Work Text:
[and i was trapped]
It starts with the death of everything he's ever known, everything pure that he could possibly love. It reeks, it's poignant, a cloying stench that clutches the back of his throat in a tight fist.
Choking him. Waiting for him to go limp, breathless.
A sob tears through him, guttural and broken like what his fractured mind has become. His nails claw at his skin - cold, raw, bleeding - ripping away at the surface as if he could ever hope to escape.
Escape?!
There is no escape - from death, from life, from this wretched shell he is eternally bound to.
He died.
No, no no no - it's so much worse than death, and yet he calls for it to relieve him of this agony. This rot - it's eating away at his shredded insides. These maggots, writhing in his bunched and mangled muscles, they eat, they crawl and slither, they feast on his decaying corpse.
He's dead
Right?!
... Right?
He screams, but his throat is dry, the tender flesh mere shreds, and his skin melts as if sloughing from his rotting body.
He died.
That smell - it's rancid, sour, like meat frying under the unrelenting sun. It's sickeningly sweet - like decaying fruit with browning skin that peels, decays, tears, and gives way to reveal the rotten insides that have gone soft and run like sewage. The core hiding inside is putrid, and he wonders if his insides look exactly the same.
If they have his whole - short - life.
A broken sound, wretched, cursed, a vile thing echoes around him like a mockery of his suffering. An endless loop, and it leaves his ears ringing. It's a piercing sound, and his fingers, dripping with blood that should've gone dry - stale, cold, cloying in his withering veins - rip at his ears in hopes of silencing his pleas for mercy for his wretched and cursed soul.
His lungs must have surely collapsed - it's why he can't breathe - withered, shrunk to the size of raisins, leaving him to choke on his last breath.
It's the unmistakable taste of iron in his mouth - old, metallic, nauseating. The maggots squirm and wriggle, seeking out what’s left of the rotting meat peeling from his splintering bones, feasting off him even though he can feel every moment of his body falling apart, rotting-
He can feel all of it-
This is a body meant for a grave.
Nails chase after the maggots, uncaring for how he bleeds, but they only burrow deeper, deeper, deeperdeeper-
A prison meant for the dead
This thing - this cage for his soul - it's not his. It never truly belonged to him, but no matter how much he tries, there is no escape-
This skin is suffocating, tight as it wraps ruthlessly around his bones, muscles that shrivel and leak into his still bloodstream. His twisted and mangled insides - insides that should be spilling out where his body was cleaved in two - have turned to liquid fire. It's all-consuming, and he is forced to succumb to the way his body continues to decay even as he screams and heavy hands tear at his decomposing body.
Cleaved limbs thrash and grapple, but they find nothing to anchor his suffering soul to - this body doesn't belong to him!
It's never felt so wrong - revolting, alien, grotesque-
This is unnatural-
As if his jaw unhinged, he gags around the bile that rises in his spasming throat, but there's nothing inside him more that he can spill.
This body - monstrous, filthy shell, slick with the blood staining his deadly pale skin - has nothing more to give, leaving his shredded organs burning as if lit aflame.
No-
It's like acid eating away at whatever is left of his remains, taking what the rot has yet to consume, and soon nothing but dust will be left to scatter.
[i alone had no body]
It's a terrible idea.
It's such a terrible fucking idea that Shoko wants to laugh in his face at the absurdity of it all, to snap that something like this isn't possible.
That they have no right to meddle in matters such as this. That this is crossing too many lines, and this is far too big of a risk to take so soon, try at all, right after the war just ended.
It's a terrible idea, and Shoko tells him as much, but she can't stop how sharp her words are. Not that she actually feels bad for it because it's a terrible fucking idea.
"You don't know what you're messing with," Shoko stresses, peeling the medical gloves off her hands, uncaring for how they snap and tear at the tension. Her voice is level, sounding as unaffected as possible; however, it's the way her shaking hands clench at her sides, fisting the gloves in one hand, that gives her away.
Not that Kusakabe would notice, or care, for that matter. It's not often they see one another while on campus, and in this moment, Shoko could not be more thankful for that. On a good day, Kusakabe amuses her, what with the lengths he goes to for self-preservation, even being so ready to risk lives just to make sure he at least survives in the end.
