Chapter Text
Suguru wakes up horribly. His neck hurts. His body hurts. He has a killer headache.
But he woke up. He’s awake, fully awake.
Suguru immediately wants to go back to sleep. The last time he was fully awake he was dying, and the last time he was even half-awake he saw—well, no need to think more about that. Suguru hasn’t had the best time being awake as of late. And he would really like to go back to the nothingness. He closes his eyes, and—
“You’re awake! Fantastic!” There’s a horribly annoying voice next to Suguru’s head, and he tries to swing his arm out at the annoyance. But his arm doesn’t move. Suguru tries to wiggle his toes. Nothing moves. Panic crawls up Suguru's spine... is the parasite still in control of the body?
Suguru’s eyes snap open. What the fuck is going on.
There’s a strange looking man hovering over him. Slicked back hair, large sideburns, twitchy nose, large smile that looks almost fake, just like—. Well, the stranger seems to look as annoying as they sound, is all.
“Who—?” The gravelliness of Suguru’s voice surprises himself. Is it from disuse? From the—the burning pain in his throat? His fingers finally twitch.
Luckily, the stranger seems to understand his question well enough. “I’m Takaba Fumihiko, here to assist!” Suguru doesn’t laugh. He’s a bit tired of pleasantries. Takaba doesn’t seem to mind.
Suguru looks around, for the first time since he woke up, his neck twitching as he turned his head. He was in an apartment, it seemed. Paint was peeling on the bottom of the walls.
Takaba laughs, seeming to notice Suguru’s scrutinizing gaze. “Ah, it's not much! Better than Tokyo, though!”
Suguru doesn’t respond.
“Ah, well… You’re much less fun than that other guy,” Takaba mutters to himself, before speaking up, “Let’s see, what’s the last thing you remember?”
“There… There was pain in my neck.” Suguru paused. He knew there was something else important. He… he choked someone-something. Why? What was he choking? Why couldn't he remember?
Takaba shifted in Suguru’s peripheral vision. Suguru paid him no mind. He didn’t seem dangerous—though Suguru was still suspicious of him. He needed to remember. It was—
Satoru.
Yes, yes, Suguru had choked something for Satoru. Because… Satoru had been in danger. Satoru had called out to Suguru. Had asked him for help.
Suguru couldn’t remember what happened after that. And then Suguru had woken up alone. No sign of Satoru. Suguru’s stomach churned.
“Where’s Gojo Satoru?” Suguru blurted out before he could think anymore of it. Takaba’s smile froze.
“Uh… I think he’s dead.”
—
For Suguru, dying was simply another step in his journey. At first, there was only pain. Static fills your mind, panic lighting your nerves on fire. Your breathing speeds up, and you get lightheaded.
Then, the calm comes. It washes over you with all the gentleness of a lover’s hand. Your pain ebbs away; your head fills with water. You are stuck in the middle of a dream you know will turn into a nightmare.
Suguru remembers his death. He remembers it clearly, though of course time erodes all memory. He didn’t want it, but it felt like fate. It had to happen, of course it had to happen. Ever since Fushiguro, his life had been set in stone. No matter what he did, he would end up dead, looking up at blue eyes.
—
For Satoru, death was… frustrating. No other way to put it. He knows he could have avoided it. Death was nothingness. It was the ultimate no. You’re here, and you’re gone. Like erasing a sentence—the only sign that anything was there in the first place are the grooves in the page.
He really didn’t want to die. He really, really didn’t want to die. It was painful, and miserable, he knew. His future would never exist if he died. But Satoru also wanted to just see what it would be like.
Anyways, he got a glimpse, at least. He saw them all again. Nanami, Haibara… Suguru. Honestly, by the time he died, death hadn’t even been a concept to Satoru. He was too drugged up in the ecstasy of pure violence.
But he still died. It was a harsh reminder of his mortality. But seeing Suguru again, he was selfishly glad to die, if he was only able to board the airplane with Suguru. Maybe it was a figment of Satoru’s imagination. Maybe it was holy. Satoru didn’t care.
He swears he boarded that fucking airplane.
—
Satoru was… emotional, to say the least, when he opened his eyes. His body was uncomfortably numb, the lights way too bright for Six Eyes.
He was alive.
Satoru quickly closed his eyes again, if only to pretend to block out the lights around him. He was alive. Not dead. He had been pulled back. Never had the chance to sit next to Suguru on the airplane. Fuck.
Well, whatever. He shouldn’t reminisce on the past. The past is past—not even Gojo Satoru could change that. Six Eyes scans the room for life. No one is here. Satoru cracks an eye open, locating the lights around him. He shoots some cursed energy to them, shattering them all.
Blissful darkness returns. Finally, Satoru can rest—
“What the fuck?!” Two people step into the room. Maki and Yuuta, from their cursed signatures. Can Satoru never rest?
“Is he awake?” Yuuta whispers, stepping over to Satoru. Glass crunches underneath his shoes.
“He must’ve been awake for at least a second. Given the broken lights everywhere,” Maki replies.
Yuuta shuffles next to him, clearing his throat. “I’m glad he’s alive.” His voice sounds choked. Maki seems to pat his shoulder, assenting. “I know everyone was acting like he was definitely going to come back— but I couldn’t help but doubt. Sure, I got my body back, but if Gojo-sensei’s soul had dissipated…” Yuuta sniffles, trailing off. Satoru himself feels slightly awkward, pretending to be asleep as his students cry over him.
“Lets go spread the news,” Maki says, stepping away and out of the room. Yuuta quickly follows.
Well, at least now Satoru knows how he survived. If only he knew how the rest of the world was. He was confident in his students, of course. However, he couldn’t be sure that Megumi would survive. At least he knows Yuuta and Maki are alright.
He’d learn, eventually. No matter. Now, he could finally go back to sleep—
“I know you’re awake, Gojo.” Shoko’s voice echoed around the room. “Open your eyes, or I’ll do it for you.” Fuck. When did she even get here? Satoru surely wasn't spacing out for that long.
Satoru cleared his throat, opening an eye and glaring at Shoko. “So mean, Shoko. I’m trying to get my beauty sleep. I’m not one of your cadavers, you know.” Shoko lit a cigarette in response. Satoru finally sat up, the blanket covering him falling to his waist. He could feel his skin stretch as he moved—there must be one hell of a scar on his waist, from the stiffness.
“So, what’d I miss?” Satoru asked, his face smoothing out. If he couldn't rest, at least he could know what was going on.
Smoke drifted out from Shoko’s mouth. “Not much. Sakuna is dead. None of your students are. They read your letters, by the way.” Satoru frowned. “They thought you were dead, so don’t blame them.”
Satoru huffs. “I wasn’t going to.”
Shoko and Satoru sat in silence for a while. It was nice. Nothing urgent to talk about, it seemed. Satoru wrinkled his nose as the smell of cigarettes became cloying.
Finally, Shoko’s cigarette ran out, falling to the floor and crushed under her heel. Shoko sighed, spinning on her heel and heading towards the door. She paused, pursing her lips. “What will you do now?” Shoko asked, eyes towards the ground.
Satoru hesitated.
“Isn't that the question.”