Chapter Text
“Wow,” Shion says to the dumb sleeping baby in front of him, “you really are an ugly baby. Who would have thought?”
Baby newborn Gojo Satoru does not reply.
Which is to be expected.
If he had formed a coherent reply, Shion would have smothered that baby to death with a pillow, future be damned.
“I should probably stick around and change things so you turn out normal,” Shion brings two fingers to brush at the tufts of white hair on the ugly baby’s head, “or, well. As normal as you can turn out. Make sure you don’t grow up to have the glaring character flaws you did and whatnot. Make sure less people die. Or something.”
His hand drifts down to pull at the ugly baby’s cheeks, causing the stupid little thing to let out a whimper, “but honestly—that sounds like such a pain. I’m only six. I’m not all that into being a parentified older brother. Cousin. Whatever. Hm…I should just drown myself right now to avoid all that trouble.”
Gojo Satoru’s small baby Six Eyes opens, a bit teary from Shion’s light bullying, lips trembling as his arms begin to wiggle about.
His baby fists come to hit Shion's fingers, still sticking out from where he was pulling the kid’s cheeks.
His palms open up to fully grab at Shion’s index finger.
“Abu…” The baby pouts.
“Oh, come on,” Shion complains about his entire life (lives?) circumstances to the one person in this shithole clan who won’t send him to a psychiatric ward, “Nah I’d Win babies who will die in twenty-eight years don’t get to judge me. Did you know? The only reason I’m considered important enough to be allowed near you is because I was born with so much cursed energy that it bled into my eyes at birth. So now we’re magic eyed cousins. And all that is only possible because I died pretty terribly in my past life. Apparently the cursed energy bleeds over. Blegh.”
“Gah,” Satoru mumbles, fingers tightening his grip on Shion’s own, “Amu.”
“Don’t give me that!” Shion creatively interprets, “I’m not going to help you with anything. My plan is to coast by with a cushy nepobaby life and then kill myself when I turn twenty-five.”
Satoru’s lips tremble.
Shion thinks, fuck.
“Don’t cry!” Shion pulls at his face and sticks out his tongue. This one is a funny one—babies always laugh at this one, “Bleh!”
Satoru, thank goodness, giggles.
Shion didn’t know newborns could see.
Maybe the Six Eyes is special.
“Anyways,” Shion willfully ignores how he should have learned his lesson on how dark and heavy topics makes the baby cry, “when I kill myself, you’ll be—what? Nineteen? Eighteen? Right after your situationship defects I think. A good time to blow my brains out before shit gets real. If you’re a good baby for the upcoming nineteen years, I’ll even leave you a memo of the future I remember in my will. It won’t be my problem by then, you see, so you can change things as you please.”
Satoru makes a sad little noise as his lips begin to tremble again.
“You’re already being a bad baby,” Shion sighs as he pokes the boy’s cheek with the finger that’s still gripped in Satoru’s small fists, “but I’ll forgive you for the first two years of your life. After that you better be cute. Or I’m leaving this clan immediately."
“Awuh,” the baby says, which could mean anything.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Bah,” Satoru says, and sticks Shion’s finger into his mouth.
Fuck.
*
Satoru pouts from across the table as the clan elders continue their heated discussion about the technique Shion had manifested.
(He had manifested it three years ago, and kept the full extent of it hidden, since it seemed like such a pain to be forced into child soldier training and all.
Anyways, that plan went out the window real quick when he sensed an assassin in Satoru’s bedroom the night that kid forced him into a sleepover.
Long and annoying story short—Satoru’s old bedroom now has five stains splattered within it that no one can fully wash off.
It’s not Shion’s problem anyways.
The ensuing commotion about the true technique is, though.
Which really—that’s just his luck.)
As heir and resident wonder child, Satoru gets a front row seat to all of the longwinded discussions, despite still being a toddler who should probably be trying to learn how to stand up and walk instead of all this nonsense.
Shion himself sits, crossed legged, because tradition be damned, leaning forward as he hugs a pillow and tunes them all out without a care in the world.
Shion ostensibly ignores the starry eyed look of admiration his younger cousin is giving him.
Maybe this kid was just built to grow up into a bum.
Maybe it runs in the family.
