Chapter Text
ISSUED ON NOVEMBER 2, 2018 AT 3:25 A.M.
NOTICE FROM JUJUTSU HEADQUARTERS ON ITADORI YUUJI TO ZEN’IN CLAN
All resolutions as per #RES-738-JHQ are applicable. Hereby Jujutsu Headquarters want to communicate and reiterate that,
- The suspension of Itadori Yuuji's death sentence is revoked and the execution is to be carried out immediately.
- Special Grade Sorcerer Okkotsu Yuuta is appointed Itadori Yuuji's executioner.
In accordance to,
- Article 10 of the Protocol Regarding the Duty of Jujutsu Sorcerers on Conspiracy, failure to report Itadori Yuuji's whereabouts if knowledgeable will result in measures in accordance to Article 5 of the Protocol Regarding the Duty of Jujutsu Sorcerers on Punishment.
- Article 7 of the Protocol Regarding the Duty of Jujutsu Sorcerers on Addressing Threats, Itadori Yuuji is to be treated as such and immediate action will be required.
The Headquarters ask of Fushiguro Megumi to reaffirm his and the Zen’in Clan's commitment to Jujutsu Headquarters in the wake of the Shibuya Incident.
NOVEMBER 2, 2018 AT 4:17 A.M.
A cold hand settles on Megumi's forehead, startling him awake. The first thing he becomes vaguely aware of is that it's neither Tsumiki's nor Gojo's hand.
“Megumi-kun,” a voice says. Ieiri-san. Blearily Megumi blinks his eyes open. “I'm sorry for waking you at this ungodly hour.”
“What's happening?” he croaks out. His arms burn when he pushes himself up. Every move reminds him of how close he came to death barely more than twenty-four hours away. Sukuna, not Ieiri, healed him enough so that he wouldn't die but it hadn't taken care of the way his muscles ached at every turn. With the back of his left hand he rubs across his eyes. When his vision clears he properly recognises her in front of him. She sits at the edge of his bed—still in her medical coat, gloves drawn over her hands. If the last two days have been horrible, they must have been especially horrible for her. She looks terribly tired.
“There's someone here to see you.”
Megumi feels bad for her. Probably, she never signed up for this. But now there's a death sentence hanging over principal Yaga's head, he's imprisoned somewhere they don't know, and Gojo is sealed away and she's practically the only adult around. Because Nanami is dead, his mind supplies unhelpfully and cruelly.
“Megumi-kun,” Ieiri goes on. “Zen'in Naobito died an hour ago.”
Megumi stiffens. Just because they fought that curse together—something Megumi did for Nanami and Maki, not that it mattered in the end—didn't mean Megumi cared for this man's well-being. After Shibuya there are enough deaths weighing on his soul, he doesn't need one more.
“Why should I care about that?” Megumi squints his eyes at her. “What even—why would you wake me up for this?”
Ieiri drags a hand through her face and something gives Megumi the vague impression she'd really like to smoke right now. Silently, he appreciates that she's not doing that in his room. Though, he's too tired to judge even if she would do it. Maybe he'd even ask her for one but she'd probably smack his head upside down for it. She really doesn't look like she wants to be here right now, as if she would want anyone but her to do the talking right now which is fair. They're similar in that regard he supposes.
“Because you have been named the twenty-seventh head of the Zen'in Clan, Megumi-kun,” Ieiri says, ripping the band off quickly and aseptically, and just like that Megumi is wide awake. “You're his heir.”
“I'm sorry?” he says, not even caring that his voice cracks on the last part. “That's not right?”
“The notice was delivered half an hour ago. The Zen'ins have finished their reading of the will.”
“No,” Megumi hears himself repeat but his body feels very far away. It's like he's floating, and he can look down at his body, just a puppet now that's shaking his head vehemently. “No, I don't think that's right.”
