiki who is watching them with large eyes. Megumi rubs his face against Satoru’s shoulder, tilting his right eye into Satoru’s shoulder. 

“Kid,” Satoru says, “how long have your eyes been like that?”

“Mn. Long time.”

“Did you go to the nurse?” 

A nod. 

“What did she say?”

“Dirt in my eye. Washed it out.”

Satoru sighs. “Did that help?”

“No.”

“Did it make it worse?”

“I dunno. My throat itches.”

Okay. Fuck. Satoru hadn’t planned to go to the hospital until he was absolutely forced to, but that sounds like an allergic reaction if he’s ever heard it. 

“I need to call a car,” Satoru says to both kids. “We’re gonna go see what’s going on with you.”

They walk down to the bus stop, recently vacated and wait for the car that Satoru requested with a great amount of self control. Tsumiki is very still beside Satoru. She’s reached up and hooked her hand into the elbow of the arm holding Megumi, crowding close to Satoru’s side. Satoru doesn’t have any comforting words to give her, he feels a little numb himself. 

The car ride is tense and silent. Megumi isn’t actively in anaphylactic shock, but his eyes grow puffier and his rubbing on Satoru’s shoulder gets harsher. Everything at the hospital turns into a weird slow motion blur. No one seems to understand the gravity of Megumi’s affliction. The doctor speaks calmly, asks about what Megumi ate at school, asks about known allergies that Satoru has to stumble his way through answering. He asks about pets and Satoru tells the doctor about Bug. 

“I would say a mild cat allergy. We’ll give him some benadryl and that should clear it up.”

“He sleeps a lot,” Satoru says hurriedly when the doctor turns to leave. “Like a lot. Is that. Is that normal?”

“He’s six, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Normal enough. Kids burn a lot of energy and some kids don’t have as much energy to burn.”

“Sure, but he sleeps a lot .”

The doctor frowns at Satoru. “What is his diet like? Is it balanced?”

“It…could probably be better,” Satoru says.

“Start there.”

Which is just so unhelpful Satoru wants to trip the man as he walks out of the room. Tsumiki looks up from the medical magazine she’d been flipping through. Megumi rolls over on the bed until he can sit up. He looks puffy and tired. 

“Why didn't you tell me sooner?” Satoru asks him. He swipes his glasses off his face, digs his fingers into his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” Megumi says. He sounds nasally. “But. It’s not Bug.”

“What?”

“We had a kitty,” Tsumiki says quietly. “For a little while before mom left. She was way fluffier than Bug and Megumi never had any issues.”

“What is it then?”

Megumi scrunches his face up. “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”

A nurse appears to give Megumi a dose of benadryl before Satoru can tear his own hair out in frustration. The kid takes the medicine like a champ and after a few minutes the puffiness goes down a bit. 

“Does your throat still itch?” Satoru asks.

“No,” Megumi says. 

“Okay. Good.”

Maybe it was just Bug’s breed. Whatever the hell that was. 

The evening, more or less derailed, ends much later than either Satoru or the kids can afford. He makes them dinner, worries over every ingredient that hovers over his pot, and then scraps it all to make simple fish and rice. Megumi loudly protests this dinner option and refuses to eat until Satoru puts his head on the table and fakes sobs. He is soundly condemned when his face is dry after Megumi has eaten half of his bowl. Satoru clears the table so Tsumiki can do her homework. He’s washing dishes when he remembers the mug and asks her to please bring it to him. This she does with enthusiasm. It is not water tight, Satoru puts it on the windowsill. Maybe he’ll put a succulent into it. 

Something wakes Satoru up in the early morning. Not a nightmare but a faint cry from Megumi’s bedroom. Satoru is out of bed and by Megumi’s side as soon as he registers what it is. Megumi is gasping for breath, eyes streaming, chest heaving. His eyes are nearly sealed shut and his throat is red. Satoru grabs him, holds him to his chest and pops out of existence. 

He hits the floor hard enough that his knees buckle, so dizzy that he can barely pass Megumi into Shoko’s startled arms before he’s emptying his stomach across cold concrete. 

“Oh my god. Megumi? Megumi?”

Satoru grabs a bed, heaves himself up, looks blurrily at Shoko who’s laying Megumi’s limp body on a medical bed.

“I killed him. I killed him. Ikilledhim I–”

“Satoru! Shut up! Shut up!” Shoko isn’t even looking at him as she yells. 

There’s a sputtering cigarette on the floor that Satoru stares at when he slips down onto it. The floor is a shock of cold, layered with the muted scents of  old blood and disinfectant. He pulls his legs up, puts his forehead on his knees and starts to recite general relativity. At some point Yaga is there. He sits next to Satoru unable to touch and mutters something about vomit and blood. He talks directly to Satoru at one point and Satoru peels his forehead off his knees to look at him. Yaga is holding out a washcloth, saying something that doesn’t register as human communication to Satoru. 

“Tsumiki,” Satoru rasps.

“She’s alright,” Yaga says. He presses forward with the cloth. 

Satoru jerks his head away, untouchable as it is. “Tsumiki.”

“Is fine . I sent a good friend to make sure she’s alright.”

Nodding Satoru puts his head back on his knees. No one is freaking out, which is probably a good sign. But they’re being gentle to him, which is never a good sign. He closes his eyes, realizing he can taste iron on his tongue. Satoru licks his top lip clean, shudders at the taste and looks back at Yaga through bleary eyes. 

“Is my nose bleeding?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

“My ears. Are my ears bleeding?”

Yaga’s eyes go wide and he leans around to look at the side of Satoru’s head. 

“No.”

“Oh good. M’okay then.” Satoru reaches behind himself to grab the edge of a bed. He pulls himself up, sways a little and feels like he can’t breathe when he sees Megumi curled on his side on the bed Shoko put him on. He’s right next to a table with a corpse on it. 

“Satoru,” Shoko says. She’s coming back into the room. Her hair is pulled up but she’s missing the coat she usually wears in the morgue.  

“Is he dead.”

“ No . Fuck,” Shoko says. She rubs her wrist over her brow. 

“What was that?” Satoru asks. He holds his elbows. “I. I could have killed him.”

Shoko raises her brows at him. “Yeah. You could have, if you weren’t holding him. But you had him crushed to your chest.”

Satoru swallows, drags his eyes away from Megumi’s little form. “The doctor said a cat allergy.”

This gets a brittle laugh out of Shoko. “Humans and their medical advancements are incredible, but they will never be able to understand sorcerer specific illnesses.”

“You know what it is?”

“Sure,” Shoko says. “You’re not going to like it, but it isn’t fatal or permanent.”

“Tell me.”

Shoko bites back a smile, gnawing on her bottom lip to try and kill it. “He’s having a reaction to cursed energy. Large amounts of it that he’s never been around before. He’s allergic to you , Satoru.”

“What.”

“You exude a lot of energy, and Megumi here is barely coming into his. It’s overwhelming him and causing a reaction,” Shoko says. She smiles, shrugs. “It happens to sorcerer children quite a bit, makes colic worse, or colds run longer, but in Megumi’s case he was very devoid of cursed energy so it's a little more overwhelming.”

“He’s allergic to me? That’s stupid.”

“Well that’s what it is.”

Satoru scrubs his face. His feet are freezing. He’s barefoot. In oversized basketball shorts and a ratty t-shirt. And his mouth tastes nasty. 

“Wipe your nose,” Yaga says. 

The washcloth now barely damp is shoved at Satoru. He takes it, scrubs the dried blood off his nostrils. 

“So what do I do? I can’t have him doing…that anymore.”

“It’ll pass. Probably soon now that he’s gone through this. It just takes some exposure, the more he uses his own CE the better it’ll get too,” Shoko says. 

“Does this also account for the sleeping?”

“Probably.”

Satoru covers his mouth. “I can’t do this.”

Shoko’s mirth falls off her face. “Satoru.”

“I can’t do this. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t take care of two kids!”

“Satoru,” Yaga says, his voice tight, “calm down.”

“No! Because what the hell is this?” He flings a hand at Megumi, then back at himself. “I’m repelling them. We’re like fucking oil and water. I shouldn’t do this.”

“Who else will?” Yaga asks him.

“What?”

“No one cared that those little kids were living alone, no one was coming to save them but you.”

Satoru turns away, tugs at his hair, scrubs more at his face. “Save them. Fuck off. Tsumiki is smart, she would have figured out how to get out of their situation.”

“You think a child deserves that responsibility?” Yaga snaps.

“No,” Satoru says. “Of course not.”

His old teacher comes up behind him. Satoru knows he wants to put a hand on Satoru’s shoulder, squeeze it. Satoru doesn’t let him. Yaga takes it in stride, adapted to working around Satoru’s distance. He knows how to feel close. 

“You are doing fine.”

Nothing about this is fine. 

“Satoru,” Shoko says. “He’s going to be okay. More than. You didn’t hurt him knowingly or unknowingly. I should have thought to warn you. I just thought Megumi was out of the age range that’s usually affected. It's kind of funny.”

“It's not funny,” Satoru croaks. “I could have liquified his insides or obliterated his spine or imploded his brain.”

“You didn’t,” Yaga says. “This is progress for you.”

“Panic induced progression is not progress,” Satoru says. “If I can’t imitate it when I’m level headed I did fuck all.”

“Come talk to me, I’ll see if I can make a corpse that you can practice with,” Yaga says. “But I’d say that for now, you know that a child can survive warping with you. That’s good to know.”

But Satoru hadn’t known. He took an insane risk that he didn’t think about at all. There was no moment of question, of calculation, he just needed Megumi to not be dying. 

“You did good getting him here,” Shoko says casually. 

“What would have happened if I hadn’t?”

“Nothing major, probably. He did need to clear his airways though.”

Satoru is about to question how a not clear airway isn’t major but there’s a rustle of sterile sheets and Megumi letting out a gross sounding sneeze. Shoko approaches his bed. 

“How do you feel?”

Megumi blinks in the harsh lights and shrugs. “Fine.”

Fine, he says. Fine .

“Good. Any pain anywhere?” Shoko sends half a glance at Satoru. “Your spine, neck and skull, do those feel normal?”

“Yeah.”

Satoru bristles. She lied to him. Straight to his face. Of course she didn’t know exactly if Megumi was feeling anything off in his body, he’d been out of it. 

“Good. How about your stomach? Normal?”

“Swirly,” Megumi mumbles.

“Swirly how?”

“Sorta like m’gonna be sick.”

“Can I feel and you tell me if it hurts?” Shoko asks. She’s already going for a new set of medical gloves. 

Satoru stays long enough for Megumi to claim that there is no pain when Shoko presses against his abdomen. But there are bruises around his ribs. Satoru ducks out of the morgue. 

Yaga finds him sitting on the porch watching fireflies flicker in the flower beds. They’ve flooded out, any flowers long dead by drowning. But the bugs and birds seem to appreciate the little pond that has replaced them. 

“Where am I going tomorrow?” Satoru asks before Yaga can say anything. 

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“In Japan?”

“Most likely,” Yaga says. 

“I want something international.”

Yaga lets out a heavy sigh. He leans on the porch rail above Satoru’s head, hands hooked together at the wrists. 

“That is unwise.”

“I don’t care. Let me go blow up something big in I don’t know, the furthest place from here.”

“There isn’t anything. You’re needed here.”

Satoru huffs a humourless laugh, drops his head. “What if I hadn’t been there?”

“Were you not just trying to run away?”

“I would’ve come back,” Satoru says. “I always come back.”

It's a bitter truth, a habit, trait, flaw, whatever, that Satoru doesn’t know what to do with. Loyalty is a prized trait. Coming back to your masters with the ball they threw waiting for them to throw it again, is sickening obedience. 

“What if I wasn’t there?”

“You were, Satoru.”

A firefly goes dim, caught in the water and unable to get out again. 

“One day I won’t be.”

Yaga’s hands twitch. 

“No.”

Satoru goes back in when his own desire to make sure Megumi is whole grows worse than his desire to get the fuck away. Yaga hadn’t tried to soothe him with meaningless assurances . They’d sat together in the silence watching fireflies kill themselves for water. 

Megumi is grumpy when Satoru approaches the bed. He blinks up at Satoru, rubs at his nose. It makes Satoru freeze a good few feet from the bed. He raises a hand. 

“You good?”

“I want to go home.”

Satoru looks at Shoko, she shrugs. “I don’t have any reason for him to stay here.”

“If he gets worse?” Satoru asks.

“Unless he starts having issues breathing he should be okay, if not a little uncomfortable,” Shoko says. “But if you want to bring him back in for anything, you can.”

Megumi starts to peel back sheets. He’s barefoot too, dressed almost exactly like Satoru. He scoots off the bed and when he hits the floor he patters over to Satoru, rubbing a fist into his pinkish eyes. Satoru does not take a step back because Megumi is three apples tall and sleep rumpled. He’s not afraid of that . 

“Carry me,” Megumi demands. 

Satoru stares down at him. “I–”

“Satoru,” Shoko calls. “Infinity being down might help.”

Yes. But. 

“Carry me,” Megumi demands again. He bounces on his toes. The floor is cold. 

Satoru lifts him up, lets him tuck himself against his unprotected shoulder. Megumi slings his arms around Satoru’s neck, letting out a wet yawn that makes Satoru grimace. 

“Are there any drivers out this late?” Satoru asks. 

“I’ll drive you,” Yaga says.

“With Panda?” Megumi asks, squirming around in Satoru’s arms so he can see Yaga. 

“No, Panda is asleep right now. But maybe you can see him this weekend.”

This appeases Megumi. He flops his head back against Satoru’s shoulder, yawns again. They follow Yaga out of the morgue to go get his keys. Satoru lingers in the hallway by the exit staring out at nothing. Megumi’s heart is beating against Satoru’s chest, steady little thumps that sync with his breathing. Megumi is a little heavier, heavier than those first few days for sure. He’s alive. A life. Satoru has a life curled and yawning obnoxiously against him. How terrifying. 

“Come on,” Yaga says. 

Back home Tsumiki hurls herself at Satoru the moment he’s in the door. He scoops her up, lets her look over her little brother. She cups his face and smooths back his hair, dropping kisses to his forehead before Megumi whines and shoves her away. Satoru chides him quietly and walks further into the apartment. There’s a woman that Satoru vaguely recognizes as a sorcerer who used to teach at the school before something put her out of commission. She’s sitting on the couch and gets up to tip him a polite bow. A cursed corpse shaped like a bipedal deer that had been resting by her gets up and walks into Yaga’s hands as he shuffles into the entrance hall. 

Satoru puts Tsumiki down first, kneels so they’re eye to eye and lightly touches her cheek, looking her over, not sure what he’s looking for, but she’s unharmed. 

“You okay?”

“Mmhm,” Tsumiki says. But she’s wringing her shirt and her voice breaks on the sound. 

Satoru winces at her, tucks her head back into his shoulder so she has something to wipe her tears off with. Satoru keeps his hand lightly on the back of her head, letting his arm rest against her trembling shoulders. He closes his eyes and hangs his head between his kids. Megumi curled in the catch of Satoru’s arm and Tsumiki standing, her toes against his knees where they sit on hardwood. 

“No more disasters,” Satoru mumbles. “Just for a little bit.”

“Okay,”Tsumiki sniffles. “I can try.”

But in Satoru’s experience when it rains it doesn't just pour. It floods and wrecks and takes him out at the knees. He gets the kids back into bed, leaves Megumi’s door open and knows that tonight will mean no sleep. Satoru’s living room is empty when he tears himself away from Megumi’s room, Yaga and the other sorcerer taking their leave quietly. He stands unsure of himself but really fucking tired. He goes to his room, leaves his door open and sits on his bed. His phone is off its charger so he reaches over to fix it when he notices he has a message. Satoru should probably leave it, look at it in the morning, but he opens it anyway. 

Come home. If you do not, we will come to you.

Satoru stares at the words. The number that he’s not allowed to block or delete. 

He’s out of borrowed time. 

Chapter Text

Satoru goes to Kyoto in the morning. He’s quiet as he checks Megumi over, feels the nodes in his throat and looks at his eyes. Clear, no swelling. Satoru puts Megumi’s bento in his bag. Does the same for Tsumiki, fixes her hair into a neat ponytail, ties it off with two bands. The kids have picked up on his mood and shuffle around getting ready with no chatter and only minimal arguments. They go to school with Aimee and her short, plump mother and Satoru calls for a return driver. He asks Yaga for someone that Satoru is familiar with, and then tells him that the mission he has that afternoon in Hakone might need to be postponed.  When he hangs up, Satoru takes a deep breath and warps to the compound. 

The landing is smooth, and he appears in the middle of the main garden, barely ruffled and upright. Satoru looks around at the empty space. Most of the plants of his childhood have been replaced with rocks, sculptures and sand, but there are still familiar elements. The pond full of cyprinus rubrofuscus –koi–the wind chimes over it in the tree that Satoru managed to climb once before being yanked down. The buildings all look the same, the wall, though that doesn’t seem nearly as imposing anymore. Not when Satoru can pop over it whenever he pleases. He wonders how much scorn he’d garner if he made them tear it down, just to be annoying. A flicker of energy burns in the corner of Satoru’s awareness. He tucks his hands into his jeans. Not traditional wear and not his school uniform. Jeans, well worn and dark blue. 

“Satoru!”

Satoru turns to look at his uncle, marching across the garden, through sand swirls. He’s a tall man, taller than Satoru. Handsome enough to be a celebrity, dark, flinty eyes, sharp jaw, graying hair that he keeps short and gelled back, a generous mouth scarred at the corners. He has large hands. Hands that Satoru’s are growing into. Hands that bit bruises into a fourteen year old Satoru’s arm the first time Infinity sputtered into existence and then sputtered out. Satoru had stolen the line of succession from him for no reason other than he had the power for it. But he stole it from every other man first as an infant, Satoru has no idea why Seiichi  can’t get over it. It wasn’t personal. 

The man is on him, gripping at Satoru in pathetic handfuls, going for the front of Satoru’s shirt. Not traditional. Not his school uniform. Two sizes too large, white and with a cartoon cat over his heart flashing a little x butt hole. Satoru watches him try to grab, counts the throb in his forehead, the spit that slips through his teeth. Those aren’t perfect. Croaked, veneers never sitting right so he stopped wearing them. Satoru kicked his first pair out of his face during a sparring session when he was like ten. 

“ Satoru .”

Seiichi slams a fist against Infinity. It ripples around Satoru. They stare at each other. 

“Are you done?”

The man scoffs, drops his hands, before they go to his hair. “Are you fucking stupid? ”

Satoru frowns at him. “What do you want from me?”

“Are you fucked in the head?” Two fingers jab against Seiichi’s forehead. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Satoru grits. “If I’m here for you to let out steam, have at it old man. Bitch all you want.”

“You’re an embarrassment!” Seiichi shouts. “I can’t go a day without hearing about the fool you’re making yourself out to be. The failure with the Star Plasma Vessel was embarrassing enough and now you parade a stolen child around like you’re trying to start a war!”

Seiichi goes to hit Infinity again and Satoru smacks his hand away. 

“Stolen child?” Satoru asks. “Who?”

“The Zen’in brat.”

“Megumi Fushiguro is legally under my guardianship,” Satoru says, “by both sorcerer and normal law. I sent you all my legal packet.”

“What made you think you had the–”

“The what? The permission? I don’t need permission.”

Seiichi balls his fists. “The right. Where is your right to muddy the water between the Zen’in and Gojo again?”

“Piss off, there is no war. Naobito is drunk off his ass too often to care. The Zen’in are in a rut and everyone knows it. A war would end them.”

“Gojo’s,” Seiichi pushes through clenched teeth, “do not bargain with the Zen’in. We do not make deals, or trades or faulty adoptions .”

“I didn’t adopt Fushiguro from the Zen’in,” Satoru says, “I secured him under a deal that Toji Fushiguro made with them. I covered my ass with the Zen’in, Seiichi, to make sure the kid would be okay but also so you would be okay.”

“You took twenty million yen from the clan and didn’t discuss it beforehand. Like a child handed spending money. No consideration beyond your own selfish wants,” Seiichi snaps. 

“I did discuss it,” Satoru snaps back, “just not with you. I had legal and financial council, of which Makoto was present as a representative for the clan. Which I. Am. The. Head. Of. I took money from my own inheritance and left the bulk account alone.”

Seiichi sputters and Satoru glares at him. 

“I didn’t hide this information, uncle. There was no way to once everything went through.”

“You were unwilling to go through proper channels”

“I went through double the ‘proper channels’,” Satoru sighs. 

Seiichi paces away, trampling through another sand spiral. He’s in dark robes that grow white along the hems. He’s barefoot, he must have expected Satoru to come in to meet him. 

“I have never understood you,” Seiichi says. “You are unlike anything human I have ever met.”

“You didn’t try very hard,” Satoru replies. 

That gets a dark laugh out of the man. He smooths his hair back, brushes uselessly at the front of his clothing. 

“Try to understand you? Do you know who held you after you killed your mother? I did. I pressed you against my bare skin so you had half a chance of having some kind of humanity. But it didn’t fix you, and I couldn’t stand the way you just…” a hand flapped at Satoru, “stared, silently. Like eating things with your damned eyes.”

“Having that much animosity towards a child sounds like a you issue,” Satoru says. 

“You have no idea what it’s like to be someone who has to exist around you,” Seiichi snaps, dark like he's truly burdened by the memory. “Powerful enough that a sneeze turned a nursemaid's brain to mush, but too fragile to look at the sun or eat . I broke your ribs the first time I was allowed to train you. Three of them, you laid on the floor and didn’t cry until the sun came through the windows and fell on your face” His uncle looks back at Satoru. “I would have killed you if I was your father.”

“I’m not a child,” Satoru says, his voice a step above a whisper. “I’m not a child anymore. You can’t speak to me like this.”

“Nothing about you was ever childlike,” Seiichi scoffs. “Kill me if that wounds you.”

“What do you want?” Satoru asks. “To remind me what a piece of burning shit you are?”

“Where is the boy?”

Satoru sneers at him. “Fuck off.”

“He is going to be powerful,” Seiichi says. “The Ten Shadows in the hands of the Gojo clan would rewrite history. There would be no doubt who is more powerful. You would be cemented as one of our greatest leaders if you brought him here.”

“He’s not Gojo,” Satoru says. “The clan has no claim over him.”

“Then what the fuck do you think you’re doing stepping in. You are Gojo.”

“I was asked,” Satoru says, even if he’s not even sure that’s true. 

Toji could have said anything to Satoru. He could have told him to die, burn in hell, cursed him in his own way. He could have stayed silent, but he told Satoru about Megumi. Dying, feeling nothing, dripping insides and the remains of Satoru’s power he told Satoru to go find his kid. 

“So you’re going to raise him on that forsaken campus of yours? You?”

“What I’m going to do with him is none of your goddamned business which is the whole fucking point!” Satoru yells. He steps forward, watches Seiichi flinch away taking a scuttling step back. “I did everything I needed to while watching out for the clan that I still plan on protecting! I don’t want war, I don’t want to deal with the Zen’in, but Fushiguro isn’t going to be raised here in the sorry excuse for a creche.”

“You cannot have everything you want! It is impossible! You have stirred unease in the clan and anger with the Zen’in, you have neglected the people you should be protecting, and you have selfishly chosen to take on this task with motives that no one understands!”

Another lash of Seiichi’s fist towards Infinity. Satoru grabs his wrist, squeezes it, yanks the man closer. 

“You seem to have no problems swinging at me,” Satoru hisses, “how many kids are you beating in the name of training? Does breaking six year olds ribs make you feel strong?”

“You are weak,” Seiichi physically spits the word. Saliva splatters against Infinity, inches from Satoru’s face. 

Satoru hits him. It stuns both of them for a moment before Satoru does it again. Seiichi stumbles back, hands flying to his crumpled nose. Satoru advances on him, strikes again, going once more for the soft middle of his face, hearing the satisfying breakage of fucked up teeth. The man is easy to bring down with a swipe at his knees and when he does Satoru grabs at his gelled hair, then wrenches his face up. Seiichi gasps blood and teeth out of his mouth, grits his broken mouth at Satoru in grimace. 

“You are Gojo,” Seiichi gasps. 

“The best thing this stupid place did for me was exist as a bad memory.”

“I don’t bow to you,” Seiichi says between a renewed wash of blood. 

Satoru looks down at him. He honestly doesn’t have many memories of him. He doesn’t remember being held to the man’s bare chest. He doesn’t remember who broke him when he was first allowed into the dojo. He remembers it being a big deal. Satoru doesn’t remember who’s hand was on his shoulder when his father’s shrine was built. Seiichi Gojo was a faceless man until Satoru became a young teenager, and even then he existed in a mass of faceless family members and heavy expectation. Satoru thinks that desperation is a pathetic mark on bad men and Seiichi’s  grimace is nauseating to look at. 

“You do,” Satoru says. “Whether or not either of us want it.”

Satoru lets go of his hair, wipes blood off on Seiichi’s expensive robe. 

“I want you out of here by this evening,” Satoru says. He looks towards the entrance of the garden. The place feels otherwise abandoned, maybe they can sense Satoru and have made a wide berth around the garden. 

“What?”

“I want you out. Leave.”

“You–”

“I can,” Satoru says, looking back down at him. “I can, and I did.”

“Where will I go?”

Satoru shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Kyoto is big. I’m sure there’s a piss rank alley with your name on it somewhere.”

“I am the only one handling things here!” Seiichi cries.

“I’ll find someone else. Makoto has served me and the clan well and as far as I’m aware he isn’t fond of hitting kids.”

“Makoto is no one!”

Satoru smiles, controlled and cold. “Neither are you.”

“This is my ancestral home.”

“I’m taking care of my clan. I didn’t weed well enough the first time apparently.”

Seiichi falls back on his ass, robes splayed, mouth agape. When he speaks he whispers, voice gone through disbelief and violence. “You aren’t fit.” 

“So you’ve conveyed.” 

“An infant head. A murdered head, lost to a non sorcerer,” Seiichi murmurs. “And what are you going to do after you’re done playing student?”

“I’m going to be a teacher,” Satoru says, “I’m going to teach kids that life is more than death. That they get to live what was taken from me.”

“Idealism is naivety,” Seiichi mutters. 

Satoru doesn’t dignify that with a response. 

“This isn’t going away with me,” Seiichi continues. “I’m not the only one infuriated at you.”

“The line stretches the globe,” Satoru says. “I can live with it. It’s personal with you though.”

“He’d be safer here, you know it.”

Satoru has pulled out his phone, scrolling through his clan contacts. He’ll need to talk to Makoto before he actually swamps the guy, but he has no issue handing him Seiichi’s duties. Whatever the hell those actually are. The clan more or less functions as a closed community with Satoru having absolute power when he wields it. But Satoru is young, and he doesn’t live here, so his council holds political power to administer over the clan. He still approves most shit or just handles it himself, much like he did with the Zen’in’s financial strife. The clan also isn’t as big as the Zen’in, more ancient by a few eras, and stretched thin over all of those eras. Women die at a high rate in childbirth and most children are sorcerers and most die. There are also a lot of loveless marriages so the rate of growth isn’t exactly thriving. 

“How do you figure that?” Satoru asks Seiichi as he shoots a quick message to Makoto.

“What, you think he’ll survive being one of your students?”

Satoru snaps his phone closed. “I’m counting on it.”

Seiichi scowls. He gets clumsily to his feet and Satoru takes a smooth step back. They regard each other in silence. It's strange that Satoru can see a little bit of himself in his father’s brother. Hands, height, the shape of Seiichi’s jaw. Satoru’s fine brow and nose are his mothers, his eyes no ones but his own. Still, he finds himself feeling strange that this man is his family, by blood. They are the last two of their direct blood line and Satoru well. He’s not sure procreation was ever in the books for him. He thought about it once when Shoko was going through the  reproduction unit at the beginning of her medical training. He’d watched Suguru groan and roll around on the floor as Shoko read the passages out loud and all Satoru could think about was how weird. How alien. How slightly hilarious. How horrifying. Yeah, no he’s okay. He’ll stay far away from that. And now he has two children like you get two kittens. Hear the piteous cries, have a heart and oh no that’s another one. 

Suguru had admitted to wanting a daughter one time. 

Satoru sighs, he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now anyways. He has bigger fish to fry. 

“Why does it bother you so badly?” Satoru asks Seiichi. “It's not like I’m bothering you with it.”

“You have an heir now, Satoru,” Seiichi says. “Did you not think about that?”

“No,” Satoru says. “I didn’t, because I don’t think it matters much.”

“It completely disrupts the flow of power.”

“I already did that,” Satoru says. He is very fucking tired, he digs his fingers into his eyes, easing off rising pressure. “Listen. Fushiguro is under my guardianship until he is eighteen years old. He will not take on the Gojo name, and he can choose what to do when he’s an adult. If he really wants the clan, we’ll cross that bridge. But I’m not going to raise him for the position and I’m not bringing him here to be groomed into fighting me for it.”

Also, there might have been a sneaky little clause that Satoru snuck into the revised will that states what power Megumi will get in the case of some individuals' untimely demise. Seiichi scowls at him. “This is what I mean by you don’t take into account the clan. What happens when you are killed?”

“Are you counting on that happening soon?” Satoru laughs. “Damn, man. Have a little faith in me, I am the strongest sorcerer of this era.”

“You were beaten by a non-sorcerer.”

“I was seventeen,” Satoru says. 

Seiichi walks away from him, and sits on a squat bench by the pond. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “We didn’t know what to think when we heard you’d died.”

Satoru goes a little cold and curious. “I didn’t think you cared. I didn’t hear anything from you about it.”

“It shook the faith in your abilities in some, and in others it affirmed that you are godly.” Seiichi shakes his head. “To me it reminded me that your home will always come second.”

“This isn’t my home,” Satoru says.

He gets a weary glance, his uncle shaking his head, chuckling darkly. 

“If I had died,” Satoru says, “would you have put me by my mother?”

“No. Your body would be preserved. Kept.”

Satoru swallows. He looks away, down at his clenching fists. He’s just human. A little bit misshapen at that, not that he'd admit that outloud; he’s still growing into his limbs. It's a bit of a funny image to imagine his immortalized self caught between teen and adulthood, hair starting to shag, his stupid legs spidery. It makes him feel lonely too,even though it’s not unheard of in sorcerer society. Part of their whole thing is preserving artifacts of great value and power. There’s some weird shit in the jars on campus. Maybe it should be an honor that they want to keep Satoru like a butterfly or some shit. 

“Well put me somewhere comfortable at least,” Satoru says. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocks back on his heels. “I don’t like the idea of being shut up in some temple to get dusty.”

Seiichi is staring at him with something like disgust, or disbelief, maybe concern if Satoru squints a little bit. Satoru smiles  at him. 

“I don’t plan on dying, man, not before you at least.”

“Is that a threat?”

Satoru huffs a laugh. “No. You’re just older than me and Gojo’s aren’t known for their long lifespans.”

“Ob–”
“I don’t want a history lesson,” Satoru interrupts. “I was being hyperbolic.”

His phone vibrates in his hand. Makoto getting back to him. Texting in his stern manner and telling Satoru that he is en route to the compound. Satoru doesn’t text him back. He snaps his phone closed and lets out a long breath. 

“I’ll give you this, you aren’t completely wrong. I haven’t been around like other traditional heads, I know that. But I’m taking care of what I need to and I’m constantly aware of what’s going on with you guys. I handled the situation with the Zen’in carefully, aware of any counter moves they might have thrown at me. I’m not incompetent.”

Seiichi clenches his jaw. “You are proud, which is worse.”

“I’m aware of my strength,” Satoru says, “ and how can I not be proud when you just told me you’d preserve my body if I died?”

“Pride doesn’t have to breed insubordination,” Seiichi snaps. “You just let it.”

Satoru shakes his head, shoulders falling when he sees Makoto at the entrance of the garden. The man looks vaguely annoyed, dressed in a nice suit, carrying a briefcase. Legal work, probably to renew the historical property claim on the compound and a few surrounding areas. He has his assistant by his side, a tall, thin woman, hair past her waist and walking over sand in heels like it’s nothing. They bow shortly to Satoru when they reach him.

“Seiichi, I wasn’t aware that the council was meeting today,” Makoto says. 

“I needed to speak with my nephew,” Seiichi says. “Alone.” 

He leered Satoru there with vague threats and a vague understanding that Satoru would be meeting the entire council. Which, after a fist fight and verbal abuse, Satoru thinks he might have preferred.

“Yeah, and after our conversation I would like to remove Seiichi from the compound.”

Makoto goes stiff. “Are you sure?”

“I had to defend myself against him,” Satoru says, “and I don’t want him to have access to any of the kids.”

Makoto’s eyebrows–dark furry things, like fat caterpillars–climb up his creased forehead. His eyes slide over to Seiichi who’s mouth pops like a fish. 

“Yes…we can get that sorted. Are we going for disownment or banishment?”

“We’re going for don’t let him live here, make him get a normal job, or something with the tech. We always need more sorcerers. Your technique could be useful in more than training.”

“I’m not going to be told to get a job by you ,” Seiichi spits at Satoru. “Brat.”

Satoru shrugs. “I don’t actually care if you go through banishment, just get him out of here.”

Nodding slowly, Makoto turns to speak to his assistant–Akari, Satoru thinks–who pulls a notebook out of her bag and scribbles some notes. 

“I also appoint you, Makoto, as my advisor in his place. I know there’s a whole ceremony and shit, but we can do that later.”

“Uh. Yes. I accept.”

Satoru claps. “Okay! Last thing! If any of you approach me or Megumi Fushiguro at my home I will kill you!”

Three stiff nods, a quiet ‘I’ll let everyone know’ from Akari. She turns to Seiichi, motions for him to get up, bows at Satoru and all but frog marches the man away. Satoru stops smiling and turns to Makoto. 

“I was under the impression that the situation with the Zen’in was properly explained.”

Makoto nods, he stands straight. “It was. I should have made sure Seiichi wasn’t going to act irrationally.”

“You can’t control him,” Satoru says, “but if the entire council is up in arms that’s an issue.”

“They are…surprised and insulted that you have not brought the child here.”

“Okay,” Satoru says. “I will speak with them in an official capacity.”

Satoru isn’t sure he’s ever met a group of people so blind. Satoru hasn’t been properly home since the winter after Suguru defected. And even then he was like something sick, alone, never saw a soul but for flares of energy.  He sat for hours in the tiny garden tucked between a temple and their building dedicated to the dead, or the dark rooms of dark buildings trying to find some kind of footing again. It had only been a few days. He has no idea what would make them think he’d willingly come back here with Megumi. 

“Now?” Makoto asks, slightly panicked. He starts to dig around in his bag. 

Satoru shakes his head. “I don’t have time today. Let me know when there’s at least a majority in Kyoto and I’ll see if I can make time.”

“Okay,” Makoto murmurs, scribbling a note down in a creased notebook. He’s sweating, beads forming along his dark hairline.

“Calm down,” Satoru laughs. “I’m not going to fire you.”

Makoto’s mouth goes thin. “I’m not worried about that. I haven’t been trained to be a right hand.”

“Just do what I tell you and you’ll be good. You were already aware of how most things work anyways.”

“Are you staying the night? I can have your rooms prepared.”

Not Satoru’s room. The head’s room. Large and airy, looking out into a private garden with enough water features that bridges are required to get from one side of the garden to the other. A private bathroom equipped with a sunken tub. Fancy. Satoru’s room, his childhood room, he wonders what it looks like now. But back then he’d tacked blankets over the windows to cut the light and drew on the walls. Oof. Yeah, that’s actually concerning. Maybe he was the problem. Just a little bit. 

“No. I have a mission in Hakone I’ve put off as long as I can.”

Makoto nods, puts his notebook back into his bag. “Are you serious about Seiichi?”

“For right now? Absolutely. Was he training kids?”

“No, not as far as I’m aware. We don’t really train kids.” Makoto shifts awkwardly. “You were an expectation sir. And you were trained by him because he was family.”

Satoru lets out a breath. “Okay. Good. Then, maybe a probation. I’ll let you do with that what you want.”

“Very well.”

“Great. I’m very serious about you leaving us alone,” Satoru says. “I will come when you call me, but if I catch a whiff of any of you showing knowledge of where I live, or where the kid goes to school, there will be consequences.”

“I–if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem the type and you are very young. We would support you and the child.”

“I like you Makoto, you’re willing to listen, but I don’t actually have to explain myself to you,” Satoru says. 

“Of course.”

Makoto ducks his head and takes a step back from Satoru. There’s a throbbing starting behind Satoru’s eyes. This place makes him feel like he’s being gripped in a fist that wants to pop his brain out of his skull. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Call if something terrible happens.”

Satoru doesn’t take the easy way out–warping away–and instead walks through the compound to the front gate and out into the lovely old stone walkways. He keeps a clipped pace as he puts distance between him and the wall, he doesn’t think, just marches towards the train station. 

“Gojo?”

Ugh. Satoru turns around and frowns down his nose at one of the Kyoto students. Someone he vaguely recognizes from the Goodwill Event and oh, Satoru grins. 

“Utahime! What are the odds!”

Utahime, dressed casually for once, grimaces at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Leaving actually,” Satoru says. “I’m on the way to the train. Came to see my family.”

She blinks at him, tucks her hair behind her ear, then squints. “What’s wrong? We aren’t on the brink of societal collapse are we?”

“Aren’t we always?” Satoru grins. “But nah, not anymore than usual.”

“You just–actually, I don’t really care.”

Satoru laughs. “I wasn’t the one who called for you.”

The other student shifts where he stands, pink flaring in his cheeks. Yeah, Satoru has no idea what his name is. He’s pretty sure though, that Suguru absolutely beat his ass ten minutes into the event. He looks weak, shifting under Satoru’s stare like they aren’t the same age. 

“Did you want to say something to him?” Utahime asks. 

“Uhm, no. I was just surprised to see him here I guess.” Light brown eyes pop up at Satoru. “You’re graduating right?”

“Yeah.”

“Same! Uh. Same. Congratulations.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, “you too. You survived till graduation, only one?”

“Gojo!” Utahime hisses. 

“I’m not alone,” the guy says. “There are two more of us.”

Satoru whistles low. “Damn, that’s actually impressive. You all sucked at the Goodwill Event, I’m surprised you’ve survived in the field.”

“Gojo!” Utahime snaps again. She kicks at him, clenches her fists when it doesn’t connect. 

“Don’t be salty that Tokyo remains undefeated, Uta,” Satoru simpers. 

“You’re being an asshole,” Utahime says, “what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, I’m genuinely impressed that there are three of them graduating. There are two of us from Tokyo,” Satoru says to the guy. 

“I think Kyoto is doing fine,” the guy says. “We haven’t turned out any mass murderers recently.”

Utahime sucks in a breath and Satoru barks a laugh. He reaches for the guy, catches his shoulder as he flinches away. Satoru squeezes bone and muscle. 

“I’ll give you that,” Satoru says. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t remember my name?”

“No, am I supposed to remember a loser's name?”

“Oh my god,” Utahime murmurs. 

“Jiro,” Jiro says, and nothing else.

“Well, Jiro, I look forward to seeing you around,” Satoru says. He turns back to Utahime. “Are you two dating?”

“What?! No!” Utahime says, “what are you even–what makes you think–”

Satoru laughs. “Calm down. I’m just trying to understand why you’re hanging out with an underclassmen.”

“I was showing him around the university,” Utahime sniffs. “He wants to go into biology.”

“Ooh,” Satoru says. “Fun.”

Both Jiro and Utahime make the same face at Satoru. Scrunched up, perturbed, annoyed, Utahime’s usual array of expressions towards him. 

“Why aren’t you in uniform?” Utahime asks. “Slacking off?”

“Every chance I get,” Satoru says. “But I do need to go, I’ll have to send Yaga to chew your ass out for making me late.”

Utahime glares at him. “Jiro, go ahead? I’ll catch up.”

Jiro hesitates for a moment before he walks away. Utahime lets out a sharp breath through her nose. 

“Something is wrong with you. You’re being especially dickish.”

“I just got done talking to my family,” Satoru says. “They’re such cheerful people that I love being around.”

“Cut the crap, Satoru, that kid didn’t deserve that.”

“That kid is my age,” Satoru huffs. “I wasn’t even being mean, just realistic.”

“You don’t always have to open your stupid mouth.”

Satoru laughs. He pokes Utahime right in the middle of the forehead. “Sorry, Iori. I’ll make sure to open my stupid mouth only for you from now on. Didn’t mean to make you jealous. Jiro isn’t that cute, don’t worry.”

“I cannot stand you,” Utahime snaps.

“I thought we were friends,” Satoru pouts. 

Utahime opens her mouth, angry color rising in her cheeks, before she stops, clenches her fists and lets out a breath. “I’m not going to spend energy trying to convince you not to be an asshole.”

“It's not right to change someone's nature,” Satoru agrees. He gets an eye roll from her. 

“Did you find the kid?”

Satoru stops smiling. “Yeah.”

“Oh. I half thought you were kidding.” 

“I have never lied to you, Uta.”

She purses her lips. “What did you do with it? Give it to your family?”

“Fuck no.”

“Hm. Well. Good. That’s. Yeah, that’s good.”

Satoru’s phone wiggles in his pocket. Yeah, yeah, yeah, YEAH. “Okay. I need to leave. You should come to Tokyo when you have time, I bet Shoko would like to see you. You can meet the kids.”

“Me and Shoko see each other every– kids?”

“You guys are hanging out without me?” Satoru gasps. “Who’s the asshole now!”

“Kids? Plural?”

“I cannot keep having the same conversation,” Satoru says. “Kids. Plural. Two. Kiddos. Kittens. No kittens actually.”

“Satoru, what–”

“Yes. What the fuck? What the hell? Who are you? What did you do with the all powerful, dashingly handsome and brave Satoru Gojo?” Satoru wiggles his fingers. “I am me, I have two kids, you should come meet them. We can all  have dinner and pretend the people we love aren’t dead or murderers. Any more questions?”

“Are you on drugs?”

Satoru laughs. “Yeah!”

“You’ve fully lost it,” Utahime says. 

“The line between genius and insanity is one in the same, Uta.”

Satoru’s phone rings. No, this isn’t genius, this is insanity. Utahime’s eyes drop down to Satoru’s pocket. 

“You should go.”

“Yeah. Laters, Utahime. Text me next time you’re in Tokyo.”

There is no more time to catch the train, and Satoru hasn’t eaten in awhile, so he warps right there in the middle of the street, catching the tail end of Utahime’s wide eyed expression. He pops into existence above ground, right above the black car waiting for him. Cursing, Satoru can’t do anything but shore up Infinity as he slams into the top of the vehicle. It still winds him a little bit, makes him gasp up at the sky for a few moments. The assistant stumbles out of the driver’s seat. Satoru rolls into a sitting position. 

“Do you have my uniform?”

It's a curse user. Some guy who set up a “base” in Hakone and is probably responsible for the missing kids, livestock, and pollution that has started to eat at the water. The population is small enough that one or two missing people will not go unnoticed, and four kids gone is pretty much devastating. Local law enforcement had zero luck and large city investigations came up with much less, and so it’s Satoru’s job to stroll down to the run down house constructed in the forest and beat the crap out of the guy. He likes fighting curse users, they actually get annoyed with this jabbing and up their attacks where curses are too stupid to understand that he’s insulting their creation, their face, and their general existence. 

Satoru speaks briefly to law enforcers and a religious leader who had come in to try and reason with spirits. The police officer looks skeptical of Gojo’s confidence that he can fix the problem and at least return corpses to the town. The religious leader sees right through Satoru’s flimsy normal excuses and takes him into the woods. He leaves Satoru by a shrine that’s being eaten by moss. Satoru tucks his hands into his pockets and starts to look. 

He can smell the house before he sees it. Mold, garbage, the stink of cursed energy. Satoru kicks the door in, startles the man who had been sitting by a little wood stove, breathing onto damp wood. Shirtless, thin, looking a little crazed like a stray dog. He gets to his feet, pulls two large knives from nowhere. They’re long curved things; hunting knives. 

“You got kids here?” Satoru asks casually as he walks into the gross interior. 

“Get out of here!”

Satoru kicks open the next door he finds, grimaces at the flies that coat the walls, the shining left overs of what could have been one of the kids. He turns sharply when he sees the flash of a knife whirl towards him, flashing with energy. It bounces harmlessly off Infinity. 

“Where are the kids?” Satoru snarls. 

He’s across the room, grabbing the man by the throat, tossing him over a slouching couch and into a table covered in trash. The man squeals, shuffles on his hands and knees across the floor as Satoru advances. 

“What’s your schtick?” Satoru asks. He kicks aside a molding take out container. “What do you–oh.”

Reanimation is one of the more common uses for cursed energy. A weird amount of cursed users tend to have a knack for it too. Maybe it’s disturbing enough that it turns them off from sorcery, or they can’t see any application besides chaos. Satoru steps aside and back as the contents of the closet, decomposing flesh, wads of hair and hanging bones, melds with a tornado of garbage. A hoard and a murder. It's fast and lacks any kind of self preservation so it throws itself at Satoru without hesitation. Satoru’s first hit takes the thing apart, sprawling wetly across the floor. It comes together again, dragging cardboard and bottles towards itself with bone hands. 

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Satoru says as he steps back to watch the thing right itself. “Yeah, no lie, I think I’d be a curse user too if this was my thing.”

Satoru messes around with it for a little bit. Targeting hits towards the human bits and then towards the trash bits to see what gives power to what. The grosser the trash the more resistance it seems to have against Satoru. But not enough. 

He grabs the thing around the waist when he gets tired of their back and forth, a plastic trash bag cradling little insides, and flings the thing up at the ceiling with a black of energy. There’s a hanging fly strip covered in corpses that Satoru smacks down and away from sluggish reaching ribbones. 

“Who was that?” Satoru asks the curse user. 

The man had been in the process of crawling under the kitchen sink. Satoru yanks him out, sending him flying across the room when the knives make a reappearance. 

“Who?!”

“I don’t know their names!”

“Bullshit!” Satoru snaps. 

“They are nothing but recyclables.”

“God, I fucking hate the way you curse users look at life. I’m going to ask you one more time, where are the others?”

Satoru doesn’t kill the guy. Not all the way, not yet, but he twists him up, makes his eyes bulge until they are shot through with blood and his throat is left purple. Satoru leaves him crying on the floor like a baby. It had been one of the kids in the closet. Satoru finds two more in the bathtub, curled up in bloody sheets. Satoru has to wade through filth in the bathroom to reach them. He inspects them gently, feels stomach lurching anger fill him when he sees that parts of their flesh has been removed. These two are siblings, twins, and the bastard had arranged them in a pile of paper cups, curled together like they were simply sleeping. Satoru lifts them out, carries them down to the living area and then out into the woods where he leaves them in fresh air and returns. The next corpse he finds is a grown person, male or female, Satoru cannot tell. They are mostly trash at this point, propped up in the man’s bed. Satoru wraps them in a sheet. They join the kids. Another child, just dead. And then in the attic a sound of life. The little thing is huddled by a muddy window, dirty, starving, cuts on  his arms filled with coupons. 

“Hey,” Satoru says as he crawls close and holds out a hand. 

The child flinches away, covering his face. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Satoru says. “I’m here to get you out of here. There is no one to hurt you anymore.”

“Where’s my mom?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “Was she with you when you came here?”

The kid nods.

“Then I’m sorry to say that she’s probably gone. Are you from the village?”

“Yes,” said around sobs. 

Satoru pushes aside piles of garbage and yanks the boy against his chest.

The authorities arrive after Satoru has disposed of the man completely. They don’t need a vengeful spirit coming out of the man and this…this was almost too much for Satoru to stomach. He talks to the police, connects them back to the school, makes sure the living kid is put into the back of an ambulance and leaves. He’ll ask Yaga to send out a different team to decide if the house needs to be taken care of by sorcerers. Satoru does that when he gets back to campus to file his report and change. He doesn’t want to take this uniform home to the kids untouched or not. He feels dirty. 

“How did it go with your family?” Yaga asks.

Satoru is sitting on Yaga’s couch bare chested, laptop balanced on his knees as he types out the report. He tried to get away with just verbally telling Yaga, but no such luck. He was told to get his ass on a cushion and do his work or else.

“Fine,” Satoru mutters. “We have very productive conversations.”

“Was the mission hard?”

“Easy. Do you have anything sweet on you?”

Yaga grunts, digs around in his desk drawers and hands Satoru a hard candy in a clear wrapper. Satoru gratefully sticks it into his mouth, then grimaces. 

“Is this sugar free?”

“Yes.”

Satoru snorts, sticking the thing in his cheek. “That is so old man of you.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Not an insult,” Satoru laughs. He’s gotten to the detailing bit of his report where he’s meant to record any techniques used, grade to be assigned, any deviations from their standard set of abilities, ect. ect.. “Are there some abilities that can’t be used for good?”

“I don’t think so,” Yaga says. 

Satoru types out used the remains of human corpses and garbage to create reanimated corpses that felt no pain as far as was noticeable. Fast, regeneration taking one quarter of a second until thirty percent of human remains were destroyed.

“There might be some,” Satoru murmurs. He pauses typing, swallows the saliva that has pooled suddenly in his mouth. “That was…not fun to look at.”

Yaga looks over at him. “Yes, I imagine it wasn’t very nice.”

Satoru lets his legs down, plants his feet firmly on the floor.  The laptop is placed to the side so he doesn’t drop it. 

“Someone else could have easily handled that. Why was I sent?”

“I think because of curse user status. It is much harder to get rid of something like that.”

“And I’ve already blown a hole through a person so all good,” Satoru snorts. He picks his cuticles. “I think kids have made me paranoid.”

Yaga laughs a deep startled sound. Satoru frowns at the floor, littered with thread and fluff. 

“I’m not even kidding. I spent all day getting my family off my ass about Megumi, and then I had to go and see a bunch of little kids in the worst possible conditions. That’s fucked .”

“A sad coincidence,” Yaga says. 

“Hm.”