“—is uncalled for, especially since the Six Eyes have also manifested in this era. The other clans will be taking note of this, even at this age, he rivals that Tsukumo girl in destructive force. With these two we will take back our place as the top of the three families. Now if only he were more agreeable…”
“His attitude makes him hard to control and discipline, his lower breeding is present in every step that boy takes. It’d be a blessing if we can teach him any decorum that sticks.”
Yeah, yeah.
Whatever.
On and on about how his father had a bastard child out of wedlock with a normal civilian.
Personally, Shion’s of the opinion that he managed to manifest a decent technique that was supposed to have died out in the Sengoku era due to the fact that he’s only half inbred, but what can you do?
Every day he thanks his mothers genes for helping him be born strong and healthy.
The technique isn’t Six Eyes or Limitless, but it was recorded to have accomplished some feats during the golden age where monsters hung out and still managed to be of some renown (only in the clan, since it’s been dead for four hundred ish years until Shion popped out), so Shion will take what he can get.
The fact that he can cause untold amounts of property damage is also a plus.
He’s been blowing holes in the clan estate as mild revenge for everything that’s happened to him since birth and calling it training scars.
His cortisol has never been lower.
They tried locking him up in the basement once, but he just blew it all up as his exit.
The faces the elders made that day…it was beautiful.
A poke at his side has him turning his attention out from his inner ruminations and towards the tiny white haired brat who’s crawled towards his side.
“Nii-chan,” Satoru, nearly two years old, mutters, “‘s boring.”
“Right?” Shion whispers back, taking the pillow out of his lap to let Satoru crawl in its place, “like, holy yap.”
“Holy yap!” The boy nods happily.
Shion takes out the Tokyo Banana he snuck out to buy out of his sleeves and sneaks one into Satoru’s hands.
“This is new,” he whispers to his younger cousin, “it’s gonna be the Tokyo omiyage.”
And isn’t that just strange? It’s a bit like time travel, if you think about it. In his past life, he’s never lived in a world without Tokyo Banana.
And now here he is, a full eight years old when it’s first released.
…He’s not letting fucking Tokyo Banana of all things push him into an existential crisis.
Satoru, still easily awed by the bullshit Shion brings him from outside the clan walls, nods happily as he pokes his head up to kiss Shion’s cheeks.
Man, being the only one this kid is affectionate with in this shithole clan is such an ego trip.
Shion ruffles his hair and resists the urge to dote and smother him.
He’ll already grow up spoiled as is. No need to add to that.
But dammit.
Shion likes cute things, sue him.
“Shion,” Elder One shouts, hands slamming onto the wooden table, “have the Six Eyes sit down on his own! And start listening! This is for your future!”
Shion rolls his eyes and hands Satoru another Tokyo Banana.
“You mean the clan’s future,” Shion jeers, hugging Satoru tighter in his lap, “But whatever. I’m already listening, yada yada—we’ll get more spies and assassins, be vigilant and train and study, don’t spoil the one year old baby—”
“I’m nearly two!” Satoru pouts from where he still has the snack in his mouth.
“The two year old baby,” Shion corrects as Satoru pinches his arms, “yeah, yeah. ‘S not like the Zen’in and Kamo are gonna have the good bloodline techniques show up until like…the two thousands.”
Elder Three’s eyes narrow, “elaborate.”
It’s been generally accepted that Shion sometimes can predict the future.
Predict is the keyword here.
Mostly, he just slips and forgets he's barely into the 90s.
And that he’s in a manga he read in a past life that’s growing more and more distant by the year.
It's so hard being Shion. Growing up in the 2000’s and 2010’s was way more fun.
Once you get hooked on the internet and all its wonders you really can’t go back.
He’s made an effort to not make any references to future events, but he just gave up on trying to fix his speech patterns. He tried for a month, and it was agonizing
They’ll figure it out in like, nearly thirty years, or they won’t.
They’ll probably all be dead by then!
It’s not like he’s going to actually give them anything of substance.
“Ah,” Shion sighs, pulling at Satoru’s ears as the boy pokes his hands into Shion’s sleeve to pull out another piece of omiyage, “who knows…”
The Zen’in will get wiped out in 2018 anyways.