At the least...
But here, nerves frayed, mind screaming in agony as she stands alone without her ghosts hanging from her slumped shoulders, he's a nuisance, and Shoko aches to kick him out the door of the morgue before she rips off his head for even suggesting something this unethical and selfish.
How is he able to be so blasé about all this?!
"You know damn well that I didn't make the final decision."
"But you sure as shit didn't say anything against this idea!"
It goes quiet in the morgue.
After all these years, Shoko came to realize there was something about the silence of the morgue, the cold and drab atmosphere that covers the room like dirt over a grave, that gives more comfort than the infirmary.
And it's here, standing in front of Kusakabe, who has remained calm like they are discussing something as boring as the weather, that she feels the weight of the stakes from this foolish decision that was so far from being in anyone's control, other than those filled with only spite and hatred, that standing in the ashes of the dead she's taken apart and burned brings more comfort than she's been able to feel in ages.
Because this is where they belong...
On her table, then in the ground, before they inevitably soak back up into the earth.
Not being used as some puppet at the demand of people who work for nothing but their own self-interest.
"I'm just thinking rationally, Shoko," Kusakabe shamelessly admits, and Shoko tightens her fists, fighting back the sudden desire to drive her fist into his unbothered face. There's not so much as a twinge of guilt twisting his lips or uncertainty reflecting in his eyes, and that's what pisses her off the most.
How can anyone think that this is a good idea?
Don't they know what they are messing with?
"This won't end the way you think it w-"
Kusakabe gives an irritated huff, and Shoko clicks her tongue, the only other sign of her aggravation. "And you think we have any other choice?" Kusakabe huffs; his arms cross over his chest in a blatant show of disinterest, and it's an ugly pair alongside the horrific realization of their current predicament.
Shoko never felt much for Kusakabe from the moment they met, but all she's feeling now for this man is pure disgust.
The lengths some people would go.
"You're not fooling me," Shoko snaps. Turning on her heel, she walks deeper into the morgue, away from the empty dissection table set up in the middle of the room, to the mortuary coolers lining the back wall. She can feel the burning of Kusakabe's eyes on her back, but she doesn't spare him a look, as she instead seeks out that cursed name tag. "Who's to say that you weren't the one to whisper the idea into their ears?"
There's a cold silence, and as the ground freezes and her skin turns ice cold, it occurs to her that she hit the nail on the fucking coffin.
The freezers blur and cloud in front of her, but when she lifts her head, the luminescent light overhead burns bright and unaffected. And it's only then that she recognizes the burning in her eyes. Desperate hands sink into the pockets of her lab coat, but she finds nothing more than lint and a bent paper clip.
You know, you might just die before me if you don't quit smoking.
Swallowing harshly, Shoko breathes through the part of her that wants to show him that she's trying.
For him.
To live like he never truly got to.
But being alone is so much harder than he made it seem.
"I'm just doing what's in our best interest," Kusakabe says, and his voice takes on a softer edge, almost like he has enough awareness to realize that Shoko is quickly reaching her limit.
The laugh that tears up her throat leaves behind a feeling so heavy, she swears for a moment that they waited too long, and a curse has now found a home inside the corpse. But as she steps closer, she feels nothing but a sick twisting in her stomach, something that is solely made up of her grief and mourning.
Surely, if she weren't a sorcerer, this nasty feeling inside her would've turned into something vile.
An epitome of everything she's lost.
She doesn't hear Kusakabe when he leaves the morgue, his footsteps quiet and the closing of the door deathly silent; yet, she feels how the room grows heavy when his cursed energy gets far enough away from the morgue.
Every step she takes is slow, hesitant, and more painful than the last.
She stops right in front of the freezers, raises her hand, and lets her fingers trace along the kanji.
Gojo Satoru
Alone in the morgue, Shoko has only the ghosts of her past to keep her company, soaking in her misery and the grief that has been slowly choking her, but never letting her go still.