Satoru hands the report to Yaga five minutes later. The last parts are rushed because he can’t stand sitting there anymore. Yaga frowns in disapproval but he lets Satoru pull on his cat shirt and leave. He pops into the morgue to call Shoko a bitch. She throws a pinky toe at him. 

Dinner is long made and eaten by the time Satoru gets to the apartment. It’s late enough that he has to wake Megumi up to check on him. He’s met with glares and rumbling, whiney threats as Satoru feels Megumi’s throat, and checks for pinkness or swelling. Megumi sneezes harshly and Satoru who had taken down Infinity when he got into the room is used as a snot rag. There is no swelling and only a little pinkness to Megumi’s eyes so he makes Megumi blow his nose into actual tissue before he lets the kid go back to sleep. Tsumiki is still up, working on a book report in the dining room. She swings her feet and writes with her head down, pillowed by her non dominant hand. Occasionally the end of her pencil will flick her hair out of her eyes. 

“How goes it, Miki Miki?” Satoru asks as he sits in the chair across from her sipping something slightly herbal that he found in the tea stash. He doesn’t feel tired, which he mourns with his entire chest. 

“Eh. Fine. Nearly done. I kind of put it off to play in the sprinklers with Aimee though, so I’m working extra hard now.”

Satoru can’t fault her for that, but it explains the slight frizz of her hair and the wet tennis shoes Satoru stepped over in the entrance way. 

“What are you writing about?”

“The Little Prince,” Tsumiki says. She turns to a new page. “It's a pretty good story.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever read it,” Satoru admits. 

Tsumiki puts her pencil down and slides the little book to Satoru. She smiles at him and says sincerely: “I think you might like it, I thought about you when I read it.”

Satoru laughs, unsure if that is a good thing or not. “Wow, we will see about that. If you like it, I will probably like it.”

He opens the book to a random page towards the end.

““ Where are the people?” Resumed the little prince at last. “It's a little lonely in the desert…””

““It it  lonely when you’re among people, too,” said the snake.””

Satoru closes the book. 

Chapter Text

And then it's the end of the month. Satoru is out of medication and Yaga has been trying to corner him. It's not that Satoru is avoiding him, he’s just busy. And no he didn’t purposefully snatch up missions that put him far away from campus, that’s  just a happy coincidence. But inevitably Satoru has to go to class, has to finish out for his final year of school and before he can get away, Yaga puts a hand on his desk. 

“Do you need a ride to the hospital?”

Satoru sighs, flops his head onto the desk. “No.”

“You are going, correct?”

“I haven’t even had a bad pain day in like…a week. I’m fine.”

“Satoru,” Yaga says, his voice offering no room for bartering or begging. “This isn’t about your pain days, this is about your recently disclosed brain bleed. You are going.”

Satoru cringes. He regrets mentioning that. It hadn’t been a big deal. Still isn’t, he can feel it and fix it up real nice in about two seconds.

“Satoru.”

“Yes. Okay. I’m going,” Satoru says. He’s still face down on his desk. “If the world ends because I’m not around tomorrow, that’s on you.”

“I’m sure we can stall armageddon while you have a thirty minute scan,” Yaga tells him dryly. 

“You said there was something in Canada right?” Satoru says, pulling his face up. 

Yaga glares at him, crosses his arms over his chest in an, I’m not taking this bullshit from you boy, look. 

“I said monitored situation, that I have purposefully paused the paperwork on for this reason. Something I cannot do often.”

Satoru stretches his hands over the desk. “Sounds important.”

“It’s not.”

Yaga turns to erase the board. Satoru slumps again and looks out the windows at the drippy sky, cheek pillowed against his arm. Water coming off the roof and the sun making a sorry attempt at showing its face. He graduates in a few days. Has to seriously start figuring out  what being a college student will look like for him. If it can look like anything for him. He’s spent a total of four weeks as a student in the second half of his last term. Four weeks. Shoko is a thousand times more prepared and eligible to be a college student and she got everything she needed at the tech. Maybe it's a stupid dream of his that isn’t really a dream and more of a desire to grow in more than power. Whatever it is Satoru isn’t sure how many professors will take his bat shit excuses for late work and missed class. Maybe college has always been too normal for Satoru. 

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

Yaga’s shadow falls over his desk again. The man’s familiar hand is back on his desk. Satoru should let him touch his shoulder or back. He doesn’t.

“Do you need me to watch the kids?”

“Ah. No. I’ll take them with. We’ll go do something afterwards.”

Yaga grunts. “How are you going to explain it to them?”

“I dunno. Honestly? Say my brain has an owie.”
“That was placed there by Megumi’s father,” Yaga says. 

“I can lie to them,” Satoru says. 

Yaga rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Yes. I suppose you can.”

“Don’t judge me,” Satoru whines, “I wouldn’t have to tell them anything if you hadn’t insisted I do this in the first place.”

“If you had taken care of yourself immediately in the aftermath then this wouldn’t be necessary,” Yaga snaps. 

Satoru frowns at him. “I don’t want to fight about this.”

“Good,” Yaga says, his face losing some of its tension. “I don’t want to fight you about it either. If you change your mind about taking the kids, let me know.”

The appointment is the next day at ten. Satoru goes home feeling anxious, which is annoying, but he can feel his stomach. The kids aren’t home from school so Satoru sets about making something for dinner. It’s been a muggy few days. Wet nights that have Satoru kicking off his blankets, laying in misery on his stomach as he sweats. So he makes cold soba and shrimp tempura. He made that a lot in the dorm kitchens and it is now a staple for the kids. Satoru sets the table and migrates to the couch, flipping on the television. His leg jumps. He pulls his legs up, crosses them under his body. He picks at his cuticles, torn ragged. Satoru sticks his hands under his thighs.  Rationally he knows he’s being irrational. The scan will reveal things that Satoru already knows. His brain is in bad shape. He knows this, he feels it every day. But something about a random person seeing that strain and telling him tight mouthed that he needs to make changes he can’t, is driving his heart rate up. 

The front door flies open and the kids come tromping through. The umbrella Satoru makes them carry is tossed onto the shoe cubbie and Tsumiki calls a happy greeting when she sees Satoru. 

“You’re home!” She comes bounding into the living room and Satoru puts a smile on. “Here!”

Satoru takes the piece of paper she’s shoving at him. It's an invitation to her science fair. 

“Oh cool!” Satoru says. “I can come to this?”

“Yes,” Tsumiki cheers, she’s bouncing on her toes. “It starts at six and ends at eight, but you don’t need to be there at the beginning or stay until the end.”

Satoru smiles at her then looks back down at the invitation. “I can make this work.”

He will make it work. 

Tsumiki grins at him, bounces higher on her toes before she goes shooting off across the floor to pull an unsuspecting and sleepy Megumi into a crushing hug. He’d been in the middle of slowly getting his shoes off. He shoves her off, glares at Satoru like it’s his fault. Satoru gets off the couch to look down at Megumi. 

“How do you feel?” Satoru asks. 

There is no pinkness around the kid’s eyes, he looks normal. 

“I feel fine. Stop asking me that.”

“Sorry,” Satoru says. His hands go up in mock surrender and he steps back. “Dinner is ready, Tsumiki, I set the table too, so no worries.”

Tsumiki, halfway to the kitchen, pauses and makes a U turn towards her room, yanking her ponytail out as she goes. Megumi sighs, leaning towards Satoru’s leg. He lets Infinity down, letting Megumi lean against his calf. 

“Tired?”

Megumi nods. Satoru chews the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t like that Megumi is so low energy. Squatting, Satoru pulls the kid to his feet so he can better look at his face. 

“Do you eat enough?” Satoru asks. “Do I pack you enough for lunch?”

“Yeah,” Megumi mumbles. 

“You’re making me worry,” Satoru says, keeping his voice soft and his touch light as he ruffles Megumi’s hair. “I don’t think little kids should be so sleepy all the time.”

“Am not,” Megumi says. He wriggles out of Satoru’s grip and trudges towards the kitchen. 

“Are so!” Satoru calls. 

Well. At least the more severe symptoms of the allergy seem to have abated. He’ll bug Shoko about it if he loses sleep. 

Halfway through dinner, Satoru puts down his chopsticks and asks the kids if they want to go to the aquarium. Megumi’s eyes go huge, his food halfway to his mouth falls back into his bowl. 

“For real?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. 

“When?!"

Satoru blinks at him, glances at Tsumiki who looks just as excited. “Tomorrow.”

“Yes!” Megumi cheers. “I want to go!”

“Okay, damn. It’s just the aquarium.”

But Satoru is grinning. Megumi doesn’t get excited about stuff. It kills the weird trepidation in Satoru, makes him feel excited to go to the aquarium he’s been to a thousand times. 

“You good with the aquarium?” Satoru asks Tsumiki. 

“Yeup! But, why?”

“We don’t really need a reason,” Satoru says. He fiddles with the lip of his bowl, eyes straying over Tsumiki’s head to the wall across the room.  

They need more decorations. The walls are a little depressing. 

“Also, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Figured I’d take you guys to do something fun since that is going to be so boring.”

Tsumiki stops smiling. 

“You have a doctor's appointment?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “It shouldn’t take that long. But I can leave you guys with Yaga if you prefer that.”

“No!” Megumi yelps. “I want to go to the aquarium!”

“Megumi, stop yelling,” Tsumiki chides. “Why do you have a doctor's appointment?”

“Is it because you got sick that one time?” Megumi asks, cheeks fat with food and eyes suspicious.

“Eh,” Satoru mumbles. “Kinda.”

Tsumiki reaches across the table, touches the tips of her fingers against the side of Satoru’s hand, still unprotected. 

“Are you okay?”

“Aw. Miki, yeah. I’m good. My brain has some hurts that a doctor needs to look at. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m going to worry about it,” Tsumiki tells him. “Brain injuries are not good.”

“No,” Satoru agrees, “but I’m a special case. I can fix my brain when it starts to feel bad.”

Megumi hops down from his chair, and the pile of books he was sitting on. He drags his bowl with him, splashes leftover broth across the floor. Satoru sighs silently, watches as Megumi tromps towards the kitchen, pulls over the little stool and puts his stuff in the sink. He can’t reach the knobs to turn on the water though, he hops back down and stares at Satoru balefully. 

“Just fix it then.”

“Right? That's what I’ve been telling everyone,” Satoru says. 

Tsumiki follows her brother’s example, stuffing the rest of her food into her mouth. Satoru doesn’t know how to tell them that he could care less about chores or that they can take their time eating. Not everything has to be so rigid. But if one kid is done eating, the other pretty much refuses to continue, and then Satoru feels like the asshole sitting at the table eating slowly while they clean up. 

“What happened to your brain?” Tsumiki asks. 

She can reach the taps, so she asks Satoru over her shoulder, hands busy with the dishes. She looks worried and genuinely curious, but oh if that isn’t the absolutely worst thing she could have asked him. 

“I think too many epic thoughts,” Satoru says, then puts food in his mouth. 

“Really?” Tsumiki has turned to squint over her shoulder at him. 

“No,” Satoru says around tempura. “My job is dangerous.”

“Did you get shot?” Megumi asks. He’s drying dishes. Trying to dry dishes. He’s slightly uncoordinated. 

Ugh. Oh man. Tempura tastes like ash. Shot in the head. No. Not him. Why does Megumi have to know things? Why is he so matter of fact and unyielding?

“You’ve never even seen a gun,” Satoru mutters, deflecting. 

Megumi considers this. “My dad had a gun.”

Satoru sucks a wad of half chewed panko down the wrong pipe. He hacks a cough  into his elbow, and fumbles for his water. 

“He kept it under his pillow,” Megumi continues. “I found it one day.”

“Megumi,” Tsumiki gasps. “He told you not to go into his room!”

She hops off the stool to grip at Megumi’s shoulders like she’s trying to convince herself that Megumi is whole, even now. He bats her away, immune to her worry, or maybe caught in his own cocky opinion of his dead dad. 

“He was gone,” Megumi says. 

“You still shouldn’t have gone in there! Why did you do that?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Megumi.”

Megumi shoves Tsumiki and Satoru stands up. He gets the kid by the shoulder and tugs him back. 

“Stop. Don’t shove your sister. You don’t hit her, or push her, do you understand me, Megumi?” Satoru’s voice is harsher than he means it to be. Wavering on the image of Megumi finding Toji’s weapon. Probably not the one that killed Riko, but something that might have killed any number of sorcerers. 

Megumi huffs, rubs a fist into his eye. Satoru sighs, running his fingers through Megumi’s tangled hair. It’s probably a bath night. 

“And Tsumiki, if he doesn’t want to talk about something he doesn’t have to. If you think there’s danger, you come get me.”

Tsumiki’s mouth goes tight. She nods and looks down at her feet. “Sorry. Sorry, Megumi.”

Megumi rubs his other fist into his other eye, his little chest shakes and Satoru thinks he’s doing his damndest not to cry.

“M’sorry I pushed you.”

“It's okay,” Tsumiki says. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Satoru smiles at them. It feels shallow. A shadow of the comfort and pride he’s trying to convey. Maybe he needs to talk to them about Toji, but he can’t . Just thinking about sitting down and asking Megumi about the man, his weapons, his neglect, the way he was , makes Satoru feel sick. He doesn’t know if Toji abused them, something he had failed to even think about until right now; the air palpable with Tsumiki’s fear. He wouldn’t put it past the man who killed two teenagers and wounded one all with a smile on his face. 

“Can–are we not going to the aquarium now?” Tsumiki asks, yanking Satoru out of his spiraling thoughts. 

“What? Do you not want to anymore?”

Tsumiki looks distressed, then confused. “No. I mean, yes. I want to.”

“Okay…then yeah?”

She lets out a shuddering little sigh and to Satoru’s horror starts to cry. A quiet, weepy action. Tears streaming down her cheeks to drip off her jaw onto her shirt. She doesn’t even bother to wipe them away, her hands gripped in her shirt.

“Hey,” Satoru says, “hey, Tsumiki, what’s wrong?”

He leaves Megumi so he can wipe away Tsumiki’s tears. She leans into his palms, sniffles wetly and takes the space Satoru offers her in his shoulder. She tucks her head in, grips at the back of his shirt. Satoru stares at the sink, pats her back. He doesn’t hold Tsumiki very much. She’s bigger than Megumi, older–to the point that Satoru doesn’t want to undermine her–and doesn't need to burrow to find peace in public settings. But Satoru lifts her now as she cries harder, takes her into the living room and sits on the couch, murmuring comfort that he doesn’t even really register. He hears Megumi following quietly behind them–he perches on the other end of the couch like a little owl. 

“Hey, Tsumiki?” Satoru asks when the sniffling dies down and the dampness against Satoru’s shoulder starts to dry.

“She’s sleeping,” Megumi whispers.
Satoru cranes his head down to look at her. She is asleep, mouth slightly agape, hair sticking to her damp cheeks. Satoru settles back against the couch intent on letting her rest but confused as hell. 

“What was that?” Satoru asks Megumi.

“I don’t know,” Megumi mumbles. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I think this is on me, kid,” Satoru says. 

He doesn’t think. He knows. Satoru fucked up something in the space of that conversation. He looks over at Megumi who has his legs pulled up, chin on his knees. 

“Can you tell me something honestly?” Satoru asks him, whispering into the space between them. 

“Yeah,” Megumi whispers back. 

“Did your dad–.” Satoru swallows. “Did your dad hurt you guys? Hit you, or anything like that?”

 Megumi’s eyes go a little flinty. Green going a few shades deeper, a few shades closer to Toji. 

“No.”

“No? Are you sure?”

“He never hit me,” Megumi says. “Sometimes he would push me away. That’s all.”

“Would he push you away hard?”

Megumi blinks at him. “What does that mean?”

Is there a frame of reference for how hard you can shove a kid out of the way before it constitutes abuse? 

“Did he leave marks on you?”

Crap frame of reference if you asked Satoru. 

“Oh. No.”

“Megumi,” Satoru says, “you can tell me the truth.”

Toji will never be able to hurt anyone ever again. Not Satoru and definitely not his kid. The worst this could do is make Toji turn in his grave. Wherever that is, Satoru doesn’t actually know what happened to Toji’s body– it doesn't matter right now. 

“I’m not lying,” Megumi huffs. “He didn’t hit me. He wasn’t there to hit me.”

“Okay. What about Tsumiki?”

Megumi shrugs. “No. I don’t think so. He didn’t really look at Tsumiki.”

There is no way that Megumi can be completely sure that Toji hadn’t abused Tsumiki, and Satoru knows that she would rather die than go to her little brother with something like that. He’ll talk to her when she wakes up. Apologize for whatever he had done.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

Megumi creeps closer, tucks his hands into his lap. “Do you think there will be whale sharks?”

“No, sorry. There are whale sharks in Okinawa. Maybe we’ll go there sometime.”

“That’s okay,” Megumi says. “There are just sharks?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “There are just sharks.”

They get quiet then. Tsumiki sleeps, Satoru thinks, and Megumi inches across the couch until Satoru opens his arm and the kid scuttles in to press against Satoru’s ribcage. He should have lied harder, or just not mentioned anything about brain injuries in the first place. A low ache has formed in the base of Satoru’s throat that he can’t differentiate from phantom pain or emotional build up. It throbs, keeps him awake even as Megumi slumps asleep. 

Satoru is still awake and watchful when Tsumiki stirs. It's dark now, the apartment lit only by the light left on in the kitchen. She goes very still against his chest, blinks several times before sitting up. 

“I fell asleep?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, smiling. “It's okay.”

Tsumiki shakes her head, sliding onto the couch with Megumi. “Sorry.”

“Tsumiki, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I did something to upset you. I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh.”

“Can you tell me what I did?” Satoru asks. “I don’t want a repeat.”

Tsumiki looks down at her lap. “It’s very dumb.”

“Hard disagree.”

“I thought you weren’t going to let us go to the aquarium anymore,” Tsumiki mumbles.

Satoru rethinks the entire conversation. There had been no indication of that at all. The aquarium hadn’t even been mentioned.

“Why did you think that?”

“Because you got angry with us.”

“I wasn’t angry with either of you,” Satoru says. “Neither of you did anything to make me angry.”

“Oh. I thought you were really angry. You looked really angry.”

“I wasn’t,” Satoru says. 

Tsumiki finally looks back up at him. “I shouldn’t have cried, but I was really relieved that you were going to let us go, and also really confused.”

“You don’t need to overthink everything so much,” Satoru says. “You take too much on yourself. You’re still a kid. I expect you to be a kid. It’s okay for you to mess up.”

“Yeah, but.” Tsumiki stops. 

“But?”

“But what if I forget how to take care of Megumi?”

“You won’t,” Satoru says. “Tsumiki, I’m here. I know I’m busy, but I’m here. Okay?”

She nods, face scrunching up. Her ponytail is a mess, sagging out of the bright blue band Satoru had secured it in that morning. He holds out his hand palm up and she takes it out, gives him the band so he can snap it onto his wrist. 

“I was talking to Megumi,” Satoru hedges, “and I need to ask you if Toji ever hurt you.”

Tsumiki jerks where she sits, fingers pausing in combing through her hair. 

“No.”

“I won’t be angry if you tell the truth,” Satoru says. 

“He didn’t hurt me ever. I don’t think he knew my name.”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru says. 

What else is he supposed to say?

Tsumiki smiles at him. “I didn’t mind! As long as he brought home food sometimes I didn’t mind.”

Maybe he should find the grave. Piss on it. Satoru grimaces at her, tries to think about how grateful she must have been to have Toji come home with a bag from a convenience store. Tries to see Toji from her perspective. 

“You knew him,” Tsumiki says. “You know Megumi’s dad.”

“No,” Satoru says.

Knowing someone through gore isn’t knowing them. Knowing someone through the force of the blows they land on you, the scent of their sweat, bitter and cloying, their laugh distorted through fear, is not knowing them. Seeing someone's insides turned to goo, watching them grope at nothing isn’t knowing them. And offering the chance of last words isn’t even knowing them. 

“But you met him,” Tsumiki presses. “Where did he go, Satoru?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says.

And it’s only partially a lie.

Satoru wakes Megumi up to make sure the kid will sleep later and has the kids bathe before they go to bed. He feels trapped in the apartment. Antsy and sick. Satoru wants to leave. He absolutely cannot leave right now. Not with Tsumiki still a little tender from the earlier misunderstanding. So he flits in and out of rooms and helps Tsumiki with homework that isn’t due for a while before her bath. He lets the kids watch tv while he sits in the kitchen and has a silent conniption. He feels very little guilt over killing Toji. He had no hesitation when it came to making the man’s torso Pac Man. Satoru would do it ten times over maybe with a little better aim; take the worm out too. He was ready to tell Megumi that he’d offed his dad immediately but now it sits like an unmoving stone in his throat. 

“Goodnight, Satoru,” Tsumiki calls from the living room at the base of the stairs to her loft. 

“Night, Miki,” Satoru says. “We gotta be up at eight.”

From down the hall Megumi lets out a long drawn out nooooooo, audible through his closed door and whatever he has his face pressed against. He appears in his doorway, holding his stuffed creatures. His habit of carrying them around as a collection is endearing and maybe connected back to his cursed energy. 

“Why are all of our trips so early?” Megumi whines, buries half his face in a frog. 

“Just how the cards fall, bud,” Satoru says. 

“It's stupid,” Megumi says matter of factly. 

“You can sleep on the way,” Satoru reasons. 

“That’s also stupid, trains aren’t comfortable.”

Satoru shrugs. That’s his only compromise, and he doesn’t really have the energy to bargain anything else. Megumi is dissatisfied with this as stated by the heaving sigh he lets out before slinking back into his bedroom. Tsumiki takes half a step forward when Satoru turns to shake his head at her. She laughs, takes a full step back up onto the first step. 

“Do you want a hug goodnight?” Satoru asks, blurts almost as his dumb brain finally catches on. 

Tsumiki lights up. “Yeah.”

Satoru hugs her goodnight, pats the top of her head a couple of times. Her arms are wrapped completely around him, forehead pressed to the center of his chest. 

“I like hugs,” Satoru tells her. “I will hug you anytime you want, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

Satoru goes to his room and sleeps fitfully through a mess of half nightmares. 

The hospital is as unappealing as it always is. Satoru gets the kids situated in the waiting room then speaks to the receptionist. She tells him that he’s a little early but a nurse will get him for prep soon and so with nothing else to do but wait Satoru skulks back to one of the uncomfortable seats next to Megumi. It's mostly his pride balking at the idea of needing normal medicine to help him out. Satoru knows this, but he can’t help the annoyance that’s making his knee bounce, nor the apprehension that turns every noise hostile. At least, really looking for silver linings here, the kids are well behaved. A little wary of Satoru, quiet and gentle with him which doesn’t really help with the pride thing. He can tell Tsumiki wants to ask more specifics from the way she sends him looks from the corner of her eye. Satoru doesn’t indulge her. 

“Gojo?” A nurse has appeared, weidling a chart and looking through the few patrons littered around the room. 

“Okay, kiddos, you stay here. Don’t burn anything down and I’ll be back soon,” Satoru says as he swings to his feet. 

Cool. Casual. This hospital is his bitch. 

“Good luck, Satoru!” Tsumiki calls. 

“Don’t die,” Megumi dismisses. 

Satoru is taken into a room where he is told to change into a hospital gown, drink water if he so desires, and wait for a doctor. He puts on the gown, sits on the bed, and does not desire to drink any water. He sits there for a few minutes feeling naked and cold before Dr. Shirogane comes in. 

“How have you been feeling?”

The man has settled on a little stool with a clipboard. He watches Satoru like he expects him not to answer. 

“Fine,” Satoru says. “My meds are out.”

“How long?” Dr. Shirogane flips through the papers on his board. 

“A week.”. 

“You should have contacted me for a new prescription.”

“I’ve been busy,” Satoru says. 

The doctor’s eyes crease before he makes a note and moves on. Satoru is asked about his recent pain, any migraines, general diet and stress levels. Pain, not great, has been, could be, worse. Migraines, only fake outs besides that one but that’s normal–Satoru gets a look when he dare say normal. Diet, surprisingly better since the kids. Satoru is used to eating on the run and that means a lot of meals from convenience stores. Stress levels, actually buddy you don’t want to know. 

He did want to know. 

Satoru coughed up a confession of his absolutely insane stress levels. 

“Okay, thank you,” Dr. Shirogane says. “Your room is ready. The scan should take from fifteen to thirty minutes, and results will be available in twenty four to forty eight hours.”

“Cool,” Satoru says. “So. I just lay there?”

“Yes. The technicians will walk you through it. You aren’t claustrophobic are you?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, if you are, you can signal to take a break.”

That’s…great. Satoru nods mutely as the doctor leaves the room. He’s not claustrophobic and it’s stupid he’s even considering that he could be. Satoru looks around the room. No windows. The only way out is through the door and past a bunch of people who would probably try to stop him. He could warp…but he'd have to return in shame for the kids. 

The door opens again. Satoru grabs the edge of the bed. Fifteen to thirty minutes. It's fine.

Okay. 

So. 

Maybe Satoru is a smidge claustrophobic. And that’s very stupid, because it’s just his head in a donut of light. His body is still out in the room on a table but they have secured his head with a contraption and he feels his chest go tight. If something wanted to kill him, if one of those technicians muttering to him over a sound system wanted to kill him they could. They tell Satoru there is going to be a series of loud clicking sounds, and then their voices kind of meld into the rest of the static in his head. If he has another panic attack that’s it. He’s done. He’ll give the kids to Yaga and go hide somewhere in disgrace. But then he’s helping the higher ups and if he’s going out he’s taking those fuckers with him. Not that he wants to die. Unless he fakes his death and takes them–

“You’re done.”

There’s a technician helping Satoru out of the contraption and pressing the button on the side of the table to move it away from the donut of light. Satoru blinks away the searing pain in his eyes and swings his legs over the side of the table. He doesn’t flee but he doesn’t linger either. 

Satoru is handed a cup of water and a new prescription for his pain meds in the lobby. He signs the paperwork needed to disclose the results of the test to Yaga and can feel the kid’s staring into his soul through his back. 

“Anything else we can do for you today, Mr. Gojo?” The receptionist asks after she has collected his paperwork. 

“No, that’s all, thanks,” Satoru says, waving the little prescription receipt. He turns to the kids. “Alright kiddos, fish time!”

The aquarium is a hit. Not just for the kids but for Satoru who can meander through it while the kids go at their own pace. Hurrying through only to double back when a new fish comes swimming by the observation floor. The dark rooms and watery light are a balm to Satoru’s throbbing head. He lingers in the jellyfish room, watching bioluminescent creatures bop slowly in their cylindrical tubes. Megumi finds him occasionally, stands in silence with Satoru, hands clasped behind his back like a true grandpa. Or he’ll linger, pondering, before spouting off a million and one facts about lemon sharks. Satoru likes seeing him excited and animated. Not sick or sleepy or in a terrible mood. Maybe that’s terrible of Satoru, but tangible Megumi’s happiness eases him. 

For a weekend the place is pretty dead and the big tank’s observation room is a cave of silence. Tsumiki and Megumi stare up at the circling fish with slack-jawed awe. Satoru sits on the bleachers built into the wall, carpeted with stiff material. He takes his phone out of his pocket;there’s a text from Yaga that he ignores for now and snaps a picture. It looks a little shitty, but he can make out the kids gripped by the wonders of several thousand gallons of water and sharks that will never know how deep water can actually be. There is some bitterness in Satoru that even this is tainted. That manta rays are reminiscent of Suguru and aquariums are the precursor to horror. He wants this gone. Fuck Satoru is sick of this strangeness that he’s been swallowed by. Brain injuries, lasting pain, stupid things making him feel cornered, an inability to–not feel normal, that’s not possible–but be at terms with things. 

Satoru puts his phone away and rubs the knots of pain forming at the base of his skull. Standing he determines to think only about fish until the kids are ready to leave. He joins them in front of the tank. 

The day at the aquarium ends in the gift shop. Satoru had opened the door for Tsumiki to go through at the end of their five hours walking around and around the tanks. Her hesitation was enough for Satoru to lead the way in. He goes immediately to the most expensive and useless thing he can see and picks it up. Satoru watches the kids slowly look through the shelves, point at things, pick up things and put them back. Things that they linger on for longer than a few moments Satoru picks up and adds to his pile. Their home is bland, of course he’ll buy a pack of blow up jellyfish. And a fake aquarium? Three of those little fucks. Nightlights that project sharks onto the ceiling and will break after a few uses? Satoru gets one for each room in the apartment.

“Satoru,” Tsumiki says warily. She has a little sea turtle shaped cross body bag in her hand. “That’s a lot of stuff.”

“Yup,” Satoru says. “You gotta get gifts at a gift shop.”

“Not…that many though.”

Megumi adds a figurine of a seahorse to Satoru’s teetering stack. At least he understands the way Satoru will burn money for them. Tsumiki looks down at the bag and rubs her thumb over the faux, green leather. 

“I will get it for you,” Satoru says. He squats so she can add it to the top of the pile.

“Okay…”

“And something else.”

“No,” Tsumiki says. 

“Yeah. Megumi has like four things in this pile. One more thing and I won’t bother you anymore,” Satoru says. 

Tsumiki looks around the store, chewing the side of her mouth. 

“I don’t know.”

“A stuffed animal maybe? Those sea otters are cute.”

The sea otters and all other stuffed toys don’t pass whatever judgement Tsumiki levels upon them. Satoru follows her around the store as she considers. He stops at a clothing shelf and picks out three shirts, bright pink and slightly obnoxious. He will make Megumi wear it and they will  take a picture at the front of the aquarium before they leave. That’s all he’s silently asking them in return. 

“This,” Tsumiki says, holding up a light blue bracelet made of round beads. 

“Perfect,” Satoru grins. 

Megumi is coaxed into a shirt only because Satoru accurately predicts that the kid is probably starving. Hangry Megumi grows claws and teeth and a resolve to torment Satoru.  So they eat first, overpriced aquarium food in front of a touch pool. Satoru has to keep a hand on Megumi’s elbow so the kid will eat before scampering off to touch catsharks. But after catsharks have been pet–Satoru indulged too, and they’re actually cute little things–and food is eaten, they pose by the bronze statue outfront. Satoru asks a stranger to snap a picture of them and he throws up peace signs behind each kid. Satoru laughs looking at his phone. Their faces burned pink from the light hitting their neon shirts. Tsumiki grinning, holding up her own peace signs and Megumi with the hint of a smile oblivious to the bunny ears Satoru is giving him. He needs to get this one physically somehow so he can hang it in his office when he becomes a teacher. 

Looking up at the kids, Satoru feels an ache form in him. An ache he’s not sure he can or wants to name. Not now. Not yet. 

“I love the aquarium,” Megumi declares on the train home. He has a lemon shark plush in his lap and a sticker of a jellyfish on his forehead put there by Satoru and accepted after Satoru showed him the rest of the sheet. 

“We’ll make a habit of it,” Satoru says. “Maybe go see the whale sharks in Okinawa.”

“We should do that soon,” Megumi says. “Tomorrow.”

“No can do tomorrow,” Satoru says. “Sorry bud.”

“When?”

Satoru shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m graduating soon, maybe we’ll go for a celebration.”

“Oh, and go to the beach?” Tsumiki pipes up. “Hopefully it won’t rain.”

“How soon is soon?” Megumi asks. “The day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we can go to the beach,” Satoru says, “and no. I graduate at the end of next week.”

“That’s not soon,” Megumi mourns. He flops his head against Satoru’s bicep. “That’s the opposite of soon.”

Satoru laughs breathily, puts his head back against the vibrating wall. “Trust me kid, it’s soon.”

When the results come in, Satoru isn’t in the country. He gets back late, has nothing but bed on his mind but is stopped from reaching it when Yaga catches him in the hall. 

“Your results are in.”

They had emailed them to Yaga and Yaga had printed them out. He hands Satoru the thin stacks of paper and sits behind his desk. Satoru sits by a sleeping Panda on the couch. He flips through the pages to the results which are listed down one page. 

Rapid deterioration of the visual cortex centered in area v4. Rapid deterioration of the visual cortex in general. Expected loss of color sight or other visual impairment. Scarring along the frontal lobe. Signs of multiple intracranial hemorrhages–this is in a red rectangle. Focal brain entropy. Heightened risk of aneurysm, stroke and seizure. 

Satoru turns back to the front page and yawns so wide his jaw cracks. He gets up, holds the papers out.

“Thanks. Do you want to keep it?”

Yaga blinks at him. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“You aren’t concerned?”

Satoru reconsiders the papers. The ink looks a little smudged now. “No. I knew all of that. I figured I’d be blind in a few years. I can feel my eye strings getting thready.”

“Eye strings?” Yaga shakes his head, digs his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “Nevermind. We can look into some preventative measures.”

Satoru nods. “Sure. I guess it would be kind of inconvenient if I got taken out of the field for seizures.”

“Satoru, your sight is in jeopardy. That doesn’t concern you at all?”

“What do you want me to do about it? My technique is going to have drawbacks, I know this. I’m already doing preventative care by refreshing my brain so often.”

“I thought that surely you would be covetous of your sight.”

Satoru smiles tiredly. “I’ll still have Six Eyes.”

“The pain will get worse,” Yaga says.

“I kind of figured that too.”

Satoru takes off his glasses. The opaque lenses do a fair job at cutting stimulants, but Satoru’s eyes have been painfully sensitive since Toji. A new vulnerability fed by Satoru’s fully recognized power.  He can’t walk around without them covered anymore. 

“Maybe I’ll look into better eye coverage," Satoru says. He slides his glasses back on. 

Yaga nods. He takes the papers from Satoru, tapping them together on the desk. . “Can I share these with Ieiri?”

“Sure. But I’m going to bed.”

“Are you going home?”

“No. I’m beat. I’ll get up and head over before the kids wake up though.”

Yaga looks like he wants to say something else, but he just nods and sits back. Satoru leaves his office yawning, hands in his pockets. His dorm room is dusty and when Satoru throws himself onto the bed a puff of stale air goes up around him. Satoru’s last thought before he falls asleep is that he forgot how quiet campus is compared to the hum of Tokyo, to sharing a space with other living things. He doesn’t sleep well until the rain starts up on the roof.

Chapter Text

“They can’t do this to me, Yaga!”

“I can’t talk them down from it, Satoru.”

“Did you try?!”

Yaga stands, gets into Satoru’s face where he’s standing on the other side of the desk. 

“Of course I tried! Do you think this is what I want for you?”

Satoru fumes, bites down on his teeth to keep his nails from tearing blood out of his palms. “I don’t know anymore.”

“How dare you disregard everything I have done for you, Satoru. I have put this entire campus into jeopardy for you more times than I can count!”

“It's my graduation!” Satoru snaps at him. “They can’t just let me have this? I shouldn’t have to beg for time off for this. They know I’m a student, it shouldn’t be a privilege if I put in the fucking work!”

“Stop yelling!” Yaga yells before he curses softly. “Stop yelling.”

“Who cares if I yell?” Satoru scoffs.

“The children down the hall,” Yaga sneers. “Compose yourself.”
Satoru takes a shuddering breath. “This isn’t fair.”

“No. It's not, but there is nothing I can do about it. Sorcerers are dying, Satoru.”

“Isn’t there someone else who can go?” Satoru asks, and fuck it sounds pathetic. “Just this once.”

“There isn’t.”

Satoru turns away from Yaga because for a split second he thinks he might burst into tears. He doesn’t, he sucks that shit down, because he refuses to be reduced to tears by the higher ups. It’s just…not been a good day. Satoru fought with Megumi that morning over something trivial and something that Satoru isn’t sure he was right about. The kid had spewed once again that he hates Satoru, that he wishes Satoru didn’t exist, that he wished he didn’t exist. Satoru had to take the kids to school carrying a sobbing Megumi. The looks he got from the teachers who had taken Megumi from him made Satoru’s skin crawl. He couldn’t take the kid with him today, even if he wanted to. The mission was hard and bloody and a failure on the side of the sorcerers, and then Satoru got back just in time to pick up the kids from school, not enough time to gauge Megumi’s sullen mood before Yaga summoned him to campus. The kids got to hang with Panda and Satoru got to learn that he is being sent to Minami Torishima for a multiday mission to clear out an infestation of grade one curses that will end the day after graduation. 

And as usual. There is no one else. 

“How many curses?” Satoru asks. 

“We aren’t entirely sure, but we know a bulk, twenty or so, are grade ones.”

“That’s a lot of powerful curses,” Satoru mutters. “And what, they weren’t noticed until now? ”

“No.”

“Bull shit ,” Satoru bites. He turns back to face his teacher. “What about Mei Mei?”

Yaga’s mouth goes tight. “We could send her, but the risk is significant. Satoru, you are the only one who can take this.”

“I refuse to miss my graduation,” Satoru says. “I’m going right now.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Yaga gasps. “You can’t go now.”

“Why not? What’s keeping me here?”

Yaga flounders. “You just got back from a mission and these are grade one curses Satoru. Even with your power there is no way you can hold your own without proper preparation.”

“I feel fine. Pumped up even, I’m still on the adrenaline from earlier.”

“Be reasonable. What about the kids?”

Satoru shrugs. “You’d watch them. Besides, Megumi hates me right now. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to not see me for a few hours.”

“You can’t go now,” Yaga stresses. “I was preparing accommodations, medics, and a pair of assistants to go with you.”

“Well I’ll make it easier for everyone and just get it over with.”

Satoru rolls his neck, tries to remember what he last ate and pictures the island he’s trying to reach. It’ll take a lot of concentration, even more RCE to make sure his brain doesn’t leak out of his ears. Yaga in a rare show of desperation snatches at Satoru then lets his hand rest firmly against Infinity. 

“Don’t. Please.”

“I know it seems silly to you,” Satoru says, “but I can’t miss graduation.”

Satoru needs highschool to end out somewhat normally. One day, one day where he can be a student getting his diploma. One day where he’s going to drink celebratory alcohol until he can’t think and toilet paper something important that belongs to someone important. 

“It's not silly, but being reckless is stupid.” Yaga looks down at his desk like it holds all of the answers. “I can ask them to move it up and get things situated by tomorrow.”

That is still close. Satoru graduates in three days. If he leaves the day after tomorrow that’s still going to be pushing onto graduation day. He’s going to have to move fast and pray that  anything that should be left unexorcised doesn’t get in his way. 

“Fine,” Satoru says. “But I’m handling it my way when I get there.”

Yaga holds up his hands. “Okay.”

Satoru nods a single jerky motion and stalks out of the room. It takes more effort than it should for Satoru to not march into the higher ups temple and do something drastic. He doesn’t understand their hatred for him. Yeah, politically he’s a little inconvenient, and yeah he’s called them bigots to their faces and sure he wields scary amounts of world ending power; but fuck him. He still obeys their crazy orders and he doesn’t interact with them beyond a mostly professional capacity. They have it out for him on a personal level that Satoru doesn’t think he deserves. Not yet at least. 

“Who pissed in your cereal?”

Shoko has appeared in the hall Satoru is pacing down before he goes to get his cranky children. She has a jar of heart in her hand and a stack of paper. There’s a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and her uniform top is missing. 

“Impersonal screen one through fucking seven,” Satoru snaps. 

Shoko hums, rolling her smoke along her bottom lip. “Do I want to know?”

“No,” Satoru mumbles.

“You didn’t also happen to piss off Yaga did you? He has to approve this report and I’ve been working on it for hours.”

“You’re his favorite, you’ll be fine,” Satoru says.

Shoko grins at him. “I am his favorite, aren’t I?”

“Definitely wasn’t me or Suguru.”

“Mn. I still remember the day he realized Suguru was just as bad as you are. Broke his spirit I think,” Shoko says, grinning when Satoru rolls his eyes. 

“Well, good thing he has you.”

“Damn right,” Shoko says. She shuffles the things in her arms. “You are good though, yeah? You look a little crazier than normal.”

“I had an argument with Megumi about not taking all thirty thousand of his stuffed toys with him to school this morning. It’s like the world ended.”

“That is pretty catastrophic,” Shoko says dryly.

“Honestly I don’t even know if I was right. Who cares? But also if he lost any of those everyone would have to care. You know?”

“No,” Shoko says. 

Satoru flaps a hand at her. “Unhelpful. I have no one to talk to about kid stuff.”

“What gave you the impression I was a remotely good idea?”

“I dunno. Maybe the eyebags and developing lung cancer. Inspiring. Screams parental.”

Shoko kicks at Infinity. “Fuck off.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Satoru laughs. 

“You better be. I’m not here to help you raise your kids, Satoru.”

“I hold you to no such standard,” Satoru says. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his uniform. “So. Are you ready to graduate?”

“Been ready since I passed the med test a year ago,” Shoko says. “Can’t wait to get out of here and…oh wait. I am never leaving here.”

“You can relocate to Kyoto,” Satoru says. 

Kyoto's medic was killed a few months back and a job offer had been extended towards any fresh medically trained sorcerers. Satoru knows that Shoko is aware of the offer and that she has the highest qualifications and experiences of any new doctor. Utahime would be there too and it would allow Shoko to get beyond the Tokyo Tech. 

“You’d be a traitor to the highest degree, but you could.”

Shoko nods, taps ash off the cherry of her cigarette. It gets caught by the breeze and blown into the interior hallway.  “I've thought about it seriously but. I don’t know. I want to serve anyone who needs my help and the tech is a main base. And with you around it’s guaranteed to be in any major conflict.”

“Hm. That’s pretty noble of you,” Satoru says. 

“Is it noble to fulfill your set purpose?” Shoko asks. “Besides, I like Tokyo better than Kyoto.”

“Are you going to move?”

“That I am doing. No offense to the resident units here but full offense to them. I have a place picked out not too far from Shibuya.”

“What?! Shoko, you have to show me your new place!”

She smiles at him. “I was planning a get together with Uta and some other people after graduation, consider this your formal invitation.”

“Accepted! Oh man, I'm excited now! Is there going to be alcohol?”

“Sure. Tell me what you want and I can find some alcohol free stuff.”

“I’ll drink the alcohol,” Satoru says. 

Shoko goes a little still. She cocks her head at Satoru, looks him up and down. 

“You will?”

“Yeah, been craving it actually.”

“Oh. I’ll have to check with your meds to make sure you can actually drink at all. Besides being a massive lightweight.”

Satoru frowns. “That's a thing?”

“Yeah, Satoru. Are you on opioids? I know you’re taking gabapentin now.”

“No. I don’t hurt enough for opioids,” Satoru says. It makes him uncomfortable to talk about. 

The doctor had mentioned that opioids were an option when Satoru went for a consultation for gabapentin via Shoko’s heavy recommendation in the light of his ct results. Highly addictive, the doctor had told him but highly effective for a short period of time especially for the flare ups in Satoru’s chest or any severe pain in his head and spine. Satoru had turned it down, even for a short time. The injuries on his brain are torn open and repaired too often for the opioids to do much but get him addicted. 

“I’m on amitriptyline with the gabapentin.” 

“Sorry,” Shoko says. “Can’t drink on that.”

Satoru frowns harder. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Well isn’t that just fantastic. 

“Will it kill me?"

Shoko cuts a glare at him. “Not unless you’re actively taking pills and drinking. But you’re stupid if you think I’m going to let you drink when you’re taking an antidepressant.”

“So I get to be the only sober person in the room. Again.” Satoru shakes his head. 

He crosses his arms and thinks about how unfair it is that kids get to stomp their sassy little feet while Satoru has already pretty much thrown the adult version of a tantrum by crossing his arms.

“All those other times you chose not to drink,” Shoko reminds him. 

“I know ,” Satoru whines. “I don’t like being drunk. I told you guys it makes me paranoid.”

Shoko snorts. “Remember that time you literally wouldn’t leave Suguru’s lap and anytime I got up to pee you had a whole fit?”

“There were things in the room!”

“I promise you there were not.”

“I could accidently level Japan. My power gets wacky.”

Shoko gives him a strange look. “Right. Which I know, which is why I told you to tell me what to get you. Why do you even want to drink now?”

“I don’t know. I want to feel normal. Or included. And I don’t really want to think.”

“Those are all reasons you probably shouldn’t drink,” Shoko says quietly. 

Yeah. 

“I like soda,” Satoru says. “Strawberry.”

Shoko nods, readjusts the stuff in her arms again. “Cool. I’ll make note of it.”

“Cool. I’m gonna go and face the storm that is Megumi,” Satoru says, knocking his thumb towards the door he’s been avoiding. 

Shoko leaves him to it and before Satoru collects his kids he takes a deep breath, plasters on a smile and opens the door. He finds Panda and Tsumiki sitting together with their heads close, whispering. Megumi is not in Satoru’s immediate line of sight. 

“Hey guys.”

Panda jumps and Tsumiki turns her face up to Satoru. She looks stricken. 

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks, anxiety spiking so fast it makes his nose go numb. 

“We were playing hide and seek and Megumi–we can’t find him!” Panda wails when Tsumiki doesn’t answer. 

“What do you mean you can’t find him?”

“He’s just gone!” Tsumiki says, throwing a hand out towards the room. “We looked everywhere, Satoru. I promise we did!”

“Okay,” Satoru says. He stands to his full height. “Okay, calm down. I’ll find him.”

“What if he ran away?” Tsumiki asks. 

That could very well be the case. 

“Panda,” Satoru says, “can you go tell your dad that Megumi is gone?”

Panda wobbles onto his feet, nodding rapidly. He hurries out of the room and Satoru turns in a slow circle. 

“I need details, Miki,” Satoru says. 

“Panda was it. I didn’t really see where Megumi went, I hid behind the couch and then Panda found me and not Megumi. And after a long time Panda still didn’t find Megumi so I tried to help and–I lost him!”

“What were the boundaries?” Satoru asks. “Could you hide outside of the room?”

“No.”

“I need you to think if you heard the door open or close while you were hiding or while Panda was counting.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Tsumiki says. 

Satoru walks around the room. It was an old classroom turned lounge, turned storage, turned, perfect place for a game of hide and seek. Satoru gets down on his hands and knees, peers under the couch. He checks old wardrobes, and the small storage closet at the back of the room. He gets up on desks to look on top of stacks of boxes and tall furniture. 

“Megumi?” Satoru calls from the center of the room. “Are you in here?”

To no one's surprise, Megumi doesn’t respond. Satoru steadies himself and starts to look with Six Eyes. Something tells him that the kid is in the room, he just has no idea where or how he’s managed to–oh. A flickering of energy layered with energy, there in the back corner by the window. Satoru turns to Tsumiki. 

“I think I found him. Why don’t you go wait with Yaga and Panda, they’re coming this way.”

“You found him?”

Satoru nods and jerks his head towards the space under the window. Tsumiki’s eyes dart around the empty space. 

“Wha–”

“I’ve got this.”

Satoru walks over to the window when Tsumiki leaves. He leans against the wall, crosses his legs at the ankles. 

“That’s pretty cool, Megs,” Satoru says. “If not heart attack inducing.”

No answer. 

Satoru takes his glasses off, slides them into his pocket. Rubs his eyes and blows out a long breath, slumping so his shoulders rest more fully on the wall. 

“You gotta stop stressing our sister out.”

He needs to stop stressing Satoru out. But Megumi is best appealed to through Tsumiki, especially right now when he’s pissed off at Satoru. 

“Are you really competitive at hide and seek, or are you sulking because we had a rough morning? If  it's that first one, congratulations you won and brought Panda to tears. If it’s that second one, we can talk about it.”

No reply. 

Satoru knocks his head back, and traces the lines of spiderwebs that cross the ceiling with his eyes. 

“Kids are mean, Megumi. I know because I was kind of a mean kid and you're a little bit of a mean kid too. You don’t know what would have happened to your little stuffed guys if you took them with you.”

Wretched silence.

“I told you no because I didn’t want you to get hurt if something happened to one of them.”

Finally a ripple in the shadow cast across most of the floor from the curtain that hangs in the window. Satoru watches as little points of hair start to emerge and then Megumi’s forehead, then dark eyes and finally Megumi sitting on the floor, leeching shadows. Satoru can't help but grin at him. It's impressive as hell. 

“When did you learn to do that?” Satoru asks him. He crouches down so he’s at Megumi’s level. 

“Few days ago,” Megumi mumbles. “I was trying to get the dogs.”

“Was it scary?”

“No,” Megumi says. “It feels safe.”

“Good. But maybe don’t do this when you’re playing with Tsumiki, she has no way of finding you.”
“Panda?”

“Eh, maybe in a few years he might have a sliver of a chance. It took even me a little,” Satoru says. “That’s impressive.”

Megumi smiles at him. A tiny thing. But a smile after a day of Satoru rethinking the fight that morning. 

“I can’t go into my shadows at school,” Megumi says.

“No,” Satoru agrees. 

“So I take my friends.”

Oh. Oh okay. So this is a little deeper than Satoru considered. 

“Megumi, do you have friends at school?”

Megumi curls up around himself. He messes with his feet and buries his face in his knees. He shakes his head silently. Satoru presses his eyes closed, and feels like an idiot for not considering that Megumi is lonely . He’s a weird little dude. Smart, quiet, a little mean and he can see curses, of course his experience is going to be alienating. 

“Okay,” Satoru says, he puts his palms together. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re gonna pick one of your stuffed animals, not the falling apart one, and then we’re going to go through all the risks and if you still want to take it with you, you can. Deal?”

Megumi nods three times in rapid succession, gripping his shorts like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Satoru grins at him and scoops him up to put him on his shoulders. 

“I can compromise kiddo, no need to constantly spam the hate button. Now hold on.”

Satoru runs out of the room at full speed. Megumi lets out a little yelp and wraps his arms around Satoru’s head. Their target is Tsumiki who is walking with Yaga and Panda back towards the room. Satoru swings her into his arms, then around in two tight circles. She laughs a screechy sound and clings to his arms until he settles her back onto the ground for a moment.

“Sorry, sorry, I need my glasses,” Satoru says. 