Ieiri gives him a pitying look like she’s been there before. It's what he said the first time he woke up on a fully intact roof over a destroyed city and Ieiri was there and he had asked her what happened. Kugisaki-san has sustained very grave injuries. I will do everything I can for her. Nanami-san is dead, I'm so sorry. Sukuna brought you here, we don't know where Itadori is. Megumi faintly remembers sitting on the roof, the taste of summoning Mahoraga burning on his tongue, ash in his mouth, saying “No, I don't think that's right.”, feeling the bile rise up in his throat and promptly throwing up with the sharp pain of fire and acid from a destroyed city and dead people's bodies burning in his nose.
“Megumi-kun—”
“I don't want it,” he interrupts her. “I don't care. Give it to someone else, anyone else. I don't want it. I don't.”
Megumi prides himself on having a good handle on his emotions. He's not one to break down crying or laugh until his belly hurts but right now he feels so overwhelmed—everything is too much. It's too much. He bites down on the inner side of his cheek until he tastes metal and rubs his fists over his eyes to keep the salt at bay. He doesn't want to cry right now because that's not going to solve anything and probably put Ieiri in an uncomfortable spot on top of that.
“Okay,” Megumi says when he's only met with silence from Ieiri. “Now I know. Can I go back to sleep again?”
It's a little pathetic. He feels like he's seven all over again, asking Gojo if he could finally go to bed in those nights that Gojo kept him up and took him out to his estate gardens at three am to test his hypothesis that Megumi's powers would be amplified at night and exorcising his shikigami would be easier. The first time they tried, Megumi was so tired he couldn't even muster enough energy to summon a shikigami for the ritual, the second time Gojo had to take out Orochi as soon as Megumi summoned it. After that Gojo went over to waking him up and not keeping him awake. “Why do we have to do this at night?” Megumi would groan and Gojo would flick his forehead with enough force to send him falling down into the wet grass and say, “I'm training you, Megumi. It's training and you're going to need it someday.”
Megumi thinks, maybe if they hadn't trained this he wouldn't have had it in him to summon Mahoraga in his state of half-suspended death. Maybe that would've been for the better too. Maybe Sukuna wouldn't have used Yuuji's body to lay Shibuya to waste then.
“I don't think that's possible,” Ieiri says and Megumi wants to press his face into his pillow and scream. “There's someone here to see you.”
Megumi raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to go on. Maybe Ieiri thinks that if she ignores it for long enough it will go away. “The Jujutsu Inspector General wants to speak to you.”
“The Jujutsu Inspector General?”
In all the years Megumi had been irrevocably tied up in the Jujutsu world he had never met the Jujutsu Inspector General. For every ordinary sorcerer it would be stupid to assume that or just plain unnecessary to be caught up in faint confusion about that never happening but Megumi's entanglement with Jujutsu society was entanglement with Gojo Satoru and Megumi thought if anyone would be able to make the Jujutsu Inspector General come to them it would be Gojo Satoru. But the Jujutsu Inspector General didn't like to show his face. He preferred notices he expected everyone to follow—march to their ruin happily.
“Why does he want to see me?” Megumi asks.
“Doesn't happen every day that one of the big three gets a new Clan head.” Ieiri gets up from the edge of his bed. So this is really non-negotiable then. “He came to see Satoru too, you know. After his father died, he became the thirty-fourth head.”
She nods at him. Her eyes are clouded by darkness and sorrow. “You should get dressed. He's waiting in classroom three-B for you.”
“He didn't annex Gojo’s office?” Megumi scoffs and surprisingly it's enough to pull the corners of Ieiri's mouth up a bit.
“He certainly tried to.” I didn't let him, goes unspoken between them.
“I will be in the morgue if you need something,” she adds softly. Megumi likes Ieiri. Her work is bloody and ugly but she's good and something about her presence comforts. Megumi, and only because he doesn't want to be the one to unnecessarily add to the troubles that must be plaguing her, nods. Ieiri leaves and Megumi gets dressed—not in his school uniform because for some reason that would feel silly. Like that would dilute their astronomical power asymmetry even further.