[no senses. no feelings]
A gasp - strangled, wet, cloying, thick and heavy - rips through his throat. The burn in his chest only grows hotter, and the air doesn't reach his lungs like he knows it should. It festers - the rot, maggots tearing through decaying skin - bubbling up inside him, readying to burst.
His mouth falls open, his scream silenced by his endless agony, and he nearly chokes on the shriveled remains of his tongue.
It was warm, the blood pooling underneath where he was cleaved. Organs and bones piling onto the ground, taking his life with a harsh finality.
It was snowing
It's gone - torn out. Eat by the maggots - the rot. Teeth tearing it to shred-
He died
Silencing his cries and pleas for it all to end.
The ground as cold as snow landing on his frozen face
He died - there is no future where he feels the sun bring warmth back into the corpse he's trapped inside.
Everything's wrong - his skin tightens around him. Mind ripped apart. Soul torn free.
This body isn't his. He can feel another being, a soul attached to these strings like a puppet, that leaves his heart beating harshly inside his cracked chest.
A queen cries in despair, her shadow wailing, claws gently racing the stitches weaving his skull shut.
His mouth opens, something gnarly and wretched escapes, and it dies in the room in place of him.
There's a rattling, sharp, piercing, an echo of skeletons along prison walls. It's a mockery of the feeling inside his chest, of a death rattle that refuses to fully claim his life.
He died.
Throat tight, iron on his tongue, fingers sinking into greasy hair, stitches rubbing along his rotting arms-
Something shatters.
Something fragile like his mind.
"-oru!"
A burning in his arm as warmth seeps into his stolen body, a fire. It's eating him from the inside out - the maggots - stripping him of everything he's ever been worth.
"-oko, do something!"
The voices come through like static, and there's a sharp, piercing ricocheting throughout his skull at the frantic shouts from people he knows he should recognize. Their memory is lost to the storm, tearing him apart at the seams.
Leaving nothing but frayed threads soaked in the blood pouring from his severed body.
He's dead
There's a crackle and a sharp pop as the pressure in the area surrounding him builds and builds and builds and builds-
Hands clamp down on his dissevered arms - the touch. Why can't he feel the warmth? - and they struggle against the desperate hands grappling at his split-open skull.
Heat coats his cold fingers, wrapping tight his pale skin - sticky, hot, thick. Blood. But relief never comes even as his fingers sink deep and pull at the edges of his mind, praying for it all to stop! Let me go! I finally found peace with being a monster!
So why-?!
The rattling in his chest - shaking his skeleton, pounding along the walls of this cage, clattering of bones as his body falls and hits the concrete - grows and grows and grows-
"-toru! Look at me!"
I can't! He wants to scream, shout, cry in desperation that someone will finally hear the wailing coming from this empty shell.
Electricity slithers down his spine, his fingers, his toes, his head. His very core that had made him into something unrecognizable.
It's agony. It's not bringing newfound life into his veins, his heart, his body. It crackles and pops and grows insurmountable as the rattling his screams become deafening and-
There's a crash behind the storm raging in his ears, something shattering into splinters like his rib cage, and he nearly suffocates from the pressure building in his chest.
A gasp - wet, ragged, thick as blood rises in his throat - is ripped out of him as his hands are ripped away from the hot mess dripping from his cracked head-
It's too much too much it's all too much and he can't-
It's all too much-
He died-
And he screams. Loud, a broken man, lying on his deathbed. This corpse - no, this prison - rots as he screams for a merciful end that he never really deserved.
He should be dead
The rattling - a crackling of his voice. He breathes as the death is forced out of this forsaken cage. His mended bones after being cleaved in two - clears, and he screams as he fights against the restraints that hold him in place.
So why does he scream?!
"Satoru!"
The pressure crackles, and he clamps down on the iron grip with a hand that burns a blazing red. His world spins; something hard meets his oozing skull, the bone exposed, and the cracking of bones reverberates through his death-stuffed ears.
A gasp - shocked. Broken. A desperate gasp for life as he claws at the dirt being dumped on top of his molding corpse - fights through his tightening throat, leaves streaks of torn skin, oozing, dripping down his throat and back out his gaping mouth. The rattling, his screams, become a deafening silence as his ghosts whisper death into his head.