Once they’re securely back onto his nose he swings her around again. And then Panda who had been wriggling in Yaga’s arms. Megumi’s hands yank on Satoru’s hair. It hurts like a motherfucker. What a glorious feeling. 

The sacrificial animal is a squid from the aquarium. Megumi has a ritual of choosing what–sorry who– will accompany him to school. He lines every single soft animal he owns out in front of the couch and makes Satoru listen to all of their names, backstories and why they are the perfect candidate for the job. 

Satoru chooses the squid for a few reasons. It’s medium sized so it won’t get lost but offers Megumi something to hug on. It’s kind of ugly. Brown and gold swirls that look a little like crap. A misshapen bubbly head. Unattractive to deter thieves. But the most important reason that Satoru picked it is because while Megumi is attached to all of them, he’s noticeably less attached to Squiggle the squid. 

He presents his pick to Megumi, who has final say, and feels relief uncoil in him when Megumi agrees. 

The squid is placed into Megumi’s backpack that night because Satoru will be all the way at the very end of Japan before the kids wake up tomorrow.

It's a fight unlike anything Satoru has had in awhile. He’s pushed on the offense through air and on the ground for the first half of the fight as curses upon curses upon curses advance on him. Satoru is alone, exchanging blows with a huge creature that’s more leg than torso, wicked fast and quick to pick up on what Satoru’s plays are. There had been only a few sorcerers from Kyoto on the island when Satoru had arrived. One down a leg and one that will be dead before they see the mainland, he sent them back with the medics and an assistant. He’s blowing the place to pieces, any human would be dead. 

Satoru finishes off leggy with a wad of blue and uses that same cast of power to sweep back the other curses that press in on him. The ground buckles under the weight of blue and gives away completely when red comes to bolster it up. Satoru whips around to blow a skyscraper of a curse out to the water. He doesn’t have room to kill it with thirty other curses on his ass, so he gives himself time to dispose of the others before he faces that. He’s panting slightly– his focus in a million different places, but he’s also excited. He hasn’t had a chance to stretch like this in so long. He thinks, maybe when the big guy gets back, he’s going to open his domain. Just for the fun of it. 

It takes thirteen kills and a minute and a half for the big curse to lunge out of the ocean again. Satoru blasts it out of its leap, sending it sprawling through the air. Satoru warps in front of it, slams a kick into its bulbous head–slamming it back down into the earth. For a moment he hovers above its heaving body afraid he’s managed to kill it. But it rolls over and Satoru smiles. He takes off his glasses. 

In the end it did take longer than Satoru is satisfied with. He toyed with his prey for a little bit in the domain but they couldn’t hold out in there for longer than a few seconds. Almost fifty curses with more than half being grade two or higher. That’s strange for a place with so little human interaction. There isn’t a good explanation for why so many powerful curses congregated here. There's an even less plausible explanation as to why it was only brought to sorcerer’s attention a few days ago. Satoru takes some time to walk around the island after he’s killed everything. 

There are a few residuals that Satoru traces back to something familiar. He stops dead in his tracks, takes a deep breath. Satoru knows those residuals like his own. He scowls at the ground and kicks over a few rocks to reveal a moisture crumpled notebook. He flips through it, just lists and dates, not in a familiar hand but the pages have the Time Vessel Association seal stamped across the bottom corners.  Scowling harder, Satoru takes it to the water and throws it into the ocean. 

“You’re smarter than this, Suguru!” Satoru yells. His voice echoes back to him. “At least make it a challenge you asshole!”

The island is a wreck but it’s clean of curses so Satoru has done what was asked of him. The island was pretty much a landing strip anyways. Satoru strips off his shoes, puts his feet in the ocean and waits for his pick up. 

To say Satoru is in a mood when he finally, finally gets back to the Tech, is an understatement. They’d had to make an emergency landing to avoid the weather that pushed the return date from that evening to the next morning. Satoru had slept on the floor of a cramped regional airport halfway between nowhere and Tokyo. The pilot that was flying Satoru had slept close enough that Satoru could hear his heart murmur through his gurgly snores. So maybe slept is the wrong word. Satoru closed his eyes and silently fumed at his ex best friend for approximately nine hours. He was more than happy to leave the struggling little Cessna on the runway of a private field in Tokyo when they finally landed.  

The campus is dressed modestly for graduation which makes Satoru angrier. He marches through a group of first years that are gathered in the main courtyard, and sends them scurrying like fly heads. Yaga’s office is empty so Satoru takes the report files and scribbles in:

Way more than twenty. My six year old can count better than you. Majority grade one. Damage to land. Found evidence of Time Vessel Association, you want more details on that you come talk to me. For the better of us all let me use my goddamn warp to get places. Who the hell thought a Cessna was a good idea? May both sides of your pillows be warm always. 

Satoru signs on the bottom and throws the file onto Yaga’s desk. He has an astonishing zero minutes before he’s meant to get the kids so they can come watch him graduate. Satoru warps out of Yaga’s office to his apartment so he can change into fresh clothing then warps to the park by the kids’ school. Here he has to pause to breathe the ringing out of his ears. 

“Fuck, no car. Fuck.”

So then he has to call for a car on a phone that’s struggling to reconnect with the civilization of Tokyo and on three percent battery. 

The kids are happy to see him though. They’d been lingering on the sidewalk in front of the school, craning up to see if they could see Satoru. When he comes ambling out of the park their faces light up and oh, would you look at that, Squiggle the squid has survived. 

“Are you excited?” Tsumiki asks as they wait for a car.

“Pretty excited,” Satoru says. 

“You have a headache,” Megumi says. 

The kid isn’t even looking at Satoru when he turns to him. He’s playing with poo colored tentacles. 

“Do not.”

He does. 

“You do,” Megumi says. He looks at Satoru imploringly. “You’re biting your back teeth.”

Little…shit.

“Whatever,” Satoru grumps. “I do have a headache, but jokes on you. I have a headache like ninety percent of the time.”

“Owie,” Tsumiki says almost cheerfully. She’s waving at the oncoming car. 

Satoru shoos them inside and once settled he tries to check the time. His phone is dead. Satoru closes it carefully so he doesn’t snap it savagely. He puts his head against the window and takes a nap until Megumi shouts at him to wake up at the campus. 

It's a small ceremony. Really, really small. And short. Shoko gets her diploma first and the closest thing to honors that the Tech offers. Satoru screams obnoxiously from the front row and Utahime glares daggers at him. When it’s Satoru’s turn he skips across the stage, takes his diploma and holds it above his head. 

“Death to curses, fuckers!”

See, at this part, Suguru who would have gone before Satoru, was going to have summoned the dragon to swoop up Satoru, go flying once around the room and out the door, cheering their survival and mutual strenght. 

All Satoru gets now are cringes and crickets. Eventually, Tsumiki claps politely and Megumi stares at him in horror. 

“Sit down, Satoru,” Yaga growls. 

Satoru sits down and hands Tsumiki the diploma case to mess with. 

Yaga gives a stilted speech thanking alumni even though none are in attendance. He wishes Satoru and Shoko good luck in their endeavors like they’re leaving and won’t be here the next day. 

Outside it’s sunny with a storm coming in from the west. Satoru and Shoko pose together with their diplomas. He smiles and hurts through it all as Utahime snaps photos and Tsumiki snaps photos. Shoko goes to talk with Utahime and Satoru lingers, god that's all he does. Linger . He’s not going to cry, but he feels tears in his chest. Bitter angry tears that he smiles through as his kids come over to show him the pictures Tsumiki got of him. 

“Oh, hey, Uta, can you get one of us three?” Satoru calls as he pulls the kids close. 

“Sure.”

Tsumiki hands her the camera and joins Satoru and Megumi. Satoru closes his eyes and smiles because he is teary eyed but his pictures better say that he was happy as hell today. 

Pictures done Satoru officially introduces Utahime to Megumi Fushiguro, six, animal encyclopedia, that’s his friend Squiggle, he bites. And Tsumiki Fushiguro, eight, literally the best person in the world, moss detective, an angel??? Doesn’t bite. 

“I’m Utahime Iori,” Utahime introduces herself. She smiles at the kids but still looks wildly put out by them, like she didn’t actually believe Satoru when he said there were two of them. “I’m Go–Satoru’s upperclassmen.”

“It's nice to meet you!” Tsumiki says. “I like meeting Satoru’s friends.”

Megumi just nods and clings to Satoru. 

“Where’s that party you were talking about?” Satoru asks Shoko as Utahime puzzles out the siblings. 

The school offers them cars to the starion but then they have to take the train to Shibuya. Satoru is fine with this arrangement, although he loses his diploma somewhere between the school and Shibuya Station. Then a cab to a modest apartment tucked into a modest street. Kento is waiting for them, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk with a package in his hand. Satoru laughs when he sees him, runs up and hugs him, then ducks away before Kento can register it happening. There are other people there that Satoru doesn’t know and he’s grateful for it as the afternoon bleeds into night. Satoru spends the first half of the party talking and laughing and eating and drinking strawberry soda because he’s on antidepressants. He gets ogled by people who look at him and know him as The Strongest. And he gets ogled by people who look like they’d like to climb him. If Satoru didn’t have Megumi glued to his side, if he didn’t feel like a person would have to peel him out of some grotesque cocoon to get that out of him, he might take them up on the offers their eyes speak. 

But people mean he doesn’t have to think for a little bit, drunk or not. People are drugs enough. A happy little high spurred on by being surrounded by life–even if Satoru stands behind an invincible wall. He plays increasingly competitive rounds of cards, charades, and any board games until he’s not allowed to play because he keeps winning. Satoru sits by Kento and introduces him to Megumi who seems a little more comfortable with Kento than the rest of the people. Maybe it's because Kento can exist in silence without feeling threatened by it. Kento asks politely after what interests Megumi and Squiggles is brought out. 

“Why did you get him a fecal colored sea creature?” Kento asks Satoru when Megumi eventually nods off. 

Satoru barks a laugh that wakes Megumi enough that he scowls and rolls his face into the couch cushions. 

“He picked it all on his lonesome,” Satoru says with a grin. “Glad you think it's the color of shit too.”

“They’re…not what I expected,” Kento says, looking over to where Tsumiki is playing old maid and winning.

“What were you expecting?”

Kento looks guilty and Satoru feels a weird sense of disappointment fill him. 

“You are all a very cohesive unit is what I meant. It hasn’t been very long.”

And no, Satoru supposes it hasn’t.

People start to leave when it starts to rain. And soon there are more people that Satoru knows than those he doesn’t. There are still strangers lingering around when Satoru lifts a sleeping Megumi and goes to ask Shoko if there is a safe place to let him rest. She lets them into her bedroom, only half lived in, the bedding unwrinkled. Satoru lays Megumi on the duvet, tucks Squiggles under his arm. Satoru leaves him there, tells Tsumiki where to go if she gets tired, and goes back to sit by Kento. She goes not long after. 

Satoru goes to the balcony through the sliding doors in the front room. They’re several floors up and Tokyo hangs in a rainy mist. Satoru sits down, places on the edge of the platform a strawberry soda and a beer. He taps the strawberry soda to the beer. 

“Criminal and high school dropout, that’s lame, Suguru.”

He takes a long drink. Feels that carbonation burn going down to mingle with the burn of emotion coming up. Satoru leans forward, folds his arms on the rail and drops his chin on his wrists. He lets Infinity down to feel the rain trickle through his hair.

“That’s so lame .”

And if he cries. No he doesn’t. It's rain. 

Chapter Text

Amidst graduation, the unofficial way Satoru wrote his report and Yaga being busy with all manner of things–the report from Minami Torishima gets lost.

For a few precious weeks. 

Satoru finally sends in his application for university. He’d filled it out laying on one of the medical tables in the morgue on his stomach caught between two missions. He’d bugged Shoko about things until she’d threatened him with a bloody scalpel. The Tech’s cover of a religious school leaves Satoru guessing on whether or not he has an advantage or if he’ll get tossed to the wayside because it's such an unheard of institution. He also kind of bullshits everything with grades, his final gpa, courses taken and any kind of advanced classes he might have completed for college prep. What he surprisingly doesn’t have to lie about, is how much community service he has under his belt. He gets paid for most of it, but also puts in way more hours than he will see money for, so he feels a bit of pride being able to be honest about that. It's a waiting game now. 

Post graduation life has gone by fast. Satoru is out of the country most days, but he thinks he’s mastered the ability to warp. He only vomits every three to four rounds which is an improvement. He can go from one place to another in a day, sometimes half a day, and be back to eat dinner with the kids. This new improvement doesn’t go unnoticed and the higher ups present him with double the work he was previously doing. And, to top off his new work load, Yaga has asked him to come with on several missions to find potential sorcerers. So Satoru is busy, and tired, and he doesn’t know if it’s the thick heat or something else, but he’s sleeping less. He supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised when he wakes up in pain. 

Satoru staggers out of bed, hears rain lashing the window and feels it in his bones. There’s a pounding tearing feeling in his eyes, a throb that feels like it’s splitting his forehead down the middle. But it’s a weekday and Satoru has a thousand things to do, including rousing the children that he doesn’t hear making commotion around the house. Satoru takes his meds first, braces himself on the counter in the bathroom, rests his forehead against the cool marble. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, just to kill the feeling of a shovel smashing tip first past his cranium. 

“--ru! Megumi, call 119!”

Tsumiki’s voice wavers through Satoru’s cotton filled head. He’s on the bathroom floor, blood is dripping down his lips, staining the uniform skirt Tsumiki is wearing. It takes a moment for him to realize that he can only see her through one eye but can’t figure out why. 

“Satoru? Oh my goodness, are you okay?”

Tsumiki gets lower on the floor, brandishes a tissue towards Satoru’s face. It touches him. Satoru jerks his head back, and cracks it against the cabinets behind him. A flare of pain in a sea of pain. Tsumiki jumps, yanks her hand away like Satoru had burned her. 

“Are you okay?”

Satoru unclenches his jaw, works his mouth, but fuck. Fuck . It hurts something awful to try and form words. Hurts his brain, hurts his jaw. 

“Megumi?!”

A pattering of feet that reverberates through Satoru’s skull and Megumi is there, crouching down to stare at Satoru. He’s in his school uniform too. That’s good. They shouldn’t be late. 

“Did you find his phone?”

Megumi holds up Satoru’s phone, flipped open and dead. Satoru had forgotten to plug it in the night before. He planned to get a few hours of down time at home so it didn’t matter that it wasn’t charged before he left in the afternoon. 

“Is he dying?” Megumi asks Tsumiki. 

He grips his knees, stares at Satoru with wide, fearful eyes. 

“I don’t know!” Tsumiki says. 

She’s not breathing right. Satoru can tell. Chest heaving, throat gasping. There is nothing he can do to make that better, not when suddenly he’s fighting consciousness. 

When he comes to again, his head is in someone’s lap. He recognizes the smell of damp felt and familiar cursed energy. Yaga. Yaga cradling his head and speaking. Satoru can’t really comprehend words,  but he can feel the deep, low vibrations against his cheek. 

“I can’t see,” Satoru says, or tries to say. It comes out slurred and broken and maybe a little weepy. 

“Satoru. Your eyes are closed.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

He feels Yaga’s hand brush back his bangs, a large palm flattening over his forehead. “I think you had a seizure.”

Satoru puffs a stream of air through his lips, cranes back against Yaga’s hand like a cat seeking attention, and has nothing to say in response. He doesn’t know what to say because he has no memory of what happened. 

“You’re lucky I was coming to find you after you wouldn’t answer your phone. You scared Tsumiki half to death.”

Satoru tries to peel his eyes open to try and find Tsumiki, or orient himself to where he is beyond Yaga’s lap then go from there. But his eyelids weigh tons. Dragging back down after every shivery attempt to open them. His head feels like it’s under a cruise ship, his senses burning, eyes throbbing. A sound escapes him. Frustration, pain, desperation. He jerks in Yaga’s light grasp, chokes on the bile that movement pulls up and out of his throat. A cool weight lays itself over Satoru’s eyes and he goes still. The relief isn’t instantaneous nor is it a complete removal of his pain. But the throbbing eases and his head goes from near bursting, to bursting in the foreground. He lets out a ragged sigh, falls back to be cradled like a baby as the material  is wound carefully around his skull until there is a snug wrap around his eyes. 

Awareness the third time is softer. Bed. Yeah. This is his bed. His smells and the carefully selected textures. He’s on his side, and there is something still wrapped around his face. The pounding in his brain is manageable now, almost back to its regular constant. His chest and throat hurt pretty good still, a pulling that makes itself abundantly known as Satoru sits up. Maybe that means he shouldn’t sit up, but he does, swings his feet over the side of the bed. It takes a moment but he realizes he can see through the layers of–he lifts his hands to feel across the material–bandages. He can see through them. Someone has strung a few of his blankets over the windows and no light comes in from any of the little seams of the door. There’s duck tape sealing up the cracks and a towel shoved against the bottom of the door. Satoru has to shoulder his way out of the room flinching as the tape tears away from the wall with a loud ripping sound. It aggravates the pain in his body from throbbings to burning throbbings. 

Beyond his room the house is silent. There are no lights on and the sound of rain is ominous as it is ambient. Everything is a stone gray. For a moment Satoru just stands in the hallway confused, wondering if this is a dream. It feels like there was never any life in these rooms. Not even the smattering of things from the aquarium make Satoru feel at ease.

“Hello?”

His voice is a cracked, echoey mess. Satoru cringes at the end of the word. He goes to the couch, sinks down on the cushions and puts his head in his hands. They left him here. Which is probably good if he traumatized the kids. Yaga–if he wasn’t some fantastical apparition Satoru invented–said he had a seizure and Satoru thinks he’s right. Satoru feels bad. Not the usual pain day bad, which isn’t good, but this bad is deeper. A lack of memory and a slow body. A fuzziness that extends to the tips of his extremities. He’s thirsty too, but nauseous thinking about putting anything into his mouth. 

A door opens. The bathroom. 

“What are you doing out of bed?”

Shoko appears by the couch, kneeling so she can look at Satoru from between his knees. She looks exhausted, her hair a mess and she stinks with the scent of cigarettes. 

“Satoru?”

“I dunno,” Satoru mumbles. 

She sighs at him. It startles him when she reaches out and touches his face. Shoko’s hands are cold, a shock against Satoru’s cheek. She unwinds the bandages, lays them over her knee. Stops touching him after she’s inspected his eyes. 

“You shouldn’t be up yet. Christ.”

“Where are the kids?”

“Out to dinner. They’ll be back soon. Yaga is with them before you have a conniption."

Satoru doesn’t have conniption energy. 

Shoko gets to her feet and leaves. Satoru closes his eyes again and sags against his own palms. It doesn’t take long for Shoko to return. She shoves a rattling bottle of pills at Satoru up through his knees like she had been, so he has to look at them. 

“Why aren’t you taking your medication, Satoru? I told you to take these to avoid seizures that we all knew were coming.”

“I have been,” Satoru says weakly. “I have been.”

Shoko rattles the bottle. “Really? You got these before graduation and even with a refill this sounds full.”

Satoru takes the pills just so she’ll stop shaking them and making an earthquake in his head. 

“I forget. Sometimes. I have to leave so often. It just slips my mind.”

“It can’t ,” Shoko snaps. “You can’t forget to take them. This isn’t something you can will away. This isn’t something you can RCT away. Come on , Satoru.”

Satoru swallows the nothing in his throat. His tongue sticks to the top of his mouth. Shoko has her hands on his face again, tilting it up, pressing her thumbs harshly to the tops of his cheek bones, right under his eyes. 

“Look at me.”

“Hurts,” Satoru whimpers. “It hurts to see Shoko.”

“Can you see?”

“Yes.”

“From both eyes?”

“Blurry on the right, but yeah.”

Shoko’s mouth goes tight. She leans down to look closer at Satoru’s right eye, and brushes a thumb under his hair. He jerks away when she touches the scar. It hurts like a bitch. Turns Satoru’s stomach over, hitches his breath until he’s reaching to push Shoko away. 

“Tender?”

“Yeah,” Satoru gasps. “Yeah, fuck.”

Shoko kneels on the floor again. “When was the last time you took your medication?”

Satoru doesn’t remember. No. He remembers thinking about it as he was heading out the door with the kids a week ago. He remembers thinking he should grab the bottle, find a way to carry them with him, but then it had gone out of his mind. 

“A while, sorry. Sorry.”

Shoko looks like she might hit him and right now she can. He needs to figure out how to make Infinity stay up, the whole point is to protect him when he’s vulnerable, but so far it's failed when his health declines. Maybe he needs to start by injuring himself, instead of just having it up all the time so it gets used to Satoru being in pain and needing pro–

“Stop thinking ,” Shoko hisses. She grabs his wrists. “Stop it.”

Satoru lets out a wheezy half laugh. “That’s a first.”

“You don’t have brain cells for thinking right now.”

He can’t argue with her. But how do you stop thinking? Meditation, zen, all that fun stuff that Satoru sucks at. See. Here he goes thinking again. 

“Satoru.”

“I don’t know how,” Satoru says. He’s so thirsty.

Shoko presses her forehead to his knee, mutters a series of curses. 

“Sorry,” Satoru says again, but he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, and he’s not sure if–thinking again. 

“You’re going to take your medication right now. Then you are going to go back to bed, lay on your side so you don't suffocate if you vomit. And then you are going to continue taking your medication as your doctor and I have instructed you. You got that?” 

Satoru nods mutely. Shoko stands, watches Satoru shake out his allotted amount of pills, and goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Satoru drinks deeply when she hands it to him. Water dribbles down his throat, his stomach churns, but he drains the cup and takes the pills dry. 

“You could have told me you were thirsty,” Shoko says, her voice gentle as she takes the cup. 

“I was going to,” Satoru rasps. “More?”

She brings him more. 

Satoru’s sleep is light enough that he hears when the kids get back. He’s groggy and nauseous but he still gets out of bed to go and see them. He decides to make a detour to the bathroom first  because the moment he stands up he realizes he also needs to piss. He opens his door and Megumi collides with his knees. The kid has a roll of black duck tape in his hand and a smudge of ketchup on his cheek. They stare at each other. 

“Go to bed!” Megumi yells at Satoru. He points a little finger back into the bowels of Satoru’s room. “Now!”

Satoru reaches down and pats the top of the kids head. “No can do. I need to pee.”

He tries to step past Megumi but he latches onto Satoru’s leg and refuses to let go. 

“Megumi.”

“No! You go to bed! You can’t go into the bathroom.”

“Megumi,” Satoru pleads. He reaches down to try and dislodge him. 

Megumi sinks his little fingers into Satoru’s sweat pants. Sinks his teeth into the flesh above Satoru’s knee. Satoru hisses in pain, redoubling his efforts to get the little piranha off. 

“What has gotten into you? Ow! Megumi, let go!”

Yaga comes out of the kitchen then. His mouth goes hard when he sees Satoru and then slightly softer when he sees Megumi chewing a hole through Satoru’s leg. 

“Let go of him, Megumi.”

Megumi releases his teeth, but only so he can turn around to look at Yaga. “You’re not my dad, you can’t tell me what to do.”

Satoru gets a hand between his leg and Megumi’s chest and peels him off completely. Yaga–bless his ability to occasionally know what Satoru’s head is doing–picks the kid up and takes a step back. Megumi is not pleased with this and promptly goes into a meltdown of proportions that Satoru hasn’t seen in a few weeks. 

He’s going to piss himself if he doesn’t go to the bathroom now . So he leaves Megumi with Yaga and steps further down the hall. 

Satoru takes Megumi when he’s done. He takes the kid, red faced, crying and lashing out, and puts him on his hip. He lets Megumi burrow against him, ball angry little fists into the back of Satoru’s shirt. He’s still walking stiffly, and his head still throbs with phantom pain. The ebb and flow of migraine and headache, and the pain of Toji stabbing him. Satoru hobbles into the kitchen. Tsumiki is sitting at the table with her head down. Satoru pats her hair, leans down to drop a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Sorry kiddo.”

Tsumiki sits up, reaches for Satoru. He collects her against his side, but he doesn’t have the strength to pull her up onto his other hip. He runs his shaking hands through her hair. 

“Megumi,” Satoru says eventually when Tsumiki seems calmer. “I have to put you down or I’m going to drop you.”

Megumi lets Satoru put him down on a chair across the table. And then Satoru has to catch himself against the table, shuddering as he lets himself fall into a chair. Yaga comes into the kitchen with Shoko and they observe him with disappointment that Satoru knows he deserves. 

“Thanks for answering their call,” Satoru tells Yaga. 

“I didn’t. They didn’t call me, I was coming to find you,” Yaga says. He leans against the bar counter and folds his arms across his chest. “I found your report.”

Satoru blinks at him. 

“From Minami Torishima.”

“I turned that in almost a month ago,” Satoru says. 

“No,” Yaga snaps. “You threw it carelessly onto my desk almost a month ago.”

“Sorry. I was busy trying to not miss graduation.”

“And what, you thought it was a good idea to never approach me about it? You just conveniently forgot to mention that you had a run in with Suguru?”

The name sucks the air out of the room. Yaga had nearly been yelling, talking harshly, and he spit Suguru’s name so it lands with weight. 

“I didn’t,” Satoru snaps at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You claimed that you found evidence of his cult.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t there.”

Yaga narrows his eyes. “You’re lying. And the higher ups know it. They wanted an audience with you yesterday, that’s why I came to your place.”

Satoru stands, smacks a palm onto the table to keep himself from falling over. “I’m not lying .”

Yaga stares at him. “I’m meant to believe that?”

Satoru scoffs at him. “Say what you actually want to tell me, sensei . Say it with your chest.”

The kids are looking between them, curling away from Satoru’s anger, the way he’s swaying where he stands. And Yaga, glaring at Satoru with distrust and--it hurts a lot. 

“Why are you having this conversation now?” Shoko asks. Her voice is low. “Sit down, Satoru, before you fall down.”

Satoru sits down hard. He feels out of breath and his face has gone numb in anger. 

“Kids,” Satoru says. “Go play.”

“No,” Megumi says. 

Tsumiki slides out of her chair and takes her brother by the hand. Satoru is surprised when Megumi goes with her, casting a long glance at Satoru over his shoulder as he leaves the room. When they’re up in the loft Satoru turns back to Yaga. When he speaks his voice is low, controlled. 

“What do they want with me?”

“To explain yourself,” Yaga says. His tone matches Satoru’s.

“Fine,” Satoru murmurs. He’s so exhausted. “I said I would anyway.”

“They wanted you yesterday.”

Satoru shrugs helplessly. “Sorry. Trust me when I say if it was between them and a seizure. I’d go with them.”

Shoko scoffs. 

“Did I go to the hospital?” Satoru asks, ignoring the look she’s leveling at him. 

“No, Satoru. Do you remember anything?”

“Besides waking up a few times, nothing.”

Satoru is still a little bewildered that it’s a different day. Late into a different day. That means he’s slept for at least twelve hours. At least. He kind of feels it in a run over type of way. 

“You smacked your face on the counter when you fell in the bathroom,” Shoko says. “I  looked you over, definitely a concussion.”

“I was asleep,” Satoru points out.

“Trust me I took care of it as best I could,” Shoko says. “But if you’re having memory issues that might be out of my wheelhouse.”

“Could I pretend I’ve forgotten all about sorcerer society?” Satoru asks, slumping back against his chair. “Oh nooo I am but an abnormally attractive regular guy living a normal life. But what is this? Endless sight?!”

“Satoru,” Yaga snaps. “Stop it.”

Satoru grins at the ceiling. “Just messing around.”

“You need to go and get dressed.”

“Yaga,” Shoko says, disbelief coloring her words, “you can’t be serious.”

“Completely. Go get dressed Satoru. We’re going to the campus.”

Satoru levels a tired glare at him. “I’m still migraining.”

“We cannot let this linger any longer.”

“I’m not rational when my brain is committing revolt,” Satoru argues. “They already drive me to the end of my rope on a good brain day.”

But Yaga doesn’t give, and something in his face tells Satoru that something hangs in a delicate balance. 

“What are they threatening you with?” Satoru asks. 

“Your execution.”

Satoru blows out a breathy laugh. “Tell them to fucking try.”

“ Or ,” Yaga barks, “the removal of the children from your care, because your superiors aren’t actually stupid enough to think a threat on your life would make you any more subservient to them.”

“On what grounds?” Satoru says. He leans across the table.

“Treachery at the top of a long list they were able to compile in a manner of minutes," Yaga says. 

Satoru sneers. “Tell them to fucking try.”

“Talk to them.” Yaga sounds desperate now, almost pleading. “Explain yourself for pity's sake.”

His head hurts, he thinks he’d like to go back to his room and sleep for thirty years. But Satoru gets up.

“Where are those bandages, Shoko?”

At least the temple is dark. Warm, stuffy, but dark. Satoru storms through the front doors, making his stilted walking even itself out. He shoulders past the attendant, leaves Yaga in the antechamber to the entrance hall and walks through the halls refusing to acknowledge that he’s treading over tradition and the expectations of the building. 

“Are you threatening my kids?” Satoru yells with false cheer as he strides into the gathering chamber. 

Only a few of the screens are lit up because of the late hour and it burns another layer of anger through Satoru. 

“Six Eyes…”

Impersonal screen three.

Satoru turns towards it.“Well, are you?”

“Is that what it takes for you to respond when we call?” Impersonal screen five says.

Satoru flexes his hands. “Tell me what your problem is. I reported that I’d talk to you about the evidence I found regarding that cult. And you claim I’m a traitor? What the actual fuck is wrong with all of you?”

“You’ve been avoidant of Suguru Getou, his crimes, and the need to stop him. Going as far as to withhold vital information from us. What are we meant to think?”

“I didn’t withhold anything!” Satoru throws his arms out, anger bunching in his chest.

“You didn’t bring the report to us.”

“You sent me on a days–long mission the day of my graduation. I did what you asked of me then took a morsel for myself.”

The chamber rises with a synchronized hum of disapproval. 

“This is not your only offense when it comes to Suguru Getou.”

“You failed to kill him when you had the chance.”

“You refrain from joining efforts to locate him and his followers.”

“Selfish behavior that puts the world on edge.”

Satoru twitches. 

“He was my best friend.” Satoru’s voice rises steadily as his head pounds and eyes pulse. And then it’s not just rising and he’s yelling. “He was my best friend . He meant more to me than any of you care to understand. I was devastated by his choices. I was left here with this fucking burden on my back. With you on my back telling me to kill him like that’s not going to destroy a part of myself I will never get back! Me alone, and I still choose to carry it!”

His voice echoes around the room. A few protective seals hidden in the floors, ceilings and walls light up or puff out of existence entirely, raining down exhausted remains of paper and cursed energy. The bandages around Satoru’s eyes are damp and fuck him, fuck this, his head is killing him. It’s murdering him slowly. This will be where Satoru Gojo dies, yelling at emotionless screens, murdered by his own brain. 

“I’m not a traitor,” Satoru croaks. He wants to double over, press the heels of his palms into the sockets of agony his eyes have become. Satoru clasps his hands in front of himself.  “My kids have nothing to do with Suguru Getou and I’d appreciate it if they are left out of any of your personal issues with me.”

“...your friend means more than sorcerer society? Then the innocent lives he took, and the lives he continues to take?” Impersonal screen three asks in a voice that’s trying to catch Satoru. 

“When the time comes–” Because it will come. It’s written into Satoru’s path. Put there by Suguru who scratched out everything Satoru had timid hope in, and rewritten in damning scrawl–“I will do what I have to.”

The silence makes Satoru’s words linger. Linger in the air and in his mouth. Full and bitter and painfully honest. Finally there’s the quiet whisper of shifting clothing, the vague shadow of a being blurred across paper. 

“Report, Gojo.”

Satoru tells them what happened. He explains that while Suguru was there at some point he wasn’t there at the time. There were only lingering residuals and faint ones at that. 

“If I were to make a guess,” Satoru says, “it was meant to be a storage space for curses. Or a stop over. Suguru’s whole thing is collecting an arsenal of curses, but depending on where he is, who he’s with, and sorcerers constantly on the prowl for him, he might not have the luxury of being able to get the best curses all the time.”

“So the island was there to hold them until he could collect them?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “It's just a theory, but I doubt that Suguru has been on that island for awhile and whoever let so many powerful curses be discovered by sorcerers, most likely died for their mistake.”

“They will continue to use–”

“No, they won’t. My residuals are all over that place now,” Satoru says. “Suguru isn’t ignorant enough to go back to a place I razed.”

Suguru is strong, he'd be a hell of a match for Satoru, one Satoru thinks he’d like to indulge in. But Satoru has also been a sorcerer since he was probably too young, and Satoru would win. 

“Fine. Do you think this is something we should worry about?”

“Obviously,” Satoru says. “Keep an eye out for the pattern. Collection and storage of powerful curses could mean the end of us as we know it.”

“Killing the host would end all of this.”

“Yes, it would,” Satoru says carefully. 

More murmuring but then,finally, the candles start to go out until there is only one lit behind impersonal screen one.

“Trying our patience is bold of you. You are still young.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Satoru says. “Do you have any more questions about the report?”

“No.”

Satoru turns to leave, lets himself reach up and rub at the bridge of his nose when his back is to the room. He wonders what Yaga told them was keeping Satoru. He can hear rain in the entrance hall. Of course it’s raining. Satoru lets Infinity down as he steps out onto the grand steps, turning his face up into the early morning air and the cool little plips of rain. They dampen the bandages, wash cool comfort over his forehead and through the roots of his hair. 

“Are you done?” Yaga asks, coming up behind Satoru. 

“I’m going home alone.”

“Satoru.”

Satoru turns sharply to look at him. “I’m going alone. I’ll see you tomorrow, but I’m done for the night.”

“This wasn’t my fault, Satoru.”

“I never said it was.”

They stare at each other. Yaga washed out in the red glow from a flickering lantern and Satoru eaten entirely by the night. It's not anyone's fault. Not even Satoru’s for being a bitch on paper. A late report from him is a regular Tuesday. The higher ups just jumped on this one because it mentioned something to do with Suguru’s god forsaken cult. Satoru knows that a threat to the kids stressed Yaga out. He’s known the man long enough to see that in his expressions under all his harsh brows and taut jaws. But Satoru still feels a terrible bite of betrayal towards the man. Yaga’s harshness, his inability to protect Satoru from anything, shouldn’t weigh on Satoru like it does. He never asked for these things, so he’s not being let down. But man. It would be nice to be stood up for. For Yaga to tell the higher ups to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine for three seconds, or to let off and wait for Satoru to work with them. 

Satoru walks out into the rain. He can’t walk home. Not if he wants to get there any time soon, but he’ll warp when he’s out of nagging distance. Yaga doesn't try to follow him or call him back so they can have a meaningless conversation about how Satoru needs to find some peace with his new role. Maybe another day Satoru will listen, but for now he feels no guilt or remorse as he heads down the incline alone. 

When Satoru starts to feel actually better and not lying to himself better, he takes the kids to the park. It had taken three days for Satoru’s pain to level out. For his migraine to go away, which is a record, and for Shoko to be confident that the seizure didn’t fuck up anything serious. She said her biggest fear was exacerbation but Satoru isn’t sure how to tell her that exacerbation has been all that’s been happening. But it takes three days. And on the third Satoru gets up without a single mission and a day that is more shine than rain. He makes breakfast and when Tsumiki looks down at him from her loft, he waves enthusiastically. 

She comes down not long after, watches Satoru flip crepes, before she tells him she has something for him and wanders off again. The kids are smart. Of course Satoru knows this, has known this, but they are smart as shit and sometimes, like now, it makes Satoru feel stupid. Tsumiki has returned and she slides a pill box across the counter. It’s light blue. Plastic, the days of the week noted on each little section. Satoru’s name has been written in sparkly gel pen across the top and the case is decorated in stickers of sea creatures, Sanrio characters and a singular produce sticker.  

“So you don’t forget,” Tsumiki says. She’s bouncing on her toes, watching Satoru’s face carefully. 

Satoru picks up the case. He flips up one of the little lids with his thumb nail. “Ha. Thanks Miki. Did you pick this out?”

“Mhm,” Tsumiki says. “I asked Shoko to take me to the store when you went to your school. Are–do you like blue?”

“I love blue.”

“Is it your favorite color?”

Satoru snaps the lid closed. “Ah. No. Purple, actually.”

Tsumiki looks so disappointed that Satoru can’t help but  howl with laughter. “But blue is easily my second favorite. Also, it could have been vomit green and I would have appreciated it.”

“Oh. Good. You can’t put candy in there. Okay?”

“I would never .”

Tsumiki grins at him. “Shoko told me to tell you that because you might.”

Satoru grumbles good naturedly, but he goes to his room to get his pills out of his bedside table. He lets Tsumiki watch him fill up the little spaces. And then take his pills for the day. He feels a little babied, but Tsumiki doesn’t actually say anything as she watches him closely. What is Satoru supposed to do? Tell her that he’s a grown ass man when she found him bloody on the bathroom floor for acting very ungrown ass man? Yeah no. He’ll let her nod in approval to his empty mouth and then change the subject to something else. 

Megumi shuffles into the kitchen with a few of his animals. Satoru–after having to trim syrup out of a lion's mane–asked Megumi why the animals needed  to be at the table. And Megumi arranging that god awful squid had told Satoru that they deserve to eat too and they’re lonely in his room. Solid reasoning. Satoru doesn’t bug about it anymore. He has scissors at the ready if the need arises.

Satoru helps Megumi into his seat, puts down a plate so Megumi knows how to line up his creatures for optimal companionship. Tsumiki slides into her seat and Satoru in his. 

“So,” he says around strawberries. “Does anyone want to go to the park?”

A resounding yes. Satoru is so good at this. 

The park closest to the apartment still has an old merry go round and Satoru spends half an hour running it in a circle, slipping in the mud, and flinging himself on at the last moment so he can hang off the bars, whooping as the kids hang on for dear life.  He pushes both the kids on the swings at the same time, gets them so high Tsumiki’s laughter turns breathless and far off. He takes the swing when the kids bumble off to go play on the slides and brightly colored climbing bars. Satoru swings high enough that he feels like there is nothing but sky on sky. Blue and stormy gray and fading out towards afternoon. And then because he’s never claimed to be a good example, he jumps off. He’s weightless in that stomach dropping moment of stillness before free fall but then he stays weightless. Satoru can hear Tsumiki’s gasp from far far below him, looks down to see Megumi gaping up at him and oh, yeah. They haven’t seen him work. They haven’t seen what makes Satoru Gojo so important. 

“What are you doing?” Megumi bellows up at him. 

“Levitating!” Satoru shouts down. “Cool right?”

“Yeah!” Tsumiki calls. “That’s so cool! You can fly, Satoru!”

Satoru laughs, throws his arms out. “I can fly! Do you want to fly?”

Which is how he ends up with the kids tucked into his arms, four arms around his throat and the ground quickly fading away. Tsumiki can’t seem to decide if she wants to laugh or scream. 

“How,” she gasps, burying her face into Satoru’s neck before she wrenches herself away, “how are you doing this?”

“I’m messing with gravity!” Satoru says. “Making it do what I want to and that means bolstering me up.”

“Wow. Oh. Oh we are so high. S-Satoru.”

He tightens his arms around both of their backs. “I won’t drop you. I promise.”

Megumi clings, and his eyes haven’t left the tiny silver glint that is the play equipment. There is condensation in his hair. They’re among the clouds. Big bellows of white turning gray as they grow heavy with rain. 

“What do you think, Megs?” Satoru asks. He turns them in a slow circle so they can see more of Tokyo. 

“High,” Megumi says. His fist is knotted in the front of Satoru’s shirt. “But it's sorta cool.”

“It's cooler than cool! We’re a three man Superman,” Satoru cheers. “It's a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Miki, Megs, and Satoru!”

Tsumiki laughs brightly. She releases one of her arms and tentatively extends it beyond them, out into a fat tuft of a hovering cloud. 

“No one is going to believe me,” Tsumiki breathes. “They’re gonna call me crazy.”

“You don’t have to tell them,” Satoru laughs. 

“What?! Are you kidding? Of course I have to tell them! This is–this is awesome! ” 

They linger among the clouds until they start to get really dark. Satoru tells the kids to hang on and starts his descent to the ground. He hasn’t done this often so he’s careful as shit as he lands, feet firmly on grass. Megumi falls to his knees when Satoru places him down, then flops over onto his face. Tsumiki stabilizes herself on Satoru’s clothing even when she’s got her feet on the ground. He lets her watch her feet, then the sky, all while twisting his pants in a subconscious chokehold. 

“We good?” Satoru asks them a few minutes later when she lets go. 

“Sweet ground,” Megumi turns his head to mumble. 

“We have to do that again,” Tsumiki says. She’s trying to wrangle her fly aways. “But not. Not soon.”

“No pressure,” Satoru says. “Megumi get out of the dirt, an ant just crawled into your ear.”

The kids play until it starts to pour. They don’t have an umbrella. Satoru holds his arm over them as they walk back to the apartment, and halfway there Satoru wants ice cream, so they double back into the city. 

Sitting in a booth eating ice cream, Tsumiki pauses in her rambling about flying to stare Satoru in the eyes. 

“Who is Suguru?”

“My friend,” Satoru says. He doesn’t choke on the lump of cold on his tongue. He doesn’t hesitate to say it. 

“You have friends?” Megumi asks.

 Like genuinely asks. Not in a snotty kind of way. Which is a million times worse. 

“You've asked me that before. Haven't I proven that yes, I have friends. Shoko is my friend, and Kento. You guys remember him, right?”

“You didn’t seem like friends,”Megumi says. He licks his spoon and gives Satoru a pointed look. 

Six year olds should not be able to give pointed looks. They’re like ninety percent baby fat and five percent half formed thoughts. There is no more percentage for judgements or looks . 

“We’re friends,” Satoru defends. “He just has kind of a boring personality compared to mine.”

“Have we met Suguru?” Tsumiki asks. Her ice cream has been set aside. “No one seemed happy when his name was said a while ago.”

Satoru swallows. “You haven't and...it's complicated.”

“Is he dead?” Megumi asks. He puts his empty cup on the table with both hands and reaches for Satoru’s. He lets the kid have it. 

“No,” Satoru says. “He’s not dead. But–I guess we aren’t friends anymore.”

“Oh,” Tsumiki says. “Sorry. Sometimes that happens.”

“It does,” Satoru says and regrets letting Megumi have the rest of his ice cream. There is nothing natural to do with his hands now. 

“Did you make him angry?” Megumi asks.

Maybe. Satoru doesn’t know. Probably. If he didn’t make Suguru angry, Satoru absolutely made him feel insecure without knowing it. At least he thinks that was a part of it. Some part of why Suguru looked at Satoru down his nose like Satoru wasn’t Satoru. And–just power. Like Satoru wasn’t bleeding, and furious and terrified and desperate and weak. Watching one of the best things to ever happen to him crumbling into a yawning grave of nothing. 

“It’s complicated,” Satoru says again. 

“Maybe you can make up,” Tsumiki chirps. 

And then her attention is taken by something else and Satoru is released. 

It’s a terrible answer, but it really is complicated. 

Chapter Text

And suddenly the kids are in the last week of their school year. Satoru rushes through missions to make it to Tsumiki’s science fair two days before their school lets out. He changes in the car that newly appointed assistant Ijichi is driving. Satoru tells him to keep his eyes on the road as he slides on a button up he had picked up from a store the week before. It has little DNA strands on a dark blue background. He can be fun. Satoru pairs it with jeans, also new, still clinging with that store smell that Satoru can only wash out after a few washes. The car jerks when Satoru has to roll over onto his back to make room for his legs, kicking them up and yanking his jeans down.

“Ijichi!” Satoru yelps when he pops back up and leans over the seat to look at his hair in the mirror. “Are you trying to murder me?”

“No!” Ijichi cries. 

Satoru smooths uselessly at his hair. It doesn’t fall right anymore. Not now that he wears bandages so often. He gives up and pouts at Ijichi. 

“Who gave you a license anyways?”

“I passed my test,” Ijichi says. He’s sweating, hands gripped hard around the steering wheel. 

“Then lighten up. Yeesh.”

Satoru sits back. He stuffs his uniform in his duffle bag. Satoru has a new uniform now. Dark purple, full coverage still. High collar and no buttons. The whole ensemble is like one long line, near seamless and making his height all the more severe. It is insanely boring. Like so boring, Satoru told them to make it purple or he wasn’t going to wear it and even then it's so dark it looks black most of the time anyways. 

“Are you going to need a ride back?” Ijichi asks as he turns onto the street with the kid's school.

“Yeah,” Satoru says. He’s patting his pockets for the invitation Tsumiki told him he needed to have. 

“Okay. When does it end?”

It's seven thirty now. The best Satoru could do. 

“Eight. But I’ll text you.”

“I don’t have your number.”

Satrou cocks his head at Ijichi’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Really?”

Ijichi nods silently. Satoru sticks his hand over the seat. “Gimme your phone.”

“Uh. We can wait until we get there?”

“No. I won’t have time. Phone, now.”

Ichiji’s phone is small and worn. Satoru pauses as he flips it open. 

“Yo. Is that Shoko?”

Another jerk of the brakes. Satoru has to fling a hand out to catch himself against the seat. He glares at Ijichi. 

“She told me I could take it!” Ijichi says. “I swear.”

“Woah,” Satoru says. “I wasn’t accusing you of being a pervert. Should I be?”

“No! Oh god.”

Satoru laughs. He’s tempted to do a quick search of Ijichi’s photo album but he lets the man have his peace. He puts his number in the phone under GOJOOOOO ≧◇≦ and then texts himself something about Ijichi having a crush on Shoko.

“Here go,” Satoru says as he slides the phone onto the passenger seat. “You know, Shoko won’t be a dick if you talk to her about it.”

Ijichi’s ears are bright red. “You’re the last person I wanted to know.”

“Aw, how come?”

“I knew you’d tease me about it,” Ijichi mutters. 

“Shoko is a terrible person to have a crush on,” Satoru says. “She’s married to the morgue.”

“I highly doubt that, Satoru,” Ijichi says. “And besides, her dedication to her work is what I find most admirable about her.”

“That’s sweet,” Satoru simpers. “Pinky swear I won’t tell.”

“Really?”

Satoru laughs, pats Ijichi’s shoulder. “Yeah man. But I’ll wingman in a heartbeat.”

“I think I'd rather die alone.”

“Boo.”

Satoru was more or less homeschooled when he was a child. Nothing about his education was standard. Shoko and Suguru had aggressively normal childhood education. Suguru was well liked as a kid. Able to get along with everyone, not really best friends with anyone. And Shoko was a bit of a menace and too smart for her peers. They used to trade stories about school festivals and how much fun they were while Satoru sat there feeling excited over something he never experienced. The concept of a science fair was as foreign to him as a school festival. He knows it’s a little more formal. Tsumiki had picked out a nice dress the same day Satoru got his outfit and that morning Satoru had wrangled her hair into something twisty and held in place with bobby pins, hair spray and prayers. He had packed Megumi a tiny formal outfit that he is ninety percent certain the kid won’t be in when he gets inside. 

Saying goodbye to Ijichi, Satoru walks briskly towards the open doors and the welcome sign painted in arrows pointing out where to go to find the third grade exhibition hall. Satoru hands his invitation to a balding man he knows vaguely to be the principle. 

“And you are?” The principal asks, eyeing Satoru.

He’d swapped his bandages out for his glasses so there is nothing to look so judgemental about. 

“I’m the Fushiguro’s guardian,” Satoru says. “Here to see Tsumiki’s science fair.”

“Oh. Yes. I remember now. The arrows will show you where to go.”

Maybe Satoru should start taking the man’s phone calls a little more seriously, but he doesn’t really give a shit if Megumi would prefer to sleep during breaks instead of playing with kids that think he’s a weirdo.

Tsumiki’s science fair has taken up three entire classrooms stretching down a hall of classrooms. Satoru pokes his head into every room looking for Tsumiki or for Megumi. The judging has already happened if the ribbons on a few of the displays mean anything, and there are only a few milling adults left. Satoru finally finds Tsumiki in the last classroom towards the back standing primly in front of her moss display. 

“Miki!”

Tsumiki lights up when her head snaps around to find Satoru. He smiles at her strides over, already pulling his camera out of his pocket to get a picture of her. 

“You made it!” Tsumiki cheers. She bounces in place. 

“Told you I would,” Satoru says. “Hold still, let me get a photo.”

Tsumiki poses, smiling with her teeth, chin jutting out proudly. Satoru snaps a couple then lowers the camera to look at the display she built. Tsumiki had worked on it a little at home, but the bulk had been done at school while the entire grade was working on the fair. It looks like it was made by a third grader, but a damn passionate one. Most of Tsumiki’s photos are a little blurred at the edges, but some have some really cool accidental flares that make the display a piece of art work as much as it is a piece of science. Satoru hugs Tsumiki when he comes over to read her handwritten notes and diagrams. 

“This is super cool,” Satoru says. “I didn’t even know there was this much to know about moss.”

Tsumiki puffs up in pride. “Oh yeah. And this is only half of everything there is to know!”

She walks him through her diagrams, sporing cycles, moss environments, species. She goes off on a little tangent on moss balls and halfway through her spiel she stops to breathe and turns her gaze up to Satoru.

“I think I want a moss ball.”

“Maybe we’ll look into it,” Satoru laughs. “This is very good, Tsumiki. Good job.”

“Thank you! I didn’t win anything, but that’s okay. Neither did Aimee and her crystals were awesome so other people were probably just more awesome.”

“Nah,” Satoru says. “The judges were definitely wrong. This is blue ribbon work.”

“You think?

“Yup. This is a lot of research you did. You put a lot of really great work into it.”

Tsumiki hugs him again. “Thanks, Satoru. And thank you for coming. I know you were really busy today.”

“I was going to get here,” Satoru says. “Even if the world ended in the process.”

“But then I wouldn’t be here,” Tsumiki says. “That’s a terrible plan.”