The Jujutsu Headquarters had a narrative and was the main reason among the many why Megumi disliked them so. The narrative is: Yuuji is dangerous. The objective truth they say is: he is something monstrous and he needs to die. They tell everyone: here's the truth in this discourse and its objective needs to be fulfilled.
Megumi stews in this truth of theirs as he makes his way through the empty corridors of the school. The boys’ dormitories are deserted—Yuuji is gone, Panda is god knows where, Inumaki (one arm down) is still in the infirmary and Yuuta hasn't even moved back in yet and stepping into the corridors inhabited by the girls would only be marginally worse. Only because it can't get much worse than it is. But Nobara's bed is empty, and may perhaps forever remain so, and so is Maki's. His fingers itch when he thinks about Maki. About Maki, Nanami, and even Naobito. How he was spared their fate out of sheer luck? Would it have been better for that man to take someone else? That man has been haunting every waking second of his ever since Ieiri woke him up the first time. Would that have saved Shibuya from his trump card demon in disguise? He doesn't get to follow this maelstrom of misery any further when he feels it—the familiarity of an unsettling cursed energy.
Unfortunately, Megumi feels the familiar cursed energy seep into its surroundings just as he is about to round the corner to the angle point of the hallways which means there's no escape. He comes face to face with Yuuta before he can even consider just making a run for it through the shadows.
Yuuta looks good. Not being present for Shibuya spared him the worst of it. He looks different from how Megumi remembers him. His hair is longer, he probably gained five centimeters on Megumi by now. Even his posture had significantly improved with his katana strapped to his back. Though, the deep, dark circles under his eyes that always used to give Ieiri a run for her money still accompanied him. Honestly, they probably got worse. For the longest time Megumi wondered what it would be like once he returned from Africa because he only ever got the scraps from what Maki told him who Yuuta kept in constant contact with. Now that didn't matter to Megumi all that much. See, it was more like: he really didn't want to see Yuuta right now. Actually, it would be fine for Megumi to never talk to him again. Because at the end of the day, as it had turned out, Yuuta was nothing more than another puppet of their overlords.
“Fushiguro,” Yuuta says and Megumi blinks himself out of his rage-induced ramblings. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Megumi repeats, a coldness etched into his voice he somewhat reserves for Gojo, “is what you’re saying to me?”
Yuuta visibly cringes and for a split second Megumi almost feels bad for him. Between them, Yuuta was even more introverted than he was but unfortunately with a people pleaser complex big enough to reach the moon and a desperate need to not cause any problems. He considers feeling bad, then drops that thought.
“I just visited Maki,” Yuuta goes on, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. Bringing up Maki is foul because clearly Megumi is concerned for her as well.
“How is she doing?”
“Better.” Yuuta fidgets with the buttons of his uniform. “She's doing better. Ieiri-san did a good job with her. You should visit her sometime.”
“Well,” Megumi says. “I'm happy you can be there for her.”
His words have their intended effect when a bright blush creeps across Yuuta's cheeks. Half of him is happy for them or whatever, at the very least for Maki who deserves someone who cherishes her unlike their demonic family—the other, more spiteful, side of him is bitter because Yuuta gets to be there for Maki while Megumi gets to stare at Yuuji’s execution order. Not that it's precisely the same but whatever. It kind of is. Megumi is very well and truly aware of his own feelings but he can deal with that later. Once again, Yuuta snaps him out of his thoughts.
“I uh—I have to go out again now so…”
“You mean to try to murder Itadori,” Megumi says tonelessly. “Great work, you're doing. Gojo-sensei would be so proud—playing fetch with the Higher Ups.”
Megumi is vaguely aware that bringing up Gojo is likely to hit a nerve. Because Gojo was important to Yuuta, he respected him and valued him and he probably blamed himself in part for Gojo getting sealed. Even though he was all the way in Africa and there was absolutely nothing he could’ve done to prevent this from happening. They always got along magnificently and there was this silent understanding between them Megumi couldn't even pretend to get half of it. (It was different from how Gojo got along with Yuuji, with Yuuta it was more mellow but profound all the same. It was: Gojo and his walls allowing themselves the faintest of fractures—something he didn't do with Megumi. It was fine though. Megumi didn't want to know what Gojo was thinking anyway.) Maybe if he wasn’t trying to kill Yuuji they would get along. They could play the blame game together. No, you see it's my fault. No, no, it's actually my fault not yours. Megumi wasn't like them. No, Megumi—just like Gojo—had the capacity, the willingness to let every cruel thing roll off of his tongue if he truly wanted to.