Shion half considers putting his suicide-at-25 plan on pause just to see that happen in real life.
He bets it would be glorious.
Too bad a child will have to die first for it to happen.
Well, not like Shion’s ever going to meet those twin girls in his short life anyways.
“It’s ridiculous,” an uncle mutters, “does he have no loyalty to the clan that took in a half-bred whelp like him?”
Hey, now…
The answer is yes.
His life will just get more annoying if he says that now though. Shion will wait until he’s old enough to fuck off to one of the Jujutsu schools to say that.
Don’t insult the people paying for your food and board and what-not.
Shion stares at the uncle who’s name he doesn’t know until the man flinches and turns away.
Having creepy eyes is so fun.
Shion pulls at Satoru’s cheeks as the boy reaches into Shion’s sleeve for another snack.
“Enough,” Shion scolds, “I’ll give you more after you finish your lunch.”
“Aww,” Satoru cries, “but I want it now!”
“Lunch,” Shion says, “or else you’ll always be shorter than me.”
He always will, though. Shion’s been enhancing his body with reverse cursed energy 24/7 to ensure he grows as tall as physically possible.
(The moment his three month old self figured out the bullshit that was going on, he had dedicated his entire soul and toddler free time into figuring out reverse cursed energy.
He got it when he was like, four.
It’s hard not being a genius with the Six Eyes.
At least he has the sense for cursed energy—being acutely aware of the foreign energy his entire body and soul is drenched in is the one good thing being reborn has given him.
Well—it’s not really foreign, is it? This body is his now. It’s always been his.
Shion digresses.)
His height is the one thing he will not yield to canonically 190cm Gojo Satoru.
His ego can’t take it.
He’s the older one—its imperative he remains taller.
He must always be taller.
Little Satoru, oblivious to Shion’s dastardly plot, lets go of the packet in his hands and shoves it back up Shion’s sleeve.
“Fine,” he curls around Shion’s arm with a pout, “only if you feed me, though.”
“What? Grow up, you have hands.”
Satoru blows his tongue.
*
Shion does end up feeding him.
Satoru sits content in his lap as Shion does the world’s most difficult task of feeding a kid whose mouth you can’t see while also eating his own food.
He gets smacked at the back of his head by an uncle he doesn’t know.
“Stop spoiling him!”
Shion feeds Satoru until the kid’s plate is fully cleaned out of pure, unfiltered spite.
*
“Success!” Shion says, Satoru jostling in his arms as he lands from the wall he jumped off.
“Success!” Satoru echoes, hands patting Shion’s cheeks.
It’s disgustingly cute.
Shion sets him down and slings a pouch full of money and the lightest Nokia he could find around Satoru’s shoulder.
He throws the bead bracelet with his phone number around the small boy’s wrist too. Because it never hurts to be prepared.
“Now tell me the rules,” Shion says sternly, poking the head of the brat who keeps insisting Shion take him outside of the clan walls despite him having a—how much was it again?—50 million? 60? An absurd number as the bounty on his head.
“Don’t leave nii-nii—” and here the brat giggles as Shion glares at him for the stupid nickname, “if I can’t find nii-chan I go to a non-sha-man police and have them call nii-chan. If someone tries to kill me I make my body stronger and do the thing.”
His cursed energy begins to wobble like he’s going to flare it exactly as his beloved older cousin taught him a few hours prior. Shion supposes that a three year old can’t really grasp the nuance of not signaling your location when you’re making a daring escape from your house just yet.
So he flicks his forehead.
“If you do that now we’ll get caught, dummy.”
“Dummy!” Satoru nods, pointing at Shion.
“…I’m taking you back in,” Shion huffs, “good luck trying to escape on your own, dumba—hm. Can’t say that.”
Satoru, used to being spoiled rotten, just clings to Shion’s leg and says, “take me with youuuuuu! I wanna gooooooo!”
Shion rolls his eyes and makes the brat walk down the stupid hill the estate is on holding his hand.
Halfway down, the kid flops over onto Shion and demands to be carried.
He’s such a brat.
Shion carries him anyway.
He could always use the workout.
*
After suffering the humiliation ritual of being a 9 year old standing in a check out queue with a bag full of manga and games and a clingy and whining 3 year old, Shion makes the executive decision that he gets to decide what they get for dinner today.