Tsumiki drags Satoru around to see some more displays before they all get taken down. There are some cool ones. Aimee’s crystals are pretty neat if not very simple and a few of the volcanoes and electricity based ones are interesting. But Satoru hadn’t been entirely biased about Tsumiki’s being worth a win. She put in more work than any of the other twerps. Most of the writing left for labeling and not going into long detail of why things are important. But after inspection of all of them, Tsumiki’s is the only one Satoru thinks was worth it. 

At the end of the hall is a classroom being used as a food stand. Tsumiki stretches up on her tip toes and orders soda and chips for the two of them, sliding over cash that Satoru gave her that morning after she timidly asked him for it. 

“Here you go,” Tsumiki says, handing Satoru a cool bottle and a bag of potato chips. 

“Thanks, I would have paid for it,” Satoru says. 

He follows her back towards her classroom. 

“Yeah,” Tsumiki says, “but I wanted to, and technically it was your money.”

“Nah,” Satoru says. He rips open his chips and stuffs three in his mouth. He’s hungry. Sue him. “Gave it to you, it's yours.”

She smiles at him and hands him her bag of chips. 

Many discussions of moss, Tsumiki’s day, her favorite exhibit–besides hers of course –and a teacher comes through to tell everyone that it’s eight. Satoru and Tsumiki are the only people in the classroom sitting on the floor and surrounded by their snack trash. 

“Oh, Tsumiki, is this your dad?”

Tsumiki opens her mouth. Closes it.

“Yup,” Satoru says. He gets to his feet, bows a quick motion to the teacher. “Satoru Gojo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes,” the teacher says. “I’m Tsumiki’s home room teacher. She’s a wonderful student.”

“I know,” Satoru says. “She’s great.”

“Thank you for coming tonight, we love when parents come to support their students.”

Satoru waves her away. Easy, he says in the flick of his wrist. Definitely wasn’t literally fighting for his life to get there before eight. The teacher gives him a little smile, tells Tsumiki that she can take her stuff home tonight or leave it until the end of the week. 

“Do we have a car?” Tsumiki asks Satoru.

“Ijichi is bringing one from the school,” Satoru says. “We can make room if you want to bring your stuff home tonight.”

“No, I’ll leave it.”

“Okay, you can put it on the back counter in the homeroom okay?” The teacher says. She gives Satoru a little bow. “It was wonderful to meet you.”

Satoru helps Tsumiki take apart her display and carts it to the homeroom a few doors down. They put it between a display about static electricity and something about bananas. 

“Alright,” Tsumiki says. “Let's go find Megumi.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, “where is he?”

“He was in the gym a little before you got here. It’s on the way to the lockers so we can stop there.”

Megumi is–thankfully–in the gym. He’s sitting in the bleachers, folded over his own lap asleep. Satoru can see the edge of a poo colored tentacle peeking out from under the mess of hair. There are a few other kids milling about. Shooting a basketball, laying splayed out in the middle of the court just asking to get smacked by the basketball. Satoru calls to the kid shooting the ball directly under the net. They pass him the ball and cluster around to watch him. Satoru backs up to the three point line, does some fancy dribbling because he can, and makes a clean basket that has them whooping and retrieving the ball for him. He goes to half court, makes another butter smooth shot. He’s grinning as they cheer, even the kids that had been sprawled out on the court have sat up to watch Satoru shoot. He does a lay up, glides up in a perfect jump to deposit the ball casually into the net. 

“Are you a basketball player?” One of the kids asks through a mouth missing most of its teeth.

“Nah,” Satoru says. He points towards Tsumiki and Megumi who is awake and blinking blurry eyes at Satoru. “Those are my kiddos, came to see the science fair.”

Megumi is…not pleased that Satoru turned the entire gym’s attention on him. He marches ahead of Satoru and Tsumiki, clutching his squid and not talking to either of them. 

“Oops,” Satoru whispers to Tsumiki. 

She giggles. “It’s okay, he’s just grouchy. You could totally be a basketball player.”

“I know,” Satoru says easily. He takes two big steps to get ahead of Megumi so he can hold the doors open for them. “But I’d rather be a baseball player.”

“That’s cool too!” Tsumiki says. “You should do that.”

“Hell yeah,” Satoru croons. “What do you think, Megs?”

“I think you shouldn’t call me that,” Megumi grunts. 

“Fair, fair. How was school for you?”

“Normal.”

And Satoru isn’t actually sure if that means fine or everyday is hell and Megumi is fighting for his life. 

“You and Squiggle go on any grand adventures?”

Megumi raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Satoru, but he also looks down to consider the toy in his grip. “The gym.”

“You go to the gym everyday,” Tsumiki says. “We have to for P.E.”

That last part she tells Satoru. 

“Physical education is important,” Satoru agrees. 

“Squiggle doesn’t go to the gym everyday,” Megumi says. “He stays in my locker.”

“Probably for the best,” Satoru says. “But that’s cool he got to see the gym. Is that cool?”

Megumi reconsiders both squid and Satoru. 

“M’yeah. It's cool.”

“Awesome.” 

Satoru leads the kids down the sidewalk to the bus stop. He shoots Ichiji a text that he’s ready for a pick up. He turns back to ask the kids more about their day or if they want dinner at home or in town when Satoru freezes. He sees Megumi notice the curse at the same time. The boy takes a startled step forward towards it, compelled by something. Fear or something Satoru doesn’t understand. Satoru  grabs him before he can think about it, placing Megumi behind him. He gets Tsumiki behind him as well a little harshly. She lets out a startled sound, but stays put when Megumi wraps a hand around her arm. 

It's a nasty looking thing. Coming out of a darkened area on the road that leads off into a neighborhood. It's large and boxy, drooling and bug eyed. It makes the sound of an ice cream truck when it opens its gross mouth to display cinder block sized teeth. So probably really good at luring little kids away from the school. Satoru feels Megumi go stiff, grab at the back of his jeans, holding desperately on.

“Nasty fuck,” Satoru calls to the curse. “Picked the wrong kids to mess with.”

He can’t blow it up like he wants to. Not without a veil, not in such close proximity to you know, a neighborhood and the school his kids go to. And it’s risky to release that much power with the kids this close. What he could do is wait for Ijichi to get here and have him hit the thing with the car. That would be hilarious. But he can feel Megumi’s grip trembling in the back of his knee, and he doesn’t know if exposure to whatever the curse can do will have worse effects the longer its victim is exposed. 

“Okay,” Satoru says. “I need you kids to stay put. No moving at all. Got it?”

“What’s wrong?” Tsumiki asks. 

Satoru turns to smile reassuringly at her. “Don’t worry. Nothing is gonna mess with you guys.”

Megumi, like the killer of Satoru’s last ounce of patience he is,  lets go of Satoru’s pants and steps out from behind him. 

“Megumi,” Satoru barks. 

The kid ignores him, and Satoru has to grab his shoulder again before he can march any closer to the curse. 

“I said not to move,” Satoru says, his voice low and dangerous enough that Megumi looks up at him with wide eyes. 

“I can get it,” Megumi tells him. 

“What?”

The kid raises his hands, clasps them in the shape of a wolf’s head. Megumi, still caught in Satoru’s death grip, angles himself towards the curse. 

“Demon dogs,” Megumi whispers. 

The shadows around them ripple. Satoru’s, cast long down the street from the dim light in the bus stop, writhes and bubbles and–Satoru grins until his face hurts. Two large wolves step out of his shadowy torso.  White and black, yellow eyed with red sigils on their foreheads. They dwarf Megumi as they step up to him, flanking him on either side, growling at Satoru for getting in the way. He refuses to let go of his child, but he lets the wolves press between him and Megumi. They turn their yellow gazes towards the curse. 

“Go,” Megumi whispers. 

The shikigami work efficiently. Swift killers that sink their long, sharp teeth into the boxy curse. The curse warbles and screams out the sound of a dying circus as gushes of purple blood splatter up their snapping maws. Satoru laughs gleefully, rubs a hand into the top of Megumi’s head. 

“Fuck yes, kid. Fuck yeah!” Satoru whoops as a limb is torn from the curse and tossed into the air like a toy. 

Megumi’s brows are lowered in concentration. Sweat dampens his brow, but his eyes flash with pride. The dogs make short work of the curse. Snapping up flesh, fighting over juicy morsels and when there is nothing left they trot back to their master, tails flicking. Satoru lets Megumi go, letting him bury his face in the white dog's fluffy chest. They sit back on their haunches and pant, remarkably like regular dogs, happy to see their owner. Satoru inspects them, holds out a hand to let them sniff at him before he can set his fingers into fur. Satoru has a lot of experience with shikigami and cursed creatures in general. He was really fond of Suguru’s rainbow dragon, a creature that he pet, and rode and slept on top of. One he tried to feed little bits of whatever he was eating during missions. But he has never seen shikigami with this kind of temperament. This tangibility. 

“They’re incredible,” Satoru tells Megumi. He has the black dog’s ears in his hands, rubbing them as the creature pants. “Good job, Megumi.”

“W-what are you guys doing?” Tsumiki asks, still hidden behind Satoru but watching them pet nothing. 

“Oh,” Satoru says. “Megumi just manifested some of his shikigami. They’re big doggies.”

Tsumiki’s brows twitch. “Ah. That’s. Cool. Why did he do that?”

“There was a curse,” Megumi says. He sounds slightly breathless. He’s pale too. 

“Megumi,” Satoru says. “Let them go.”

“I…don’t know how to.”

Satoru looks at the dogs, growing slightly wispy as Megumi’s strength starts to wane. “Think in reverse what you thought to bring them to the surface.”

Megumi’s face pinches. “All I thought was, ‘dog come’.”

“Then think, ‘dog go’,” Satoru insists. 

“Dogs,” Megumi says, his voice small and strained. “Dogs go.”

Satoru expects it not to work, if he’s being honest. He watches closely as the dogs turn their heads at Megumi, ears pricking. Megumi’s face is crumpling under the pressure of keeping the dogs solid. The black one stands, stretches. The white one yawns and together they melt away. Megumi’s face goes slack and he stumbles sideways. Satoru catches his shoulder, rubs a hand into the top of his head savagely until the boy is grumbling and batting at his hand. 

“You’re a little genius,” Satoru says. 

“Stop,” Megumi murmurs, but he looks pleased as pie with himself. 

A wash of lights from headlights illuminate the fading puddle of curse blood. Satoru waves at Ijichi and turns to check on Tsumiki who has been really quiet. She looks a little pale, and very unhappy. 

“You okay?” Satoru asks.

“Uh. Yeah,” Tsumiki says. She reaches out a hesitant hand before dropping it and grabbing the strap of her bag. 

“Are you sure?” Satoru presses. 

“Yes. I’m fine ,” Tsumiki snips. 

Satoru’s brows shoot up his forehead. He’s never been snapped at by Tsumiki. He thinks only Megumi has gotten snapped at by her. She looks guilty almost immediately after, ducking her head down and shuffling her feet. 

“Okay. Well. Tell me if that changes.”

Satoru shuffles the kids into the car and ducks into the passenger seat. Ijichi is watching him with eyes harrowed enough that Satoru tells him to spill it or swallow it.

“Was there a curse?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. He gets buckled, looks over his shoulder to make sure the kids are too. “But it's not like you could have done much.”

Ijichi’s shoulders fall. “I could have done something. Probably.”

“Maybe, but it’s not like I needed you to,” Satoru dismisses. “Tsumiki, food at home or food in town. Your pick.”

Tsumiki shrugs a little listlessly. Satoru frowns at her. 

“Come on, it was your science fair. It only makes sense that you choose. I’m going to keep bugging you if you don’t say.”

Exasperated, Tsumiki sighs. “Town. I want a burger.”

“Hells yes,” Satoru says. “Ijichi! Take us to burgers!”

“Uh. Where? There are a ton of burger pla–”

“Just drive to one,” Satoru says. 

Ijichi takes them to the closest burger joint. A bright, cheery environment and all but deserted as the clock strikes ten. Satoru gets the kids out and then looks expectantly at Ijichi. The man points at himself and Satoru nods slowly. 

The joint is build your own, which seems to please both children as they list off the things they want, or don’t want in Megumi’s case. Tsumiki is more willing to try new things. She likes green stuff and Megumi is a ketchup, one, one , pickle and a butt load of onions kid. Ijichi gets a standard burger, one that’s already on the menu and Satoru gets something with two patties, more cheese than is probably healthy, no pickles, and three tomatoes. He’s starving. Satoru also buys a basket of fries for the table to share. 

Dinner is mostly scarfing down food in silence. Even Ijichi, though that makes sense, he has been at Satoru’s beck and call all day. When the burgers are gone, Tsumiki leaning back in the booth groaning, and Megumi with his cheek down on the table, the last few bites of his burger held in sleepy hand, Satoru stands. He gathers trash and then asks who wants dessert. They serve a brownie thing here that has been calling Satoru’s name in a pretty voice since he saw it on the menu. 

“I think if I eat anything else I’ll explode,” Tsumiki groans.

Megumi slowly eats the rest of his burger and astral projects his horror that Satoru would even suggest dessert at a time like this. 

“Aw well,” Satoru says, digging his wallet back out of his pocket and going for cash instead of his card. “More for me I suppose.”

“Where are you putting it all?” Ijichi mumbles. 

“I burn a ton of energy every second I’m breathing,” Satoru says. “My stomach could take thirty burgers and still want more.”

He gets a series of disgusted groans. Satoru sticks his tongue out at them and goes to get his brownie. 

A week later Satoru has arranged for Megumi to come back to campus so they can keep practicing with his dogs. He really is impressed that the kid has such a solid understanding of how not just his technique works, but how cursed energy can be controlled through an understanding of command and recall. He’d happily reported to Yaga that he has a couple of genius kids and that Megumi will surpass him before the summer is out. Yaga had looked strangely at Satoru when he said that, and Satoru isn’t sure why. 

It’s been a bit harder to do things recently. Satoru didn’t realize how much he relied on the kids being in school until they weren’t in school anymore. He’s never home with them during the day, like ever. He doesn’t remember the last time he had lunch with them on a weekday and it adds another level of simmering stress to Satoru’s overflowing plate. He doesn’t trust anyone enough to babysit them, so he decides he’s going to start taking them with him. Satoru hasn’t talked to the kids about this yet, but he decides if he leaves Tokyo he’ll take them on every third mission–unless it's something insane or sorcerers have already been killed on the job. 

“I have a mission in Okinawa,” Satoru says over dinner one night. “Do you guys want to come with me? We can stop and see the whale sharks, and go to the beach.”

They agree readily and Satoru lets the school know that he’s going to need actual transportation this time round. 

Megumi comes to the school three days before they’re set for Okinawa. Tsumiki follows them into the dojo and sits on the floor in the corner as Satoru has Megumi bring his dogs up again. They get one. The white one. The creature trots around the room, sniffs at Satoru, sneezes on his foot, and then rolls onto her back. Satoru scratches her stomach, laughs at her lulling tongue, the grin she’s wearing now that her lips are falling back. Megumi dismisses her after a few minutes. Satoru sits on the floor with Megumi and they hash out a plan for energy conservation and learning how to build up durability. 

“You’re still small,” Satoru says, “it's rare for young sorcerers to be able to maintain their techniques for long periods of time when they’re first learning. Especially if they’re summoning things like you are.”

“If I get bigger they’ll stay longer?”

“If you get stronger,” Satoru says. “You’re already getting there, which is incredible, keep practicing and you’ll have all your animals whenever you want.”

“Other shadows aren’t hard,” Megumi tells him. “Being in the shadows isn’t hard and other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

Megumi shrugs. “Yeah. Stuff.”

“Well you have my interest piqued,” Satoru says. “You gotta tell me what you mean now.”

“I need…a cat to show you.”

Satoru blinks at him. “What?”

Megumi nods. “I’ll show you sometime.”

“...okay. Uh. Yeah, no. I think that the other shadow work is easier because you’re going in instead of pulling out. You’re not trying to make the shadows do more for you. Creating animated creatures is tough,” Satoru says. “Try again.”

The white dog is the only one to appear again and on the last attempt she’s half melted and the horror on Megumi’s face is enough for Satoru to call it a day. Tsumiki is asleep in the corner, curled up with her head against the wall. Satoru considers her. 

“Hey, Megumi, is Tsumiki okay?”

Megumi looks at his sister too. He shrugs. “I dunno. She seems fine.”

No. Satoru doesn’t think so. She’s been off since the night with the curse. Satoru maybe could have handled that better, but it's easy for him to forget that Tsumiki can’t see curses. She seemed angry with him afterwards, which Satoru also didn’t really understand. 

“Miki,” Satoru calls. 

She jerks awake, blinks around the room and stands up. Her hair is a mess, not in its unusual ponytail. Satoru lifts his hand and pulls on the band around his wrist in a silent offer. Tsumiki touches her hair and nods. Satoru doesn’t have a brush, so he works his fingers carefully through her hair. Untangling knots and smoothing her hair back into a ponytail. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Satoru asks her after he tightens the hair and lets her go. 

“Yeah,” Tsumiki says. “I think it's just the summer heat.”

Satoru thinks his heart stops for a moment. Feels like he’s back there, back then, a sorry excuse for a friend. Satoru crouches so he can look Tsumiki in the face. He can see the tiredness around her eyes that shouldn’t exist on a child, the way she looks confused as he pushes back her bangs, and then tries to look away when she realizes Satoru is searching her face. 

“Tsumiki,” Satoru says, his voice weak and strained. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Tsumiki says. “It’s nothing.”

But she has to reach up to rub at the tears rising on her lashline. She bows her head, rubs and rubs until a tear is pushed out and Satoru takes her wrist to gently pull the fist away. 

“It's nothing, Satoru.”

“This doesn’t look like nothing. Are you feeling bad physically? Are you too hot? Thirsty?”

“No,” Tsumiki murmurs. “No.”

“I want to help you,” Satoru says, almost frantic, stomping down how frantic he feels. 

Tsumiki shakes her head, but she does come forward to drop her head on Satoru’s shoulder. He grabs her in a hug, stares at the golden floor and wonders why someone can still slip away when you’ve got them crushed to your chest. 

“I won’t judge you,” Satoru says, “or you can even talk to Shoko if you don’t want to tell me.”

Shaking her head, Tsumiki pulls away. She smiles at Satoru, scrubs at her face. “It's okay. I am feeling too hot.”

“We can get soda?” Megumi pipes up like he’s asking a question he’s not taking a no for. 

“Of course,” Satoru says. “Yeah, let's go to the vending machines.”

He gets them soda, takes them into Yaga’s air conditioned office and puts Tsumiki in front of a laboring fan. And then Satoru watches them, standing by the door drinking his own soda. Yaga is in a meeting but Panda comes waddling in not long after. Yaga had rigged his door so a knee-high toddler sized creature could come and go as he pleases. Tsumiki engages with him like usual, smiling and laughing, but Satoru’s soda still tastes like nothing and it's not that hot outside. 

It rains the first day in Okinawa. That’s fine. Satoru handles his mission standing in ankle deep water on flooding streets. They’re in the heart of the city  but Satoru plans to take the kids to Motobu the next day when the weather will, hopefully, allow them to go to the beach and for the aquarium. He left them at the hotel room with strict instructions to stay put and order as much room service as they desired. 

Satoru battles the curses alone. He’d corresponded with some sorcerers of the prefecture before he took to the streets, but they’re pretty much useless besides their evacuation efforts and the double veils they pulled down to try and protect some infrastructure as well as keep normal eyes off Satoru. 

He tries to to fuck up too many buildings, but Blue is his baby and Blue is insanely destructive. The curses are no jokes either. Satoru doesn’t struggle as much as he has to take his time with them. Learn what they’re doing, how they’re doing it and what they think they can do to him. Satoru grabs one after he’s ripped its limbs off, climbing up its ridged back to inspect it more closely. These curses recently have been…weird. Not just powerful, but angrier, more reckless, banding together even if they’re strong. Organized, honestly, if Satoru had to put a name to it. Whatever. He can handle it. Satoru crumples the thing's skull and floats down to the ground. 

The infrastructure isn’t that fucked up when all is said and done. Satoru had pushed the curses clinging to a tall building that was a funeral home turned adult club–wild, Satoru knows–away and into a less densely populated park. But still, there are just going to be some shaken buildings when Satoru is on the scene. He does a recheck of the surrounding area and makes a mental note to ask the local sorcerers to keep an eye on the dilapidated hospital a block or so down from the club building. 

“We thought you died,” one of the sorcerers mumbles when Satoru comes sauntering out of the veils. 

“Pfft. No. Man, if those things got me I deserved to die,” Satoru says. He hands his card–he has a card now, he weeps for his youth–and tells them where to go to register their curses. 

The sorcerer nods, thanks him and pockets his card. 

“How come you guys couldn’t handle that?” Satoru asks. “They were hard, yeah, but if you guys had organized you could have gotten them.”

“Uh, yeah. We’re stretched pretty thin. Most of us have been relocated to other places. And. Well my team, and me, were affected really weirdly by these curses. Might be the nature of them…I don’t know.”

“Welp. Don’t have to worry about it anymore. I recommend you keep an eye on that hospital though, and if more problems arise we need to find a root cause beyond dead people being mad a place they congregated is now full of debauchery,” Satoru says. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Also. Having unregistered high or special grade curses is dangerous for everyone. Don’t let that happen again.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Satoru leaves then, waving over his shoulder as he goes. He has three more missions on a series of tiny islands and then he has to sit in on a meeting that evening with the Kamo as a rep from the school. He steps into an alley and warps to the first island so he can get back to the kids before the meeting. 

When he returns, he returns with a bag of beach toys that he hands to Tsumiki. She takes them happily, lays them out across the hotel floor. Satoru flops face first onto the bed, ignoring Megumi admonishing him for getting his outside clothes on the bedding. There is nothing on his clothes but his own sweat.

“I think it's going to be sunny tomorrow,” Tsumiki says. 

“Better be,” Megumi says. 

Satoru agrees but he says. “M’gonna take a nap, wake me up at seven.”

It’s not sunny. Not in the morning when they get to Motobu. Satoru supposes it’s fine, they’ll just go to the aquarium first. It feels like deja vu as Satoru follows the kids past tanks that had Riko Amani quiet and lost in thought. Satoru remembers how fucking tired he had been standing with Suguru next to the tank as whale sharks meandered past. Suguru had been talking at him and Satoru still has no idea what he had been saying. All Satoru could think about was how tired he was, and how he knew they shouldn’t be wasting time. It was his choice, his allowance and ultimately his fatal failure. Satoru had been trying to convince himself that everything was fine, and making sure that he didn’t ruin everything even if that meant losing sleep. Lot of good that did. It was still Satoru’s mess up. 

Megumi looks like he’d like to climb into the tank with the fish. He’s as close to the glass as he can get without smearing his face across it. Every time a whale shark the size of a billboard glides past, Megumi bounces on his toes then turns to look at his sister and Satoru to make sure they saw it too. Satoru likes the manta rays more. They’re more mesmerizing, flying through the water. Tsumiki likes the other schools of fish that glimmer and skitter through the water faster than their larger counterparts. And then she loves the deep sea creatures. 

The aquarium takes a long time. Satoru gets impatient to go long before the kids do. They’re good kids to take to museums. Tsumiki reads all the science information posted by tanks to Megumi. Satoru never even thought about reading those. But by the time they get out it is sunny, and hot, and the beach calls their names. Satoru takes the kids back in to change into their beach clothes and then they hit the sand. 

Satoru plays with them in the water, splash fights and Megumi on his shoulders being chased by Tsumiki who has a high powered water gun. They build massive sand castles, dig tunnels out of the tide to fill the motes. The kids don’t go far into the water, up to their bellies, but when the beach starts to become less populated, Satoru goes for a swim, out until his feet can’t touch sand and the waves crest up and over his head. He floats, staring out at the horizon, then turns away because it’s making him feel sad. He can see the little specks of the kids on the beach, and the two new little specks that are Megumi’s dogs. Satoru takes a breath and dives down to see if he can find any cool shells to put on the top of their multi–storied castle. 

Sunset brings the tides in a little harder, and the smell of a storm coming from somewhere doesn’t match the way the sky is fat and orange like a tangerine. Satoru lounges in the sand, watching the kids collect sea shells and race the water back up the beach. They come and flop down next to him eventually, sandy and wet and tuckered out. Megumi puts his hands together and Satoru watches the peace melt off of Tsumiki’s face. Megumi gets up when both dogs appear and goes running down the beach, dogs on his heels. Tsumiki pulls her knees up, hugs them, and stares into the falling sun. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Tsumiki asks. 

“Always,” Satoru says. 

Tsumiki swallows. “Why am I here?”

Satoru sits up. “I’m…not sure I know what you mean. Do you want to go back to the room?”

“No,” Tsumiki says, pained. “I mean. Why am I here, with you? Why do you even want me?”

“Tsumiki, what are you talking about?” Satoru can’t help the disbelief in his voice, or the way he stares at her. 

“I’m not supposed to be here. I’m nothing like you or Megumi. I’m useless.”

“Useless? How–what. What made you think I needed you, hell, either of you to be useful?” Satoru asks. 

“I can’t do the stuff you guys do! I don’t know why you still have me.”

“If I didn’t have you, Tsumiki, where would you be?”

She shrugs helplessly, digs her toes into the sand until it turns dark with moisture. Satoru feels almost angry, not at Tsumiki, well maybe a little bit at her no matter how irrational that is, but he’s definitely angry at something. He’s mostly horrified that they are even having this conversation. 

“My mom, she, I don’t know where she went, Satoru,” Tsumiki says, “I don’t know why she left me alone with Megumi. I don't even know why Megumi’s dad left me. But if you left I think I would know why.”

“Tsumiki,” Satoru rasps. He swipes his glasses off his face so he can cover his eyes with his hands. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“But it would make sense,” Tsumiki argues like she’s trying to make Satoru see his flawed logic. 

“How?” Satoru asks. “How would that make any sense?”

“Because I don’t actually belong here, you know?”

“No,” Satoru says, “I don’t know. I think you belong here just fine and I’d miss you like a limb if you left.”

“But I feel–” Tsumiki cuts herself off, grips at her swim top, a large shirt from the aquarium gift shop. “I feel like you love Megumi more because he’s special.”

“Never,” Satoru says, “but, I know it probably seems like that and I’m sorry.”

“Megumi deserves it,” Tsumiki says because she’s probably the best person Satoru has ever met. 

Satoru pulls his legs up to mirror Tsumiki’s curl. He puts his temple on his knee so he’s facing her. 

“I’m not the best at this,” Satoru says, “this, kids, this was never in any plans I had for myself. I–” he huffs a laugh, “I’ll tell you a secret. Not long ago I thought that I was going to get to fall in love with someone I cared deeply for, and we’d be the best at our jobs and nothing could touch us. I was ready to be at the top of the world. Ready to make the world good .”

Tsumiki stares at him with big eyes. “In love?”

“Yeah,” Satoru breathes. “In love, crazy. But that didn’t happen and in the span of a year everything I understood? Poof. Gone. I went looking for Megumi because I needed something to do, needed a distraction and the guilt was eating me. I had no plans, and then there was you.”

Tsumiki winces, stops looking at Satoru. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, reaches out to put his hand on her shoulder. 

“I panicked,” Satoru says. “I thought I was gonna vomit on Megumi’s little head seeing you in that place. But, Tsumiki, I am so glad that you were there, that you’re here with me now.”

“I’m glad that you showed up, Satoru,” Tsumiki says. “I sorta thought we were going to die.”

“Shoulda shown up sooner,” Satoru mutters. He blows out a breath. “I understand Megumi a lot more than you, Tsumiki, I won’t deny that, but that doesn’t mean that I love you less. Can I ask for some grace?”

Tsumiki smiles at him. “Yeah.”

“You can yell at me anytime I’m being a dick, okay?”

“I don’t want to yell at you,” Tsumiki says. “But maybe I could remind you?”

“Absolutely,” Satoru says. “Pinky swear I’ll try to do better and include you more.”

They link pinkies. Tsumiki scoots closer to him. 

“Is this what was bothering the other day?” Satoru asks. “When you said you were hot?”

Dropping her chin, Tsumiki nods. Satoru slides his glasses back on and lets out a shuddering breath as his chest eases.

“Cool. I need you to be honest with me when you’re feeling bad, I can’t help you unless I know how.”

“Okay. Sorry I lied.” Tsumiki draws lines in the sand. She peers at him, half a smile on her face. “Can you tell me who you were going to be in love with?”

“Ah,” Satoru says. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes. “Maybe one day.”

“No fair,” Tsumiki whines, “you mentioned it. Can you give me a little information?”

“He–”

“Oh! He?” 

“Actually, do you hear that?” Satoru stands, “Megumi is calling like some wounded maiden.”

Satoru walks backwards away from Tsumiki as she scrambles to her feet too. 

“Satoru! You can’t leave!”

He turns around and sprints towards Megumi who is sitting in a hole dug by one of his dogs. His eyes go wide as Satoru looms over him and jumps into the hole with him. He scoops the boy up, lifts him high above his head to act as a shield between him and Tsumiki. The dogs nip at Satoru’s untouchable ankles, fling themselves through the sand in excitement. Satoru drops Megumi on his shoulders and grabs Tsumiki who squeals with laughter as he spins them around. They wade out into the ocean, the kids held captive in Satoru’s grasp. Megumi has Satoru’s hair in a death grip, and Tsumiki, tucked under Satoru’s arm, is laughing so hard they have to pause so she can catch her breath, holding on to Satoru as the waves seek to take them back to shore.

Chapter Text

Having two dogs in the house is…slightly terrible? The place had already felt a little crowded, but the dogs are big and as Megumi gets better at keeping them around, the more they are, as to be expected, around. They chew on everything , which isn’t fair because they aren’t real dogs? But Satoru has lost a pair of shoes–expensive and his favorite–and one of his new jackets that he picked up when he was in Russia. They also chew on Tsumiki’s stuff which had caused Satoru to snap at Megumi for the first time over the animals. He's still figuring out how to navigate Tsumiki’s insecurities and having animals she can’t see eating her stuff is like rubbing salt in the wound. Satoru isn’t a rule person but after he comes home and finds the white one–still nameless, like Megumi is waiting for them to go away, Satoru’s fault of course–smeared in a thin sheen of Satoru’s treasured lip gloss; it was time for rules. The dogs are not allowed in the bathroom for one; no Megumi they do not need to understand where we shit, they don’t shit. The dogs are only allowed in the kitchen when Satoru is home; no Megumi you cannot use them to get into snacks, ask and ye shall receive. The dogs are not ever, ever allowed out into the hall; Megumi, please , we’re going to get evicted. And last, though arguably most important, the dogs are not allowed into the loft if Tsumiki is not there and if she is Megumi has to figure out how to involve her with the dogs. This has been done so far with a collection of drawings depicting the dogs and their mischief. 

The animals make it hard though because they like Satoru and he likes them too. He enjoys coming home when Megumi has them out and flopping down against the black one while the white one comes and lays in his lap, staring up at him with forlorn eyes until Satoru scratches her behind the ears. Megumi gets huffy if they pay too much attention to Satoru and once demanded what Satoru had done to make the animals like him. Nothing, he’s just Satoru Gojo, everyone likes him. In all honesty, Satoru thinks it might be his cursed energy that makes the dogs so clingy with him. Or maybe the fact that he loves how they lay on him with no expectations but his company and as such he opens his arms willingly to them. 

So, again, Satoru’s life grows and changes and this time he’s brushing white fur off his dark uniform as he walks the halls of the tech conversing with his fellow sorcerers or clan reps. He’s been called in a few weeks into August to evaluate a few potential students from the Inumaki’s. They turn out a few powerful kids every couple of years and the tech tries to get them before Kyoto can. Satoru reads through the files, two files in total. Two girls, sixteen and seventeen. Their techniques are interesting, useful, a bit boring, but any technique is useful at this point. 

“Alright,” Satoru says as he slides the files into the middle of the conference room table. “I think they’ll be a fine addition to the school.”

“Okay,” Yaga says. “I’ll put together a team to go and collect them. Satoru ca–”

“Probably not,” Satoru cuts him off. He puts his hands in his pockets. “I’m heading out to Osaka for a few days. They’re having some flare ups with a band of curse users that are infighting.  I have no idea how long it will take. And after that I’m due down in Mexico, exciting right?”

That’s mostly a lie. Mexico is a maybe, depending on if the curses springing up get to be too much. But Satoru will absolutely wield that maybe to the best of his advantage. If questions are asked, Satoru's story will fall apart. 

Yaga, sighs, nods and the other gathered sorcerers make faces at the table. Mei Mei is actually present, sitting at the end of the table next to some guy that Satoru doesn’t know well. The attention at the table turns to her. She smiles lazily from behind her hair. 

“Of course I’d be willing to go, but–”

“Yes,” Yaga says, “you will be compensated.”

“The Inumaki are pretty sensitive,” Satoru says, “you’re going to need to handle this with a little bit of grace.”

“Well thank goodness you’re not going then,” Mei Mei drawls. She pulls the files over. 

Satoru nearly got into a duel with the head of the Inumaki clan when he was like…twelve. Satoru had touched a pot and bam in a courtyard about to smear a balding man in his thirties across the ground. He’d learned how to approach them after that. And it was all cordial meetings and respect from there. Actually. Maybe the Gojo’s had threatened them if they so much as suggested they wanted to hurt Satoru again. Anyways, the point is, the Inumaki don’t like to be bothered and they are almost as secretive as the Gojo. 

Satoru stands up. “Can we start an email chain? This didn’t need to be a meeting.”

“I actually agree,” Mei Mei says. She’s stood as well, stretching. 

A vein jumps in Yaga’s forehead. “I’m trying to assimilate you into attending these meetings in an official capacity. They’re different from getting briefs when you were students.”

“I can figure out how to attend a meeting,” Satoru says, brushing a wad of white fur off his sleeve. 

The action draws the attention of everyone in the room. Seven pairs of eyes on his sleeve and the hand he’s slowly dropping. Satoru smiles tightly at them, feeling a little flayed open. 

“Sorry,” Satoru says. “Dogs.”

“Dogs?” Mei Mei scoffs. “Since when do you have dogs?”

Satoru flicks a hand at her in dismissal. “I’ve always liked dogs, it was bound to happen eventually.”

Does he trust Mei Mei? Eh, maybe. But there are people in this room he absolutely does not, they don’t need to know that Megumi has his dogs and is on a fast track to gaining more of his shikigami. 

“You have such feline temperaments,” Mei Mei purrs. “I have to admit that I’m surprised.”

Satoru shrugs. “I live to surprise. Yaga, anything else you need me for?”

“No,” Yaga grunts, “you can go. Mei Mei I need you so we can go over the paperwork.”

Satoru leaves then, he is needed in Osaka, but not as eminently as he made it appear, nor for as long. The kids are with Aimee for the day and Satoru took his secret free time to run some errands in the city. And by errands he means that it is long past time for Satoru to have a bit of a self care day. He needs a haircut. Badly. Satoru hops down the steps to the morgue to find Shoko. She’d sworn to keep her mouth shut when he asked her if she wanted to come with him for a day on the town. 

“Shokoo–oh, sorry.”

Shoko glares up at him from the body she’s carving up. 

“Step back, it's sterile in here,” Shoko snaps. 

“I have Infinity up,” Satoru says, but still, he stays in the door, rocking back on his heels, watching her place organs into stainless steel containers. “How long is that going to take?”

“I’m almost done,” Shoko says. “Just organ removal for now. I have an embalmer coming to reconstruct the face tomorrow.”

“Fun,” Satoru says. “Did you know them?”

Shoko shakes her head silently. “There’s a reason I stay in the morgue, Satoru.”

“Heh, fair enough.” 

He slouches against the doorframe. Satoru had brought his duffle with him so he could change before his haircut. He considers running to the cramped bathroom down the hall now and changing while he waits for Shoko to finish. But it doesn’t take long before she’s taking her gloves and coat off. A long handwashing session and she changes from one pair of pale pink high heels into a different pair. Just like Satoru who walks around in a different uniform and with bandages on his eyes, Shoko had grown up overnight. She dresses in sharp, clean fashions, heels that elevate her a little bit and makeup that she wasn’t so careful about when they were students. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Shoko asks as she elbows past Satoru into the hall. 

“You can’t tell how I’m looking at you,” Satoru says. He points to his bandages. “I am as good as expressionless."

“You’re not making obnoxious faces at me,” Shoko says. “That’s enough.”

Satoru catches up with her, grinning to make up for the lack of expression on his face. He hands her a crumpled piece of gum from his pocket when he sees her fidgeting for a cigarette. She takes it with a hum of thanks. It’s peppermint and harsh to chew, something that Satoru had picked up specifically for Shoko after she told him she wanted to quit smoking. Satoru felt a probably inappropriate amount of fuck yes after she admitted it, but he’s spent years dramatically trying to get her to stop smoking. 

“You still dead set on a haircut?” Shoko asks as they take a side door out the building.

There’s a path that cuts through the trees to a parking lot at the edge of campus where Shoko parks her personal vehicle. A Toyota Prius, brand spanking new, and bought with Shoko’s first big paycheck after graduation. 

“Yeah,” Satoru chirps as he swings into the passenger seat. “I gotta figure out how to wear these bandages without feeling like I want to rip my skin off.”

“And a haircut will help?” Shoko cracks each finger before she buckles in and starts the car. 

“Do you want me to drive?” Satoru asks.

Shoko barks a laugh and puts the car in reverse. “Since when do you know how to drive?”

“I can drive! Probably. It can’t be that hard.”

A scoff. “It’s not exactly easy. There’s a reason we have tests before we can get licenses.”

“One day I’ll buy a car,” Satoru says, “and I’ll drive that car.”

“What? A Honda Fit? A minivan?” Shoko snickers. “I’d actually pay to see you driving around a mom car, taking out fire hydrants and pedestrians.”

“Wha–not even! I’d be a careful driver.” Satoru crosses his arms over his chest. “And no. It’d be a sick car. Or. A motorcycle.”

“You’re too tall for a motorcycle.”

They turn onto the road leading down from the campus. Satoru leans forward to fiddle with the radio, only to get his hand smacked. 

“Driver’s choice for the radio.”

“Why?” Satoru whines. 

“Car laws,” Shoko shrugs.

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is. It’s the third question on every license exam.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “I’m not incompetent.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to prepare you for when you go get your license like you definitely are.”

“Fuck off,” Satoru laughs.

She turns the radio to a pop station, something that comes clear and bouncy through the speakers. Satoru leans against the window, watches Shoko taps a rhythm on the steering wheel, flicks on the windshield wipers when they pass under a little burst of rain. That’s all it is today, bursts of rain that pocket a blue-gold sky. 

“Hey, what do you mean I’m too tall for a motorcycle?”

Shoko lifts a hand off the wheel, turns it one way and then the other. “You’d overbalance it.”

“You’re such an ass.”

She smiles at him. 

Satoru gets his hair done at the same place he’s been getting it done since he was small. Which is saying a lot, because he doesn’t frequent many haunts from when he was a child. But he remembered this place when he came to live in Tokyo, because it was as far away from the clan house that he was taken. The barber is a sorcerer though, a man named Qi with a bitter temper that Satoru likes to ignite for the fun of it. He greets Satoru–dressed down in a t-shirt, brown jacket and faded jeans–with a grunt and a heavy look over. 

“What is on your head, boy?” Qi snaps at him as he shepherds him towards the singular chair in his shop. 

“Hair,” Satoru says with glee, “and a lot of it.”

“I should shave you bald,” Qi threatens. “Your hair is so fine and beautiful and you let it run rampant. I mourn that it belongs to you.”

“Comes with the territory of my job,” Satoru says. “Teach me some of your tricks old man and I can do it myself.”

“Old? Old? You think I’m old?! ” 

Satoru kicks up his feet, leans back into the basin. “You’ve been old since I was knee high, and you definitely aren’t getting younger. Are those wrinkles? I know they aren’t crow's feet.”

“The mouth on you,” Qi says. “Someone will tame it one of these days.”

“Not like you’d live to see it.”

Qi sprays him with hot water. Satoru sputters, and laughs. He lays back fully, lets the man work shampoo into his hair. Satoru shivers at the feeling, leans back into it and cringes internally at his own neediness. It feels so good though to have someone’s hands in his hair, scratching at his roots, being careful with his head. The shampoo smells nice too, not like Satoru’s preferred scent but crisply pear and refreshing. It eases some of the constant pressure in Satoru's head when Qi combs back his bangs, scratches lightly at his temples and behind his ears. A hand cupping above his eyes to keep the water out or his eyes. The briefest of touch along the scar, there and gone before Satoru can flinch or feel any pain. He hears Qi make a soft sound, but then his fingers are back at Satoru's nape and his thoughts stray away from pain. Qi doesn’t talk much to Satoru. He lets Satoru talk for a bit when he switches to conditioner and becomes another level of gentleness that makes Satoru feel like he's something glass, but something loved, something taken care of. He lets the man touch his head freely, leans into it like something sick, needy, and only feels a shadow of shame for his own indulgence. To distract himself from becoming putty in the barber's hands, Satoru talks about things that don’t really matter, nothing about the kids even as he wants to, even when most of his days begin and end with them, so most of his recent stories do too. 

Wash done and Satoru’s hair dried a bit, Qi levers the chair back up and looks at Satoru through the mirror. He considers Satoru’s hair, frowns at how long his bangs have gotten. 

“A trim?”

“Actually,” Satoru says, “I wear bandages most days now and my hair is hindering my ability to wear them well.”

“Bandages?”

“Its all the new rage,” Satoru says. “Do you have anything that you think could help?”

Qi steps back, reexamining Satoru’s hair. He parts it, scrapes his nails down from the top of Satoru’s hair to the nape of his neck. Then back up against the grain. 

“A shave,” Qi says. 

“I’d like to keep as much of my hair as I can,” Satoru laughs. “I’m not looking to be bald.”

“Not a complete shave, just under your hair here.” Qi lifts the back of Satoru’s hair. “An undercut. It gives the bandages something to cling to and will allow your hair to be pushed up with less resistance.”

“Sounds great!”

 Clippers are brought out, Qi demonstrates to Satoru what he plans to do, and gets busy when Satoru approves it. It feels bizarre to get an undercut. Satoru stares at himself in the mirror as the man works, picks at a hole in his jeans until it's a larger hole and Qi pauses to smack at his hand. Satoru’s hair is trimmed before Qi hands him a mirror so he can see the back of his head. Satoru pets at the new buzz, lingers over where his hair hues a bit differently upwards. 

“It looks good,” Satoru says. “Thanks.”

“You’re being honest?”

“Yeah, man,” Satoru grins, “it looks really good. Different, but good.”

Qi nods jerkily. Reaches out to touch up some hair that looked fine to Satoru. 

“How much do I owe you?” Satoru says when he’s allowed out of the chair. He digs his wallet out of his pocket. 

“Nothing.”

“No, I want to pay you. I can pay you.”

Qi scowls at Satoru, bustling past him to the front of the shop. There’s a large fishtank by his unused reception desk. A couple of fat goldfish bobble about, blinking bulbous eyes. Satoru follows him trying to remember how much the man charged him on his last hair cut. But Satoru had been a few years younger the last time he was here. Suguru normally trimmed Satoru’s hair for him when it became too much of an annoyance. Suguru did his own hair, treated it with rice water, trimmed off split ends or full on haircuts in the summer times. Suguru’s hair grew really fast. Pooled on pillows and pulled up into ponytails or clips and little wonky buns. 

“I don’t want your money,” Qi says. He sits on a creaking chair, watching Satoru with an impassive face. 

“Well I want to give it to you, so I suppose we’re at a crossroads. There’s no reason for you to give me this service for free.”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Not if it was anyone else,” Satoru says. “But I’m not struggling. I didn’t come in looking for a hand out.”

Satoru takes a thin stack of bills out of the fold in his wallet and holds them out. The man in a sudden move that Satoru isn’t expecting grabs not at the money but for Satoru’s wrist. Qi’s fingers hit Infinity and Satoru yanks his hand back. 

“What are you doing?” Satoru asks, breathless and betrayed. 

Qi sits back, folds his hands on the top of his desk. 

“I don’t need your money,” Qi says, "I received something much more…precious today.” 

Satoru stares at him. Unsure he can form words as his heart pounds in his throat. For a moment he can’t fathom how much that startled him. His body in flight because fight would mean the destruction of Roppongi. 

“Go about your day, Satoru, and when you need a touch up, you come back.”

Swallowing, Satoru nods, trying not to look anymore rattled as he puts the money back into his wallet. 

“Well. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He leaves the building and steps into a neighboring bakery to text Shoko that he’s done. Satoru had left her at a different store after she told him she had no desire to watch him get a trim. Satoru orders something chocolatey and a tea and sits at a little table by the front window. His hand eventually finds itself back along the buzz, scratching at the bristles, then smoothing down. Over and over again until he sees Shoko in the window and gets up to greet her. 

“Oh, wow,” Shoko mumbles when Satoru displays his hair to her. She reaches up before stopping, her fingers curling into her palms. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I look pretty badass,” Satoru says. 

“It doesn’t look bad,” Shoko agrees. “It makes you look older. Not so much like a starving teenager.”

“Uh. Thanks,” Satoru mutters. 

“Was that just on a whim?”

“Eh, sorta. I needed some kind of fix with my hair and I figured Qi could figure something out. I think this’ll work.”

“Makes sense.” She turns away from him to look down the street. “Any other plans?”

“Of course! I need a replacement for my lipgloss. The white dog ate it a few weeks ago.”

Shoko laughs until her eyes sparkle. “You’ve been running around without any gloss? Who even are you?”

“I haven’t had time to replace it,” Satoru pouts, “nothing hits like my brand.”

Shoko points down the street towards the luxury department stores. “We can check those stores. I need to pick up a few things for Utahime anyways.”

“Works for me,” Satoru says. 

They meander through some stores. Satoru paws through clothing racks, while Shoko disappears with an attendant in a sparkly and sleekly modern department store. There’s a rack of summer clothing for kids and Satoru makes a note to come back here to get Megumi and Tsumiki some more clothing. They’re still building back their wardrobes and Megumi tends to prefer wearing a few choice outfits and ignore the rest of his clothing. There are shirts hanging in his closet that have never been worn. Satoru hopes that’ll change now that they’re off school and can wear more than school uniforms. He finds a cute bucket hat that has a frog mouth embroidered on it. He can imagine Megumi wearing it. Frowny faced, brow shadowed by the hat pulled low. Yeah he has to get that. He finds clips for Tsumiki too. A couple sets of beach themed designs and then one that’s more ornate, a sturdy rose gold metal, twisted vines and flowers and trees. 

“For the kids?” Shoko asks, stepping up to Satoru’s elbow, she has two bags in her hand and smells like a perfume Satoru knows she doesn’t wear. 

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “I’m learning how to do more than a ponytail or braid for Tsumiki. But I also might see if the kids want summer hair cuts.”

“A bucket hat?” Shoko asks dryly as she watches Satoru hand the items over to the cashier. 

“Megs is gonna look so cute in it. Can’t you just see his grouchy little face looking up from under it?”

“Sure.”

Nobody thinks what he thinks.

They stop at a makeup store, not the one Satoru usually shops at, but one that carries his brand. He goes straight for the lip section and starts to categorically look through the shades. He wears a clear gloss that tastes like candy and has the slightest of shimmer. They sell for a stomach dropping price, probably not worth it if Satoru cared enough. He bought his first tube when he was fourteen, wore it openly and watched his uncle die inside. And then he just never stopped wearing it. 

There it is. Satoru picks out one of the glass tubes, holding it up to the light to watch the microscopic glitter do its thing. 

Once they step out of the store, Satoru cracks the seal and applies a thin coat. He smacks his mouth obnoxiously at Shoko. 

“Lunch?”

“You better feed me,” Shoko says and leads the way back towards a high end restaurant they passed on the way in. 

Over lunch, Satoru listens to Shoko complain about her workload. She stirs her soda, an addition to the meal that Shoko was displeased by, with her straw and debates the merits of taking on some kind of apprentice. 

“I don’t see why not,” Satoru says around a mouthful. “We need more trained medics anyways.”

“Yeah, but I have no idea how to convince them to let me train a kid before they send them out to get murdered.”

“You have to make it sound like they thought of it first,” Satoru says. He points his chopsticks at her. “What you do is go in to talk to the uppies, act super humble, but also bitch a little bit and soon their egos will be inflated all while they’re getting annoyed that you’re bitching. And then–” Satoru lowers his voice and makes it raspy, “oh Ieiri, what if we gave you an apprentice? Wha?? An apprentice, for me? How kind of you, impersonal screen three.”

Shoko rolls her eyes. “Not everyone can walk all over their authority and get out unscathed, Satoru.”

“If they hurt you I’d kill them,” Satoru says. He takes another bite of his food. “And they’d be actual criminals if they did. Hurting a doctor? That’s against like every moral out there.”

“Yes and our superiors are the pillars of moral standing.” Shoko leans back in her chair with a resigned shrug. “I don’t know. I really think if we could ensure there were more on the scene medics we could help prevent so much death. Imagine if I had been allowed to go with you and Suguru.”

Satoru doesn’t think it would have helped anything really. Sure he might have gotten medical attention sooner and when he was too incapacitated to fight it. But he also thinks that Toji was smart enough to kill Shoko as soon as he possibly could because she’s a doctor. 

“Same with Haibara.”

“Shoko,” Satoru says. He puts down his chopsticks, wipes his mouth on a cloth napkin. “There was nothing you could have done for Haibara.”

“I know,” Shoko says. “I don’t blame myself or feel any guilt about it, I’m just saying that if there had been someone there to administer first aid, there might have been a chance.”

“Most injuries are fatal almost instantly,” Satoru murmurs. “A bite taken out of a skull. A torso severed from the legs. Flesh destroying symptoms. Being crushed. Fire.”

“So you think it's useless?” Shoko snaps.

“No, but there’s a reason we die in droves.”

“If only we all had Infinity,” Shoko snorts. She tilts her head at Satoru, squinting at him. 

“What?”

“Nothing. I just–nothing.”