“Gojo told me to take care of you in case anything happened to him,” Yuuta says. Whereas his voice usually is quite high, kind of sweet which doesn't always match with the bloodthirsty Rika he brings to the scene, it noticeably drops just now. “That's what I'm doing. He told me to protect you all, so that's,” killing Yuuji that is—he can't even say it and it's almost enough to force a half desperate laugh out of Megumi, “what I have to do.”
It's not like he can fight Yuuta on this. Not special-grade Yuuta who hasn't been through the most horrific five hours of his life roughly twenty-four hours ago and is only alive because Sukuna thought it would be funny for Megumi to bear witness to the fruits of his labor. Megumi couldn't even fight him if he hadn’t been injured in Shibuya. He could threaten annihilation on both of them—that's always something he can do. A true and final fuck you to Gojo who always told him to stop doing this, who had been truly concerned since the first day the knowledge over Mahoraga and what that meant for Megumi and his fights manifested in his ten year old self's mind and ever since then refused to leave, like a parasite.
“I will die if he dies—if you kill him,” Megumi says finally. “I’m not joking.”
Because that's what he can do. Yuuta has a desperate need to protect the people he cares about and Megumi knows he is somewhere, maybe more near the bottom but whatever, on that list if only because maybe Gojo valued his presence as a disciple and well if he's going to die then Yuuta will just have to deal with that and sort it out with his conscience.
Yuuta looks positively pained, and in a thin, strained voice says, “Fushiguro, I—”
For a split second Yuuta looks like he wants to add something. Something that would make this horrible situation better but ultimately he doesn’t.
“Thought so,” Megumi mutters. “Have fun explaining that to Gojo.”
With that he brushes past Yuuta who turns with him and stares him down all the way until Megumi reaches the end of the hallway. He feels Yuuta’s eyes burning holes into his back and yet he doesn’t turn around. Yuuta doesn't call after him either. So that's how it was going to be then. Fantastic. He’ll just have to do it alone then.
The Jujutsu Inspector General looks like an ordinary man. Boring. Simple. Almost like stale bread that leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth. Not like the puppeteer of all of their misery that he truly is. He sits at the front desk when Megumi enters the classroom. A chair is already drawn up to the desk and the faint light of the desk lamp illuminates the room. If the shadows weren’t a second home to him, Megumi would’ve walked right back out of the classroom. The difference from Gojo is so jarring it feels like a punch to the gut—no feet hooked up to the table, no bright infuriating grin that greets him, no high-pitched version of his name calling out to him which he would receive scowling.
Instead he halts and the Inspector General, noticing him, gestures to the chair and says, “Ah, Fushiguro-san, please have a seat. What a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Megumi cloaks himself in silence as he slowly approaches the chair in order to sit down. Up and close the Inspector General looks rather young but not in the way that Gojo or Ieiri look young, but in a strange and off-putting way. His skin is pulled too tight and his eyes don’t crinkle when he smiles at Megumi.
“I am Yamamoto Kazuya, the Jujutsu Inspector General. I have been waiting for a while to finally get a chance to meet you. You have received our notice, I am sure?”
“Couldn’t miss it,” Megumi grits out.
The Inspector General smiles at him in return—a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and instead makes him appear like a hollow vessel of evil. He hums as if he agrees with Megumi but somehow finds the entire thing amusing. Nothing about this is amusing, Megumi thinks. For the first time he really understands Gojo’s general bloodlust towards them all.
“Can we get this over with?” Megumi asks, and the Inspector General laughs which only makes Megumi grind his teeth.