“Grossssss,” Satoru complains as Shion drops the fancy sukiyaki vegetables into his bowl.
Shion rolls his eyes at the gaze of the other patrons that turn their way.
It must be a weird sight, two children at an expensive restaurant by themselves.
The waiter had thought so too, until Shion showed his credit card to them. Then he had pulled out the wad of bills he keeps in his cute rabbit wallet out too, for good measure.
Money truly is the best.
Sukiyaki wagyu tastes so much better on the family’s dime.
He tracks the gaze again, as he always does periodically throughout the meal, and sends a smile and a wave to the two cursed users who had sat themselves down in the faraway corner ten minutes ago.
Satoru, probably too used to Shion doing everything for him, doesn’t even glance their way.
He gags as he picks at the vegetables in his bowl.
“If you don’t eat at least five pieces of something green, I’m not letting you have any dessert,” Shion threatens, dropping more udon and wagyu into his bowl.
He had finished the first plate of vegetables by himself, it’s the brat’s turn to get his greens.
“I don’t wannnnaaaaaa!” He complains, stuffing another piece of wagyu into his mouth, “I’m full anyways.”
Shion nods, “so we don’t have to get dessert.”
“No!” Satoru sits up, his cheeks puffing up in displeasure, “I want ice cream!”
Shion rolls his eyes.
“At least eat the radish and carrots,” he bargains, “if you can’t chew the leaves I won’t force you.”
Satoru sighs so loudly as his small body slumps over in his chair.
He picks up his fork that Shion had stuck a radish on and nibbles unhappily at it.
Shion counts to three.
Satoru’s eyes perk up as he discovers the wonder of sukiyaki radish.
He sees the conflict build up in his kid cousin’s eyes—does he devour that small slice of heaven and risk Shion’s smug I told you so, or does he give up on this new wonder he just discovered.
Shion decides for him—he reaches out his own chopsticks to pick up the other piece of radish in Satoru’s bowl.
The boy snatches his bowl away and stuffs the radish into his mouth.
Shion breaks out into a sinister grin.
“I told you it was good.”
“Shut up!” Satoru pouts, pulling his bowl closer to his chest, “I hate you!”
Shion blinks and smiles.
Then mouths No. Dessert. at him.
Satoru screeches.
Shion cackles.
Being an older sibling is the best.
*
Satoru drowsily blinks as Shion picks him up the moment they step outside the restaurant, “nii-chan. Someone’s following.”
“I know,” Shion smiles.
He pulls at the kid’s cheeks.
“‘S dangerous,” Satoru observes with clinical disinterest.
The streets have become suspiciously empty.
Whatever.
Shion looks up.
That’s a whole curtain up there, huh.
“Not to me,” Shion says, “not for you, either.”
The leader of curse users who are cornering them sneers, “Listen k—”
Shion rolls his eyes as he covers Satoru’s eyes and whispers at the kid to cover his ears.
Thankfully, the kid listens without complaint this time.
Outside their little bubble, barely a second had passed.
“—id—”
His head blows up the moment the spinning cube Shion had tossed hits him.
He erases the blood that splatters before they reach either of them.
It’s his first time killing a stranger.
Weird.
He doesn’t feel anything at all.
He erases the gravity at his feet and floats up, dropping another cube down to the bastards below.
This one flutters for a bit before it spins and enlarges, flattening itself up into a blade that swings like a ceiling fan and slices everyone below into human mincemeat.
Shion could have gotten rid of them without a trace.
He could have.
This one sends a better message.
He drops down behind the man in a suit.
“Broker,” Shion says, making the man flinch. “You know why I left you alive, right?”
He turns towards Shion, pale as a sheet.
“Yes.”
Shion breaks out into a smile as he flicks at Satoru’s forehead, causing him to fall asleep.
The man shudders.
Shion turns away, facing the pile of mincemeat as he realizes.
“Oh man,” he sighs, “I should have left enough of them to collect the bounties!”
He shrugs as he rings up Elder Four, the most tolerable of the Venerable Gojo Clan Elders.
The best part about all this, he decides, is that he’s not the one cleaning up the mess.