Shoko sits straight again, brushes her hair out of her eyes. She pokes at the remains of her plate. Satoru swallows heavily, his throat constricting in grief for a random moment over nothing. 

“You should take some time off,” Satoru tells her. “You look tired, Shoko.”

“I am tired,” Shoko agrees. “Really tired.”

“Look into an apprentice, even if their technique is useless for a medic. You can teach them at least how to administer first aid.”

Shoko nods after a few moments. “Yeah. I think I will.”

“Good. Also did you hear that–”

Satoru gets home before the kids in a once in a lifetime event. Satoru eases out of his shoes, unwinds the bandages from around his eyes, stuffing them into the pocket of his uniform. The buzzcut worked, he wasn’t constantly feeling like he needed to pull them up mid battle. Satoru showers, takes his time under the hot spray working knots out of his back, and then sets to making dinner so it’s ready when the kids get home, which they do five minutes after Satoru has filled three plates with food and placed them around the table. He hears Megumi spot his shoes and then the dogs come barrelling into the kitchen to tackle Satoru and lick his face. Tsumiki calls a hello on her way past and Megumi goes to his seat at the table immediately. 

“Hey,” Satoru says, pushing the white dog down, she digs her claws into his stomach as she goes. “Wait for us.”

Megumi puts down his utensils and crosses his arms over his chest. Satoru fights his way towards the table and his spot.
“You have any fun today, kiddo?”

“No,” Megumi says solemnly. “Aimee is loud .”

“Aw, sorry, kid.”

“It's fine,” Megumi sighs, “everyone I know is loud.”

“Maybe loud people know you’d make a really good friend so they’re drawn to you,” Satoru says. “You’re a loud person magnet.”

Megumi looks stricken by this possibility. He buries his head in his palms. 

“Why me?”

“Sorry, buddy,” Satoru laughs. He ruffles Megumi’s hair. “You’re so funny.”

“This isn’t funny,” Megumi says, his voice grave. “My whole life is going to be loud.”

“Learn to tell people to shut up,” Satoru suggests. “...except maybe not Aimee. I don’t think she deserves that and your sister might beat your ass if you did.”

Megumi draws his face out of his palm and meets Satoru’s eyes. 

“Shut up.”

Satoru blinks at him then howls with laughter. “Yes! Like that.”

Tiny hands cover tiny ears and Megumi glares daggers at Satoru, shrinking down in his chair. “You’re the opposite of shutting up right now!”

“What are we laugh—oh.” 

Tsumiki lingers on the seam between living room and dining room, staring at Satoru. She raises a hand and points at Satoru’s head. 

“What happened to your hair?”

Satoru scratches at his undercut, turns so she can see it better. 

“Got a haircut! Isn’t it nice?”

Megumi clambers up onto Satoru's chair so he can see it too. Satoru feels his fingers poking at it, then an entire palm flattening over the base of his skull. 

“It's…different,” Tsumiki says quietly. She reaches up to pet Satoru too. “How come you shaved it off?”

“My bandages mostly,” Satoru says. 

“Hm,” Tsumiki hums. “It–yeah. It's different.”

Satoru chuckles a little. He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen Tsumiki struggle so much with something. Her expressions are normally very open, even when she’s lying about insecurities. And now her face is flickering through a myriad of expressions before landing on a smidge constipated. 

“Not a fan?” Satoru asks. 

“No. I like it. I wasn’t expecting it though,” Tsumiki says. She steps back to her own seat, settling in to inspect the food Satoru prepared. 

Megumi still has his hands on Satoru’s head. 

“Cool…” Megumi whispers.

“Really?” Satoru asks, excited and a little stunned. “You think it’s cool?”

“Yeah,” Megumi breathes in reverence. “It's so cool.”

Satoru beams with more pride than he probably should. 

“Thank you, Megumi,” Satoru says. “I think it looks pretty cool too.”

“It helps your bandages stay on?” Tsumiki asks. 

She looks hungry enough that Satoru takes pity and peels Megumi off the back of his chair and deposits him back into his. 

“Go ahead and eat, and yeah it does.”

Tsumiki nods. “I’ll get used to it.”

Satoru tells them about Osaka and the birds that had dared steal his lunch as Satoru sat in a park to eat it. Tsumiki giggles and exchanges a story about what she did that day. Satoru owes Aimee’s mother something nice. Something expensive for taking his kids to the park and feeding them lunch. He doesn’t speak to the woman very often despite how much she subtly helps Satoru out, but he has her number and he’s offered her thanks before.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Tsumiki asks when Satoru stands to get them dessert he picked up on the way home.

“I have a meeting and then work in Kyoto, but I should be back before the evening. You kids want to come with?”

Yaga had texted him before Satoru came back to Tokyo telling him that he had checked all outstanding missions and Mexico was a lie. He demanded that Satoru come to the annual budget meeting in the  morning to make up for his lie. He’ll go as long as he doesn't have to accompany Mei Mei to the Inumaki’s. 

Satoru returns from rummaging through the bags he left on the counter out of demon dog reach, and hands each  kid a cookie from a fancy cookie place in the heart of Osaka. They’re bigger than Megumi’s hand, topped with chocolate curls. 

“Yup!” Tsumiki cheers. “I really like Kyoto!”

“Fine,” Megumi says. He grimaces after he takes a bite. “This is nasty.”

Satoru takes a bite of his own cookie. It tastes like sugar. So fantastic. Satoru takes Megumi’s neglected cookie and eats both.

Later that evening Satoru is in bed, laptop on his knees catching up on reports that he’s put off for a few weeks, when his phone lights up with a text. 

shokohno: hey, is your girl still feelin left out?

me: pobly, not something u get over overnite

shokohno: do you think she’d want 2 learn first aid?

me:...i dunno.

shokohno: you think she wouldn’t be into it?

me: no. but i dont kno if i want her in that shit

Shokohno: thats…fair. just thought maybe she could learn some from me while i work with a sorcerer kid

Satoru stares at the texts, rubbing his thumb up the side of the screen. It’s not a bad idea and he appreciates that Shoko is thinking about Tsumiki. But it’s strange and dangerous and Satoru still hasn’t really had a complete conversation with Megumi being a sorcerer, so he’s not sure putting Tsumiki close to the worst of it is any sort of smart. But…it’s not really up to Satoru if Tsumiki would or wouldn’t want to do that. It could give her something to do, and they’re skills that anyone needs. 

me: you teach at the morgue?

shokohno: eh 4 some yea. But no autopsy for a 8 year old. 

me: ok. ill thin bout it. Thx shoko

shokohno: sure

Satoru snaps his phone closed, he’ll ask Tsumiki tomorrow. 

His phone lights up again.

shokohno: did the kids like your hair?

me: megs said it looks cool. he SAID that

shokohno: damn that is impressive. Tsumiki?

me: …shell get used to it

shokohno: lol

Chapter Text

The mission goes without a hitch. It's so clean in fact that Satoru regrets not letting Megumi into the veil with him, just so the kid could see him work. He’d left the kids at a park, irresponsible? Yeah. But he knew he’d be done quickly, and the veil was drawn only a few blocks down. When he comes out he finds them where he left them arguing over the semantics of something that Satoru is lost to. He unwinds his bandages and replaces them with cleaner ones that aren’t damp with his sweat or tainted with gross residuals. 

“What do you kiddos want to do now?” Satoru asks. 

“I want food,” Megumi says. “Chicken.”

“We can do chicken,” Satoru says. “Something fancy or–”

“KFC,” Megumi interrupts. 

“Oh, yeah!” Tsumiki says. “Megumi’s dad brought us KFC one Christmas time and it was the best food I have ever eaten.”

“Eugh, fine. Let’s find a KFC,” Satoru says. 

“You don’t like KFC?” Megumi asks as he hops down from the play equipment he’d been perched on.

He falls, catches himself on his hands before getting to his feet, looking down at the woodchips in his palms. Satoru absently helps him wipe them off, and inspects tiny hands for injuries. 

“It’s fine,” Satoru says. “There are just a lot of really nice chicken places around.”

“We could go to one of those,” Tsumiki says. “They can’t be so different.”

“No, no, KFC it is,” Satoru assures. “We need to find a bus stop though so I can look at a map.”

The closest chain chicken place is across town. Satoru glares at the map as he tries to find a ride that won’t require them to wait long for a bus. They end up getting a cab after they’ve walked a ways from where Satoru was working. The neighborhood hadn’t been evacuated or anything, but humans tend to be naturally repelled by curses so there are no cabs running in that part of the city currently.

Satoru gets a call before they get picked up. Mei Mei demanding he compensate her for some bullshit thing that Satoru had asked her to do months ago. He tells her point blank no and she tells him that she’ll never help him again. Not like she does that often anymore anyways. Satoru definitely isn’t salty about the fact that he’s had to deal with curses in Mei Mei’s stomping grounds that went from manageable to oh shit we need Satoru Gojo after being neglected.

“You’ve gotten so stingy,” Mei Mei drawls. “Are you secretly in financial strain?”

The cab pulls up and Satoru opens the door for the kids. 

“Yeah,” Satoru says, “broke as dirt right now.”

Satoru glares at the cabbie who shoots him a wide eyed stare through the rearview mirror. 

“Hey, listen Mei Mei, don’t call me if it's not an emergency. Too many people call me with actual issues for you to clog up the line.” Satoru takes the phone away from his ear to tell the cab driver the address for the KFC. “Text.”

“Holy shit, Gojo, what did I do to you?”

Satoru rubs his nose. “Nothing.”

“Is this a rule for everyone?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

She snickers over the line. “What happens when you don’t pick up because you think it might be unimportant but it’s very important.”

Satoru thinks she might be a little drunk. 

“I’ll pick up,” Satoru bites. 

“Well then, I don’t see the issue.”

“What if I prefer if you texted me?” Satoru asks. 

“That’s not very fun for me, I like hearing your voice.”

Satoru sighs. “If you want money, text me.”

“Fine, fine. You should just pay me now, your debt is growing.”

“What about your debt? I cleaned up Akihabira for you that one time and all those other times I had to come in and help out, you’re strong enough to handle this stuff.”

Mei Mei is quiet on the other end. “Fine. I'll text.”

And then she hangs up. Satoru snaps his phone closed and looks at the kids who are watching him with the same narrowed eyed expression. 

“What?”

“Who was that?” Megumi asks. 

“A coworker,” Satoru says. 

“Why’s she shaking you down for cash?”

Satoru laughs. “One, that wasn’t shaking me down for cash, and two, she’s just kind of like that.”

“Hm,” Megumi says. “Is she very poor?”

“I dunno kid,” Satoru says. “Probably not now.”

“Well I don’t think people should ask you for money,” Tsumiki says and it’s a little blindsiding because it sounds almost mean.

“Hey now,”Satoru says. “Thank you my little knights in multicolored cotton, but I’m not being harassed.”

Tsumiki quirks a brow at him. “You seemed really annoyed.”

“Yeah, but not about her asking for money. You don’t need to worry about it. Oh, look, KFC.”

Satoru eats his chicken and ponders the weird protectiveness of his kiddos. It makes him feel kinda warm and fuzzy inside. How quick they are to make sure he’s doing okay is something that Satoru isn’t offered very often. Tsumiki especially has turned her nose up at things she sees as unjust. Satoru smiles around fried crust at Tsumiki and Megumi digging around in a box of chicken with grubby little fingers. They eat with a gusto of any kid being given a bucket of fried food. They’re good kids. Satoru is– fuck he’s lucky that they’re his. A lump forms in his throat and Satoru has to lower the drumstick in his hand to swallow carefully around it before it can push up and out of him in the form of embarrassing tears. It’s a sunny day with an encroaching gray, but Satoru feels warm and full sitting under the fluorescent lights of the restaurant, as his , his , kids giggle over oily fingers. 

“What do you guys want to do after this?” Satoru croaks. 

Tsumiki pauses to consider, her mouth full. “I dunno. What is there to do? What did you do when you were little?”

Mostly ran away, committed theft in candy stores and dodged ever lingering bounty hunters that bowed under the force of his gaze. 

“Uh,” Satoru says, “I mostly just walked around. But there’s a ton of cool stuff to do. We can go the zoo o–”

“Yes!” Megumi says. He’d been on his knees in the booth and he pops up to his feet. “The zoo!”

“Megumi, sit down, and finish chewing,” Satoru says. He hands the kid a handful of napkins too when he settles back on his butt.

“We are going to the zoo,” Megumi declares. 

“Tsumiki?” Satoru asks. 

“Yeah! I like zoos.”

“Okay, finish up and zoo it is.”

The zoo is packed. This dampens Megumi's excitement considerably. He clings close to Satoru, glaring when littler kids attempt to grab at the free roaming ducks and peacocks. He clutches at Satoru’s pants when a toddler manages to snatch a duck he had lured close with bread that was probably not meant to be fed to the animals. Stubby little fingers grab at the duck’s neck and Megumi sucks in a breath, looking sharply up at Satoru to make sure he isn’t the only one bearing witness to the crime being committed to frightening birds. Listen. Satoru isn’t a fan of big birds, okay? They have so much audacity. Still, no creature should be at the mercy of a sticky toddler. Satoru puts a hand on Megumi's shoulder before the kid can storm over and push the toddler into the pile of shit the duck had dispelled in distress. They move away from the area soon after the toddler's mother liberates the bird by removing her child. Megumi watches on with a pretentious up turn of his little nose that Satoru laughs at under his breath. 

It’s a little quieter towards the end of the zoo by the reptile enclosures. They’d walked the zoo backwards after the duck incident. Satoru chose to hit less populated areas first and then go back when the crowds thinned. He doesn’t want Megumi getting overwhelmed or violently judgmental. They’ve skipped the lions and tigers and other fluffy animals for now. Satoru walks behind the kids in the reptile enclosure. A dim building that smells like sweat and something that Satoru can’t identify. He smiles at the snakes that coil lazy and well fed on artificial branches and rocks. Tsumiki stays close to Satoru as they shuffle by cobras and lizards and other twitchy eyed creatures. She's curious enough to get close to glass but flinching back if a snake shows too much interest in her. Megumi has to be peeled physically away from the frogs when Tsumiki gets antsy from being in the reptile house for way longer than anyone should. 

The zoo remains packed as they go back towards the tigers. Amid the pressing crowds, the kids are forced to step away from Satoru to see the animals, ducking under arms, squeezing past strangers just to catch a glimpse of a lazy tiger. And amid it all, Satoru loses track of Tsumiki. He doesn’t notice immediately because he thought it’d be Megumi who got separated from them, but somewhere between penguins and foxes, Satoru glances away and when he looks back, Tsumiki is gone. Satoru draws up short, turns in a complete circle and grabs Megumi’s hand. 

“Where did your sister go?”

Megumi blinks, cranes his head around to look behind his back. “I–I don’t know.”

Satoru looks over the heads of the crowd, flowing against them, trying to catch sight of Tsumiki’s ponytail. Megumi’s hand slips from his grasp and the kid tries to dart into the crowd. Satoru grabs him. 

“Let go!” Megumi shouts. “M’gonna go find her!”

“We,” Satoru says, wrestling against Megumi’s struggling. “We are going to find her. What good would it do if you got lost too?”

They walk back the way they came, Satoru calming the panic in his gut. There are just a lot of people. Maybe something caught her eye and she went back to it. She’s fine. They get back to the reptile house, and Megum’s grip on Satoru’s hand grows painfully tight. 

“Satoru.”

“I know,” Satoru says. “It’s okay.”

“No,” Megumi whimpers. “No.”

“Yeah, it’s okay buddy. I promise. It hasn’t been half an hour yet, she’s okay.”

Megumi curls into himself, tucking his chin down, pushing against Satoru’s leg like he’s trying to get absorbed into it. Satoru squeezes the tiny palm in his grasp and pushes on. They still haven't found her by the time Satoru and Megumi  get to the entrance of the zoo. Satoru feels the claws of fear starting to grip at his insides. There are a million places Tsumiki could be. There are several bathrooms, exhibit halls, snack stalls and merchandise booths littered throughout the entire place. Maybe she stepped into the bathroom and forgot to tell Satoru and now she’s looking for them all the way back at the foxes. 

Satoru can feel Megumi’s growing panic in the way he clings and the sharp flare of cursed energy that blooms out of him like a smoke signal. Satoru picks him up, tucks him against his shoulder, pats his back when Megumi grips his shirt and makes desperate gasping sounds against Satoru’s neck. 

“I’m gonna find her, Megumi,” Satoru promises him.

They retrace their steps again, but this time Satoru pauses by bathrooms, asking strangers to see if there’s a ponytail wearing girl inside. He gets some weird looks and Satoru snaps at one lady that if he could he’d go in there himself. It's a crap system, but it’s the best Satoru can do, he has to rely on strangers to be observant and honest with him. He does lean into the doors of some bathrooms when the stranger is particularly uninterested and calls Tsumiki’s name. They walk through every exhibit hall twice, and look behind the occasional  odd wall, cardboard displays and trashcans. Satoru asks people they pass if they've seen Tsumiki and they linger in places all three of them had been in for as long as Satoru’s nerves will allow, to see if Tsumiki will come back. As far as it's shaping up, it’s like she vanished into thin air. 

Megumi is a mess. He seems unable to handle the calm way Satoru is forcing himself to deal with this. He trembles in Satoru’s arms, breathes panicked hiccupping things that heave his little body against Satoru’s chest. They  grow so erratic that Satoru has to stop. He puts Megumi on a bear shaped bench, kneels in front of him, cupping tiny cheeks, wipes away the constant stream of tears. Megumi clings to Satoru’s clothing, unwilling to be displaced from his chest. 

“Megumi,” Satoru says, “Megumi, you gotta breathe, kid. Come on.”

Satoru grabs Megumi’s hand and puts it on his sternum, making him feel the even breath–liar that it is–that Satoru is breathing. Megumi’s face scrunches up, wet with tears and pink from the sun. 

“I want my sister,” Megumi gasps around tears. “Please. Please .”

“I know,” Satoru says shakily, “I know. She’s okay, she’s alright. We’ll find her.”

“ Now,” Megumi sobs. “Now, dad. Please. Now.”

Satoru’s stomach drops out and his head aches with how fast tears burn into his sinuses. He bites it back. That's the last thing they need, Satoru buckling under the weight of this. Of losing his girl. Satoru gathers Megumi back against him and lifts off the ground. It's a stupid thing to do in such a crowded area, but he doesn’t care . Satoru gets high enough that he can see the entire zoo, but not so high that the crowd turns into a writhing, shapeless mess. He yanks down his bandages, surveys the crowds, the parking lots and each animal pen if–gods fucking forbid–Tsumiki ended up in one. Normals are annoying to look at in bulk, simply because there isn’t much to look at. Satoru can better see flares of cursed energies across the city than pick out individual people in the crowd below him. But it does make a flare of pink–blue energy in the far corner of the parking lot and moving away quickly, easier to spot. Satoru nearly passes over it, refusing to be distracted, but something makes him linger. He takes a step, strides through the air to get a better look. 

Closer, Satoru recognizes one of the men. Not like a friend, coworker or fellow sorcerer, but he recognizes him as someone who existed in the corner of his eye for as long as he can remember. He recognizes the man, thinks if he looked at the other long enough he’d recognize him too, but that doesn’t matter now, because he also sees Tsumiki. 

Satoru doesn’t give the men a chance to realize what’s happening. He drops out of the sky, grabbing the man whose hand had been on Tsumiki’s shoulder and slams him harshly against the nearest solid object–a car that rocks against the impact. He whirls around and hits the other man, ignoring whatever the man was trying to say or the surprised panic in his eyes. Satoru hits him again when the first one didn’t satisfy Satoru’s need to see him bleed. Lips split against Satoru’s knuckles, teeth turn inward and snap. Megumi makes a startled sound against Satoru’s temple when blood flies and the man’s head snaps backwards with an audible crack. He’s gripping onto Satoru’s shirt for dear life, then reaching out and down for Tsumiki who cowers away against another vehicle. Satoru lets the kid down and Megumi rushes to Tsumiki. They clutch onto each other, Megumi making desperate sounds, hugging his sister around the waist like he’s afraid she’s going to disappear. Again. Satoru turns to the man he dented the car with. He’s laying on his back in a crater of blue metal, blinking slow eyes at the sky. Satoru grabs him by the front of his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Satoru asks him. His voice detached and left somewhere up in the sky.

The man grabs at Satoru’s wrist, swallows around the vomit that bubbles along the seam of his mouth. “L-looking for you, Satoru.”

“Looking for me.”

A wobbling nod, a low groan of pain. “Yes. She–the kid. She said she was yours.”

Satoru’s hands tear into the garment he’s strangling. “She is .”

“But–” more vomit cuts the man off, he sags against Satoru, turns his face to let it spew out of him. “She’s–no cursed energy.”

Oh.

Satoru drops the man unceremoniously into his vomit. He turns around to find the kids crouched on the hot asphalt in the poor shade of a car. Tsumiki stares at Satoru with fear, arm around Megumi who is curled against her. Satoru can’t smile at her, but he kneels on the hot ground, makes himself smaller and breathes in relief and out the horror that had his body held captive for all the time she was missing. 

“I’m sorry,” Tsumiki whispers. 

“Are you okay?” Satoru still doesn’t recognize his voice, empty and traipsing on the edge of a knife. 

Tsumiki presses her lips together, sniffles and brings her free arm up to hide her face. Satoru stays where he is as she starts to cry. Letting Megumi comfort her. 

“Did. Did you kill them?” Tsumiki whispers. 

“I don’t think so,” Satoru says. 

Tsumiki glances at the prone form of the man that Satoru hit. He hasn’t moved much since his neck snapped. Satoru can still sense his cursed energy. He’s not dead. 

“They told me they are your family,” Tsumiki says like she’s pleading. 

A feeling of ice climbing down Satoru's ribs. 

“They are.”

Tsumiki looks at Satoru, her eyes filling with tears, lip wobbling. “I–I didn’t want them to take me. I just–I lost you in the crowd and they heard me calling for you.”

Satoru had missed their energy until he was looking closely at the area. 

“They asked me if I was your kid and I said yes and they said they’d help me find you, but then they didn’t!”

“It's okay,” Satoru says. “This isn’t your fault. It’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was worried.”

His voice gives away on the word, crumbling under stress and tangling into a strangled mess of a sob. Satoru sucks in a watery breath, presses the back of his hand to his mouth. The asphalt swims in Satoru’s vision, his knees feel blistered from where they’re plastered against the burning ground. He’s dimly aware that a crowd is starting to form around them and that he’s caused property damage again. Someone is calling the police and Satoru reaches into his pocket for his phone. He stares down at Yaga’s contact, swallows, and calls him. 

“Satoru?”

“Hey, I might need some legal help.”

It’s quiet on the other end. “What did you do?”

“I’m in Kyoto,” Satoru says. He’s not looked up from the asphalt yet even as people press in. The kids curl away from strangers that try to speak to them. “Back off.” Satoru spits at a few of them that lean too close. 

“Satoru, what did you do?”

Satoru breathes raggedly. “Just–get a hold of my legal team for me. Please.”

“Where in Kyoto?”

“The zoo.”

Yaga tells Satoru that he’s coming and Satoru doesn’t fight him on it. He hangs up and gets to his feet. He kicks at the guy on the ground. He doesn’t remember the asshole's name, but he is absolutely from the family. The crowd murmurs at Satoru’s callous treatment of the man. Satoru ignores them, turns to the woman with her own children who is looking at the crumpled hood and cracked windshield of her car. 

“I’m sorry,” Satoru says. “I can pay for damages.”

He yanks the other man out of the crater, dumps him onto the ground where he groans. Not dead, neither of them are dead, people should calm down. 

“This is going to be several thousand yen,” the woman hisses at Satoru. 

“Great. Tell me an estimate or how much you want.”

She blinks at him, stutters over an inflated number and Satoru pulls out his wallet. He only has about half of what she wants in cash, but he pulls it out and hands it over. She stares at the fold of bills. 

“If you wait, I can get the rest for you,” Satoru says, replacing his wallet. 

“No,” the woman mumbles. “This is good.”

Satoru approaches his kids again, holds out his hand when he’s above them. Megumi takes it, stands up and tugs Tsumiki with him. Satoru finally musters up a smile, wide enough that he can feel his lips peel unnaturally over his canines. 

“Sir…the police are coming.”

Satoru sighs. He rolls his shoulders. 

“Sorry,”Tsumiki murmurs wetly. 

They need water, Satoru thinks, they’re probably all dehydrated as fuck, and Megumi is silent. 

“Yaga is coming,” Satoru tells them, "I'm going to send you guys home with him.”

“Satoru, I didn’t mean–”

“Tsumiki,” Satoru says, he beams at her. "it's not your fault. I’m happy you aren’t hurt.”

“Are you going to jail?” She asks him.

“Maybe!”

The police arrive then, perfect timing to cement Tsumiki’s fears. Two cops approach the crowd and observe the situation with an air of overwhelm. When they approach Satoru, Megumi grabs his pants and refuses to move, glaring at the cop that kneels down to look over the men. 

“What happened here?”

“I was protecting my kid,” Satoru says. “These men were taking her from me.”

“Okay,” the cop says. “And you–”

“I’ll give you my statement, but do you have water?”

Which is how his kids end up in the back of a police car while Satoru answers questions. He hates dealing with normal police. It happens a lot and local law enforcement are usually in some kind of loop with sorcerer society, but that doesn’t mean that they’re competent in understanding all the nuances of their lives. Satoru tells them he was in town on business, yes it did have to do with the contaminated neighborhood across town, no he doesn’t have to say more about that until an official report is made. He took his kids to the zoo afterwards–

“You’re their father?”

“Yeah, closest thing.”

“Do you have any proof of this?”

Satoru scowls. “What, like birth certificates? I don’t carry those on my person.”

“But if you were asked to give proof you could, correct?”

“Sure.”

The cop gives him a dubious look. She sighs and scribbles something down on the notepad that’s steadily filling up. She asks him about the incident and Satoru explains it to her to the best of his ability; he doesn’t mention that the men are his cousins. He knows the other cop is talking to them, and the witnesses who definitely saw Satoru in the sky. Whatever. That’s someone else's headache to deal with. 

Cop two comes over. 

“They claim that it wasn't a fight as much as it was an assault.”

“They had my kid,” Satoru snaps. “Did they mention that part?”

“I’m just going with what I was told, and by the injuries. Is the child hurt?”

“We should talk to the girl. Sir please come with me.”

Cop one leads Satoru away from the car and has him sit on the sidewalk. He watches as Tsumiki talks to the cops, face blotchy and shaky even from several feet away. Satoru leans forward with a sigh, laces his hands behind his neck, flexing his palms against his tight muscles. Satoru can’t hear what they’re saying, but after a while cop two’s shoes appear in Satoru’s downturned line of sight. 

“The girl says that she didn’t know those men but that they were attempting to return her to you. You lost her right?”

Satoru glares up at him. “They were leaving .”

“She also mentioned they are your relatives?”

“It’s still kidnapping.”

This doesn’t impress the cop. He asks Satoru to please stand and turn around. Satoru gets searched, his phone taken and when the handcuffs come out he clenches his jaw, staring forward as his wrists are cuffed. This is embarrassing really. 

“We aren’t arresting you,” the cop says, leading Satoru back towards their vehicle. 

“This isn’t arresting me?” 

“No, we’re just making sure you don’t do anything unpredictable.”

Satoru knocks his head back against the police cruiser, he is shown to a comfortable seat on the unforgiving and hot ground. “Man, my kids are watching this.”

“I’m just making sure everyone stays safe.”

An ambulance is called as well as another police cruiser to handle the two men that are turning purple and pudgy in the sun. They won’t look at Satoru, even when they’re told to sit across from him against the opposite cruiser so paramedics can look them over. Tsumiki gets a check too and extra water for her and Megumi. Megumi who is more shadow than person at this point, cringing away from anyone who tries to approach him. At least this will give Yaga time to arrive, he doesn’t want the kids here anymore. 

After the paramedics finish working, the cop asks the men more questions, including insulting questions about the familial relations and Satoru has to watch them play stupid. Satoru wonders what he can do to them after this. Something that would be morally questionable, highly embarrassing and something that acts as a lesson to anyone else stupid enough to try the same thing. He’s been wracking his brain trying to put names to their faces, and then their faces to positions in the clan. Obviously they knew he had a kid, well kids ; that cat is out of the bag. Satoru can’t figure out a motive either. There’s no way they mistook Tsumiki for Megumi, so what the fuck did they want with her?

“Okay,” a police officer says after so long Satoru has started to feel sunburned. “We’re going to let you go. The girl says she did not want to be with them and this appears to be a misunderstanding.  But do not be surprised if this comes back as a case.”

The cuffs are unlocked and Satoru stares as his cousins are let go too. They are led back towards the ambulance, resisting as they’re all but physically forced into the back. Megumi careens into Satoru’s legs and Satoru picks him up without looking down. Tsumiki lingers in the open door of the police cruiser, hand in her mouth as she furiously chews her nails. Satoru smiles at her, tired, god he’s exhausted, and holds out an arm. She comes, but she doesn’t accept the open invitation, standing a few feet away from Satoru. He lets her. 

Satoru feels scraped empty. Standing in the parking lot of the zoo waiting for Yaga to get there so he can give him the kids and then go deal with whatever the hell this actually is. The kids are quiet, Megumi is a little ball against Satoru, comfortably hot against him, and Tsumiki is a frigid pillar, standing an earth’s distance from Satoru. 

“Tsumiki,” Satoru says, shifting Megumi in his arms. “I’m sorry I scared you. I–that wasn’t what I wanted to happen.”

Tsumiki glances at him out of the corner of her eyes. Her mouth looks chapped. Satoru switches Megumi again and digs around in his pocket for his lipgloss. He holds it out to her. 

“For your chapped mouth,” Satoru says, gesturing to his own lips. “It’s pretty new. I’ve only used it a couple of times.”

After a few empty spaces of Tsumiki considering the tube, she takes it from Satoru. He watches her turn it over in her hands, letting it sparkle in the sunlight. She applies it so carefully it’s a little messy. Satoru grins at her when she hands it back. 

“Looks good. Feel better?”

Tsumiki rubs her lips together and nods. She meets Satoru’s eyes briefly before dropping them again. Satoru swallows a sigh. He puts the lipgloss back into its pocket. 

Yaga gets there later than Satoru would have liked. The zoo has started to empty out, prompted mostly by the rain storms that have been starting and stopping for the past half hour, but also because the zoo is closing. When the black car pulls up, Satoru is sitting on the curb under a decorative tree being drooled on by a dog, a little boy, and Tsumiki leaning stiffly against his shoulder. Yaga observes them, looking down at Satoru who squints up at him. 

“Before you ask, I have no idea why we can’t have normal outings.”

Dragging himself to his feet, Satoru hands Yaga the sleeping boy and then steps back so Tsumiki will go to him. 

“Can you get them home? I’ll probably be done by the time you guys get back if you go by train.”

“Satoru, where are you going?” Yaga asks. 

“I need to speak with my family. I won’t be long.”

Tsumiki shivers, hiding behind Yaga’s arm. Satoru has never felt so unhuman in his life. He’s never felt more like an alien or something grossly invasive. He steps back, puts his hands into his pockets digging out his bandages. 

“I’ll bring dinner, so don’t worry about that.”

“Satoru,” Yaga says. “Don’t–”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” Satoru says. “I just need to figure out what the hell is happening.”

Yaga looks like he wants to say more, but he just nods and turns to load the kids into the car. Satoru takes a breath and pops out of existence. 

He brings home ramen from his favorite shop in Tokyo. Something tucked away and nearly invisible on a busy street. Satoru walks in there just because he has to duck to get through the door, can’t really stand straight,  and because the woman who runs it calls out a greeting through a missing teeth smile. The place smells like the street, and spices and hot water and people. Patrons press shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, because they have to in the tiny space and the servings are massive for a price that feels like thievery. Satoru goes there because the food is good, but the humanity is better. Business with the clan feels like a dream. His throat hurts from shouting, and his gut churns with the betrayal of his own people. Satoru didn’t tell them about Tsumiki because he was forced to tell them about Megumi and because she’s not of their world and he knew that if they wanted leverage that would be easy collateral they’d go after her.  They called her monkey and Satoru saw how far, how deep that specific sentiment has spread. 

Yaga is still in the apartment when Satoru gets back. Satoru slouches through the living room, puts the food on the table, and calls for the kids who he can’t hear or see. 

“Both in the loft with the dogs,” Yaga tells Satoru. 

“Ah. I brought you some too,” Satoru says, holding up a container. “As a thanks.”

Yaga takes it, sets it on the counter behind him. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Satoru shrugs. “Bullshit as usual.”

He accidently snaps a wooden chopstick that came with the takeout and has to go find a replacement in their utensil drawer. Yaga follows him across the kitchen, lingers at his back, making nerves prickle up Satoru’s spine. He slams the drawer shut when he can’t find a replacement. 

“Satoru.”

All of them are dirty. Satoru hasn’t done dishes in a few days. Satoru grabs a wonky spoon instead, snaps a side of his set of chopsticks to replace the missing one of the other set. 

“Satoru."

Styrofoam creaks under Satoru’s grip as he opens the steaming containers. 

“Sato–”

“What?! What?” Satoru whirls around to look at Yaga. “What do you need?”

Yaga frowns at him. He takes off his glasses, sets them onto the counter. 

“I don’t need anything from you, boy. Are you okay?”

Satoru stares at him. Stares until his eyes water and he coughs on a sob, looking down at the table, the foam lid he’s clenching until his knuckles are white. 

“I can’t be everywhere at once,” Satoru gasps. “I can’t . I don’t know how to be.”

“Satoru…”

“How am I supposed to take care of all of this? Why does everything good turn into shit?” Satoru shakes his head, flings tears he can’t keep in check off his nose. 

“I’m sorry,” Yaga says. 

“And–fuck. She won’t look at me anymore,” Satoru sobs, dry in his throat but a torrent down his face. The table, the styrofoam, his own hands blur in his vision, feel the heat of the liquid that plips onto the back of them. “I scared her.”

Yaga approaches him, reaches out and lets his hand fall onto Infinity, then onto Satoru’s arm when Infinity falls away. Satoru folds himself down against Yaga’s shoulder, like he isn’t taller than the man. Like Satoru isn’t powerful and invulnerable. Yaga wraps him in a hug, cups the back of Satoru’s head, palm eclipsing the shave under Satoru’s hair. He tucks Satoru away into the ridge of the bone in his shoulder, and holds him there. Letting Satoru grip the back of his coat in flinching hands, turn his wet eyes away from the world. There in Satoru’s messy kitchen he’s not an invasive species, or if he is, Yaga has become a sympathetic gardener. Satoru slowly comes back into the flesh of his body. Fills out the ache of hunger in his belly, the exhaustion and sunburn from the day. Yaga smells like the cologne he wears, light and musky, like the school and moth balls. It's a scent that Satoru thinks he’d recognize anywhere as homecoming. 

Satoru is scared. He’s so scared. He’s been scared. Walking around with it like a neglected but loyal pet. He doesn’t know what to do with it. Satoru has never known what to do with it. Nothing strips him down to his nervous system quite like it. Peels back his skin to insert itself and linger. The way it grabs Satoru’s spine and stomach and heart in one cruel fist, is inescapable. Fear is Suguru leaving and Kento leaving and Shoko turning gray in the morgue. It’s his kids gone and Satoru alone.

Satoru gasps for breath against Yaga’s shoulder, turns his face into the man’s throat, choking on things that might be words in a different light. Yaga pats his back, pats his head, says its okay, its okay. 

“You did scare her,” Yaga says, his voice quiet like Satoru is on the verge of flight. “But she’ll be okay. You’ll all be okay.”

“As if you know,” Satoru says thickly. His mouth is full of spit and phlegm. 

Yaga’s hand drags up to his shoulders and one to cup his face, he pulls Satoru out of the hollow of his throat, makes him look at him. “I do know, Satoru. I know.” 

Satoru sucks in a snotty breath, looks away and wipes at his eyes with his sleeves. “Sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Weeping on your shoulder like a child,” Satoru rasps, rolling his eyes.

“I have a feeling you needed to weep on my shoulder like a child,” Yaga murmurs. He’s still holding Satoru’s face. “I’ve known you long enough that I would do this at any time. I hope you know that.”

Satoru shakes his head, bites his bottom lip to keep embarrassing warbling sounds inside. 

“Well. Blanket permission then, starting now.”

“You’re annoyed with me half the time,” Satoru says. 

“Unfortunately,” Yaga says, “and that doesn’t change my mind. Go change. I’ll wrangle the kids.”

Satoru takes the smooth escape it is. 

When Satoru comes back to the table he’s wearing a shirt that used to be Suguru’s, a fresh sheen of gloss and his sunglasses because even his cozy clothes can’t wipe away how red his eyes are. The kids are in their spots. Satoru smiles at both of them as he slides into his chair and attacks his bowl. Dinner is silent and tense, no matter how much Satoru wishes it to not be. That’s all he has the energy to do really, wish for it to fix itself.

“So,” Satoru says, clears his throat when it rasps and breaks the words. “Mei Mei get in contact with the Inumaki?”

Yaga’s brows rise. “You want to talk business?”

Satoru pouts at him, slumping in his chair. “No. But what else is there to talk about?”

“We don’t always have to talk,” Megumi says. His bowl is barely touched, he has his stuffed animals clutched possessively. 

Satoru flops his head backwards over his chair until the back of his skull aches, laughing quietly at the ceiling. “You’re right. We don’t.”

So they don’t. They spend the rest of the meal in agonizing silence. At least it's agonizing for Satoru who can’t focus on being hungry after he’d eaten his food and so all he can focus on is how neither of the kids are eating and Tsumiki didn’t even attempt. Yaga is calm as he gets up at the end of dinner. He collects everyone’s bowls, takes them to the sink and starts to fill it with water and soap. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Satoru says. He swings to his feet. 

“I’m going to,”Yaga says, sending a pointed look at Tsumiki. 

Satoru has no idea what to say to her. Or how to approach her. She’s already fleeing the kitchen and Satoru doesn’t go after her, no matter the imploring looks Yaga casts at him.

When it gets later Satoru puts Megumi to bed. He sits on the kids bed after he’s tucked in and surrounded by his furry friends. Megumi blinks sleepily at him and Satoru smiles a sad little quirk of his lips in return. 

“Today was scary,” Satoru says.

“Yeah,” Megumi says. “Really scary. I thought Tsumiki was gone.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how to–” Megumi stops, considers. “ I don’t know how to without Tsumiki.”

“Eloquent, kid,” Satoru murmurs. “I would have done anything to make sure we got her back. Do you understand that, Megumi?”

“Yeah,” Megumi says. He snuggles down. “I woulda killed them.”

Satoru grins at him, messes his hair. “Go to sleep. Wake me up when you get hungry tonight, okay? I don’t want you falling off the counter.”

“M’not hungry.” 

Half asleep and slurred.

“Not yet. Goodnight Megumi.”

Yaga strong arms Satoru into the bathroom before he goes home and watches Satoru take his medication. Satoru drags it out, fucks around a bit, just to admire the way Yaga’s face grow stormy. 

“You regretting your blanket permission now?” Satoru asks after he’s finally knocked back his pills with a palmful of water. 

“No,” Yaga grunts, “is that your aim?”

Satoru could say yes and mean it, but he could also say no, and mean it. So he shrugs and leaves the bathroom. Yaga will understand. 

Tsumiki’s loft is dark when Satoru walks up the stairs. She’s a silent lump under her comforter when Satoru peers through the darkness. He lingers at the top of the stairs, watches the blanket rise and fall. He won’t wake her. 

It’s early morning when Satoru’s bedroom door opens. He had been barely asleep, drifting on the surface. He thinks it’s Megumi, come to request saltines and tea, half asleep and bossy. Satoru rolls over and sits up. It’s not Megumi. It’s Tsumiki. She’s gripping the door and her sleep shirt, featureless in the dark room. 

“Hey,” Satoru whispers. He turns on his bedside lamp. 

Tsumiki looks like a wreck. Her eyes are watery, salt trails down her face, her mouth irritated again. 

“Hey,” Satoru says softer. “Are you feeling okay?”

Tsumiki shakes her head silently. He pulls back his blanket, pats his mattress and draws up his legs to make room for her. She hesitates for half a second before she crosses the room and crawls onto the mattress. 

“Do you need medication? Tea?”

She curls up, a mirror to Satoru. “No.”

“Okay.” Satoru breathes shakily, smiles weakly at her. “I don’t know how to fix this, Miki. I’m sorry.”

Tsumiki shakes her head rapidly, gripping her shirt with both fists. Fat tears roll out of her eyes, plop onto her pajama pants. 

“I ruined everything ,” Tsumiki says.

Satoru shakes his head. “No, no you didn’t. None of that was your fault.”

“If I was smarter or–or.”

“No,” Satoru says firmly. “What happened today was adults acting badly. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You hurt your family,” Tsumiki says. “I made you.”

“My family or not, they scared me and your brother, they touched you without permission. You are my family Tsumiki, and I would defend you from anyone.”

Tsumiki shudders, sniffles grossly. “You scared me.”

“I know.” 

“But…I was scared when you weren’t there too. I thought they were going to take me away.”

She starts to cry audibly and Satoru sits there like a lump on a log, watching her. He holds open his arms tentatively and this time Tsumiki comes to him. Satoru crushes her against his chest, presses his mouth to the top of her head and his eyes closed. He trembles on his own emotion, rocks her, rocks himself.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Satoru whispers. “Oh god Tsumiki. You come first to me, okay?”

“Do you always look that scary when you’re angry?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “I do.”

“I’ve never seen you look like that.”

“I don’t think you should have to,” Satoru murmurs. 

Nothing in Satoru regrets it. Nothing. He’d do it again in a thousand lives and for the littlest of reasons. Fuck, he’d probably cast harsher punishment if he could. But that doesn’t mean he thinks his kids should have to bear witness to it. 

“M’sorry I almost got you arrested too. I didn’t know what to say to the policeman.”

“Well telling the truth is always smart,” Satoru says. “They were incompetent. I wouldn’t have gone to jail though.”

“But you were in handcuffs?”

“Yeah, but I have some pretty deep connections. I would have been fine.”

Tsumiki peels herself off Satoru’s shirt, rubs at her eyes with a curled fist. Satoru smiles at her and she smiles back. 

“For future reference,” Satoru says, “if anyone approaches you saying they’re my family, scream really loud and run away. Or kick them.”

Tsumiki nods seriously. “Okay. I guess some families aren’t like us.”

“No,” Satoru says, smiling wider. 

Megumi appears then in the doorway, sleep rumpled and blinking against the fuzzy light from Satoru’s lamp. 

“Saltines,” Megumi mumbles, “and tea.”

A week later things have become more or less normal again. Satoru goes on a spree of missions and meets up with Atsuya Kusukabe for drinks on a Saturday evening when the Tokyo night scene is like a living thing. He wanted to talk teaching with him, but damn does that guy not like Satoru. So drinks were pretty much Satoru yapping at him and Kusukabe getting drunk. Productive. Satoru also brings Tsumiki to campus to talk with Shoko about the possibility of learning some medical stuff. Tsumiki is ecstatic about the offer and Satoru shoves down his own trepidation and grins at her when she looks over her shoulder one last time before following Shoko into a classroom. Megumi manages the bird that same day, sitting in the dojo watching Satoru spar with another sorcerer. The thing shoots lightning, so. That’s fun. For Satoru, not so much for his sparring partner that got singed. Satoru goes to his knees laughing at Megumi’s own smoking hair and scorch marked cheeks. 

August is less rainy, but Satoru feels damp. He spends more time in meetings, takes on more expectation and wields more power across society. People are referred to him, and he is referred to people. He has eyes everywhere, and is expected to keep track of all of them. And it's so strange because outside of meetings and meetings and missions, Satoru is waiting to see if he’s been accepted into college, and he sleeps through alarms and burns dinners and has to go grocery shopping. Some days he has flare ups and seizure scares and he still sucks at taking his meds. He bothers his friend and takes as much time as he can off to spend with the kids or to get in line for midnight releases of a new video game. It gives him whiplash, makes his person feel fractured. So Satoru starts to learn how to care without wearing it like a wound, and the root of that is wearing his power like it's every one’s problem. Their problem, blockage, hurtle, but also the solution to all of that.  

August is less rainy, but Satoru still kneels in mud to extract dead bodies to pile out of the way to be dealt with by someone kinder. He still sends the kids with umbrellas when they hang with Aimee. Early mornings are still prone to thunderstorms and the clouds that Satoru walks over are heavy. Satoru himself feels more prone to bursts of rain. Takes refuge in Yaga’s office when he can, or tucked up on the top of Tokyo tower just sitting until his ass goes numb. He’ll take the dry days for what they give those around him and keep his own damp tucked inside. 

Chapter Text

Part 2: cousins 

September comes, Satoru gets accepted into college–celebrated by Shoko allowing him to drive her to and from drinks–and Tsumiki turns nine. The celebration was small. Satoru, Megumi, Aimee and Shoko who is slowly becoming Tsumiki’s favorite person. They went to a restaurant of Tsumiki’s choice, something modest that had Satoru biting his teeth to stop himself from reminding her that all she needs is to say the word and he’d buy a restaurant for her. He gets her a phone. Something simple and light pink. Satoru told Shoko his plan a few weeks before the birthday, and Shoko, in turn, got Tsumiki charms for the device. Aimee makes a loud comment that nine is too young to get a phone and Satoru tells her to mind her business. He’s gone more often than not recently, he needs to be able to communicate with them. Tsumiki also likes it, so Satoru could care less. 

Tsumiki tells him, later when Satoru is stuck cleaning up, that it was one of the only birthday parties she’s ever had. Satoru sets aside his trash pile to hug her. 

And then September ends. 

Suddenly, and without Satoru noticing, it’s December and seven months have passed and he’s older. His birthday is covered in curse blood and the loss of a younger sorcerer. Satoru gets home the day after his birthday and spends it paralyzed with enough pain, blind and almost scared, that Shoko comes to his bedside until he can see again. It's the first really bad day he’s had in a long while, since the summer. Shoko takes him to a 7-11 for cake later that night when he can walk. 

Megumi’s birthday and Christmas become a whirl of Satoru trying to juggle both, an unenthused soon to be seven year old, and the holidays bringing in more curses. It's a cold winter on top of the packed hours. Satoru gets the kids heavy coats, splurges on something expensive and designer. He came completely into his money and he intends to let people know. The cold makes Satoru’s head ache constantly, and if he goes down with pain, his sight disappears for hours until he comes out of it. Shoko claims that’s not the cold as much as it’s new rapid deterioration. 

If Tsumiki’s party was small, Megumi’s is tiny. He actually asked Satoru for books and no fanfare. Satoru can give him all the books he desires, but seven deserves some fanfare. They get ice cream and stand outside eating it, watching early celebratory fireworks until their noses are pink. 

Megumi turns seven. 

And then December ends. 

Satoru’s life passes in a series of seasons he’s now starkly aware of, animals cropping up around the house, and a schedule so packed there is no wiggle room. He starts college in April, goes to as many classes as he can and learns that Yaga was devastatingly right about antisocial sorcerer kids. 

About Satoru. 

Satoru doesn’t understand how to do this.

By this, he means the weird casualty of going to college, of sitting in lectures on pedagogy with a hundred strangers. Of getting grades and walking through campus at an even clip to get into a waiting vehicle that’ll take him to wherever there’s disaster. Of observing friendships and being unable to put himself into any of those places. Satoru does homework at two in the morning perched on the Tokyo tower, or on the couch, or slumped over the table in the kitchen with one or both the kids doing the same. Once he got a math packet back with a note from the professor asking him to kindly refrain from dumping food on his papers if he can. He does that a lot, but in that instance it had been a glob of discolored blood from a mission. The people are also harder to understand than Satoru thought possible. They don’t…get him either. They stare and give him space and shy away from his enthusiasms. He flirts back when someone gets up the nerve to approach him and say you’re soooo handsome Gojo, do you want to get drinks? To catch him in a moment between rush where no one will notice, to lean in smelling like cologne and say Gojo do you have somewhere private we can go? He never does and normally they lose interest pretty quickly. There was one time when Satoru did lean in. Did let a hand touch his chest, then the side of his throat, his wrist. He’d grinned up at the guy and watched him go a little still, then take a stilted step back. A muttered something and the guy was gone. 

“Stop grinning,” was Shoko’s advice that Satoru wasn’t looking for. He just wanted an answer for his why. “Just let them have what they want.”

“Can’t they have both?”

She’d leveled him with a stare. They’d been standing in the morgue, and Satoru was holding open a ribcage. 

“Not with you.”

“So…lie to them.”

“Yup.”

Out came the mangled heart and into a sterile tray it went, oozing something nasty and lingering to be put in a jar and studied. 

“Huh.” 

Shoko jerked a nod, ran the back of her wrist over her hair. “Your looks will get you somewhere. Don’t push it.”

Satoru doesn’t mind college, even for all its strangeness, for Satoru’s strangeness being there. Tsumiki asked once if he hated it and no, he doesn’t hate it. He just feels a vagueness to it. The kind of feeling that comes from being slightly disappointed for something you had fake low expectations of. The work is easy, group projects make him feel like a meteor, and he starts to miss classes sooner rather than later. 

Life goes on. Parts of it chained with routine, but most things left slightly unhinged and ready to rattle apart. And eventually, as all things are prone to for Satoru, they come apart in the form of clan politics and family. Nearly a year to the day Satoru found Megumi and Tsumiki the Zenin’s come for him. 

“You wanted to see–oh. Naobito.” Satoru stops short in the doorway to Yaga’s office, frowning at the old man sitting slumped in front of Yaga’s desk. “What are you doing here?”

Naobito drags hazy eyes up at Satoru’s face. His mouth quirks up into a thin, scaly smile. 

“What’s with the bandages? Lose an eye?”

Satoru tucks his hands into his pockets. “You wish. What do you need?”

“I want to see the boy.”