“There had been rumors you would be of the turbulent type,” the Inspector General says. What the hell is that supposed to mean? “But very well. Let us get to business.”
The smile falls from his face as if the strings upholding the corners of his mouth had been cut and Megumi wants to run far far away.
“You see, Megumi-kun,” and Megumi’s left eye twitches and the form of address. Clearly the Inspector General is mocking him and Megumi is overcome with the sudden and violent urge to sink his teeth into the Inspector General’s hand and tear until he bleeds. The dog stirs in the back of Megumi’s mind. He wants blood on his fangs.
“We would like things to return to their old balance. The Headquarters and I find that things, unfortunately, have been rather out of balance lately, do you not agree?”
“What do you mean?” Megumi feigns ignorance. If he can get a rise out of the Inspector General over this even better.
“You see, now that you have been named Head of Zen’in Clan the Headquarters just want to make sure things will remain proportionate. My fellow men and I are concerned over this for reasons you can surely understand. We are, of course, aware of what might be a natural inclination towards the Gojo Clan for you.”
“My inclination?” Megumi repeats, dumbfounded. The Inspector General clicks his tongue, as if annoyed with Megumi now, as if he’s talking to a stupid little child who couldn’t possibly fathom his grand intellect.
“He is your guardian, is he not? Gojo Satoru?” The Inspector General asks, though it doesn’t sound like a question. It very much sounds like he’s very much aware of that situation and clearly they have given this a lot of thought. “He took you in after your father died to allow you to become a sorcerer?”
Megumi stills. And that's well—on some subconscious level Megumi always knew that his father was dead. Had to be dead, really. If only because Tsumiki’s mother never showed her face again after he left for the final time. So, it's fine. His father is dead. That's not something that should shock him, and yet—it’s what really doomed him and Tsumiki then. Allowed. Megumi wouldn’t say Gojo allowed him to become a sorcerer, he allowed him to make the choice that wasn’t really a choice. Because what’s a choice between imminent death, and a shot at life for his sister?
“I—”
“You did not know your father was dead? Well, I knew you and I were going to be friends, Megumi-kun.”
The Inspector General wears a serene smile like he was perfectly prepared for this and had been very much aware that this would be the outcome of his words. He leans down by the table and when he comes up again, he hands a file over to Megumi. Or at least he attempts to. Megumi doesn’t take it—just eyes it cautiously. It hovers between them like a bomb waiting to blow.
“What is that?” he asks instead.
“The most important file of your life of course,” the Inspector General says. “Everything that led you here, started,” he taps the file, “here. It is what killed your father.”
“You knew my father?”
Megumi is doubtful of that. Yes, his father may have been a Zen’in but clearly a good-for-nothing Zen’in or otherwise this wouldn’t have been Megumi’s life. Otherwise, Tsumiki and he wouldn’t have been forced to live in a rundown apartment on their own for months after he left and then Tsumiki’s mother left because he did. Their children conditional on the sustainment of their relationship. If his father wasn’t a good-for-nothing Zen’in he probably would have never met Tsumiki, maybe she would have been spared all of this—to even think about this alternate reality makes Megumi sick—and Megumi would have grown up alongside Maki and Mai.
“Everyone knew your father.” If Megumi was stupid, he’d think the Inspector General was comforting him right now. But Megumi is a master at detecting false security that’s about to be ripped out from under your feet so he can’t fool him. Like all the times, Tsumiki's mother would vow that things would be different now, that they would get it together and they would be a real family like all the other children at school had. The longest she ever managed was four days but the resolution crumbled as soon as they had to go grocery shopping again.
The Inspector General nods at the file. “Go on, have a look. I know you want to.”
Logically, he should set an example now—show the Inspector General that he won’t play their little games, do something that would make Gojo grin at him in approval but ultimately… he doesn’t. Megumi’s fingers itch. He thinks about two blades buried inside of him. He thinks about a wet squelch and the splatter of brain on the pavement. Underneath the table he balls his hands into fists to stop the trembling before he reaches for the file. The Inspector General is smiling and Megumi is vaguely aware that he shouldn’t do what the Inspector General wants him to—that he’s playing right into his cards. Gojo would probably be disappointed in him right now, to see all his training go right out of the window. He’d flick his forehead with enough force to make it bleed, tell him to stop being stupid right now, probably with unprecedented seriousness.