“Tough,” Satoru says. He doesn’t snap, but annoyance hurries through him. “We talked about this.”

“Don’t speak down to me, boy,” Naobito sneers. He rubs at his brow. Hungover. “I understand the terms of our agreement and I have no desire to break them.”

“This isn’t breaking them?” Satoru frowns hard at the man. “I thought I made it clear that it's prohibited for you to approach him?”

“There is no mention of that being a stipulation if you are with him. And you said ‘approach,’” Naobito says this around half an airy burp. 

“You remember our conversation? I’m genuinely impressed.”

Yaga leans into his palm at his desk, rolling his thumb into his eyes.

“I reviewed the will and terms, the new ones as well, and there is no reason for you to deny us this request.”

Satoru leans against one of Yaga’s shelves, folds his arms over his chest. “But why are you requesting this at all?”

“Our families are having their annual meeting soon.”

Yeah, Satoru has already taken off a day and cancelled class for himself in preparation for a day of in-fighting that will get them nowhere, threats of war, and some good tea. 

“I figured you could bring the boy along. Let him see his blood family.”

Satoru works his jaw. “And the outcome of this will be?”

Naobito shrugs. “Allows the boy to understand where he came from. And we’re all curious about his power. We want to see how it developed, if Toji’s spawn is able to actually wield such power.”

“If I refuse?”

Another loose shrug. “Fine. But this is the first time our families have gotten together since you purchased the boy. The Gojo have been disorganized and uneasy with you recently because of the boy. It would be a shame if this is what finally pushed you to the fringes.”

“My kid isn’t a circus act,” Satoru says. 

Naobito barks a laugh. “Maybe not, but right now the Gojo certainly are.”

“Insulting me isn’t going to make me change my mind. He’s not going to perform for you.”

“Why don’t you ask him? Let him make some decisions for once in his life,” Naobito says. 

“Oh yeah, because a seven year old has a perfect grasp on how terrible you all are,” Satoru snaps. 

Feathery brows rise. “Tyrannical  of you.” 

Before Satoru can retort back, Naobito is heaving himself out of his chair. He nods to Yaga and walks past Satoru without so much as a backwards glance. When the door closes, Yaga lets out a breath. 

“Antagonizing him doesn’t do anyone any good.”

Satoru stands straight. “Yeah, well. It makes me feel better about having to be around him.” He shakes his head. “The audacity. Do I have to blow shit up to make people stay in their lanes?”

Yaga stands from his desk. He winds up a ball of yarn that’s connected to crochet needles and a half finished something. He shoves it all into a drawer. 

“You should take the boy.”

“What? No!”

“Satoru,” Yaga says, his voice calm, placating. “You’ll be with him, take him, even if he doesn’t demonstrate his technique.”

“No. I’m not giving them what they want,” Satoru snaps. “That’s stupid. I made my terms very clear.”

“And was he violating them?”

Satoru sneers, shakes his head in a twitchy motion. “But it’s a crappy loophole held together with bubblegum.”

“Yet, they are able to exploit it.”

“They’re being assholes. There is no reason for me to take Megumi.”

“Naobito wasn’t wrong,” Yaga says, “you are in a bad spot with your family. It would be for all our sakes if you could let both sides know that you are invested in Megumi and that he won’t cause war.”

“Kind of a stretch,” Satoru mutters. 

“Society runs on stretches.”

Satoru smiles at him. “You make that up?”

“Right now. But ask Megumi. Maybe he’s curious about that part of his life.”

“He still doesn’t know I murdered his dad,” Satoru mumbles. 

“Satoru.”

“Believe it or not, there are few perfect moments to mention dead parents,” Satoru says. “He had no interest in it when I tried before.”

“Well, I can’t do more with that besides tell you that it might be better if he knows. That’s up to you. But ask him.”

Satoru doesn’t ask Megumi. Not immediately at least. Not until the day before he’s due for the meeting, and when the snide voice of Naobito Zen’in won’t leave him alone he pauses the movie they’re watching and turns to the kid. 

“Do you want to meet your family?”

Tsumiki’s eyes widen, and Megumi pauses mid complaint over the paused movie. 

“My family?”

Satoru shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah. Your cousins and stuff. From your dad’s side.”

Megumi narrows his eyes, scooting up the couch to look at Satoru closer. “Why?”

“I have to meet with them tomorrow, figured I should ask if you wanted to come. You can say no,” Satoru says, leaning away, scrunching his nose at the boy when he gets closer. Almost like he’s trying to sniff out what exactly is going on. 

“You need to meet with them? What for?” Tsumiki asks. 

“Ah, kid, its a long and frankly boring story.” Satoru waves her away. 

“You’re going to get rid of me,” Megumi says. He sits back heavily, draws up his knees. 

“What? No I’m not.”

“There’s no other reason for you to ask me that.”

Satoru runs a hand down his face. “Megumi. I’m not getting rid of you, you can’t just…get rid of children. I asked because they’re your family and you shouldn’t feel like you need to be isolated from them because of me. That’s it.”

“I thought that they were bad,” Megumi mumbles.

“They are. But it's still up to you.”

Satoru presses play on the movie again and finishes it with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. He doesn’t know what he wants Megumi to say anymore. He’d thought about Tsumiki a few days ago after holding a normal child for an hour while rescuers tried to extract her dead mother from the insides of what was once a curse. She was a toddler, enamored with Satoru’s bright hair, his bandages--which he eventually unwound for her to play with--and blissfully unaware of the horrors strewn about her. Satoru had handed her off to a bloody paramedic and watched the body bag containing the mother get closed into a different ambulance. Satoru’s own kid was like that blissfully unaware little girl. Less so by her proximity to Satoru, but still retaining that spark of unknowing. And Satoru’s family knows about her. Satoru is asked about her every time he does business at the compound. Carefully invasive questions, things that make his hackles rise.  The fucked up part of Satoru–a large part of him–thinks that if Megumi decides to come with him, that he can tote the kid around, brag about his power, and turn attentions away from Tsumiki, present and future. 

But if the kid says no, Satoru will feel nothing but relief. 

“I will,” Megumi says when they’re all brushing their teeth. 

There’s a ring of foam around his mouth and he grips his little red toothbrush in a fist. Both kids are missing teeth right now so brushing is a constantly evolving practice. Satoru meets his eyes in the mirror. He leans down and spits. 

“Alright," Satoru says when he comes back up. 

Tsumiki goes to her lesson with Shoko in the morning. Satoru and Megumi dress traditionally. In blue and black respectively. Satoru absent mindedly, smooths at Megumi’s clothes, wiping off white dog hair and trying to shut up the worry that’s pounding fists against his skull. Or that might just be a headache. 

“Don’t feel obligated to speak to them,” Satoru says in the car.

“Okay.”

“If you feel unsafe, tell me,” Satoru says when they grow closer to the clan’s headquarters. 

“Okay.”

“Lets not talk about Miki, cool?” Satoru asks, his voice a whisper as they wait to be let in. 

Megumi looks up at him, Satoru looks down. 

“Okay.”

For the most part these meetings tend to be boring. Satoru has mastered the art of zoning out and back in with precision. He sits at the head of the table, looks out over the other heads and the members allowed to sit in on the meetings, and engages when someone asks him something that isn’t mind numbingly conservative. He is let in by an attendant whose eyes go wide before they are ducking down to acknowledge him with a bow. Satoru feels Megumi tuck himself closer to his leg. The room beyond the hall already knew he was at the door but they didn’t know that he brings with him a tiny shadow that is steadily burying itself deeper and deeper into sky blue folds. 

“Gojo,” Naobito says, breaking the silence and stares that followed Satoru into the room. 

“Zen’in,” Satoru returns. “Can I have another chair for Fushiguro?”

The room goes a little still, all but beady beetle eyes that scurry over Megumi. Little fingers hook into Satoru’s obi. Satoru pats Megumi’s hair, smiles at the room with his teeth and repeats his request. 

He gets a little stool right by Satoru’s chair. 

Makoto is there from the Gojo clan with a few other representatives that are well versed in the long history of Zen’in Gojo conflict. Some of them act as peace keepers because they’re good at playing to all interests, mostly appealing to Zen’in desires because they don’t like Satoru very much. Makoto stares between Satoru and Megumi with something like betrayal. Satoru feels only slightly bad that he hadn’t mentioned he was bringing a political trigger to the meeting. In his defense he didn’t want to, and he didn’t know until a few hours ago. He sends the man a small smile

Satoru spends the discussion watching people watch Megumi. It’s not like anyone is saying anything important. The main topic of discussion is weapon caches–an ongoing and constant little fight they engage in. The Zen’in boast a solid collection that rivals if not surpasses the tech, and the Gojo boast Satoru. His attention is taken from Megumi–who has been a little statue since he sat down–when they mention the Inverted Spear of Heaven.

“We don’t like that you have it,” says Makoto. “And we’re willing to pay you for it.”

“No,” a Zen’in representative says. “It's been ours for generations. Since the inception of the clan.”

“Toji Zen’in had it,” Makoto clarifies. “Our records show that it was unlisted in your inventory for almost ten years.”

“Fushiguro,” Naobito speaks up in his lazy drawl. He’s staring at Megumi. “He went by Fushiguro.” “Whatever name he went by it doesn’t matter,” Makoto argues, “it was still left unregistered for many years.”

“Why the interest now?”

Makoto goes a little still. He clenches his pen in his hand and glances at Satoru. 

“The Gojo are constantly over stepping their bounds,” the Zen’in continues. “What makes you think we would part with that weapon? What are you planning with it?”

“Nothing,” Makoto says carefully. “But you allowed it to be toted around unchecked for years. We would simply take the proper precautions in handling it.”

“You insult us by claiming we aren’t careful with our tools.”

Makoto frowns, leans forward on the table. “You weren’t careful with it, or if you were, we have a larger issue to discuss. The Gojo have considered this for a few years and we think that it would be in everyone's best interest if it were…taken care of.”

“Taken care of?” Naobito scoffs, “when you say that, when you say handled, do you mean destroyed?”

“It is a possibility. Yes.”

A hand smacked to the table in indignation. 

“ Destroyed? Why?”

Satoru clears his throat, before Makoto can answer. “It was used to kill me.”

Megumi’s head whips up. Satoru smiles at the table, at the kid who is looking at him like he’s never seen him before.  

“It’s a devastating tool, and in the wrong hands it resulted in my unfortunate demise. Temporary of course, but it was inconvenient and frankly we don’t trust you,” Satoru says, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You’re scared,” Naobito says with a curling grin. “You’re afraid of it, of us .”

“I’m not scared of you,” Satoru says. “But of that thing? Sure. In the wrong hands it can shake the foundations of our society. It has.”

“Did you get that record keeper? Satoru Gojo is afraid of a little weapon,” Naobito croons, tossing his hands out across the table. “Scared and selfish.”

Satoru blows a silent breath out of his nose. “It’s my job to make sure nasty curses don’t raze the country, and all the other countries on the planet. It’s my job to keep the pillars of our society up, to respond to anything I’m called to. It’s my job to ensure you can sit on your fat ass all day and drink. It's a job I do, all day everyday. If I want that weapon gone, if I want it sealed and buried in the mountains far away, it will be done.”

Naobito squints at him. “Or what?”

“You aren’t a child,” Satoru says, “I’m sure you can imagine what. Your clan isn’t in the position to deny me anything.”

The room is silent for a few breaths before Naobito leans back in his chair, running his fingers through his mustache. His gaze flicks back to Megumi. 

“Why don’t you introduce your little guest?”

Satoru narrows his eyes. “This is Megumi Fushiguro. He is in my care and he came with me today because he wanted to see the shit hole he doesn’t have to live in.”

“And is Megumi Fushiguro aware of who his family truly is?” Naobito asks. “Or is that another thing that you selfishly chose to withhold.”

“I don’t care,” Megumi says. He’s sitting up on his stool, hands folded in his lap, face blank as he looks out over the table. “My family is Satoru. I don’t know any of you and I don’t want to.”

Satoru beams. “Look at how smart he is.”

“Well,” Naobito says, “that’s a shame. We would have liked to know him. I’ll tell you what, Gojo, we will gift Megumi the Inverted Spear of Heaven on his tenth birthday. As an act of good will on our part. How does that sound?”

“You would give a child that weapon but not us?” Makoto asks. 

“Sure,” Naobito says. “I’m all about continued legacy.”

He looks at Satoru as he says it. A heavy gaze that lines Satoru’s stomach with lead. Megumi can defeat Satoru if he wants to, Satoru will train him to be able to. Mahoraga had done it before and she’ll do it again if Megumi so desires. He won’t need a weapon that’s already been stained with Satoru’s blood, but the cruelty of the gesture is not lost to Satoru. 

“This is ridiculous,” Makoto scoffs. “We were prepared to offer you a good price.”

“I’m willing to part with it,” Naobito says, ignoring the scandalized looks from his advisors. “But only if it goes to the child.”

“ No , take this–”

“Fine,” Satoru interrupts Makoto. “But until then, you need to keep eyes on its whereabouts. We don’t need it floating around.”

“We aren’t incompetent, no matter what you think of us,” Naobito sneers.

“News to me. Let's change the subject.”

There’s a mandatory mingling after the meeting finally winds down. They relocate to an enclosed garden, something with a low ceiling made almost entirely of glass. It is uncomfortably warm and humid, so much so that the plants are wilty. Satoru lets Megumi duck into his robes and cling after he’s liberated a glass of water for the boy. He can tell the kid is stressed the fuck out, which is fair because Satoru is also stressed the fuck out. He was aware that the Gojo’s were looking for the stupid spear, per Satoru’s paranoid request,  but he forgot that it was going to be a main topic for this meeting. Satoru would have left Megumi home if he had remembered. 

Satoru does take him around to meet a few people. He finds Mai and Maki Zen’in, both little girls Megumi’s age and gets to delight in watching Megumi interact with them. He’s dismissed quickly by Mai after Megumi’s dad is brought up, but he holds a stilted conversation with Maki. Satoru quietly looks over Maki making sure there are no bruises on her that he can see. She looks tired for her age and maybe a little thin, but not much worse for wear since Satoru has last seen her. 

“You should come hang with us one day,” Satoru tells Maki when the conversation between her and Megumi runs dry. 

Maki shrugs listlessly at him. “Not sure why you’d want that.”

“It’d be cool!” Satoru says. “We could get ice cream.”

“He makes everyone eat ice cream,” Megumi tells Maki. 

“I don’t make you,” Satoru gasps. 

“Sorta.”

Maki quirks a brow. “What is it like?”

Megumi stares at her. “What is what like?”

“Ice cream.”

“You’ve never had ice cream?” Megumi asks. He squints suspiciously at Maki.

“No. Not everyone gets to be spoiled like you.”

“Everyone has had ice cream,” Megumi argues. 

“Well not me,” Maki snaps. She folds her arms over her chest and turns away from Megumi. Her clothing is a little too big. Dark green and black, cinched up at the waist and arms. Dragging the ground. 

“Hey now,” Satoru soothes. “No big deal. I’d happily take you to try ice cream. Like I said, you could come hang out with me and Megumi.”

Maki eyes him up and down. “Why are you constantly trying to kidnap me?”

Satoru holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No kidnapping here.”

“Uh huh.” Maki jabs a thumb at Megumi. “What do you call that?”

“I didn’t kidnap Megumi. It was just an offer, kid. Thought it’d be fun. You wouldn’t be a burden or anything.”

“Maki!”

Maki flinches and turns to face her nanny who is storming across the garden, Mai on her heels. Satoru reaches for Megumi, putting a hand on his shoulder as the woman descends on them. She grabs Maki’s wrist, yanks her away from Satoru. 

“Stop bothering the Six Eyes.”

“She wasn’t,” Satoru says. 

The woman shakes Maki’s wrist. “Apologize. Now.”

“No,” Satoru says. “It’s fine.”

“I thought her sister was keeping watch over her,” the nanny says. “She had no right to approach you.”

“I sought them out so they could meet Megumi,” Satoru says. “No apologies needed.”

The woman’s mouth goes tight and she turns on her heels, marching away, dragging Maki with her. Satoru feels Megumi searching out the fabric of his obi again. Sighing, Satoru turns away and walks with Megumi to a less crowded edge of the garden. They shuffle into the shade of a flowering bush. 

“Why did they grab her?” Megumi whispers. 

“She doesn’t have cursed energy,” Satoru whispers back. “Born without it.”

Megumi cranes his neck around to look back in the direction the woman and girls had disappeared into. His face scrunched up. 

“Like Tsumiki.”

“Exactly like her.”

Megumi sighs, drops his head to Satoru’s leg. “I want to leave.”

“Me too kid. Soon. We just have to stand here a little longer.”

They do just that. Stand next to the nauseatingly sweet flowers and watch the Zen’in and Gojo mingle. People don’t really approach Satoru often. They look at him, talk about him as if he isn’t standing within ear shot. Occasionally someone will approach, yap about something that Satoru understands vaguely and then wander away. He sets a mental timer for another half hour and leans back against the wall to wait it out. And for a moment he thinks he’s managed to avoid all the worst of the people surrounding him. 

“Ah shit,” Satoru murmurs, catching sight of burnt blond hair moving steadily towards him.

“What?” Megumi whispers up at him. 

“Nothing, just someone coming over here to talk to me.”

Naoya slinks up to Satoru, leaning in and around to find Megumi. Satoru scowls at him, and takes a careful step in front of the boy.  

“Hey Satoru,” Naoya purrs. He grins at Satoru, tries to reach out and touch Megumi. Grins wider when Infinity buffers him back. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Oh man, that was totally accidental,” Satoru says. “I constantly long to see you.”

“You’re such a dick,” Naoya says. “Who did you fuck to make that? I thought you were into men and you’re the lady in that whole situation.”

Satoru glares at him. “You know, I told you that shit in confidence.”

“Satoru pl–ease, everyone knows. You had no interest in any of the little girlies your family brought for you.”
“There’s a kid here, shut up.”

Naoya chuckles, squints at Megumi. “Oh. That’s Toji’s whelp. Damn he looks exactly like him.”

Megumi presses his forehead into the back of Satoru’s knee. 

“I kinda thought that was a lie when dad told me you were after him. Of all the things to chain yourself to. Twenty million for a brat is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Do you want something from me?” Satoru snaps. 

“I just wanted to say hi, we used to be friends, Satoru.”

“I don’t seem to remember that,” Satoru says. 

“Ouch,” Naoya laughs. He turns his attention back onto Megumi. “I’m Naoya, I’m your uncle or cousin or something along the line.”
Megumi doesn’t look at him, or talk to him. Satoru pats his head, satisfied when Naoya’s face twists into a sour scowl. 

“Why’d you bring him along?”

“Your dad being his usual awful  self. Sick of everyone being on my back.”

“You did ruffle a bunch of feathers,” Noaya hums. He leans forward, eyes glittering. “I heard a rumor that Toji hooked up with some bitch and that you have a second brat. A normal one.”

“Fuck off, Naoya,” Satoru says, his voice dropping. He pushes the other man back, keeps his arm extended between them. 

Naoya raises his hands. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to make you prickly. You’re so cold now, Satoru. But I suppose you’ve never been particularly warm.”

When Satoru doesn’t answer him, Naoya looks back down at Megumi. He crouches, shuffles around until Megumi has nowhere else to hide except deeper into depleting fabric. 

“Do you have the Ten Shadows technique, hm? Is that why Sato wants you?”

“Don’t call me that,” Satoru snaps. “Leave the kid alone.”

Naoya ignores him. “You gonna be like your daddy?”

“Naoya,” Satoru warns, “leave him alone.”

“Were you worth twenty million?”

Satoru pushes him back, makes him tumble onto his ass. Naoya blinks, then lets out a strained laugh as he gets to his feet, brushing dirt off his robes.

“Was he?” Naoya asks when he’s done straightening his robes. 

“I would’ve paid more,” Satoru says. 

He can look down his nose at Noaya. He’s always been taller even when they were little kids plopped down next to each other on rare occasions. Naoya has always gotten on Satoru’s nerves. He poked at Satoru when they were kids, tattled on him when they were older kids, treated Satoru like he was more a doll than a breathing thing. He’d been there when Satoru was put through his coming of age ceremony, glaring a smile at Satoru as he stood among his elders. 

“Well, at least I’m more frugal than you,” Noaya says. “A powerless child isn’t worth it, Satoru. You know this better than anyone.”

Megumi peeks out from behind Satoru then, his face emotionless. “I have power.”

“You gonna show him, kid?” Satoru asks. 

“Yes, show me,” Naoya says. He beckons Megumi step out of Satoru’s shadow. “Why don’t you show everyone?”

“I already told Naobito he’s not a circus act,” Satoru hisses. 

“I can show them,” Megumi says. 

“You don’t have to,” Satoru says. 

“I can,” Megumi says again. 

Naoya leads Megumi into the middle of the garden. He doesn’t have to announce anything. The room follows Megumi. Conversations cut off, drinks set aside. Satoru watches apprehensively as Naoya positions Megumi in the middle of the room, pat his shoulder and then step back with an unnecessary flourish. Megumi finds Satoru, standing at the edge of the crowd as he is, ready to step in or on someone if he needs to. The boy’s eyes are dark but his little jaw is firm. He nods to Satoru and lifts his hands. 

Satoru thought he’d call his dogs, or the rabbits or maybe even a frog or two. But Megumi’s hands form a shape that Satoru isn’t familiar with and suddenly there’s a massive pink elephant filling the room. The ceiling shudders and the crowd draws back as the elephant swings untamed tusks towards them. Satoru laughs loudly, clapping his hands in pride as the creature lumbers straight at Naoya who stands in shocked horror. He stumbles out of the way before he can get caught up in trampling feet. The table behind him, a fountain and other ornate decorations are not so lucky. The crowd scatters, hurrying towards the only exit to the garden. Tusks catch the shaking ceiling, breach holes through the glass and Satoru appears behind Megumi holding out an arm to shelter him from falling glass. 

“When did you figure this out?” Satoru calls over the cacophony of running people, screams, and elephant destruction.

Megumi’s face is a little pale when he looks up at Satoru, but his mouth quirks up in a little smile. 

“Right now. I didn’t know if it’d work.”

Satoru laughs, rubs a hand into the top of Megumi’s hair. “You’re a little genius kid.”
The room is empty soon enough, and the elephant has truly wrecked the garden. Megumi lets the animal go when it starts to lumber aimlessly over things that have already been crushed. He turns to Satoru and holds up his arms. 

“Carry me.”

“Yessir,” Satoru says. 

Hoisting Megumi onto his hip, Satoru picks his way across the room, through the exit and down the hall towards the door they came in earlier. He ignores the clustered people that stare after him, leans close to Megumi to explain how to make a rude hand gesture and relishes the little offended gasps that echo down the hall in their wake. 

It doesn’t come back up with Megumi until a few months later. Satoru is home sick. Actually sick. Caught a bug that passed from school, to Tsumiki to Megumi and then to Satoru. The couch has become a pile of blankets, electrolyte, tissues, and empty soup bowls. Megumi is on one end, sniffling. And Satoru is on the other, clutching a vomit bowl. They’ve watched through a variety of movies, fought over remote privileges and now they’re both too worn out to do much else but sit in miserable, stuffy silence. 

“Hey,” Megumi says, “you died?”

Satoru blinks puffy eyes at him. “Who told you that?”

He gets a confused scowl. 

“At the meeting thingy, you said you were killed.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Megumi sneezes, snorts, spits a wad of phlegm into a tissue. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. What do you want me to do? Cry?”

“I think you already do.”

“What are you talking about?” Satoru’s fever is too high to be having this conversation. 

“You have nightmares. A lot of them. All the time.”

“Not all the time.”

“All the time,” Megumi says. “Every night if you go to sleep.”

“You don’t know that,” Satoru mutters. 

Megumi gives him an unimpressed look.  “I’m not deaf . I hear it.”

“That might not be nightmares,” Satoru says. 

“Not stupid either.”

Satoru waves a weak hand at him. He turns away, burying his face into the couch, letting the exhaustion clouding his mind start to tug at him. Megumi huffs an annoyed breath. 

“If you died, how are you not dead?”

“M’special,” Satoru mumbles. “I killed death .”

“When did you die?”

“Long ago.”

“When you were a child?”

Satoru swallows down stomach acid. There is nothing left for him to vomit up but his body seems to not get this and every few minutes his stomach comes up his throat. 

“Kinda. It was a little before I found you.”

“That–that wasn’t a long time ago!”

“Whatever.”

Silence. Satoru is half asleep, mouth hanging open because for some reason that makes him feel cooler. He can feel Megumi shuffling, their feet knocking together under the blanket. 

“Satoru.”

“Hmgh.”

“...are you a zombie?”

“...am I a zombie? Ohh my god. We need to call Sho–”

The bowl barely catches the vomit that lurches out of Satoru. 

Chapter Text

The fights start when Megumi is in his last year of elementary school. Satoru comes home one evening to Megumi and Tsumiki arguing about it in the living room. They fight more often now, Tsumiki is in middle school, has a pack of cool friends, and Megumi is an indifferent little shit who seems to be ninety percent angst nowadays. Satoru sighs as he sets aside the dinner he brought home and walks into the contention. 

“You’re stupid ,” Tsumiki is snapping at Megumi. 

She has her first aid kit out and Megumi has a bandage on his cheek. 

“Shut up! Quit nagging at me!”

Tsumiki presses an alcohol wipe harsher against the little scrape on Megumi’s chin until he hisses in pain. 

“I don’t know what has gotten into you. Fighting all the time. Really?” Tsumiki throws the used wipe onto the floor. “What is dad going to think?”

“You said you wouldn’t tell him. You promised.”

“Hey,” Satoru finally speaks up, composed, and not at all giddy that he's dad to his kids in private. “That’s not a secret to keep from me.”

Both kids freeze. Tsumiki winces as she looks at him and Megumi refuses to look at him at all. Satoru crosses the room, cupping Megumi’s face to catalog the damage. Nothing bad. Scrapes that Tsumiki has cleaned well, smacked bright pink bandaids on some of them. There’s bruising along his jaw, his face is a little dirty, so that’s probably from hitting the ground and not being socked in the face. But it still means someone pushed him down hard enough that he bruised. 

“What’s going on kiddo?” Satoru mutters. 

Megumi rips his face out of Satoru’s hand. “Nothing. Both of you go away.”

“How long has this been going on, Tsumiki?” Satoru asks. 

Tsumiki heaves a sigh. She’s packing up her first aid kit and rubbing germ ex into her hands. “A few months. But this is the first time it’s been like this.”

“Megumi.”

“You weren’t supposed to know!”

“This is something I need to know, you little pill,” Satoru argues. “You shouldn’t be coming home bruised.”

Megumi glares at him, he hops off the couch and storms into his bedroom. Satoru watches him go. Somewhere between that first summer and now, his kids have gotten older. Megumi shot up last summer, he’s the tallest kid in his class right now. Gangly and awkward and friendless. So friendless. He spends more time with Panda and the occasional weekend with Maki than anyone else. He’s still a little kid, he’s still Satoru’s little boy, but he’s putting distance between them so fast Satoru doesn’t know how to keep up. 

“You should have told me,” Satoru tells Tsumiki.

“I know,” Tsumiki sighs. “But it’s like a barely know him anymore. Put a kid in the last year of his elementary and suddenly he’s too good for all of us.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “Yeah. How was school?”

Satoru needs to think about it, he does think about it for a few days. It's at the forefront of his mind but then he gets an assignment in Suguru’s old village. 

“Please don’t send me there,” Satoru all but begs Yaga. He’s clenching the mission specs in his hand. 

“There is no one else to go,” Yaga says.

“Please. Don’t–do this to me. Anyone else. I can’t look at that fucking house, not now.” Not when Satoru is doing so well. When he doesn’t think about Suguru all the time and he doesn’t feel that terrible continuous ache of betrayal. 

“There is no one else,” Yaga says in sympathy. “I can send help, if that would ease the burden.”

“Yeah. Sure, send a useless body for me to have to worry about.” Satoru stands up from where he was sitting on the edge of Yaga’s desk. 

“I’m trying to make this slightly better for you.”

Satoru waves him off. Something was bound to pop up in that village sooner than later. Satoru is surprised it took this long. He handles it stoically. Talks stiffly to the local law enforcement and doesn’t look at the burned out husk of the house on the hill that was once Suguru’s parents. 

His curiosity gets the better of him and he asks the local police what had happened to the house. Satoru hadn’t gone digging for the details about how Suguru’s parents died or what happened in the aftermath. In many ways it wasn’t his business, and for that reason it makes him feel bitterness towards how much grief he feels. But burning isn’t really Suguru’s style. 

“Arson,” an officer tells Satoru. “Couple of teenagers a few months back burned it.”

Satoru hums, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m guessing that’s why you finally called for help?”

“Yeah,” the officer says. “Nothing has been the same since the Geto’s were murdered. The town isn’t the same. Bad stuff happens. Things like the fire, and now the old folks home. It wasn’t avoidable anymore.”

Satoru had gotten rid of a curse that was seeded into the ancient bones of an old person’s home that’s been remodeled for centuries. There were probably curses in the place for years, little things that made life just that much more uncomfortable for people already pushed to the fringes of society and all but forgotten. Satoru was called in when people started dying, when a curse turned the building upside down and inside out, slowing time for some and speeding it up for others. Residents were trapped inside watching their friends age rapidly, die, decompose. The curse is dead now, but so are more than half of the residents. Satoru had asked if there had been any Geto’s in the home. Grandparents, aunts or uncles, something that could tie the curse back to the event that disrupted the town in the first place. He’s told no. 

There is nothing else that Satoru can do for the town. He’s not equipped to tell them to let go of their superstition and move on to better things. It’s not his place to tell them to tear the Geto house down and build something new on the land, or restore the place and treat it as the memorial it should be. Give it peace by letting it live a new respected life. Satoru is too tangled up inside for that. He’s too connected to something he had for a few days one hot July. Back when the summers weren’t all rain.  

Satoru does tell the local law enforcement and the big time investigators the town brought in from the city, that he’ll send a representative from his neck of the woods to make sure there are no more tiny infestations while they work to bring peace back. They take it all in stride. Satoru can give props to smaller villages for their superstitions in this sense. They’re better at taking curses for what they are. Curses and dangerous. And taking Satoru for what he is. Powerful and barely human.  Cities that have lost touch with spirituality, old gods and old stories, have to be told elaborate lies. 

There is no car this time round, so Satoru plans on walking out to the rice fields so he can warp without drawing unwanted attention. He bids his farewells and puts his back to the village and the house. He knows about a little hollow, off the dirt road that loops around the fields before dying out in the middle of nowhere. The grass grows up tall, and unless you know where to look, it’s virtually invisible. Beyond the grass are trees, growing into each other with large canopies that have become one over the years. The perfect little hide out. And Satoru knows where to look. 

There are a few people in the fields, but it's out of season so not many people turn to watch Satoru’s tall, dark figure meandering by. One woman does though, glances up from her basket where she’s collected the odd stone and unwanted plants. She shields her brow with a withered hand and then places the basket down and climbs up the slight incline to the road. 

“Suguru,” the woman says when Satoru passes by her, ignoring the way she’d held out her hand to get him to stop. 

Satoru pauses. “No. Sorry.”

“You’re his friend. I don’t remember your name.”

Satoru doesn’t recognize her. Couldn’t put a name to her face if his life was on the line. His hair tends to sear itself into people’s memories. 

“I don’t have anything for you,” Satoru tells her. It comes out a little breathless, because before that he nearly said we aren’t friends anymore.  

“They said he killed his parents. I don’t believe them.”

“You should have,” Satoru says. “It’s easier to hear the truth from people that don't matter.”

She looks shocked. Like Satoru had smacked her. He starts to walk again. 

“What are you?” The woman calls. 

Satoru ignores her. 

He warps to the school and his phone rings the moment his feet touch the ground. A mission back across Japan. He takes it with no complaint, anything to not think about that . It’s a mission that takes him a little off guard; something he can’t prance his way through. Satoru’s phone rings again as he’s several hundred feet off the ground, shooting blue down at a huge curse. He ignores it. And when it rings again Satoru is smashing through ribcages that are growing out of the ground in an attempt to keep him in the sky. He ignores it again. It rings three more times by the time Satoru touches down and nearly slips in curse goo. Cursing quietly, Satoru digs his phone, ringing again, out of his pocket. Satoru is expecting it to be the school, or his family or someone else he can snap at to leave him alone, but it’s Tsumiki. All of them had been. 

“Hello?” Satoru asks, trying not to let the initial lurch of panic that rose in his chest choke his words.

“He’s throwing rocks?!”

“What?”

“Megumi! He’s throwing rocks and he won’t stop!”

“What? Tsumiki what–”

He’s cut off by the sound of children screaming muffled over the line and Tsumiki screeching Megumi’s name. Satoru tears the phone away from his ear, before he hears Tsumiki calling for him again. 

“Where are you guys?” Satoru asks, already imagining all the places his kids could be and booking it to a place he can warp without drawing unwanted attention. 

“The park by the school!"

“Which one?!”

“Uh, uh. Oh! The one with the druggy looking bear statues!”

Satoru pops out of existence. 

Megumi is indeed throwing rocks. Hucking them with precision at a group of boys that are clustered around the play equipment. They’re sizable rocks, Megumi’s arm is unyielding and Satoru is almost more impressed that the boys–all in tears and some with bleeding injuries–haven’t fled yet. Megumi has been playing baseball for almost three years at this point. He’s a damn good pitcher, for a child at least, and he throws those rocks like he’s throwing a baseball. Satoru grabs his wrist on his next wind up and Megumi jumps. 

“What’d they do?” Satoru asks, leaning down like he and Megumi are sharing a secret. 

Megumi swallows heavily. His breathing is a bit erratic from the effort of projectile rock throwing and from his rage. 

“They’re bullies,” Megumi gasps. 

There are tears in his eyes, bright and angry. It shocks Satoru down to his bones. Megumi doesn’t really cry anymore. 

“Bullies?”

“Yeah,” Megumi says. “They’re–In the slide. They were picking on a boy. Hitting him, yanking his pants down. They were–” Megumi shakes his head. 

Satoru lets go of his wrist. Let the rocks fly until the little shits take a hint and clear out. Tsumiki runs up to him as Satoru climbs up the multi-colored rungs of the ladder leading to the slide. 

“He’s still throwing rocks!”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “But he said they were being bullies.”

“I dunno,” Tsumiki breathes. “I just got here.”

Satoru grins down at her. “Sometimes you gotta let people learn their lessons.”

Peering into the slide reveals another child. Satoru’s face goes numb looking at him. His bones ache with the absolute stench of energy coming off of him. Dark, terrible energy that shrouds the curled form. 

“Hey,” Satoru calls. “Holy shit, kid. You’re cursed as hell.”

The boy curls further into himself, letting out a hitching sound, not quite a sob but piteous like a wet kitten. The slide casts the boy in an off orange glow, but Satoru can see the wear and tear on him. Greasy hair, really greasy hair, banged up white sneakers that are riddled with holes. He smells too, and not just like curse.

“Tsumiki,” Satoru says, “do you think you coul–”

“No!” The kid rasps. “Go away before you get hurt!”

Satoru narrows his eyes. “You’re gonna hurt us?”

“No,” the kid says, and now his voice is wet. “Not me. You can’t come any closer.”

There’s a smear when the boy scrunches further down the slide. His foot jammed up against the opposite wall to keep himself from sliding down. Blood, piss, other unpleasantness. Satoru looks closer at the kid, at the energy that’s suffocating him. It’s a huge curse that’s curled in him, dormant, but definitely there, alive and coiled to spring. 

“Tsumiki,” Satoru says again. “Get back.”

“What? Why? Is he okay?”

“Get back. I’m going to see if I can get him out, I need you to get away from the slide. Take your brother with you. “ 

“I brought my first aid kit! I can help.”

Satoru turns his head to smile at her. “I know you can. Let me get him out of the slide and then you can have at him.”

Tsumiki searches Satoru’s face before nodding and running off. She intercepts Megumi and drags him back until they’re on the sidewalk by the street. Satoru tosses her a thumbs up that Tsumiki returns. He turns back to the task at hand. 

“Okay, kid. Are you bleeding?”

No answer, just more curling. 

“I’m guessing you can see gross things, huh?”

“...what?” The boy whispers, he turns to peer at Satoru. 

His eyes are dark in the way a dead person’s eyes are dark. There is nothing in them. His face is bloody and bruised. Yellow bruises that are obviously old, layered on top of each other. Beatings. He looks tired too. Exhausted and hungry. 

“They’re curses,” Satoru says. “And you’ve got one attached to you. Did you know that?”

“H-how could I not?”

Satoru grins. “I just wanted to make sure. Some people are pretty oblivious to them. It looks kind of like it wants to rip my face off. Why’s that?”

The kid curls back against himself. “She doesn’t like when I get hurt.”

She. And protective. A curse that’s been attached to this boy for a long time then. 

“Good thing I want to do the opposite, yeah? Why don’t you get out of the slide. It smells like feet in here.”

“No.”

Satoru blows out a breath. “The bullies are gone.”

“Okay. Go away.”

“If I could leave you here, I would, trust me. My kid did a good job clearing the place out. But my other kid, well she's a saint and she won’t leave until she knows you’re okay. Why don’t we just make this easier for both of us?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You can’t hurt me. Your curse can’t hurt me.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Nope,” Satoru says. “Pinky swear it’s not.”

Those soulless eyes are on him again. Satoru bounces on the rung of the ladder. 

“C’mon kid, I can see you mulling it over.”

“It’s not safe.”

“I don’t take my kids' safety lightly,” Satoru says, “if I thought they’d be at risk by anything you do I’d kill you immediately.”

“Promise?” The kid rasps. 

“Promise.”

Satoru helps him out of the slide. Okay, the slide hadn’t smelt like feet. The boy does. And body odor, strong enough that Satoru swallows back a reflexive gag. The kid is also not as much a kid as Satoru thought. This is a teenager, gangly, in that overgrown undergrown phase, and gaunt, his hand shivering in Satoru’s grip. He’s limping, his clothing is ill fitted and caked in filth. 

“Christ,” Satoru mutters, looking the kid over. 

The curse remains anxious, but nothing happens even as Satoru reaches up carefully to part the kid’s hair where it’s matted against the side of his head. He thought it was blood, the dark hair covering the wound. But a foul stench rises when the hair is parted. 

“Is this shit?”

The kid cringes. “Yeah. Dog. Sorry.”

Satoru takes the kid over to a swing. He has him sit down at motions for Tsumiki and Megumi to come back over. Tsumiki is already wrangling her med kid out of her bag. 

“I’m Tsumiki!” She chirps as she kneels in front of the kid. “Can you tell me where you’re hurting?”

The kid stares at her. Tsumiki is patient, asks him again in a different way and the kid slowly points to where he’s bleeding on his arms and knee. Tsumiki opens her kit, hands the kid a little foam cat, and starts to talk him through what she’s doing. The foam cat crumples in and out of the kid’s subconscious grip. Satoru crosses his arms over his chest and watches Tsumiki work with pride. The foam animals had been her idea when Shoko was teaching her about disaster response. Tsumiki had come home contemplative and when Satoru asked her what was up, she said that people are scared in disasters and need something nice to have. And that had been how Satoru spent a fat wad of cash on a fat wad of foam animals. 

Megumi watches the proceedings quietly. He still looks pissed off, arms crossed in a mirror to Satoru. 

“You good?” Satoru murmurs to him. “They didn’t get at you, right?”

“Fuck no,” Megumi mutters. 

“Hey,” Satoru chides, “you’re still too young to say fuck.”

“Hell no,” Megumi says.

Satoru lets him have it. 

“How’d you find him?” Satoru asks. “Is he a classmate?”

“No,” Megumi says, “I brought the dogs to the park and a bunch of guys were bothering him.” And then after a small pause. “I told them to stop before I started throwing rocks.”

“How many times?”

“Once.”

“Under your breath?”

Megumi peers at him and Satoru grins.

“Maybe.”

Satoru ruffles his hair. “Attaboy. We need to work on your short pitches though. Some of those throws were going a bit long.”

Megumi bats him away, rolling his eyes and smoothing at his hair like Satoru had done anything to the unruly disaster it is. 

Tsumiki stands up then. She washes her hands with a wipe and refuses the foam cat the kid tries to hand back to her. 

“You should probably go to the hospital,” Tsumiki says. “I think you might have a broken rib. Your breathing is weird.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Satoru asks. “We can give you a ride to your home if that’s the issue.”

The kid shakes his head, bites at his chapped mouth. “No. I–this is where I live.”

“In a park?” Megumi asks sharply. He looks around them. “Where are your parents?”

Satoru’s stomach is sinking. The bruises, filthy clothes, obvious hunger. This kid is homeless. And it probably has everything to do with the curse. Dumped not unlike a dog in a park to fend for himself. 

“What is your name?” Satoru asks. 

“Yuta Okkotsu.”

Ah. Fuck. 

It takes near begging to convince Yuta Okkotsu, Satoru’s long, long distance cousin, to come anywhere with them. In the end Satoru pulls out the winner of all wars involving needy children. Food. He offers Yuta Okkotsu dinner and the kid can’t refuse.

They take care of his shitty head first. Satoru takes the kids back to the apartment, shows Yuta Okkotsu the bathroom, hands him a mix of his and Megumi’s clothing and sits down with his kids for a quick conversation.

“Your cousin? ” Megumi asks. “Is that why he’s nauseating to look at?”

“Megumi!” Tsumiki snaps. “That’s so rude.”

“He’s not wrong,” Satoru says. He’s having the very immature desire to chew a hole in the side of his thumb. “My face hurt looking at him. He’s cursed, Miki.”
Tsumiki opens her mouth. Closes it. 

“That’s a bad curse,” Megumi says. “Right?”

“One of the strongest I’ve ever felt,” Satoru admits. 

“Can you break it?” Tsumiki asks. “Or kill it?”

“I need to do some research,” Satoru says. 

He needs to wrap his head around all of this. Luckily, Satoru is a seasoned veteran at the game of finding random, needy children. He’s not going to panic over finding another kid. But there isn’t enough room in–he’s getting ahead of himself. First he needs to talk with Yuta Okkotsu and find out exactly how homeless he is and what his options are. Then Satoru can contact the clan, who know about the kid, and get him set up with a room there. And Satoru will look forward to having him in class in a few years. 

Satoru unwinds his bandages so he can properly dig his fingers into his eyes. This is not how he anticipated this day going. He’d been ready to get the kids and spend the evening eating junk food, watching movies and catching up on paperwork. Or–and this is wild–Satoru was going to go to sleep. 

The shower turns off and all three of them go a little tense. It takes a few more minutes but the bathroom door slowly opens and the kid peers out into the hall. 

“What are you feeling food wise?” Satoru calls. 

“Uh. Anything is good,” Yuta mumbles. He’s holding his dirty laundry. 

“Just tell him what you want,” Megumi says. “He’ll keep bothering you if you don’t.”

Satoru laughs. “He’s right, you know. Also, you can put those in the hamper.”

Yuta turns and goes stiffly back into the bathroom. He’s empty handed when he shuffles back out. 

“Do you have a favorite food?” Satoru asks him. 

“Not really.”

“A second favorite food?”

“Uhm. No.”

Megumi groans, loudly. He slides out of his chair and goes to the door to put his shoes on. 

“I haven’t eaten since lunch, Satoru. Let's go.”

“I send you guys with money so you can get food if you want after school,” Satoru says. He gets up too, motions for Yuta to follow. “Lets go for ramen then. I’m craving it and there are a lot of good places close by.”

Satoru is not ready for the school to see that he has a third little shadow. Yet. So they will be walking. Satoru shoos the kids out the door when they all have their shoes on. He grins at Yuta who stares at his face, shrinks around him. Satoru doubts the kid has any idea who he is, but something about Satoru, or maybe Yuta’s hunger, is allowing him to trust that Satoru hadn’t lied in the park. 

“Hey, Satoru,” Tsumiki pipes up as they trundle down the sidewalk. “What’d you do today?”

Satoru tells them what he did that day. Besides the humiliating parts at the village. Tsumiki tells him about this dick in her class, Takashi , who is so dreamy and so perfect, but who yanks on Tsumiki’s ponytails and puts her shoes high up so she has to get help getting them down or climb. Satoru doesn’t know why she likes him so much, or where he had gone wrong raising her where she thinks that’s an acceptable choice, but she’s infatuated. Megumi’s face is scrunched up in furthering displeasure the longer she talks. Satoru lifts his hand to cover his mouth from Tsumiki and mouths “that guy next.” Megumi snorts.

Yuta is silent during the walk. Silent and twitchy, and his limp is way more noticeable now. He’s drowning in Satoru’s shirt and Megumi’s largest pair of jeans. From what Satoru can tell he’s taller than Megumi, but he walks with his shoulders curled in like he’s expecting to be hit for the sin of walking. Megumi calls his dogs halfway there and Satoru watches the other boy’s reaction closely. He can see them for sure, and he pulls up short when White–the nosiest and least courteous of personal space–comes sniffing at his shoes. 

“They’re friendly unless I don’t want them to be,” Megumi tells him. “You can pet them. White likes that.”

Yuta reaches a careful hand down, flinching up and down before he settles it between White’s perked ears. He rubs at them and White turns her head in his palms, tongue lulling out and making her look stupid. Stupid and soft and adorable. Yuta’s brow crumples a little bit when White manages to get her tongue up around his wrist. 

“They’re good dogs,” Megumi says, and keeps walking. 

At dinner Satoru formally introduces himself. Satoru Gojo, the Strongest, teacher extraordinary, dad person of Megumi and Tsumiki, and long, long distant cousin of one Yuta Okkotsu. 

Yuta fumbles his chopsticks. Barely used, and places them across his bowl, barely eaten from. He looks up at Satoru. 

“We’re related?”

“Very, very distantly, but yeah! Isn’t that cool?”

“Uh. I don’t know. I don’t know you.”

“Fair,” Satoru laughs. “I’m gonna help you out, okay?”

Yuta swallows. “I’m not sure…I’m not worth it.”

“That sounds like bullshit,” Satoru says happily. 

Megumi sits back in the booth. His bowl is empty and he slides closer to Satoru, so he can pillow his head on Satoru’s arm. 

“No point trying to get out of it,” Megumi mumbles. “He has you now. Game over.”

“That–is that a threat?”

Megumi just shrugs. Satoru laughs loudly. 

“I just don’t like seeing kids in bad spots.” He leans forward. “And I’ve heard you have the potential to beat even me and I am very interested in that.”

“What’s the big deal about me beating you? Beating you in what?”

Satoru shrugs. “In everything. Picking up where I leave off, all that jazz. I’m bolstering up a new generation.”

He wiggles his fingers at the neglected bowl before Yuta can ask anymore questions that Satoru is going to be obtuse about. “Eat kid. You look like your stomach is licking your backbone.”

Back at the apartment Tsumiki regales Yuta with her moss balls. They’re in a big tank in the living room with festival won fish and a random, fat, bratty goldfish Megumi had shown up with one day. Satoru has no idea where he got the little bugger, but it’s survived for years and been the reason the tank went from a three gallon marimo tank to the huge monster Satoru had to go out and get. The fish is named Bob, dubbed as such by Satoru after the kids wanted to name it something elegant. It’s not an elegant animal. 

Yuta watches the fish with dull eyes, nods absently along to Tsumiki’s rambling. Satoru recruits Megumi to help him get a futon and blankets for the kid. He mostly wants to stop looking at the boy and he needs to make a call. In his bedroom Megumi paws listlessly through blankets. 

“This is weird.”

“Yeah, I know,” Satoru says. He has Haruki’s number pulled up. 

“No. Like–this is weird.”

Satoru looks over at him. “Yeah. I know. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Megumi says. “What are you going to do about it? Are we going to keep him?”

“He’s not–” but he is kind of a stray, in more of a sense than the Fushiguro’s were. “I don’t know Megumi.”

“Since when do you not know anything?”

“Since–just. Let me think.”

Megumi shrugs and tosses a blanket onto Satoru’s bed. He’s created a little pile of blankets that have been deemed worthy. Satoru tells him to use the new futon that’s stashed in the closet, and finally hits call. 

The line connects after three rings. “Satoru. What do you want?”

“You mentioned Yuta Okkotsu a few years ago, remember?”

There’s rustling on the other end of the line, probably Haruki sitting up in bed. “Yeah. What about him? Finally decided to take my warning seriously?”

“Who are his parents?”

“Uh, I’d have to look at my notes. What’s going on?”

Satoru rubs his brow. “I found him this afternoon, or well, my kids did, it looks like he’s been homeless for a few months.”

“Huh.”

“Huh?”

“Not sure what to tell you. I can send someone out to find him or something.”

Satoru blinks. “Find him? Man, I didn’t leave him there. Why do you sound so nonchalant about this?”

“Because I thought something like this might happen. Normals don’t like having sorcerer kids, Satoru. Can you think of anyone you know who has normal parents that are still in their lives?”

No.

“So why didn’t you do something preemptive?”

“Like what? Kidnapping? That’s more your style.”

“Oh my god,” Satoru groans. “I didn’t kidnap anyone.”

Megumi turns around to give Satoru a big eyed stare like the little shit he is. Satoru sticks his tongue at him. 

“Can you send me more information about him?” Satoru asks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” Satoru says. “Thanks. I guess.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone onto the bedside table. He’ll check his email in the morning after he talks to the kid tonight and go from there. For now he helps Megumi cart everything back out into the living room. Tsumiki is still talking about the fish, but Yuta is now on the couch, crumpled into it looking half dead. 

“Okay, kid,” Satoru says, he dumps his armful onto the couch. “You can sleep on the couch, or on this futon. You choose.”

Yuta looks over the blankets with a heavy dose of disinterest. 

“Futon.”

“Coolio.”