But Gojo isn’t here and isn't that the crux of their problem? So, he flicks open the file. It reads:
Jujutsu Technical College Tokyo School To the Dean and Teachers
May 19, 2006
Second-Year student Gojo Satoru
Final Report on the Star Plasma Vessel Mission
Megumi looks up. “Why is this one of Gojo’s mission reports?” Something that can only be described as akin to dread settles in his gut, wrenching his organs open until bleed is spilling everywhere. The Inspector General is still smiling, the only motion he indicates is a slight tilt of his head.
“I think point two, paragraph four and point four will be of interest to you.”
He shouldn't do this, is what Megumi thinks when he skims over 1. Mission Case Record and 2. Summary of Gojo Satoru’s and Geto Suguru’s mission until he gets to paragraph four. He swallows as he begins reading again, faintly aware of the Inspector General's watchful eyes on him.
2.4 Third Day Report on Amanai’s Escort Mission on May 17, 2006.
It is estimated that Amanai Riko’s bounty was lifted at around 11:00 AM. The escort team returns to Jujutsu Technical College Tokyo School at around 3:00 PM and is attacked by Fushiguro Toji. He engages Gojo Satoru in a fight, allowing for Geto Suguru and Amanai Riko to get away. Fushiguro Toji manages to overwhelm Gojo Satoru at first, fatally injuring him with the Cursed Tool Inverted Spear of Heaven. Gojo Satoru sustains serious injuries to his body, resulting in him successfully utilizing RTC for the first time.
→ For Inventory Report on the Cursed Tool Inverted Spear of Heaven see file IR-038-2006.
At around 4:00 PM Fushiguro Toji delivers Amanai’s corpse to the Time Vessel Association.
→ For a detailed report on Fushiguro Toji v. Geto Suguru and the assassination of Amanai Riko see Preliminary Report on the Star Plasma Vessel Mission by Geto Suguru.
Fushiguro Toji engages Gojo Satoru in a duel for the second time. Fushiguro Toji is killed by Gojo Satoru with the use of the Gojo Clan’s Secret Technique: Hollow Purple at around 4:23 PM.
→ Autopsy Report on Fushiguro Toji available and provided by Ieiri Shoko.
Megumi’s head can’t stop spinning when he skips to point four. He can't remember his father's face, nor his name and now it's all here, right in front of him.
4. Concluding Remarks
Fushiguro Toji leaves at least one child behind → to be sold to the Zen’in Clan.
And then just:
I, Gojo Satoru, attest to only providing the full truth in this report and obscuring no relevant information.
Signed with his name, location and date. Megumi blinks until his vision blurs in front of him from dissociating so badly. He wants to throw up.
“Are you fucking with me?” is the first thing that comes to mind. His voice comes out scratchy and raw. It’s so absurd he wants to laugh.
“Why would we do such a thing? You have to realize, Fushiguro-san,” Megumi doesn't miss how the Inspector General's tone seems colder now, “Gojo Satoru's…—how shall we put it—acquisition of you was a purely political move. You, the Ten Shadows User in the hands of the Gojo clan, shifted the power balance among the clans ten years ago and now the time has come to rectify this.”
The Inspector General swats a lonesome fly away while Megumi has taken on staring at an unidentified point at the wall. Anywhere but the file. Rage, and grief, and something more must pass over his face because the Inspector General smiles as if he achieved exactly what he set out to achieve when he came here.
“We thought it would be best that, moving forward, all truths are out in the open. We would not want you to be misled by false realities and promises,” the Inspector General continues.
He takes the file back and Megumi is glad for it. He wants it to burn preferably. Anything to get it away from him.
“The Jujutsu Headquarters and I will respect Zen’in Naobito’s will but please believe me when I say to not cross us. Gojo Satoru is sealed and shall remain so but I suppose that will not be a problem for you. We have long waited to see the Ten Shadows take their rightful place at the table.”
“Can I go now?” Megumi asks quietly and the Inspector General nods, merely gesturing to the door as to usher him away as quickly as possible. His ears feel clogged as if submerged in cotton anyway. His legs threaten to give right out underneath him when he pushes himself up and stalks to the door as quickly as he can.
“One last thing, Fushiguro-san,” the Inspector General says and Megumi turns around to find him still sitting behind the desk. He nods his head at Megumi. “The Jujutsu Headquarters and I look forward to a mutually beneficial relationship. We are certain that you won’t disappoint us.”
It sounds like a thinly-veiled threat. It probably is. Megumi clenches his jaw and leaves the office without another comment. His feet, before his brain makes the conscious decision to do so, make their way down to the morgue where the only person who can still give him answers resides because Gojo is sealed and gone, neatly tucked away in Prison Realm, not able to observe the chaos he left behind.
He fought with Gojo before Shibuya. It was about Yuuji. Because that’s all they fought about these days. The worst thing is that he doesn't even remember all of it. He remembers saying mean things, but not the exact words that made Gojo’s face twist in something akin to a human reaction.
Ieiri said that it was normal—that it was his brain trying to protect him from even more trauma. Dissociative Amnesia, she called it. Oddly enough, he remembered everything from Shibuya perfectly fine. The worst of it all actually is though, that they don't even have the stupid box for him to kick and shake around until Gojo gets a concussion. Gojo is gone and gets to evade the aftermath of his destructive decisions and Megumi gets to be angry at ghosts. Stupid Gojo. He wants to punch him so badly. Worst of all, Gojo would probably let him.
Megumi steps into the morgue only to see Ieiri elbows-deep in a cadaver and that’s really the final nail in the coffin for him. She takes one look at him before she kicks a bin over just in time for him to throw up in it.
“Megumi-kun,” she says, slowly pulling her hands out of whoever’s body that once was. Megumi prays to something—anything—that this isn’t someone he knew to be alive not even two days ago, while he comes up from the bin. This is just humiliating. “What happened?”
Megumi takes an unsure step forward. Were this any other situation it would be funny to watch all the color drain from Ieiri’s face when he says, “The Inspector General told me about my father. He gave me Gojo’s mission report on—”
“I know what it’s on,” Ieiri interrupts him with enough force to make Megumi snap his mouth shut. She sighs in a silent apology. Maybe it’s unfair of him to dump this on her. After all, this wasn’t her fuck-up, this is Gojo’s fuck-up and Ieiri shouldn’t be the one to have to sit it out.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Satoru wanted to tell you eventually.”
“Did he now?” Megumi asks tonelessly, because for some reason he just can’t believe that. Even if Gojo had planned to do it eventually, Megumi doesn’t quite believe he would’ve done it in a way that would’ve been particularly comforting. Gojo is not an idiot—he can be aware of other people’s feelings. Which just means he’s mean and cruel by choice when he chooses to disregard them anyway. Megumi probably would’ve attempted to punch him in the face if they had ever talked about this and Gojo would’ve considered them even then and said something insensitive like “Great, so we can move past this now.” as if he pulled a stupid prank on Megumi, and did not kill his biological father.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it but he really did want to,” Ieiri says. “The timing was just never right.”
“Never is, isn’t it?”
Timing was never in Megumi’s favor, it seemed. Not with Gojo, not with Yuuji, not with anything really. He picks at one of the bandages around his wrists that are supposed to stabilize the bone. As if a sprained wrist was his biggest problem.
“You know, I never really thought about why the Zen’ins allowed it. As long as Tsumiki was safe, I honestly didn’t care. Is it because they hated my father that much?”
“Allowed it? They didn’t allow anything.” Ieiri laughs and the sound almost startles Megumi. “The Zen’ins were furious—scratch that—are furious at Gojo for this one. Probably ruined Gojo-Zen’in relations forever when he took you in. They would’ve dragged anyone to war over this. They would’ve dragged anyone to war over this but Gojo because what are they going to do in the face of man-made terror such as him without their Ten Shadows?” She drags a hand through her face. “He’s the only one who could’ve successfully kept them away from you.”