Satoru, Tsumiki and Megumi get the sleeping arrangements arranged, bumping shoulders and sending each other looks. Yuta sits on the couch, staring at the wall. When they’re done, Satoru bids his kids goodnight, dropping kisses to the tops of both their heads. Tsumiki because she likes it and Megumi because he dislikes it, especially in the company of strangers. Tsumiki goes to the loft, Megumi to his room. He leaves his door cracked and Satoru settles on the couch by Yuta.

“What happened to you?”

Yuta’s eyes drag over to Satoru, his lips thinning as he presses them together. 

“I’m not a debt guy,” Satoru says. “This isn’t payment for what I gave you tonight, but I need to know so I can help you.”

“I don’t want help,” Yuta croaks. 

“I think you do,” Satoru says. “Your curse could have reacted if it thought I was doing anything you didn’t want.”

Yuta wraps his arms around his stomach. “You don’t understand. I’m not good. ”

“You’re a kid,” Satoru says. 

“I’ve hurt people,” Yuta whispers, his head dips down. 

“Your family?”

“...no.”

Satoru leans further back into the couch, letting the cushions cradle his head. He’s tired, really, really tired. The sound of the tank filter and the half dark apartment is making his drowsiness anchor heavy. 

“So you didn’t hurt your family, that’s good. But I’m guessing you scared them pretty good. Were just off enough that they threw you out.”

He can hear Yuta’s dry, clicking swallow. “I don’t blame them. I had a baby sister. I shouldn’t have been around her.”

“When were you cursed?”

“I was…ten.”

Ten. Young but not young enough to not understand. 

“And you were kicked out when?”

“A few months ago. I don’t remember.”

Satoru rolls his head around to look at Yuta. He’s curled against the opposite armrest, frail arms up wrapped around him. He doesn’t look like Satoru’s family, not physically. His power though, even without the curse that stains it, is a frantic younger twin of Satoru’s. Mostly though, right now, he looks hurt and lost and tired and like he’d prefer the sun not to come up the next day. 

“I’m surprised it took them so long,” Satoru hums. “You’re what? Thirteen?”

Yuta jerks a nod. “Uh. Recently.”

“Did you go to school?”

Surely someone would have noticed when Yuta Okkotsu stopped showing up or starting showing up dirty and stinking. 

“I did, but. I was uh. I was in a hospital for a while.”

“Why’s that?”

Yuta finally looks at him. “I don’t like being alive.”

“Dark,” Satoru says.

Yuta looks away. 

Sitting up, Satoru cracks his neck. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow we’re going to get you to a doctor, you’re going to fill me in on any more details I might need to know, and then you can choose what you want to do.”

“Just take me back to the park,” Yuta sighs. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“You’re my family. Consider yourself worried about.” Satoru leans forward onto his knees so he can look Yuta in the eyes. “You can live with the Gojo’s if you want. They won’t bother you and if you want you can enroll in a school that will help you with that curse.”

“Help with her?”

“Break it,” Satoru says. “I can teach you how to break it.”

“I can break it?”

“Sure, if you put in the work and let me help you.”

Yuta looks vaguely hopeful but fully nauseated. 

“Do you want to go back home?” Satoru asks, his voice softer. 

“No,” Yuta says, fragile on the edge of tears. “They don’t want me.”

Satoru nods. “Okay. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. And the curse.”

Standing, Satoru waits for Yuta to pull himself off the couch and into the bed on the floor. He curls onto his side, facing the fish tank. Bob stares with dumb eyes down at him. 

“She was my friend,” Yuta says quietly. “The curse.”

“I see. I’m sorry,” Satoru says. “We’ll figure it out.”

Satoru crosses into the kitchen to flip on the nightlight and to turn off the light above the stove. He catches a glimpse of Black, sitting just inside Megumi’s door, peering out at the living room, vigilant. Satoru will be able to sleep a little bit tonight knowing the dogs are watching. He’s passing by the couch when Yuta speaks again. 

“Her name is Rika.”

Rika. Riko. 

Satoru almost laughs aloud. Instead he hums in acknowledgement. 

“Go to sleep. You’re safe here.”

Chapter Text

“Satoru,” Shoko says, a dangerous edge on her words. “Is that another kid?”

Satoru smiles at her, pats at Yuta’s curled shoulder. “It is!”

It is also, unfortunately, very early in the morning. Early enough that Satoru is tired, the rain, because it’s raining and freezing , is tired, and the three kids Satoru has brought with him are tired. And all grouchy. Megumi has found a place to lie down. The floor. He’s laying on the disease ridden floor outside of the morgue, swatting away any attempts to get him to his feet. Tsumiki is frowny and easily annoyed and Satoru is apparently the most annoying thing in the world right now. He is the person that woke them all up this early so maybe that’s fair. 

Shoko closes her eyes, rubs both hands up her face. “Satoru. What–just. Why?”

“It’s a long story,” Satoru says, his smile melts off and he sags a little where he stands. “Can you please look him over?”

“Broken ribs,” Tsumiki mumbles.

Shoko sighs but motions them all into the morgue. She hadn’t been on campus when Satoru had called her and it had taken a lot to get her down to the campus. Satoru pulls Megumi off the floor with his free hand, the other steering Yuta’s hesitating body into the cold interior of the dark room. Shoko flips on lights and pats a bed for Yuta.

“You’re really cursed,” Shoko murmurs as she shines a light into Yuta’s eyes. “God, Satoru what the fuck?”

“I didn’t do it!”

Shoko glares at him. “I’m not saying you did. I’m saying a general what the fuck”

“He’s my cousin,” Satoru admits. “I’ll tell you the rest of the story later, just help him, Shoko.”

Yuta does have broken ribs, and some light internal wounds. Shoko tells the kid to monitor his bathroom habits for any blood or other discolorations. He has some burst capillaries, a mild concussion, a few of his scrapes are infected, probably from the dog shit, and he's on the verge of starvation. 

Satoru grabs Shoko’s shoulder before she can apply any cursed energy to Yuta’s ribs. “Wait. Yuta, is the curse going to hurt Shoko?”

Yuta shivers. His hands twitch where they’re hanging between his knees off the bed. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Shoko asks, and she steps away from the bed, closer to Satoru. 

“The curse, it’s a dormant thing that tends to manifest when someone does something to Yuta that she doesn’t like,” Satoru says. 

“What are the chances of that happening?” Shoko asks Yuta. 

“Pretty good,” Yuta says. 

Shoko throws Satoru another nasty glare and strips off her gloves. She goes across the room to the tall cabinets that house her medical supply. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Shoko says. She’s taking bottles and tubes out of the cabinet. “I’m going to give you antibiotics for the infections, some topicals for the scraps that Tsumiki can help you with, and Satoru is going to handle the rest.”

Shoko shoves the medication into Satoru’s hands. He fumbles not to drop them and looks at the labels. 

“His ribs are broken,” Satoru argues. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

“A normal doctor would tell you to rest and heal them. It takes time but with pain meds they should mend on their own.”

“And the internal stuff?” Satoru snaps. 

“Brusising mostly, from what I can tell.” Shoko looks back at Yuta, chewing her lip. “If I’m going to get killed by a curse for using cursed energy on him, it’s not worth the risk of applying it. I’m sorry.”

“What do I do for that?” Satoru asks. 

“You can try an actual hospital,” Shoko tells him. “Or just wait it out. Like I said,” this she directs to Yuta, “if you cough up blood or if you see it when you use the bathroom, you need to tell Satoru immediately. Until then, take it easy and feed him, Satoru.”

Satoru covers his mouth with his palm, as he considers Yuta. He’s frustrated with Shoko and he doesn’t blame her at all. They got lucky it’s a weekend and that Satoru had put in such a long day yesterday, he has space to deal with this. For now at least. Shoko clears her throat, dragging Satoru’s attention back to where she stands a few feet from the bed. 

“If you think you can manage to keep the curse contained, I will happily help you, I want you to know that.”

“I get it,” Yuta says. “It’s okay.”

Shoko’s mouth goes tight. “Satoru, can I talk to you? In the hall.”

Satoru holds up a hand to silence Shoko before she can open her mouth when they step out into the hall. Satoru closes the door to the morgue, catching Megumi’s suddenly clear eyes. Satoru walks them a little ways down to a window. 

“I know he’s suicidal,” Satoru says. 

Shoko blanches before she scoffs. “Well that’s good. He has self injury scars, I’m guessing his curse kept him alive.”

“Like the Hulk,” Satoru mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Satoru rubs his jaw. “I know he’s fucked up. Like really fucked up. The whole thing is fucked up.”

“How does this keep happening to you?” Shoko asks. “Who did you kill this time?”

“No one,” Satoru says. “This is on my kids not minding their business.”

Shoko snorts. She still looks upset and her mirth is short lived. “You’ve gotten so soft.”

“They’re kids,” Satoru says quietly. “They deserve something soft.”

“And you’re the one that has to provide that?”

“I can,” Satoru says, “so why not?”

Shoko shrugs, “that’s fair. I’m sorry I can’t fix him, I can’t risk my life.”

“I know,” Satoru says. “It's a mess.”

“Are you going to keep him?” Shoko asks. 

Satoru has no idea. For now, the kid can sleep on his couch until the clan decides they want him, or Yuta decides something else. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about the chance of taking in another kid. Especially one so haunted. Especially not when he’s not freaking out about the possibility. 

“We have a lot to figure out,” Satoru says, and leaves it at that.

Shoko offers some resources for if Yuta’s dark habit rears its nasty head and then some basic resources for people with depression. Satoru doesn’t ask when she’d picked those up and stashed them away, but she doesn’t look him in the eyes when she hands them over.

“Okay,” Satoru says to the collection of children, pockets full of medication and pamphlets. “I forgot to take my medicine this morning.”

Shoko throws a pair of medical tongs at him from across the room. They bounce harmlessly off Infinity. Yuta flinches, then stares. 

“You can’t forget that,” Tsumiki chides him, genuinely disappointed in him. Frowning, shaking her head, making Satoru feel the size of a bug. 

Megumi glares at him.“You literally have one job when you wake up.”

“That is not even true,” Satoru says. “I have at least three jobs when I first wake up.” Satoru starts to herd them out of the room, sending a wave at Shoko. “My point is, I don’t have it on me so I need to go home and get it real quick-like. Can I trust you guys to stay here?”

By trust them he means can he trust Yuta not to split in the point five seconds it’ll take Satoru to get to the apartment, take his meds and get back. If the day was clear, Satoru would probably let it slide, but he’s hurting, and can feel his chest getting tight around the old wounds. He doesn’t need to go down today, or set himself up for failure in the coming days. 

“Yeah,” Megumi says, brushing past Satoru. “We’ll be here. Panda might be awake.”

“Oh, you have to meet Panda! He’s so funny!” Tsumiki says. She doesn’t grab Yuta’s hand but Satoru sees her hand flinch forward in the motion. 

“Uh. Okay,”Yuta says. 

Shoko had given him a dose of pain medication before they left the morgue and it made him a little more droopy. Yuta takes a step towards Tsumiki, looks back at Satoru who makes a shooing motion. 

“I’ll be back before you realize I’m gone.”

It’s always so much fun to watch people–kids–react to Satoru disappearing. Yuta’s flaring eyes are the last thing Satoru sees before he’s in his bathroom. He stashes Yuta’s medication first and then pulls out his own. He takes the pills with water and eats an orange in the kitchen while he stares holes into his antidepressants. If the kid stays here, they can’t stay in the bathroom. Satoru refills his pill container and then takes the bottle to his room and locks it in his bedside table. And then he has to stand there for a moment considering what he had done before he blips back to the school to face the wrath that is going to be Yaga. 

The day becomes long. Satoru is threatened with beheading, dismemberment, imprisonment, and banishment for the sin of scraping a sad, homeless boy out of a slide. Satoru takes the verbal abuse and threats with his hands in his pockets, facing a gap between the screens. When the Higher Ups have yelled themselves hoarse, Satoru calmly informs them, again, that he will not be executing Yuta Okkotsu, no he doesn’t understand the curse yet, but he will, and if the Higher Ups try to lay a finger on the kid, Satoru will bring hell down on them. He sort of wishes they would and he can finally give into the festering desire to kill them that’s been in his chest for years. An hour or so of that later and everyone knows that Satoru Gojo has picked up another kid. He goes from the meeting with the higher ups to a conference call with his family. Yuta sits in on this, laying on Yaga’s couch, half asleep through the middle of it. Not that it matters. It's a nothing meeting. The clan doesn’t want Yuta. No one says it in so many words, but Satoru can tell. He hangs up, disappointed but not really surprised and starts to think about moving.

Satoru leaves Yuta to sleep, stepping silently out of the office into the hall where Yaga has been pacing. Satoru shrugs at him when he pauses to ask after the results. 

“He’ll stay with me for now,” Satoru says. “There’s nothing to be done right now. Haruki sent me some information about his parents.”

“Are they looking for the boy?”

“Not as far as I can tell. He’d been in the care of a psychiatric hospital in the city until a few months ago.” Satoru stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know if he ever went home.”

Yaga nods deeply. “We can house hom here, Satoru.”

“You’d do that?”

“Yes,” Yaga says. “I can get him set up in the dorms. The curse will be closely monitored and you could see him daily.”

“Are you offering this because he’s not allowed to leave sorcerer society anymore?”

Yaga grimaces. “To some extent yes, but I’m also extending some grace to you Satoru. Some help.”

“I appreciate it,” Satoru says, and means it. “And I appreciate that you’ve offered me something else for him.”

“Of course.” 

“Let him sleep for a little, yeah?” Satoru asks. “I don’t think he slept at all last night and the meds are taking a toll on him.”

“Did you sleep?” Yaga asks. 

They’ve started to move down the hall together. Satoru pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time. There are a few missed calls that Satoru refuses to acknowledge right now. It’s  noon, he should take the kids off campus for lunch, or see if the half finished cafeteria was ever finished, or, and most likely, Satoru will make Ijichi go and get them lunch. 

“Got a few hours,” Satoru mutters. “Do we need to do damage control?”

Yaga sends him an incredulous look. “How should I know? You’re the one who spoke with everyone. The higher ups are really the only ones that should have been handled delicately.”

“Nah,” Satoru says, “I needed to rip the bandaid off on that one. They would have used it against me if they had found out any later. I’m more worried about the Zen’in sticking their noses where they don't belong.”

“The Zen’in have no stakes in this,” Yaga says. 

“Cool. If they don’t bother you about Yuta, then I’m not gonna think about it anymore.”

Satoru has started to type out a message to Ijichi before he deletes it and switches over to Tsumiki to get some feelers on what sounds good for lunch in the first place. He’s thinking of something hearty like curry. He’s craving beef. But Tsumiki says that she wants katsudon and Megumi has no great feelings of displeasure towards this. Satoru texts Ichiji to get enough to feed four kids, Yaga, Shoko, himself and, ah right. Ijichi too. He gets a little frowny face in reply before Ijichi confirms that he’ll be back in an hour. 

“Can you get in touch with the psych wards in Tokyo?” Satoru asks Yaga. “I have no idea where he was kept, but if you can get records out of them I’d appreciate it. If they need some motivation to hand stuff over, let me know.”

Yaga grunts an agreement. “Will do.”

Satoru huffs a sigh and smiles at him, pats his shoulder. “Relax grandpa, you’re strung like a harp.”

“This child is a tad more stressful than your other two.”

“Maybe,” Satoru admits. “I don’t think the curse will manifest.”

“There is no way you can know that,” Yaga says. He swipes his glasses off his face to dig his fingers into his eyes. 

“Yaga,” Satoru says. “I won’t let her hurt anything or anyone. Okay? I wouldn’t let this boy into my home if I wasn’t ready to die protecting my kids.”

“I trust you more than I probably should,” Yaga says. “But you don’t seem the type willing to put Purple through a teenager.”

Satoru swallows. “I’m not. I wouldn’t.”

“You know to kill that curse–”

“Yaga,” Satoru says. “You’re sounding a lot like those dicks above us.”

Yaga presses his lips tight. 

“My life to protect whatever needs protecting. Not his.” 

Satoru pats Yaga’s shoulder again and goes to see where the kids are. 

They eat lunch out on the field. Satoru watches his first years bumble about in the sprinklers. It’s an off day for them anyways and Satoru has been doing this teaching thing for a short time and he’s milking his lack of experience as long as he can. They’re a promising group though, the whole six of them. Smart, mostly not lazy, and willing to put up with Satoru’s most annoying traits. A few pause to wave at him, or to call out to Tsumiki and Megumi. It makes a little thrill of pride shoot up Satoru’s spine. Everyone knows his kiddos now, he’s heard people refer to Megumi as ‘Gojo’s boy’ and Tsumiki as ‘oh that’s Satoru’s daughter’. They’ve integrated into Satoru’s life so completely it’s odd to not see them around campus. Satoru wonders if society will be as willing–it took some pushing but still–for Yuta. 

Satoru watches Yuta eat from the corner of his eye. The kid picks at his meal but takes more bites than he did the night before. He’s pale in the sunlight. Gaunt, his dark hair a blot against the sky and his eyebags making his iris’ look like they’re dripping down his cheeks. Like something out of a horror movie. Satoru stops watching him. 

“So, did you guys enjoy spending time with Panda?”

“Yeah,” Tsumiki says. “I can’t believe how big he is now.”

Satoru hums. Apparently a teenage panda bear is several feet tall, Satoru’s height which is just… ridiculous. Satoru whined to Yaga about making him shorter but no dice, so now Panda can pick Satoru up when he hugs him. 

“He’s not even an adult,” Megumi mumbles. 

“Aw, kid, you’re not that short,” Satoru croons. 

Megumi kicks a half hearted foot at Infinity. 

“What is Panda?” Yuta mumbles. 

He freezes when they all turn to look at him. The styrofoam container his lunch is in, crinkles under his curling hand. 

“He’s a cursed corpse,” Satoru says. “That's Yaga's technique. Kinda cool.”

“Oh,” Yuta mumbles. He swallows and licks his lips, he’s starting to curl into himself. “That’s–cool.”

“Very cool,” Satoru says. “Do you want to see mine?”

“Oh god,” Megumi groans. He flops over in the grass. 

Yuta’s eyes bounce between Megumi and Satoru. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Satoru gets to his feet. He stretches his arms over his head, cracks his back. 

“Literally nothing is wrong with it,” Satoru says. “It is perfection incarnate.” 

The first years are waved over. They come like little dogs, chirping hellos to the kids and frowning at Yuta before waving stiffly at him. 

“Okay!” Satoru says. “You guys ready to see this shit?”

“Are you going to blow the track up again?” A kid calls as Satoru walks down the hill. 

Ideally. 

Satoru shoots off red first. Turning to grin at his audience of unenthused children. They stare at him with deadpan faces. Some hold up fingers in number ratings. Megumi holds up a zero. Satoru pouts at them. At least Yuta seems interested, or maybe he’s just trying to look anywhere but at the other kids surrounding him. 

Turning back to the upturned track, Satoru conjures up blue. It goes a little off trajectory when he releases it and they all watch as one of the empty dojo’s closest to the track gets sucked in and obliterated. 

“Oops,” Satoru mutters, then cringes when he hears Yaga bark his name. 

The man has appeared at the top of the stairs, descending fast to grab Satoru by the front of the shirt and shaking him like it would set something right in Satoru. . The students laugh and cheer and come down the hill to tackle Satoru to the ground. He goes down laughing into cool, damp grass. 

Yuta moves into Megumi’s room. Satoru had asked Megumi if he would be willing to share his space and the kid had agreed with less strife than Satoru was expecting. They put Megumi on a futon and Yuta gets his bed. For now, until his ribs heal or he decides where he wants to stay. Megumi listlessly shows Yuta around his room. It’d become his over the years. All grays and blacks and reds. His desk is mostly books, one of Satoru’s old laptops and a few little figurines from over the years. He has a few family photos displayed that Satoru doesn’t dare comment on. There are glowing stars on the ceiling, left over from Tsumiki’s constellations, and a single poster for a band that Megumi likes. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” Yuta says. 

He’s been standing in the door watching Satoru and Megumi rearrange the bed, steadily ripping his fingers up. 

“It's fine,” Megumi says. “It’s not a big deal.”

Satoru looks over his shoulder at him. “We can still go back to the school.”

“Yeah, but they said you’d have to be there with me at all times.” Yuta shifts uncomfortably, “that’s…I don’t want to take you away from here.”

“Okay, cool.” 

Satoru throws a pillow onto the floor. 

Having a third kid in the house takes some getting used to. Yuta is quiet and shy and flinchy. He spends most of his time in bed or on the couch in those first few weeks. He doesn’t eat much at all and only if he notices Satoru staring at him. Satoru presented him with new clothing, some new and some old things that Satoru hasn’t worn in years, and the kid looked like Satoru shot his dog. It’s a learning curve, one that Satoru takes the best he can. 

“You know,” Satoru says one morning. He’s home with a headache that was making his vision spotty. “Food isn’t negotiable in my house.”

Yuta, sitting on the other end of the couch with a melted popsicle, flinches. He looks sideways at Satoru, then down at the sticky mess his treat has turned into. 

“What I mean by that, is I don’t use it as punishment. We eat a lot in this household and I would never deprive any of you food. No matter what you do.” He grins at Yuta. There’s an ice pack over Satoru’s eyes. “Megumi pisses me off so bad sometimes, and I make sure he eats even if I banish him to his room.”

Yuta swallows in a way that looks painful. Satoru holds out his hand for the popsicle. After a moment of hesitation, Yuta pours it into the cup of Satoru’s palm. 

“And,”Satoru starts again as he gets to his feet, “I love buying food. Love it. Love to share it too. You aren’t a burden to me because you have to eat.”

Satoru throws the popsicle away and gets two glasses of water and a rag for Yuta to clean his hand off with. When he returns the kid looks caught between flight and fawn. Satoru hands him the rag then the water. 

“Tell me what you like and what you hate and if you’re allergic to anything, please tell me.”

Yuta wipes his hand off. He’s shaking. Satoru frowns at him, crouches down so he’s not looming over the boy. 

“Are you hungry?”

Yuta bites blood out of his bottom lip, constantly chapped. “Yes.”

“Okay. What would you like to eat?”

“I don’t know,” Yuta rasps. 

“What’s your favorite food?”

Yuta’s eyes skitter around the room like he’s looking for escape. “Uh. Onigiri, but–only from a convenient store.”

“If I get you one, which I want to do, would you eat it?”

“What are you going to do if I say no?”

Satoru pouts at him. “Cry.”

“...really?”

“Maybe, you don’t know.”

Yuta’s dark eyes narrow. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Kid. Coz. I know that. But also, I sort of do, because I don’t want you dying of starvation.”

“I might throw it up,” Yuta says. 

“Okay, I’ll buy more than one.”

“I don’t deserve –”

Satoru puts his hand in the kid's hair. Slightly greasy against his palm, he ruffles it, pats the kids head where he’d hug Megumi or kiss Tsumiki’s forehead. 

“What kind do you like?”

“Salmon,” said on the cusp of grating emotion. 

Satoru pops out of existence. When he lands on the linoleum floor of his favorite 7-11 he has to stand very still for a few moments until his vision rights itself. 

He buys all the salmon onigiri they have. 

Yuta eats two and doesn’t throw up either. 

It takes a few months before Yuta’s ribs have healed and in that time Satoru thinks he’s slotted cleanly into their dynamic. Satoru gets him enrolled in school with Tsumiki and starts the long, agitating process of adopting a child that has been marked outcast by every aspect of his life. Satoru meets Yuta’s parents one time, in the sleek office of a downtown law firm. They demand money from Satoru five minutes into the conversation, claiming he kidnapped Yuta and they plan to get his ass thrown in prison. Satoru pays them nothing and walks away with Yuta legally under his care. The Higher Ups at the school are still a work in progress that Satoru is chipping at or ignoring. Rika has been dormant, so much so that Shoko finally got to apply some RCT to Yuta’s ribs. 

It’s also in those months that Satoru loses his first years. It guts him. He picks up their corpses or their parts, holds them in his arms, staring down at them. He doesn’t understand at first, looking at the face of his spear user. Crumpled in on itself, bone protruding. Satoru loses all six of them. 

Shoko hands him a cigarette when Satoru finishes laying the last salvageable corpse on the tables in the morgue. She doesn’t say anything. Hands him the smoke and her lighter that was once Suguru’s lighter, and snaps on gloves. Satoru hides out in the trees, right at the edge of the perimeter where the shrines are ancient and real. He sits down, back to stone god covered in clinging moss and smokes the cigarette. 

And at the end of these months, it’s Yuta’s birthday and Tsumiki goes on a date. The news had made Satoru feel strange. He met the ass wipe at Yuta’s small birthday celebration. Tsumiki hung off his arm, introducing him to her dad and brothers; bouncing on her toes. The boy was stiff as he greeted Satoru. Bleach burnt blond, freckled and moley. His clothes hung purposefully off his body and he smelled like badly concealed body odor. He looks at Tsumiki like she’s a walking waist and skirt. And not Satoru’s daughter just stepping into teenhood.  Megumi’s ire was a palpable thing. There was only so much he took before he slipped away to sulk by the table where Yuta’s cake sat. 

Satoru smiled and smiled and kept smiling until the kid was out of his sight. It makes him feel older, makes him see his kids as older. Actually older. He hasn’t held either of them on his hip for a few years. Satoru looks away from Tsumiki and Ass Wipe, grabs a soda and chugs it so he can feel the burn in his nose. 

The party was nice; Yuta ate cake and an onigiri and only looked slightly panicky when he opened gifts. Satoru got him practical things. Clothes, new high top sneakers, that sort of thing. But Satoru also gave Yuta a stuffed otter he got from a maybe cursed gift shop in Oregon. Satoru is all for indulgent gifts.

If Satoru sits up the night Tsumiki is out at the movies, waiting for her to come home, very aware of Mergumi doing the same, that’s no one's business.

The weather is turning away from rain when Yuta approaches Satoru about his curse. He tells Satoru what happened. He tells it like he’s pulling it physically out of his body. Hunched over on the couch, wringing his hands between his knees. Satoru watches him tell it, dispel it. What a keen ache love drives into your chest. Fills your bones. What a cruel monster it is, curled like a friendly, finicky creature against the finest layers of the human soul. Satoru thinks about Suguru,those few years of hazy cornflower blue, less often now. But sitting here, putting a hand on Yuta’s shoulder, squeezing it, he thinks of the cruelty. The cruelty and how much he still thinks that hurt feels like life. 

Chapter Text

The death of six young sorcerers places Satoru on trial. It’s a rushed affair that ends with him barely skirting probation and with the task of finding replacements. Satoru standing in front of the committee, Utahime, Yaga, Gakuganji, a few others, clenches his jaw when his task is presented to him. He cuts Gakuganji off when the man starts to read off potential names. 

“Are we not going to acknowledge that the curse was able to kill six of my students? It was inaccurately reported as a swarm of grade threes I sent them out together for team building and they got smacked with a grade one borderline special grade.”

Satoru’s mouth trembles with anger. 

“Miscalculations happen,” Gakuganji says. 

“No. Not like this. Its been a fucking pattern.”

“Gojo,” Yaga says. “Calm down.”

“They killed my students,” Satoru snaps. “They killed them because I kept Yuta alive.”

Gakuganji cracks his fingers, each pop more condescending than its predecessor. “Well, you seem to understand what you did wrong and can prevent this in the future.”

“Wrong? I didn’t do shit wrong.”

Utahime carefully places the tablet she’d been reading down in front of her. “Gojo, we’re being generous with our punishment. Take this as an opportunity to fix this.”

“Fix it.” Satoru stands straight. “Yeah. Okay. I’m so glad that they’ve taught you to roll over, Iori.”

He marches out of the room, before he marches back in and snatches the list from Gakuganji’s crooked fingers. 

Utahime finds him later. He’d been sent out on a mission not ten minutes after he'd left the committee chamber, still pissed and cruel in the ways he dealt with curses. Satoru came back to campus instead of going home where his kids would come home hours later. The coffee machine in the teachers break room groans as it churns out a brew for him. There’s no more creamer in the empty jug in the fridge, so Satoru digs crystalized honey out of the cabinets to add in with eleven packets of sugar. 

“I’m not a dog.”

Satoru doesn’t turn towards Utahime where she speaks from the door. He stirs his coffee carefully. Rips through the tops of more sugar and dumps them in. Stirs again, then sucks on the spoon and leaves it to stain a brown oval into the countertop. 

“Satoru, I’m not a dog.”

He ignores her still until she’s huffing and crossing the room to grab Satoru’s wrist. Her fingers are rebounded, but she’s facing him now. Satoru looks up at her slowly. Mouth pressed into a severe line. 

“You aren’t?”

“No,” Utahime scoffs. “How dare you say so.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Satoru takes a sip of his gritty coffee. It burns his tongue and scalds his throat. He sits in one of the old upholstered chairs, staring past Utahime. She watches him silently before sighing and leaning against the counter. 

“These processes are set in place to keep people accountable, Satoru. Don’t tell me it's a ‘rules for thee but not for me’ situation.”

Satoru takes another sip. “I didn’t kill those kids.”

“They were under your tutelage.”

“I was in a different country,” Satoru hisses. “I sent them together to watch each other’s backs on a mission that should have been a walk in the park. I gave them money to get dinner and splurge because I knew they’d be done with time to spare.”

“Gojo…”

“I have the paperwork,” Satoru says. “I have the mission specs. I have the proof. And not just from this time.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

Satoru smiles tightly at her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I’m sorry.”

Another burning sip. Satoru’s hands are shaking, a  jittery motion that  makes the cup slide across his bottom lip. 

“Satoru,”Utahime says. Her voice is soft. “I’m sorry, okay? I know how you feel–”

“No you don’t.” Satoru gets up. He dumps the rest of the coffee into the sink. “And that’s fine. How are you supposed to understand me?”

“Basic empathy,” Utahime offers. 

“I don’t need pity,” Satoru says. “I need my allies to act like it.”

“Allies?”

“Are we friends?” Satoru crushes the cup in his hand, tosses it into the trash. 

Utahime opens her mouth. Closes it. Flounders and flushes. 

“You know the higher ups are rotten,” Satoru says. “You know they manipulate the system for their advantage alone. Why do you–”

Satoru shakes his head, rubs at the scar on his forehead. Utahime is watching him almost serenely. 

“Why do you, Satoru? If I’m a dog, what are you?”

“You’re right.” Satoru laughs. “I’m no better, I’m worse! They’ll put me down after I’ve sat, rolled, and barked. When they’ve grown bored of jacking off to my obedience.”

“Satoru!”

He shrugs an exaggerated motion, flinging his hands out. “You know what? I’d kill them right now and sleep like a baby in my seals.”

Utahime cringes away from him, holding an arm up between them. Satoru grins at her, jabs a finger at the space she’s putting between them like that means anything . 

“That’s why, Utahime.”

Silence layers between them, interrupted only by Utahime’s pathetic attempts to calm her breathing without clueing Satoru into what she’s doing. 

“I didn’t come in here to fight with you,” Utahime finally says. “I wanted to talk.”

“You wanted me to apologize,” Satoru says. “I’m not feeling it.”

Utahime’s fists curl. “Fine.”

“Have you seen Shoko today?” Satoru asks, he puts his hands in his pockets. Still trembling. Maybe from the caffeine on an empty stomach. 

“Of course,” Utahime says. She looks chagrin. 

“Good. She misses you.”

Utahime nods, looking at the floor, her hands relaxing. “If I knew her any less I’d ask her to come to Kyoto.”

“Ha, yeah. I’m not–” Satoru cuts himself off as a wave of dizziness sends his equilibrium slanting sharply. Satoru feels his stomach in the back of his throat. His face gets numb and heavy. “I’m going to have a seizure.”

Satoru reaches for the nearest piece of furniture, gets a hand around it and halfway to the floor before Utahime is reaching for him. Infinity flickers around Satoru, buffeting Utahime away. Satoru doesn’t have much conscious control over it at this moment. The technique is registering Utahime as a threat by itself. It will fizzle out when Satoru loses consciousness, whether he wants that or not. 

“What do I do, Satoru?!”

Satoru lays down, on his side, he doesn’t have medication on him to stop the seizure, nor the capacity to tell Utahime to time it. He’s down in recovery position, letting his jaw loosen to spare his teeth or dribble vomit and foam if it comes to that. He’ll be alright.  Utahime’s panicked face is the last thing he really registers before he’s coming back out of it to Shoko counting his pulse out loud. Her mouth moves in the shape of Satoru’s name before his vision dips out again. 

The room is different when Satoru becomes aware for the second and final time. The furniture has been pushed away, a collection of medical supplies litter the floor and Megumi is sitting by Satoru, a hand wrapped around Satoru’s wrist. 

“What?” Satoru mumbles. “Why aren’t you at school?”

Megumi whips his head around to look at Satoru’s face. “Shoko, he’s awake. And talking.”

The click of Shoko’s heels reverberates through the floor. She kneels down and cups Satoru’s face. She shines a light in his eyes, frowning deeply at what she sees. 

“Your pupils aren’t reacting. Can you see?”

“Yeah,” Satoru mumbles. “Why’s Megumi not at school?”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Siezure.”

Shoko tucks her light into the pocket of her coat. “Cluster seizures, Satoru. Four, back to back, no recovery period. The longest was more than five minutes. That’s status epilepticus.”

“Mrhg.”

Megumi’s hand is sweaty where he’s gripping Satoru. He squeezes hard enough that Satoru’s fingers twitch.

“Do you feel dizzy?” Shoko asks. 

“Sort of,” Satoru says. 

“Vision?” 

“Fine.”

“Breathing?”

Satoru’s chest shudders. “Feel out of breath.”

“Okay.”

Shoko gets up. Her heels click away. Satoru shifts his head. Someone had stuffed his own uniform top under his cheek, leaving him in his white undershirt. It must have been a battle to get off. He aches as he moves. 

“Megumi,” Satoru rasps. “Is the school day over?”

“No,” Megumi says. His hair is covering his down turned face. “You weren’t stopping. They needed to give you medicine to stop it, but stupid Infinity wasn’t letting anyone in.”

“So…”

“He had to administer lorazepam to you,” Shoko says. She kneels again at Satoru’s side, slips the mask covering of a portable oxygen can over Satoru’s mouth and instructs him how to breathe. 

Satoru can see Megumi’s jaw working from under the dark cover of his hair. He still hasn’t let go of Satoru’s wrist even as he scoots to get out of Shoko’s way as she feels Satoru’s throat and checks his heart. 

“Fuck, Satoru,” she murmurs when she leans back. “I thought you were going into cardiac arrest at one point.”

It does feel like Satoru’s chest has spent a lengthy stay under Megumi’s elephant. 

“How do you administer lor–that?” Satoru asks when the oxygen mask has been removed. 

Shoko holds up a needle, waggling it between her fingers. “This. Right into your thigh.”

“Oh.”

That explains the unpleasant feeling throbbing in his muscle there. 

Megumi lets go of his wrist. Satoru’s hand falls onto the floor with a loud slapping sound and a sting across his knuckles. The boy gets up and leaves, shoving past Yaga who Satoru only notices now. Utahime is still there too, sitting on the floor, chewing her mouth bright pink. 

Satoru wheezes on his next exhale and Shoko replaces the mask. 

“I think it was stress,” Shoko says when Satoru is finally able to sit up. “You’ve been taking your meds, right?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “I took them this morning.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not good,” Shoko says. “When was the last time you saw your doctor?”

“I don’t know, a few months.” Satoru rolls his neck. 

“You should go back,” Shoko says. “See what’s going on, maybe look into a new prescription. Utahime said you were upset?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “I was pissed.”

Shoko nods silently. “Get an appointment.”

“I will. I’m going to go find my kid, I think I fucked up. Sorry for the inconvenience everyone.”

“We’re not letting you wander around yet, Satoru,” Shoko says. She’s cleaning up her supplies with one hand, the other reaching for Satoru like she wants to yank him back down onto the floor. 

Walking is a bit stiff on the first few steps, but Satoru brushes off Shoko’s outstretched hands.

“Yaga, stop him,” Shoko admonishes. Her fingers barely miss grabbing the cuff of Satoru’s pants. 

Yaga puts a firm hand on Satoru’s shoulder before he can get to the door, redirecting him to the chair from earlier, now halfway across the room. Satoru grits his teeth, but sinks down when he’s pushed. 

“I need to go find Megumi before he chooses shadows over his current existence.”

“I’m sure he’s with the other kids,” Yaga says. 

“The others are here?”

Yaga looks regretful. “Yes.”

“Oh my god, why?” Satoru puts his head in his hands. 

“Satoru, I couldn’t give you life saving medication, what was I supposed to do?” Shoko snaps. She’s still cleaning stuff up.

“Not show all my kids my seizing body,” Satoru groans. “And isn’t Tsumiki the little doctor?”

The room gets quiet. Satoru looks up from his palms. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“You wouldn’t let her or Yuta past Infinity,” Yaga says. “We went to her initially.”

“Oh.” Satoru swallows. “Why–where are they now?”

Shoko finally gets off the floor. She sets her bag on the counter and fills a cup of water for Satoru. She has to wrap his uncooperating fingers around it. 

“They didn’t really like looking at your seizing body,” she says. “Drink that entire cup.”

Satoru drinks the water. He’s being watched like he’s about to go up in flames. By all but Utahime, who  won’t look at him, and Satoru doesn’t have the energy to convince her that it wasn’t her fault.

“How do you feel?” Shoko asks when he’s done.

“Kinda like I’m gonna hurl,” Satoru says. He leans back into the sinking cushioning. “Fuck me.”

Shoko smiles dryly at him, she takes the cup and quietly asks Yaga to find a bowl or trashcan for Satoru to hold. He’s given a little trashcan that was under the sink. Satoru curls an arm around it, presses his face against the cool plastic. It smells slightly like old food. 

“We might want to take you to the hospital this evening,” Shoko says. She’s sitting on the arm rest of the chair. 

“Maybe,” Satoru murmurs. 

The silence is heavier this time. 

“Do you…want to?”

“Maybe.”

Shoko sighs. “Okay, we–”

“No,” Satoru interrupts her. “I don’t want to go. Just–let me sit here for a little bit.”

Eventually she moves away from him to talk quietly with Yaga and Utahime. Satoru cradles the trashcan like it’s a baby, blinking rapidly as his vision tunnels and goes out. 

“Fuck,” Satoru breathes. “I can’t see, Shoko.”

The familiar smell of her hands enters Satoru’s nose as she cups his face. Shoko peels back his eyelids, he hears the light click on. Then off. Shoko makes a frustrated noise. 

“Your pupils are reacting now. What the fuck?”

“I dunno,” Satoru says. He’s exhausted. So tired he feels a little insane with it. 

The hot cold sensation of Shoko’s reverse curse technique makes Satoru’s stomach jump and Infinity fizzle along the left side of his body. Shoko hisses at him to keep it in check, and presses her hands to his temples. She cradles his skull for three minutes. 

“Better?”

“No,” Satoru says. 

“Is there any input?”

“No,” Satoru says. “Completely dark.”

Six Eyes is all but absent. A little flicker buried somewhere in the back of Satoru’s brain. 

“Fuck.” 

Shoko’s hands curl into his hair, nails digging into his scalp. 

“Hey, it’ll be okay. This isn’t the first time this has happened.” 

The trashcan is shoved back into Satoru’s arms. He clutches it as Shoko moves away. 

“Never after something so…violent,” Shoko murmurs. 

Nerve grating silence. Satoru digs his fingers into plastic. 

“What do we do?” Satoru asks. His voice is level. “What do we do if this happens in the middle of a fight? What do we do if this cripples me?”

Silence. 

“Hello?!”

“Satoru,” Yaga speaks up. “If it cripples you, then it does.”

“No,” Satoru says. “I don’t accept that. I’ve done everything I can to fix this, I’m not getting taken out for something like this.”

“Satoru–”

“No. I refuse to let Toji do this to me!”

“It's not just Toji. Your–”

“I’m still built for it!” Satoru snaps. “I’m still built for my technique even if it wears on me. I was fine before I got stabbed through the fucking face!”

“That’s what happens when you receive life altering injuries that you neglect, Satoru,” Shoko says, her voice razor thin and cutting. “Now calm down. We don’t need you seizing again.”

Satoru simmers. He sinks further against the chair, swallows down bitter, coffee flavored bile. He wonders if he should just vomit. Sometimes that’s enough to kick his body back into gear. 

“I’m better than this,” Satoru says through grit teeth. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Yaga says. 

“It’s been so long,” Satoru mourns. “It’s been years. Why is he still hurting me?”

And that does break coming out of Satoru’s mouth. Burns him in shame as if comes out pitiful and wounded. Satoru turns his face away from where he thinks people are standing in the room. He wonders if the rest of the campus knows Satoru Gojo has spent an indeterminate amount of time crippled on the breakroom floor. 

“Keep the kids away,” Satoru says. “I’m going to sleep.”

“...because Infinity stayed up when he was unconscious? That’s my only working theory. Put double strain on his brain.”

Shoko’s voice is muzzy. The sound of sleet spits against the window across the room. Satoru opens his eyes. He can see out of his left normally and with Six Eyes out of his right. Satoru lets out a sigh. 

“I can see. Kind of.”

Yaga turns to look at him, approaching in two quick strides. He cups Satoru’s face, turns it one way and then the other. 

“Your eyes do look clearer. Shoko?”

Out comes the light. Flash bangs Satoru so badly he jerks and hisses. Shoko purses her lips. 

“I don’t know. They are clearer. Six Eyes?”

“Back,” Satoru says. 

“Okay. Can you refresh your brain?”

“Why…didn’t I do that before?”

Shoko’s eyebrows go to her hairline. “Could you?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says in wonder. “I think my brain cells are dying.”

“Try.”

Satoru’s little brain refreshers are so unconscious at this point that it makes him pause as he tries to remember how to kick it into gear. And he supposes it wasn’t completely gone, because it just ramps up instead of coming screaming back to flood through his system. Light, and blobby shapes come through his right eye and Six Eyes sharpens to its usual flare. This is only slightly agonizing for a moment before Satoru’s tired brain assimilates back. It takes two seconds. A long time. Satoru can normally refresh in one half of half a second. 

“It’s not back yet in my right eye, but it’s getting more input.”

“Good,” Shoko says. “Why did Infinity stay up?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru confesses. “I’ve been practicing trying to keep it up while unconscious. Maybe my hard work finally paid off.”

“In detriment to your health,” Yaga rumbles. 

“Still trying to figure out how to have my cake and eat it too with this one,” Satoru says. 

He smiles something strained at the three clustered faces. Satoru is tired of being here, of watching worried, scared, and purposefully blank faced, crowd him. The trashcan is now lukewarm. Satoru drops it onto the floor. 

“Utahime, why are you still here?”

She startles at being addressed, then frowns at Satoru. “Are you really asking me that?”

“Sure.” Satoru gestures at the window, dark, streaked with the golden light of the outdoor lamps. “It's late, Kyoto is pretty far off. You don’t want to miss the train.”

“The train is gone,” Utahime says. 

“Ohoh, you’re staying here?” Satoru wiggles his brows. “Gonna be a good night in the morgue.”

“Shut up,” Utahime hisses. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Satoru says. 

“Stop it you two,” Shoko sighs. She rubs an exhausted hand up her face, cupping it around her eyes. “Just. Stop.”

Utahime takes a breath, looks down. “Sorry, Shoko.”

“We’re all tired,” Yaga interjects. “There’s a bunch of scared, hungry kids in my office right now. Tell us what we need to do Shoko so we can do it.”

“It’s up to Satoru if he wants to stay here or go home. Personally, I think you should stay here, but I know the kids make things hard.”

“I can stay here,” Satoru says. “The kids will be alright on their own tonight.”

Shoko jerks a nod. “Great. Pick a room close to someone. I’m going home.”

When it’s just Satoru and Yaga the man turns to Satoru. 

“One day you’re going to need Utahime, you should play nice.”

“I do not want to have this conversation right now,” Satoru says. He lets his head fall back against the hard back of the chair. “How scared are the kiddos?”

Scared enough that when Satoru staggers into the door of Yaga’s office, Tsumiki almost takes him off his feet careening into his chest. 

“Sorry,” Satoru says. “Sorry, sorry.”

Yuta looks haggard in the light from the lamp on Yaga’s desk. He stood when Satoru opened the door, took an aborted step forward and then lingered until Satoru smiled at him. And then he comes and lets Satoru put his hand in his hair. Megumi, sitting on the floor in a corner with White, won’t look at Satoru. 

One doctor's appointment later and Satoru is on a new set of meds and back on missions. Yaga had done everything he could to keep Satoru grounded, but a day off for a doctor’s appointment was all he could get. It’s been a busy season. The weather has been a confusing mix of biting cold and warm days, stirring up infestations and making life generally more miserable. Life at home is also stressing Satoru out. The kids are being weird. Tsumiki and Yuta are walking on eggshells around him and Megumi is indifferent to everything .

But like anything under strain, something is bound to snap. 

“Dad,” Tsumiki says one afternoon when Satoru comes banging in from France. She takes the bag of goodies he offers her and sets it aside. Crossing her arms over her chest, Tsumiki lets out a shaking sigh. “You’re being stupid.”

Satoru blinks at her. “What?”

Tsumiki raises a brow at him, a habit she picked up from Shoko. “You’re being stupid.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Miki,” Satoru chuckles. “Too many souvenirs for one week?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Dad,” Tsumiki sighs. “You need to take a break. This isn’t good for you.”

“I’m okay,” Satoru assures. “Honest. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Do you know how many times you’ve said that to me?” Tsumiki says. “It’s…you’re such a liar .”

“Tsumiki,” Satoru breathes. “I’m not lying.”

“You are. You always do. I’m not a baby. You can tell me the truth”

“I–”

“It's not protecting me either!” Tsumiki swipes a hand between them. “How do you think it feels to think you’re okay, because that’s what you say , and then watching you seize for almost nine minutes out of nowhere?”

“I don’t–”

“I know you can’t help somethings,” Tsumiki says before Satoru can continue. She refolds her arms, brow crumpled, “but you could at least try to understand what we’re feeling.”

Satoru looks down at his socked feet, choking suddenly on a burning ball of emotion and hurt that crawls up his throat. Tsumiki has always made Satoru feel like a normal person. She doesn’t need him because he’s Satoru Gojo, just because he’s Satoru, her dad. She’s so good at making him feel human. And now she’s staring at him with something close to the looks he gets from his peers and students, telling him he’s not capable of understanding her emotions. Satoru covers his mouth quickly before a sound can come out of him. 

“Dad?”

“I feel you, Miki,” Satoru rasps. 

“...really? So you’ll take some time off?”

Satoru stares at the floor harder, wishing he’d kept his eyes wrapped. “Its never that simple.”

Tsumiki makes a frustrated sound. She paces off down the hall before pivoting on her foot to look back at him. “Well you’re being a stupid liar!”

She runs up the stairs leaving Satoru trying to get answers out of the floorboards. 

Satoru makes dinner alone that night in a house that’s unnaturally quiet. Yuta at least sits at the dining table to work through his math. He has to though, he’s god awful at it. Satoru quietly helps him with the problems, leaning over Yuta’s shoulder feeling disconnected from his body as he murmurs about quadratic equations. Yuta is in a year lower math class and he still struggles to understand what Satoru is saying. 

Megumi gets home from baseball, goes to his room, puts a door between himself and Satoru’s greeting, and hasn’t come out since. 

And Tsumiki hasn’t made a reappearance down the stairs. 

“Here go,” Satoru says as he slides Yuta a plate. 

The food is half burnt, a casualty of Satoru’s distracted mind. Yuta smiles tightly at him. Satoru raps his knuckles against Megumi’s door a few times before he gives up and covers both Megumi and Tsumiki’s plates. They’ll know where to find them in the fridge.

Satoru and Yuta eat in silence. He still keeps an eye on Yuta’s food intake, not as harshly as before but bad days bring out bad habits. Satoru has to push his own nausea down and eat at a steady pace. His bad day shouldn’t bring out bad habits in others. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” Yuta offers when they’re finished. He’s whispering like he can’t find it in himself to speak loudly into the quiet house.

“No,” Satoru says. “Leave them. It’s fine.”

“Co-cool. Uhm. I–”

“Do you think I’m a liar?” Satoru asks. 

Yuta swallows. “Well. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Night, sleep, space, tends to heal some wounds, but in the morning Tsumiki doesn’t speak to him as he herds the kids  out the door for school. Aimee and Jackson are waiting for her at the curb. Aimee notices something wrong immediately, and Jackson–a new friend of Tsumiki’s–sends a dark look at Satoru. The boys join them without much fanfare. Yuta is the only one that sends a stilted wave back at Satoru. 

Yaga finds Satoru in the middle of a dojo, sweating a spot in the middle of his shirt, staring down at his wrapped hands. 

“You’re scaring the students.”

“I’m not a teacher today,” Satoru says. 

“You will be a teacher tomorrow though.”

Yaga picks his way across the room. Around the mess Satoru has made. 

“Did you have to do this?”

“Well there was nothing big to blow up,” Satoru says. 

Satoru can see his old teacher through the mirrors that wrap around the room. He examines Satoru like he’s a bomb about to go off. Satoru is better than that though. The only things broken in this room are things designed to be broken. Satoru is leaking sweat and cursed energy, but nothing has manifested. 

“What is it?” Yaga asks him. 

“Oh, nothing, my kids just hate me.”

“Hate you? I find that hard to believe.”

Satoru huffs a humourless laugh. He peels his shirt off, tosses it onto the floor and walks over to his duffle bag. It’s been slumped against the wall Satoru had chucked it at nearly four hours ago. He digs out a water bottle and a towel he accidentally stole from a hotel in Peru. 

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?” Yaga asks. 

Satoru ruffles the towel through his hair, grimacing behind the cover of his forearm. “I’m a liar.”

“I’d say ‘prone to white lies’,” Yaga hums. 

“Great. Thanks.”

“Satoru,” Yaga sighs. “You’re brashly honest when it comes to everything but yourself.”

“Then it shouldn’t matter.”

“I highly doubt anyone thinks that.”

Satoru looks at him. “It’s so much easier if people just…didn’t care. I know that’s so much easier for everyone anyways. Kento, Mei Mei, Utahime, the Higher Ups, they don’t care, they eat up the shit I feed them and everyone is happier for it.”

“Why is it easier?”

“Becuase I won’t have to worry about them worrying.”

Yaga laughs. A full bellied thing that makes Satoru bristle. 

“What’s funny?”

“Satoru, it's not your place to police people’s emotions. You can’t, especially not people who care about you.”

“I know,” Satoru scowls. “But they’re kids.”

“Smart kids.”

Very smart kids. 

Satoru sighs. “I don’t know how to fix this one. I can’t give them what they want.”

“Then you can’t give them what they want,” Yaga says. “But you can give them something. Your kids love you. They’ll come around.”

“Sure.”

“Clean this up, and stop moping. I need to show you something about a relic found in Alberta.”

Satoru sniffs, nods, and bends down to repack his bag. Yaga walks out of the room and when Satoru’s sure he’s gone he stays crouched on the floor, wraps his arms around himself and swallows back the soul consuming desire to weep. 

Things don’t get better. They don’t get better because Satoru gets busier. The Higher Ups don’t budge. He misses one of Megumi’s final baseball games of the season and when he tries to ask about it Megumi tells him point blank that he doesn’t deserve to know. He arrives late at a career day for Tsumiki and she doesn’t smile at him the entire time. Maybe it’s because he gets up in front of a room full of people and lies through his fucking teeth. His only moments of peace at home are working through algebra with Yuta or burying himself in his bedding. 

Satoru is miserable. A misery that drags at everything he does, that makes his Purples doubly devastating. He’s back to sleeping in Yaga’s office any chance he gets, including when he could go home.

Satoru takes out of country missions with a buttload of complaining now. He tries to fight for himself with the Higher Ups, but things are nasty out there and Satoru is more or less keeping the sorcerer world from folding under the slightest pressure. So he’s in America, down in some crappy town built on peanut economics fighting a regenerative curse when his phone rings. Satoru gets the device out of his pocket, a touch screen that came onto the market recently, just to glance at it. It’s Megumi’s school. Horror fills Satoru and he answers. He gets the gist of it over a connection struggling over several thousand miles that’s only getting through at all because Satoru’s phone isn’t entirely  normal. The gist is: Megumi, fight, blood, angry parents, refusal to just let the kid leave, come get him now or expulsion. The curse throws a bus at Satoru. It crumples around Infinity and Satoru steps around it only to get hit with a fucking tractor. The curse forces him out of the sky into the burnt out shell of a damn peanut factor. It spews a mouthful of sharpheaded seed pods that Infinity is being stupid about. 

Satoru’s phone rings again. 

Megumi’s school. 

Satoru lets it ring through, fires off Red at the curse, ducks behind a conveyor belt when more seeds come pelting towards him at the speed of sound. It’s getting faster too. 

The phone rings a third time. 

“Give me five damn minutes," Satoru breathes. He lets it ring out then desperately swipes through his contacts. He puts the phone to his ear, holds it with his shoulder and leaps into the air to get above the curse. 

“Come on,” he mutters into the phone as he fires down Red and Red and more Red. “Pick up.”

“...Gojo.”

“Oh thank fuck! Nanami, Nanamin, Kento, the Sun To My Sky–” Satoru pauses to drop a kick onto the curse, sending it careening across the factory floor. 

“What–are you fighting a curse?”

“Yeah!” Satoru says. He ducks a flying hunk of machinery.

“Why are you calling me?”

“I need a favor, like super super bad. I will pay you, or delete your number from my contacts,  or get you a million boring sandwiches if you do it for me.”

“ No.”

Satoru charges the curse, clapping his palms together to teleport behind the thing and the cloud of seeds it’s surrounded by. He hits it again, two kicks this time, drenched in his power.  It won’t die.

“Kento, please . I know I’m a pain in the ass, but I need help.”

Another motherfucking tractor folds itself around Infinity. It pushes Satoru back hard enough he slams into the wall on the opposite side of the room. 

“Ow,” Satoru groans, rolling his neck, taking the phone from his ear to glance at it for damage. “Are you still there?”

“You need help?” Kento’s voice sounds distant and not just because he is distant.

“Yes,” Satoru says. 

He steps around the tractor and starts to conjure up Purple. He’s sick of this shit. The curse screams an outraged cloud of seeds in his direction that shreds the metal wall behind Satoru. 

“What do you need?”

“I need you to get Megumi from school for me. He got in trouble and they refused to release him alone.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes! I’m going to lose you. But he goes to Ando Middle.”

“Okay. His siblings?”

“They can get home by themselves. I’ll text Tsumiki about Gumi.”

“Right.”

“Thank you, Kento,” Satoru breathes. “Let me know what you want and I’ll make it happen. Laters!”

Satoru hangs up, lets the phone fall onto the floor and fires off Purple. It hits the little weak spot in the curse’s left armpit that Satoru had finally located on his last attack. The thing irrupts like the world's largest, grossest dandelion, and it doesn’t reform. But the building, a metric ton of steel, shakes and groans and creaks. Satoru thinks a resigned, fuck me, before the ceiling falls in on top of him. 

The night is old when Satoru drags himself home. He’s covered in dust, a smattering of little cuts, and he smells like peanut butter. He’s bone tired and got his ass chewed out for collapsing a multi million dollar building. Everything is quiet in the apartment. Satoru stands in the genkan, keys limp in his hand as he listens to nothing. He almost turns around and leaves. He doesn’t want to bring noise into a place that feels cleansed by his kids. But Satoru thinks he won’t stop if he leaves again tonight. The keys go on a little hook by the door where Tsumiki, Yuta and Megumi all hang their keys as well. All three are there. Satoru brushes his knuckles against them. 

“Gojo?”

Satoru jumps, whirling around to find Kento blinking at him from the couch. His hair is mused and there are nap scars carved into his face. 

“Hey!” Satoru whispers. “Why’re you still here?”

Kento gets off the couch. He folds his arms over his chest, blinking rapidly to get the sleep out of his eyes. 

“I…just figured it would be better if I didn’t leave them alone. I made them dinner.”

“Thanks,” Satoru says. “I appreciate it.”

Satoru draws closer so he can clap Kento on the shoulder. He’s in a t-shirt, one of Satoru’s actually, and it’s such a bizarre sight that Satoru snickers. Kento frowns at him, his nose wrinkling. 

“Why do you smell like–what is that?”

“Peanut butter,” Satoru says. 

“Where were you today?”

Satoru waves Kento off. He’s too tired to talk about backwater American towns and dandelion curses. 

“Megumi?” Satoru asks. 

Kento frowns hard. “Stubborn. You definitely raised him. He did more damage to the person he was fighting.”

“Never doubted him,” Satoru says. He smiles as he reaches up to unwind the sweat stiff bandages from his face. 

“You shouldn’t–”

“Yeah. Duh,” Satoru interrupts. “But I don’t have any problems with him beating up bullies. I will talk to him about not doing it in the middle of the school day.”

Satoru drops the bandages onto the counter in his kitchen. He fills a glass with tepid water and drinks it leaning heavily against the sink. Kento moves stiffly behind him, lingering as he watches Satoru. The house is lit only by the oven’s overhead light and a night light from the aquarium that projects waves onto the ceiling. That thing is years old, and the blue glow has dimmed enough that it’s more of a hint of an image. Satoru can’t bring himself to throw the little thing away. The lights, blue, yellow,  catch along the golden mess of Kento’s hair, the only thing truly visible in the dark. 

“Shoko told me about your seizures,” Kento says. His voice barely eclipses the space between them.

“Yeah,” Satoru says. Everyone knows, everyone knows . 

“Are you– You’re fine, right?”

Satoru drinks another glass of water. He puts the glass upside down in the sink and turns to face Kento. 

“Peachy.”

“Satoru.”

Satoru smiles at Kento. “You don’t want to hear it.”

“I asked.”

“You asked, wanting me to say, ‘peachy, Kento’, yeah?” 

“No. I asked because I’m genuinely curious.”

Satoru swallows and keeps smiling. “I’m miserable. Really just deeply unhappy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“All good,” Satoru says. 

Pushing himself off the counter, Satoru pulls his uniform top off. It really does reek. He hopes it won’t make the rest of the laundry littered around his room smell like peanuts. Maybe he’ll get it dry cleaned, make it someone else's problem. 

“What can I do to make up for taking care of my kiddos?” Satoru asks Kento. 

Kento watches him silently for a few moments before he sighs and his arms fall down from around his chest. 

“You don’t have to, Satoru. They’re kids. It’s our job to take care of them.”

“I agree,” Satoru says. He yawns. “But let me repay you.”

“I’ll take you up on that sandwich offer,” Kento relents. 

“I knew you weren’t going to be able to stop thinking about that,” Satoru says. He wiggles his brows. “It’s a date. You and the sandwiches, I’m just there as a successful wing man. You’re going to have gorgeous slider babies.”

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Hah, I’m so tired,” Satoru laughs, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand across the tight muscles in the base of his neck.

“Go to sleep then. I’ll head out.”

Satoru yawns again. “No, you can sleep on the couch, leave when the kids go to school. I’ll grab you blankets.”

Satoru gets Kento blankets and a pillow from his own bed because he has a stupid amount and the spares went to Yuta. Satoru makes the couch into a bed half dozing, moving on auto pilot. Kento hovers and when Satoru is done he pats Kento’s chest and shuffles off thinking about nothing but showers and his bed. 

He falls asleep twice under the hot pelt of water. 

Three hours of sleep later and Satoru is up. He pulls on a fresh uniform and stuffs a roll of bandages in his pocket before he goes to rouse the kids. Kento is in his kitchen frowning into the fridge. The smell of eggs and grilled fish drags Satoru away from the boys room to snoop over what Kento is doing. 

“We had mackerel?” 

“No,” Kento says. He has a handful of greens from the bottom drawer of the fridge. “I brought it last night. Left overs. Do you want tamagoyaki?”

“Oh, careful there, Ken,” Satoru simpers. “I might never let you go.”

Kento stiffens at the nickname, but he doesn’t reprimand Satoru for using it. He turns away, dropping his vegetables on a cutting board. Satoru is also sure they didn’t have that many vegetables either. They were due for a grocery run. 

“Answer the question, Sato ,” Kento says. 

“Ew,” Satoru laughs, “don’t call me that. But yeah, I do. Thanks. I haven’t eaten breakfast in weeks!”

“Idiot,” Kento says. 

Satoru shrugs and goes to complete his first task of waking the kids up. He can hear movement in the boys room when he knocks. Probably Yuta, that kid sleeps about as much as Satoru does. Which is to say they have a total of sixteen hours combined under their belts at the end of a week. Satoru has offered him a variety of sleep aids, but their insomnia is of the supernatural influence and thus laughs in the face of melatonin gummies. 

“We have half an hour, up and at ‘em,” Satoru calls. This he repeats up the stairs to the loft before he goes to get his medication. 

With Kento in the house and Satoru running on burrowed time, the morning is less awkward. The kids aren’t as quiet as they eat. Tsumiki keeps polite conversation with Kento and talks a little bit with Satoru, even laughing at a joke he makes. Kento leaves before them, murmuring something about being late for work–Satoru needs to ask him what he does now–and then it’s just Satoru and his kids. He lingers behind them as they get their shoes on, Megumi and Tsumiki bicker about mundane shit while Yuta makes non-committal comments.

“You kids have a good day,” Satoru says, and he feels like he’s forcing it out of his throat. And like every morning he smiles at them and says, “love you.”

Unlike recent mornings, Tsumiki looks back at him, and meets his smile with her own. 

“Love you too, dad.”

“Are–you’re not mad at me anymore?” Satoru asks, like a desperate thing much younger than he is. 

Tsumiki makes a miserable sound. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. You guys want pizza tonight?”

Satoru spends his day on missions, and on a series of trains, and sitting on the top of Tokyo tower, swinging his legs as he writes his own list of potential first years. There is no time to sit with the stranger that is grief in the empty house that is mourning. He has a job to do, a future to build and a temple full of old farts to infuriate. And so, Maki Zen’in is at the top. It’s a cheeky little list, a fuck you and your opinions list. Satoru is quite proud of it. He’ll go to the Inumaki’s in the coming weeks to ask after their downy headed cursed speech user, see if they’d give the boy up to be trained by Satoru Gojo. He’s hopeful; there are few others if any others that can train a young person with such a technique. Panda, already a topic of discussion between Satoru and Yaga. And last, Yuta Okkotsu. Rika is dormant, but she doesn’t experience as many stressors; currently Yuta has his own little safeguard with Megumi’s easily provoked anger and Tsumiki’s ability to make friends with everyone, including corpse looking boys with debilitating social anxiety. So Satoru would like to see how Rika can be used to help them out, and of course he’d like to help Yuta break the curse. It is this final addition that makes Satoru excited to stand before the screens and watch them vibrate with anger. 

Standing, stretching, Satoru slides the list into the pocket of his uniform. He’ll give it to the Higher Ups in a few weeks after he’s gotten around to speaking with the Inumaki’s. He steps off the edge of the tower, free falling for a few moments before bolstering himself up. The sun is slanting down, and moisture gathers in Satoru’s hair from a storm cell moving in from the west. It’s a mild evening, a breeze starting to sweep up the streets. Satoru lands close to his favorite pizza spot, catches the end of a bandage that slips from behind his ear to be grabbed by the breeze. He unwinds them, smiles at the people who glance or stare, and then he meanders. Window shops for nothing, thinks about pizza and luxury brands in windows, thinks about watches he’ll never use, and clothing that’ll rot in the coffin that is his closet. And he doesn’t think about how quiet the house is going to be when he gets home. Or about Yuta’s sad eyes or the door between Megumi and Satoru or Tsumiki’s absence and the horrifying purgatory of ‘ I don’t know’ . 

Eventually he gets dinner, plasters on a smile and goes home. 

Chapter Text

Satoru walks in on the kids having a heated debate and to his genuine surprise, it’s Yuta speaking firmly to Megumi and Tsumiki who skulk on the couch. Somewhere between the park and now, Megumi and Tsumiki have become something that is treated almost as sacred by the boy. Yuta is more comfortable with Satoru, less careful all the time, more willing to show what he’s feeling on his face, to  be honest with Satoru. But the kids? He’s shy around them still, keeps himself lodged firmly in an identity he built from his own preconceived idea of how people view him. So it’s odd to see him speaking to Satoru’s other kids in such a firm manner.

“It’s not fair for you to punish him for–” Yuta looks up at Satoru. “Oh.”

Satoru holds up the box. “Pizza.”

He gets silence. Satoru bites back a sigh, kicks off his shoes. 

“Pizza,” Satoru says again, he drops the pizza onto the table. “And a conversation. Which do you want first?”

“C-conversation,” Yuta says. He takes a rattling breath. Nods at Tsumiki who looks pained returns the gesture in a slow careful move. 

“Cool,” Satoru says. He crosses into the living room, sits on the floor so he can face the couch. “I scared you all. And I’m sorry about that, but this? I can’t do this anymore.”

Crickets. Literally. There has to be one hiding in the room. The trilling sound is loud and bouncing. Maybe by the window. 

“Say something,” Satoru pleads. “You especially Megumi. We never–I never got to talk to you.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Tsumiki whispers. “I thought you were going to die. I don’t know what to do if that happens. You’re not…you can’t leave!”

“I’m not going to,” Satoru says. “I mean it, Tsumiki.”

“How am I supposed to even believe that?” Tsumiki scrubs her face with both hands. “Ugh! I don’t want to be angry with you, but I just–I don’t know!”

“Listen to me,” Satoru says to all three of them. “There are parts of my job, my life that I can’t make any less dangerous than they are. I can’t work less because people will die if I do. My colleagues will die and innocent people will die.”

“But someone else has to be able to!” Tsumiki says in an outburst that makes Megumi flinch. 

Satoru leans forward, looks her in the eye. “There is no one else, Tsumiki. There is no one else.”

“It’s not fair.”
“It is fair,” Satoru says. “It would be unfair to assign sorcerers to curses they can’t handle. I even out the scale, Tsumiki.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Tsumiki falls back against the couch. Megumi has yet to even acknowledge Satoru. It burns down the rest of the patience and understanding he’d stacked into a precarious pyramid in his mind. And Satoru gets angry. He’s on his feet, towering over the couch, hand on his hip, the other jabbing a finger at them. 

“This? All of this? These weeks of…bullshit, I’m done with it. I couldn’t help the seizures, I didn’t ask Shoko to make you all watch it. I’m sorry it scared you, fuck I’m even sorry I can’t magically fix everything, but you can’t keep doing this to me. Goddamnit guys.”

Tsumiki sniffles. 

“You’ve been cruel,” Satoru says, softer but still biting. 

“I’m sorry,” Tsumiki whimpers. “I’m sorry. I just got so angry at you every time you just kept going.”

“You can be angry at me all you want,” Satoru says, “but I’m drawing the line at cruelty. You guys have made me miserable lately.”

“I didn’t want to scream at you,” Tsumiki says. 

“Scream at me, hit me, tell me you hate me,” Satoru says. “I prefer it. I can deal with that.”

Tsumiki starts to cry. She snorts grossly, wipes at her cheeks. “Do you hate us now?”

“No,” Satoru says. “No, of course not.”

“Will you forgive me?” Tsumiki hiccups.

“Yeah,” Satoru murmurs. 

“Can we hug?”

Satoru opens his arms, lets Tsumiki slide off the couch and bury her gross face against his uniform. He pats her head, sighs heavily. He can admit his feelings are still hurt, will remain hurt once this conversation is over and they sit eating pizza. But it’s a start. 

“Megumi?” Satoru asks. 

The boy shakes his head and sighs. 

Satoru bumps his shoulder against Yuta’s after dinner and math. The kid is sitting on the couch, gripping a game controller. His Luigi had been driving backwards down Rainbow Road until Megumi had come and mercy pushed him off the track. Yuta looks at Satoru, shrinking a bit under Satoru’s grin. 

“Thanks for standing up for me,” Satoru whispers.

Yuta nods. He picks at the sticker Tsumiki had put on the controller to mark it as Yuta’s. It’s a little cartoon otter–that’s become a thing in their house, otters and Yuta. 

“It's been…terrible here recently,” Yuta murmurs back. 

“God I know,” Satoru groans. “It’ll get better.”

And it does. Slowly, but surely. Repentant Tsumiki gets under Satoru’s skin pretty quick. He doesn’t like the kids walking around him like he’s some god and they’re sinners. He doesn’t like that she gets teary eyed when she looks at him. He tells her as much on the walk back from Jackson’s house. He’d been in Finland, got back in time to pick her up. It’s a golden evening, warm after a week of jackets and Megumi wearing a beanie down to his eyebrows. Tsumiki skips to keep up with Satoru’s long strides, her ponytail swings and swings, and he slows when she starts to pant. 

“It sucks understanding things, doesn’t it?” Satoru asks her. 

“Hm?”

“When I had those seizures you understood it in a medical sense. That’s scary.”

Tsumiki glances at him. “It was scary anyways.”

“Yeah.” Satoru stops walking. “But I don’t think Megumi truly understood that I could have you know…kicked it.”

“Oh my god,” Tsumiki mumbles, but she smiles at him with something exacerbated. “You wonder why I was upset with you.”

“I don’t wonder at all, Miki, you made it very clear.”

Tsumiki looks away from him, down the road washed out by the sun. “Everything was really unstable before you found us. And then everything got really good. I’m maybe a little…uhm. Selfish? Maybe. I don’t want any of this to change.”

“Me neither,” Satoru says. “I don’t take you kiddos for granted and I try to take care of myself the best I know how, but I’ve been strong since I was a baby. It sounds stupid, but I killed my own mother. Sucked her lifeforce out like I was Blue.”

Tsumiki frowns. “You killed your mom?”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, like he’s stating the weather. 

It’s a fact like the forecast though. It’s a golden day, the sky is blue and Satoru Gojo killed his mother before he had a chance to experience her love. In some ways, he doesn’t mind this because he can call it love, and can envision it as such. Even if most of the time it’s a strange distorted thing missing a face and heartbeat, highly contradictory to the idea of love. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was long ago. I’m saying that I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

Tsumiki grins at him. “That’s because you don’t have to try.”

Satoru barks a laugh, slings an arm around her shoulder. “Right you are, Miki Miki.”

Tsumiki winds her arm around his waist. She’s gotten taller. Taller than Yuta, which is funny when she leans down to look in his eyes. Her and Megumi, gangly kids, growing out of summer clothing and school uniforms before Satoru can keep up. Tsumiki leans her head on Satoru’s shoulder. 

“I still don’t think it’s fair.”

“Maybe not,” Satoru admits. 

“There is no one else? What did you say you were? A special grade?”

“Oh no, I am the special grade,” Satoru says. 

Snorting, Tsumiki stands straight again. “Okay, whatever. You’re the only one?”

“No,” Satoru says. “I’m not.”

Not long ago he’d received an email from Yuki Tsukumo asking if he’d meet up with her to talk about properties of mass and technique use. Satoru had been in Mongolia, came back with a death list a mile long, in a bad mood and had sent her a nasty little reply asking if she would ever deign to show her face on campus or get her hands dirty like a real special grade. The ensuing email chain was so petty in its back and forth that Shoko requested to read each update. Satoru doesn’t really mind that Yuki Tsukumo dicks around, critiques society but ignores it for the most part. In fact the petty part of Satoru is teeth numbingly jealous of her. They met up for dinner and a tantalizing conversation about displacement theory. Satoru felt that usual wavering sense of loneliness even sitting by the only other special grade sorcerer. She looked at Satoru like she could see right through him, and put herself in Infinity’s space like she was waiting for Satoru to do something.  He’s not reactive though, not to that so he smiled at her with his teeth and declared them friends. 

He hasn’t heard from her since. 

“But I’m still the strongest, Tsumiki.”

Tsumiki makes a face. She looks up at the sky, silent for a few moments before she comes back to earth. 

“Do you ever not want to be that?”

“Rarely,” Satoru says, “it’s my nature.”

Her shoulders fall. She drops her head back to his collarbone. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry that’s disappointing,” Satoru says half on a laugh and half on a sigh. 

“It’s not disappointing,” Tsumiki says. “I mean there’s no way to change it.”

Satoru is sure some fucked up someone out there has conjured up away to strip Satoru of his power. Carve out his eyes, rewrite his DNA with some curse, kill him, ect, ect. They have to figure out how to get to him first, and that’s the kicker. 

“I also want to make sure you guys are happy.”

“We are,” Tsumiki says. “We are happy.”

“Even Megumi?”

Tsumiki nods. “Even Megumi.”

Satoru isn't sure he believes that, but he tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles.

“Good. That’s all I want in life right now.”

They continue on their way, the wrong way because Satoru doesn’t know the way back from Jackon’s house. Tsumiki starts to talk about him, his family is military, so he’s lived across the world before returning to Japan. Tsumiki says he doesn’t like her boyfriend, and Satoru decides that Jackson isn’t so bad. The boys are home when they eventually walk through the door. Tsumiki kicks off her shoes calling into the house to Yuta who has frozen in the middle of the kitchen. He has a bowl of grapes in his hand. Yuta raises his other hand in greeting. Satoru joins them in the kitchen, opens the fridge to see what he can scrounge up for dinner. 

“Where’s Megumi?” Satoru asks an hour later when he has dinner prepared and there has been no sign of the kid. 

All four keys are on the hooks, and Megumi’s shoes are tucked neatly into their place. Yuta goes stiff and Satoru peers at him. 

“Where’s Megumi?”

Yuta shuffles where he stands, and Satoru refuses to catastrophize behavior that is not so irregular.  

“Yuta?”

“Your bedroom,” Yuta mumbles. 

Satoru straightens. He hands Yuta his stirring utensils, commands him not to burn their soup and meanders towards his room. This is slightly irregular behavior. For a tweenaged Megumi at least. When he was small he had no problem crawling into Satoru’s bed. Stealing blankets, putting his heel in the small of Satoru’s back, or letting the dogs steal precious space. There was a bed wetting period when Megumi was eight that they don’t talk about now, but it made things complicated for a while. Megumi wouldn’t wet Satoru’s bed, so he slept there most nights. Now though, Satoru’s bedroom is pretty much left alone by the kids. Tsumiki will occasionally steal things from his closet or raid his lip gloss collection, but their cuddly age is long gone. 

Satoru pauses at the door, strangely nervous, his curiosity bleeding out into a deep rooted worry. The boy hasn't been the same since Satoru’s seizures. Never really a joyous creature, but a relenting one that accepted Satoru’s undying care at the farthest point of eventually. Now, Satoru thinks they’ve spoken a grand total of three mutual sentences to one another in the past weeks. Inquires on Satoru’s part, and snappish rebuttals from Megumi. For a moment Satoru wonders if he should knock before he rationalizes that it’s his room and opens the door. 

It's dark. The darkest place in the house if Satoru so desires it. Cavelike and caught in dawn and gloaming but never full daylight. The black out curtains are drawn, and there’s a lump under Satoru’s soft comforter. A Megumi and dog shaped mound, bolstering up lilac cotton. Satoru closes the door softly behind himself. He moves on silent feet to the bedside table, flips on a lamp that bleeds dull light into the room and tugs back the blanket. Megumi is asleep curled on his side, his unruly hair draped over his face. It’s gotten long. Longer than Satoru realized. White perks her head up from behind Megumi, her tail thumps against the bed until Satoru scratches her chin and makes quiet sounds to calm her excitement. Megumi doesn’t stir, nor does he so much as twitch when Satoru leans down to blow into his ear. 

“Bad day at school?” Satoru asks Yuta when he comes back to the kitchen, Megumi-less and sliding acquired sunglasses up his nose. 

Yuta nods silently. His cheeks are bulgy with grapes and he looks down at the bowl between his forearms. His eyes jump up at Satoru who is already retreating smoothly to ease off some of the stress his presence inspired. Satoru digs a soda out of the fridge, pops it and drinks half of it in one pull. 

“We’ll let him sleep a little longer,” Satoru says to no one. “And then I’ll talk to him.”

“He told me to wake him up three hours ago,” Yuta confesses in a grape garbled voice. “Before you got home.”

Satoru laughs. He reaches across the kitchen, watches Yuta nearly skitter away, before he stops himself and hesitantly puts his fist against Satoru’s. 

“Good?” Yuta asks around grape and wince. 

Satoru smiles at him, pressing their knuckles harder together. “Oh yeah.”

They let Megumi sleep through dinner, mostly because he does. Satoru half expected the kid to come storming out not long after Satoru had intruded on the sanctity of the room. He does, eventually, when dinner has been cleaned up, food set aside, and Tsumiki has pulled out a basket of nail polish to gleefully fill Satoru’s kitchen with fumes. She paints Satoru’s nails for him, frowning every time he picks out increasingly outrageous colors. Tsumiki refuses to paint both hands a nightmare of color, so one gets to be a solid and clean dark blue that glimmers when Satoru turns his hand. He’s admiring Tsumiki’s work in the light when his bedroom door opens and doom spills out.

Megumi stalks through the kitchen, ignoring Satoru to get his food from the fridge.

“What happened to your face?” Tsumiki gasps. 

She abandons her nail polish to grip Megumi’s face with nails not quite dry. Streaks of coral and green smear over pale skin as Megumi jerks his face. It turns it out of the shelter of his own hair and Satoru hisses when he sees the scraps along his chin and the bruising that swells up his eye. 

“Let go,” Megumi says, voice tight and venomous.

“No,” Tsumiki hisses. She digs in her fingers, matches the venom head on. 

Satoru gets between them when Megumi grabs Tsumiki's hair. His hand replaces Tsumiki’s. Turning Megumi’s face in the light. Green eyes burn hot against Satoru and Megumi goes very still.

“God, kid,” Satoru says. 

Megumi scratches Satoru as he wrenches his face back. It startles both of them. Megumi’s ungroomed nails peel back the skin along Satoru’s wrist in three pale lines that hesitate before they bubble up with little pearls of blood. Megumi takes two steps back, grips his shirt with his other hand. Satoru can see his breathing starting to slip, chest rising rapidly before it collapses. 

“Are you okay?” Satoru asks. “Who were you fighting?”

“Shut up,” Megumi gasps. “Don’t talk to me.”

Satoru frowns at him. “I’m trying to help you and don’t tell me to shut up.”

“I don’t want your help!”

“Well that’s too bad,” Satoru says. 

They keep first aid kits around the house. Satoru collects the one kept under the sink, the best stocked in the house in preparation for burns and cuts and other dangers that lurk in a kitchen used by three teenagers and one Satoru. Megumi bares his teeth and Satoru whirls around to face him. 

“You summon that snake in here, you don’t want to know what I’ll do,” Satoru warns. 

Megumi glares, chin tilted up, his hands caught mid symbol. “Fuck off.”

“You’re out of line, kid. You’re seriously going to sic your snake on me?”

“I probably could. Your power is a  joke,” Megumi snaps. 

Satoru sets the first aid kit on the counter. Carefully. 

“Say that again.”

“I said I probably could and that your power is a fucking joke.”

“What is wrong with you?” Satoru asks. “I’m genuinely wondering here, Megumi. You’re threatening me? In our home?”

Megumi’s knuckles are bright white, clenched at his sides. The kitchen feels like it’s narrowed down to Megumi and Satoru. Tsumiki is there and the burn of Yuta’s curse is too, just off the side where Yuta had stood awkwardly from the couch when the yelling started. But it’s just Megumi and Satoru standing at odds with each other in the battlefield of hardwood and cabinets. 

“Why did you let me through Infinity?”

Satoru squints at him. “What?’

Finally those flinty green eyes meet Satoru’s. There’s a haunted exhaustion under Megumi’s anger.

“Tsumiki tried. She tried so hard,” Megumi says. “She was crying because she couldn’t get to you, and Shoko. She was shaking. Calling your name. You let me in. I didn’t want that responsibility.”

“It was subconscious,” Satoru says, his voice strangely distant. “My technique recognized you and let you save my life.”

Megumi’s eyes are cold. “That should scare you.”

Megumi’s eyes are cold and for the first time in years Satoru thinks of Toji’s. 

“It doesn’t,” Satoru says through clamping teeth. “You’re my kid. I love you. It doesn’t scare me.”

That gets a scoff. A violent thing that flexes Megumi’s throat and draws the shadows up the walls a few dancing inches. Megumi curls away when Satoru, still stupid when it comes to this kid, reaches out for him. Megumi shoves Satoru’s hand away, darts behind him to snatch the first aid kit, and hurries back to his room. 

Satoru watches him go, winces at the door that slams between them. Again.

There’s a temple in Satoru’s dreams that night. A place he’s familiar with, vaguely. In the way a childhood home, or hideout, or person remains familiar even through smudged glass and withering memory. He knows the floors he’s walking barefoot over. He knows the smells of dust and old incense. Most of all he knows the thing standing in the middle of the room. Back lit by candles and dressed in cobwebs. He knows this thing. This object suspended like a fine piece of grotesque art. And he knows the little thing beneath it, sitting on marble toes and draped robes. He knows that little thing,that little thing looks up at Satoru and knows nothing. 

It's not a nightmare, not really. Not like Toji killing him again and again. Satoru’s chest isn’t constricting in agony and pathetic little half cries when he opens his eyes. His internal clock says that he’s been asleep for two hours, the third interrupted by the dream. Satoru stares at his ceiling knowing he’ll feel that missed hour in his shoulders and eyes in the morning, but he doesn’t try to roll around for a comfortable spot to try and steal it again. Night terrors have made petty claim over it, and his insomnia has taken pettier advantage. He’ll be up for the foreseeable however long. 

The floor is cool on his bare feet. He twitches aside the curtains to peer out at the dark street, touched by the hesitations of a green dawn. He has clan business that morning. Something dealing with money, and  yada yada. For now though, he moves quietly through the house, digs something sweet from his stashes in the kitchen and slips out onto the balcony to eat it in the chill of the receding night. He thinks about Megumi, leaning against the railing, listening to traffic start to pick up on the other side of their neighborhood. Satoru knows that Megumi isn’t wrong. There are no flaws in Infinity, especially not as he perfects and perfects and perfects it. There is no blade or bite or bullet that can penetrate his shield. But there are little things with cold green eyes that can. There’s a beating in Satoru that betrays him that he can’t fix or train into submission. 

The door slides open behind him. Satoru turns to find Yuta hovering on the seam of the door. He looks a little like a curse, actual curse notwithstanding. Ghostly in a shirt a few sizes too big. All of Yuta’s clothes are a few sizes too big. He’s filled out since Satoru took him in but he still buys larger shirts like he’s trying to shrink in a way that Rika won’t let him. 

“Hey,” Satoru says. “What’re you doing up?”

Yuta slips onto the balcony to stand by Satoru and fold his arms against the dawn chill. 

“I would ask you the same thing but that’s pointless.”

Satoru laughs a low sound. He scratches through his undercut, tugs at his hair. “Maybe.”

They stand in silence, watching stray cats emerge from alleys and sashay up the street, tails pointed straight up. Scruffy little creatures, but proud. 

“Satoru,” Yuta murmurs. 

“Yeah?”

“If I asked you what happened to Megumi’s dad, would you tell me?”

Satoru blows out a breath. “I don’t know.”

It’s quiet. Yuta shivers a little and then he sniffs and breaks the silence. 

“Are you guilty about killing him?”

Yuta meets Satoru’s gaze head on when he looks at him. He looks genuinely curious, but Satoru still wonders if he’s dreaming. Confronted about this by one of his kids is slightly nightmarish and it’s not even the worse of the three. Yuta looks not unlike the bringer of death and damning. A grim reaper in an overlarge Astro Boy t-shirt. 

“How do you know that?”

“Well…I didn’t until right now. But I sort of suspected? I also asked Ieiri why you have seizures.”

“She told you?” Satoru gasps, horrified and a little betrayed. 

“Kinda.”

Satoru covers his mouth, hangs his head, sighs out a laugh. “I don't regret it at all.”

“No?”

“No.”

Yuta pulls his arms through the short sleeves, he scoots closer to Satoru. Satoru lets down Infinity to share body heat. 

“Why doesn’t that disturb you?” Satoru asks.

Yuta looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Because I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“I’m still a murderer, and they still don’t know.”

“You’re a lot of things,” Yuta says like he’s agreeing and still leaning close to leech heat. 

They sit there together in silence until the sun finally makes an appearance. Satoru stands, pats Yuta’s shoulder. He doesn’t ask him not to tell Megumi or Tsumiki, that’s not his place. 

“I’m going to Kyoto for some family business today, want to come with?”

“I have school,” Yuta says. 

“Pfft, life is too short to not skip class occasionally.”

“Yeah, but I’m too stupid to miss any days.”

Satoru frowns at him. “Well that’s a shit attitude. It's up to you kid.”

“What use would it be if I go with you?” Yuta asks. “They didn’t want me.”

Satoru shrugs. “You’re my heir now. Thought you might like to see the compound.”

“Uh.” Yuta squirms. 

Satoru can tell he’s scratching at his palms beneath the shirt. 

“If it’s stressing you out, tell me no.”

“...no.”

“Cool. Let's go eat breakfast.”

The meeting ends up having to be pushed to the afternoon after Satoru gets an emergency call on the train. So he’s sitting amid his family, no lunch, no caffeine, listening to border disputes, when his phone rings. He gives himself a grace period where he gets the very special treat of declining it once, smiling at the judgemental eyes that glitter at him as he digs around under his robes for the device. He makes a proceed motion with his free hand. 

“I’d like to make an amendment to my will,” Satoru says, cutting off whatever conversation had been going on a few minutes later. 

“What?” Someone from the legal council asks. “You want to make amendments to an ancient will?”

“Not the will of the limitless user, though I’d like to review that. My will,” Satoru says. He lounges back. 

“That’s not really relevant to what we’re discussing.”

“Fine, fine, please just take some time to discuss it with me.”

Makoto sends Satoru a quiet look and a reassuring nod. Satoru needs to make sure that Yuta is placed in power if something untimely happens to Satoru. He wants to try for overall power but there are ancient seals and pacts and pinky swears built into the role of the Gojo head post a limitless user. If a new head doesn’t bear the technique a whole bunch of bullshit things can happen to them, one of which is sacrificial lamb in hopes of a limitless reincarnation. Satoru would like to prevent that from happening, 

 When the phone rings a second time–cutting of the Zen’in rep who’d come to bitch about something irrelevant to the century– he knows who it is. Satoru’s eyes close briefly before he stands and steps out of the room. 

Megumi, fighting again. Worse this time, please come and extract your child. Satoru swallows back the anger that rears its nasty little head in him. 

“Can I please speak to him?”

The principal makes a displeased sound but agrees to hand over the phone. It’s silent on the other end besides Megumi’s slightly heavy breathing. Satoru digs his fingers into his eyes. Massages patience into himself through his retinas. 

“Megumi, what are you doing?”

“...why do you care?”

“Why do I–no. I’m not having this fuck–I’m not answering that question.”

“You mad?”

Satoru bites blood into his mouth. Presses little spirals of color into his eyes. “You tell them I’m coming.”

“What?”

“I’m coming to get you. You plant your butt in a chair and wait for me.”

There’s shuffling on the other side of the line before Megumi’s breath sounds closer and his voice drops. “I thought you were in Kyoto.”

“Well I’m at your school now,” Satoru says and then he hangs up when his feet touch the pavement outside of the school gates.

He gets some startled looks as he strolls up the steps of Megumi’s school in traditional dress. He knows his way to the principals office from one too many of these damn visits. He walks right and watches Megumi grip the side of his chair. The kid’s face is a mess. Split lip, blacking eye, a cut along his jaw that’s bleeding. Satoru observes him coolly. 

“Get up, come on,” Satoru says, already turning to the door. 

“Mister Gojo,” the principal stammers to say as Megumi gets to his feet. 

Satoru holds up his hand, cutting the man off. 

“I have my kid,” Satoru says around a grin, “I’ll take it from here.”

When they get out of the school, having marched in icy silence down the halls, Satoru digs his phone out again and calls a car. They wait in silence together, Megumi’s face bleeding, his eyes catching on Satoru. If he’s trying to be subtle, he’s doing a terrible job. When the car pulls up, Satoru lets the kid climb in the back and then slams himself into the passenger seat. In the privacy of the dark Sedan, Satoru turns to Megumi. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Megumi sneers, folds his arms over his chest. “This isn’t new. Who cares?”

“I care,” Satoru snaps. “I fucking care.”

Megumi flinches at the harshness of his tone, casts his gaze out the window. The crease between his brow eases. 

“Just…lets go home.”

Satoru studies the broken flesh of his son’s face. The spreading purpling and split skin. It makes something in him roil. Something feral and unchecked and angry and curling away in fear. 

“No,” Satoru says, his voice isn’t his own. 

“No?” Megumi turns to look at him. His face flinches in pain. “Where are we going then?”

“If I can’t stop you from fighting, I can teach you to land a hit before you get your face busted.”

Satoru tells the driver to go to the school. The ride is heavy. Satoru simmers in his seat, loosening clothing where he can, the layers not made for the modern vehicle or seatbelts. Megumi fidgets. Flinches his jaw, winces in pain. Once he meets Satoru’s eyes in the rearview mirror before tearing his away. 

It’s raining sideways when they reach campus. A storm that broke out of nowhere. Like the summer trying its best to drench the world before fall. Satoru grabs Megumi’s shoulder when he gets out of the car, and the boy goes to wrench himself away before he realizes that Satoru has extended Infinity to keep him from getting wet. It’s with this grip that Satoru guides Megumi to their dojo. 

Inside the rain hammers the roof, and Satoru points Megumi into a changing room. He strips down to loose pants, folds his outer robes in jerking motions, stuffs them into his locker savagely. And then he and Megumi stand opposing each other in the middle of the dojo floor. Feet apart, barefoot, bleeding. 

“Tell me,” Satoru commands.

Megumi inclines his chin. “Third year losers. From Todai  high school.”

“Eighteen year olds?”

“Maybe a few.”

“Did you land a hit?”

Megumi fumes at him. “Yes.”

“Your face and ribs say otherwise,” Satoru says. “How much pain are in you?”

“It does–”

“How much?” Satoru snaps. 

“Some!”

Megumi is in a thin tank top and loose pants that hug his ankles. His usual workout clothing. Even without Six Eyes Satoru can see the curling of bruises growing like mold up his ribs. He holds himself delicately. More delicately than usual. Megumi is a shadow when he fights, lithe and deadly, better at the offensive. That is where his strength lies, even if his habit of picking fights goes against this. 

“This is going to be painful then,” Satoru says. He lets Infinity ripple off. “Hit me.”

Megumi considers him. Head cocked lightly to the side. Satoru steps aside easily when he lunges, hooks a lazy foot around Megumi’s ankle and sends the boy to the floor. Megumi wheezes when he lands on his hands that barely came up to catch himself. He grits his teeth, pushes himself up. 

“You’re smaller than me,” Satoru says. “You can’t charge me head on and expect any results besides what just happened to you.”

“You can calculate my moves,” Megumi protests.

“Anyone can do that. Especially to you. You’re predictable.”

Megumi clenches his fists, bringing them up like a boxer. Satoru has no plans on boxing with the kid, he has no plans of landing a hit on Megumi at all. He watches the kid bounce on his toes, steps to the left when Megumi feints before he swings right. Satoru pats the top of Megumi’s head, hops over the foot that swings at his ankles, catches it with his toes and brings Megumi down again. 

“How many were there?”

Megumi rolls up again, glaring. “Four.”

Another attack towards Satoru’s side. Fienting again, but better calculated as Megumi changes trajectory when Satoru moves in the last moment. It forces Satoru to dance out of the way, light on his feet, gliding across the floor without the help of any technique. 

“Not bad. What did they do?”

“Litter,” Megumi rasps. “Into the river behind the school.”

“You have a bad habit of sticking your nose where it doesn’t really belong,” Satoru says. 

He catches Megumi’s elbow on the next swing, brings the boy down with that leverage, cups the back of his head before he hits the floor too hard, like they’re stuntmen and not sparring. He lets the kid go when he’s flat on his back and skips backwards, grinning. 

“You have a bad habit of not giving a fuck,” Megumi snaps when he gets to his knees, then his feet. 

“Agree to disagree,” Satoru says. 

Megumi’s hands flinch towards the symbol for Rabbit Escape. Satoru quirks a brow at him. 

“Are techniques allowed?”

“No,” Megumi stresses through grit teeth. “Reflex.”

“Not a bad one,” Satoru says. “But hit me, Megumi.”

“Let me then!” Megumi roars. “You’re playing around with me!”

This time when Megumi swings at him, Satoru lets it hit. It sinks into his abdomen, knocks his breath a little askew. He grabs Megumi’s wrist, twists, pushes the kid to his knees, and holds him there. Megumi pants, staring at the floor, his hair falling to obscure his eyes. 

“You hit me,” Satoru says. “Now do it without me letting you. That’s not how life works, Megumi.”

Satoru releases him. Megumi gets to his feet. He turns on his heel, a strange look on his face, and observes Satoru. Wiping his mouth and brow on his shoulder, Megumi sets his jaw and attacks. 

It’s barely a back and forth. Not really sparring, just Satoru dodging and tripping, and tapping Megumi’s face or ribs or back where he’s vulnerable. The kid is smart, a genius if Satoru were so inclined to hand out such a title. He adapts quickly, as is the nature of Megumi Fushiguro. He adapts and learns. He protects the vulnerable areas that Satoru taps. Megumi’s frustration slowly bleeds into determination, brow down in concentration instead of anger. He pushes against Satoru, gets quick, starts to learn how Satoru moves, how he calculates so Megumi can change it a split second before the attack lands. Satoru dances across the floor, directing, and teasing and catches Megumi if he starts to fall too hard. 

And then in one moment, a split second that Satoru misses, where Megumi feints twice and comes back around, a hit lands. A hard blow to the base of Satoru’s throat. He doubles over, wheezing, clutching the rattled bone. Megumi lets out a soft little gasp, reaches out towards Satoru. Satoru shoots him a thumbs up and then sweeps Megumi’s feet out from under him. The little gasp becomes a big gasp, and Satoru still bent double, catches Megumi and lowers him to the floor before his ribs can land. 

“Nice,” Satoru wheezes. “Very good. That hurt!”

Megumi lays panting on the floor. He’s staring up at the ceiling,  exertion colors high on his cheeks. Satoru rubs his throat, leans over him smiling. 

“Number one rule, don’t leave yourself open after you manage to get a good hit in.”

Satoru holds down his hand for Megumi to take, frowns when the boy continues to stare at the ceiling and take rattling breaths. 

“Megumi?”

“I–” Megumi’s fist curls into his shirt. “I told you I hated you when I was six.”

Satoru blinks at him. 

“I never told you otherwise.”

Satoru lets his hand fall and he sits on the floor, arms draped over his knees. “You didn’t have to say it, Megumi.”

Megumi turns his head to look at Satoru. “I don’t hate you.”

The boy sits up, curls up against himself. Arms looped around his chest, holding his elbows like he’s cold. “I–I don’t hate you, Satoru.”

“I know.” Satoru puts his hand on Megumi’s shoulder. “Megumi, I know.”

Megumi shakes his hair, sweat damp. Digs his nails into his arms. “Satoru. Sat–dad. Dad.”

Tears break the word, Megumi rocks, and Satoru grabs him, drags him into his chest, holds him like he’s a much younger boy. Like he’s six and bringing home strays and spouting animal facts and on Satoru’s hip even if he was probably too big even then. Satoru presses Megumi’s head against his collarbone, wraps his other arm across the boy to secure him to his chest when Megumi’s body starts to tremble with sobs. Satoru hushes him, lips down in his hair, eyes pressing closed. 

“I don’t hate you.”

“I know,” Satoru whispers. “I know, Megumi. I know.”

“Dad.”

It’s such a crumpled word coming out of Megumi. A rare thing, fragile as a moth, crumpled wings and light hungry. It makes Satoru feel stripped down to his nervous system, to his heart beating exposed. 

“How could you know?” Megumi sobs, wet against Satoru’s skin. “How could you love me?”

“Loving you is the best thing I have ever done,” Satoru says, pressing Megumi against his heart. “Never doubt that. Doubt me for everything else forever, but never doubt that.”

“Why, why, wh–”

“Hush,” Satoru says. 

He smoothes his fingers through dark hair. Satoru thinks for a moment he’s drowning in fear, in the hugeness of this sea, this love. This thing that he never thought he could have, the thing he can’t imagine being without. 

“Megumi,” Satoru says his name in tears, catching in his throat. “Because you’re my kid. There is nothing you could do that would remove my care for you.”

“I don’t–,” Megumi cuts himself off to bury himself against Satoru and weep. 

Satoru hushes him, works through tangles in his hair, wipes watery snot off of Megumi’s upper lip with his hand. Megumi cries, and clings, and the rain thunders outside. Satoru holds him, dripping his own tears into Megumi’s hair. 

“What if I hurt you,” Megumi says eventually. “What if your love for me kills you?”

“Megumi,” Satoru laughs around his own emotion, pulling Megumi away from his chest to look him in the eye. “Is that happening right now?”

Megumi blinks tears from his vision, shakes his head. 

“Then stop worrying about it.”

“But–”

“No. You getting through Infinity isn’t a curse, it's a blessing.”

Scoffing, Megumi runs his wrist under his nose. Satoru offers his own pants for Megumi to wipe off accumulated snot. He flops back against Satoru. 

“I feel like I cursed you.”

“Well that’s a stupid thing to feel.”

“You aren’t supposed to tell kids their feelings are stupid.”

“But they are stupid.”

Eventually they get to their feet. Megumi wipes furiously at his face with the hem of his shirt. Satoru lets him have a moment to collect himself. He examines the base of his throat in the mirror. A dark bruise is forming. Satoru grins at it. 

“Satoru,” Megumi murmurs.

Satoru turns to him, opens his arms when Megumi comes to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Megumi whispers against Satoru’s shoulder. 

He’s getting tall. A gangly kid right now, but growing faster than Satoru knows what to do with. One day Satoru hopes he’ll be taller than him, broader than him, more powerful than Satoru could ever hope to be. One day he hopes that Megumi has someone willing to love him no matter what, willing to save him, someone that makes Megumi see himself as his name sake. Satoru wants him to live with everything in his body. Like he was made just to wish life into his boy, want for his happiness and die to bring it to him if it comes to that. 

Satoru kisses his forehead. Presses a blessing against his blessing like a symbol of protection made of mud and blood on the back of his hand. Megumi bows against it, closing his eyes. 

“I forgive you,” Satoru says. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am,” Megumi whispers. “I am happy and it’s terrifying.”

“I know,” Satoru says. 

Clapping his kid's shoulders, Satoru steps away, smiles at Megumi, nudges his chin up. A thing of the shadows, but meant to look proud. 

“Come on, let's go home.”

It’s raining sideways, and they walk close to share Infinity. The sky lightens as they drive into their neighborhood. Satoru’s phone buzzes, his insides clench, then unfurl when it’s just a text from Utahime asking if he wants to get soda, her treat. He sends back a yes and thirteen excited kaomojis. 

The sun breaks the clouds in a glorious wash of gold through a sheet of rain. It turns the drops into little jewels, into opal stone, glittering things. Tsumiki is out in front of the apartment with Yuta. They’re in rain coats and pajamas, jumping in puddles. Wet braids and Yuta honking an awkward and unused laugh. He's in Satoru’s rain boots, a little too big and bright blue. The car pulls to the side of the road, and Satoru pushes Megumi out to join them. He’s not in rain clothes, but he goes anyway after one last look at Satoru. Tsumiki waves and laughs, kicks a spray from a running gutter at Megumi’s knees and uniform pants half rolled. Satoru climbs out of the car into the brilliant light, feels the rain run through his hair. His bones hurt, his old aches throb. The sun clears a patch of eternal blue through the gray. Right there in the street Satoru strips off his shoes, rolls his jeans to his knees and runs laughing into the spray.