Megumi is silent.
“I know it sucks that he killed your father and didn’t tell you but honestly Fushiguri Toji wasn’t really all that great. Not sure what the Inspector General told you but don’t get a wrong impression, he was a horrible man. Not that Gojo is the pinnacle of a responsible guardian but…” She trails off and shrugs.
Yeah, Megumi kind of got that from the report. He isn’t even particularly mad at Gojo for killing his father. He's mad at having to live with this truth—this fact that his father killed Gojo and then Gojo killed his father—between them that only ever one of them knew, the one that got to dictate their relationship without Megumi knowing anything. And it did dictate their relationship. It’s the shadow that’s been hanging over their relationship for years. The invisible thing that used to haunt their home. He's mad that Gojo took the word of a six year old who said he didn't care about what happened to his father and he's mad at himself for saying it because maybe if he hadn’t, then he wouldn't have fought his father to almost death without even knowing—with more than just a faint sickness haunting him every time he thought about this person's face. Because Megumi knows. He knew back in Shibuya that he was missing something, that something was slipping away when the body crashed to the ground. He's sure now. He just knows in his bones.
“It’s late,” Ieiri says finally, “you should get some sleep. All of this will be just as fucked up in the morning. I am sorry, Megumi. I really am.”
Maybe going to sleep is the best decision. He will dream of Yuuji. Because Megumi is always dreaming of Yuuji. So, he follows her advice and gets going, only stopping by the door to turn back around.
“I fought him in Shibuya,” Megumi says, “he killed himself in front of me. I don’t know—I think it would have been nice if I had known then.”
He shakes his head, more to himself than anyone else, as if a stray thought to get easily rid off.
“I’m sorry too. Good night, Ieiri-san.”
When Megumi gets back to his room it's just past 5 A.M. and for a moment he considers not actually going back to bed. He considers it and then examines the consequences of that choice—awake, alone with his thoughts. No, thank you. At least his nightmares he can explain now. Naturally, they shouldn't feel as haunting anymore. Slowly, because his bones still ache, Megumi undresses, slipping back into his pajamas, before he creeps back under the covers.
The moment his head hits the pillow without sleep immediately overcoming him, Megumi wants Gojo back more than ever. He closes his eyes and pulls the blanket over his head and merely listens to his own breathing. The shadows watch over him as much as they haunt him. He's not sure how long he simply lies there before soft vibrations of his phone on his bedside table shake him out of his daze.
With a groan Megumi blindly reaches for the phone, not sparing the caller number a single glance before answering the phone. Silence greets him from the other end. A few seconds pass and the person still isn’t saying anything. He only hears soft breaths. Megumi sits up with a jolt. It shouldn't be and yet—Megumi can recognize him by a breathy exhale alone, because he heard it so many times in so many different situations. But it’s enough for Megumi to know.
His thoughts race, his mind tells him to say something quick! before Yuuji hangs up, and yet all that comes out is one breathy, desperately small, “Yuuji.”
It occurs to Megumi at that moment that he's never used Yuuji's given name before. Not outloud at least. Somehow it’s oddly fitting for them—that there are no sweet circumstances, just the rubble of the world and a death sentence keeping them apart. The stubborn silence he receives in return almost makes him doubt for a second that it's Yuuji.
“Yuuji,” Megumi says. “Yuuji, is that you? Please say something.”
More silence. But Yuuji's breathing goes funny. His breath hitches and the inhale that follows sounds as shaky as Megumi feels.
“Don't—just don't hang up,” Megumi whispers. There's sniffling. Megumi's eyes burn and there's no way of telling whether that's him sniffling or Yuuji because his mind isn't able to function or concentrate on anything but Yuuji.
“Don't leave,” he breathes out. “I need to—”
Yuuji hangs up. Megumi doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.