And when he finally opens his eyes, peering through the pitch black room as the overhead lights flicker as if their power has been snuffed out, he lets his head fall and hit the hard ground.
Eyes burning, he squints as his breathing grows heavy, fighting through the sudden fog that muddles his head. A needle, empty, sinks into his upper arm. Eyebrows furrowing, he follows the line of the needle, a hand, an angry gauge in a pale arm in the shape of his hand, a white sleeve pushed up to the elbow, and finds a face that he knows with certainty.
Tongue thick and heavy - whole but still he chokes and the maggots are only borrowing deeper, eating through his malleable and rotting flesh of his throat - words try and form in his dry as dirt mouth. Gasping, he reaches out with a trembling hand, fingers dripping with blood, but his strength is gone, and his hand seeks out the white sleeve, staining it the color of his bleeding wounds.
Brown eyes are wide when they find his own, but it's getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. His limbs feel laden with lead, rigor mortis settling in his body, and his arm drops to the warm floor, fingers spasming as he desperately tries to hold onto the only thing that makes sense in his broken mind.
But why-?
Maybe it doesn't make enough sense, but he knows her.
The needle clatters to the tiled floor, and he tries licking his lips, but he's dead and there's no water left in his cold body.
Have his useless organs rotted away inside him already? Has the blood in his veins finally gone still and locked him in this cage? How are his lungs working when there is no life left in this body, this brain?
"Sh-Shoko."
Her lips form around a name that should be long forgotten by now, and before his eyes fall, he spots the glistening of tears as she leans closer to his still form.
A hand presses along his gaunt and cold cheek, a quiet humming of life seeping into his bones-
But it's too late
He's already dead.
But why...
"Satoru," and he hears it this time, even through the static melting his brain. Eyes shutting, body going limp, breaths finally going steady, Satoru finally feels himself calming in Shoko's living and warm touch.
But an ache nestles deep within him, festering...
Why?
What did you do to me?
[i was in hell looking at heaven]
After the infirmary nearly got blown to smithereens, it only made sense that there would be a crowd gathering right outside the doors.
Shoko had to send Kusakabe outside to wrangle seven terrified teenagers and keep them from busting through the infirmary doors because cursed energy like this doesn't come out of nowhere. As Shoko wipes away the blood from Satoru's greasy white hair, she wants now more than ever for that to be the case.
It would be so much easier if some random curse user spawned on campus and created enough of a ruckus to distract them all from how wrong everything has felt since the fighting came to an end in the middle of Shinjuku.
No matter how much Shoko loves Gojo Satoru, how she yearns for the simplicity of their high school days, where everything felt happier and none of them carried a mountain of trauma and pain on their shoulders that only surviving a war can provide, it’s hard to convince herself that any of this is worth the pain she’s inflicting.
Even after, when things were bleak and Shoko only had Satoru in her life to lean on as they stood alone the day of their graduation, at least she had someone who knew how to hurt the way she did. Someone who could smile at the inside jokes and the memories they made during those three short years, even if they were still missing a part of themselves. Someone who loved her and she could love back, even if the world seemingly had been ripped right from underneath their bloodied feet, leaving them with even less than they started with.
Even when it was just the two of them. One hardened by the cruel disappointments from their ugly lives, and another locked behind a life full of hurt and pain, swearing to never be the one to hurt again.
Because at least then, she can live on with the memory of what it was like to love Gojo Satoru. To remember his love for sweets and the kids he never knew he'd care for and come to love. To remember those bright and lively eyes that always peeked underneath his blindfold or over the rim of his sunglasses as he sat at Shoko's side with a smile that lit up the world as he regaled the tale of his long day. To remember how warm he was when he fell into her side, and she into his, as their shared pain became easier to carry when they had someone who was waiting to carry some of the weight.
To remember how he smiled. At Megumi and Tsumiki. His students. His friends, both alive and 6 feet under. In pictures of their youth and memories of her present. His name and the power he held, not only in his cursed energy, but also in his heart.
She wants to remember how he smiled when he died on that battlefield, because no matter how much it hurt to watch his body fall after Sukuna ripped through him, she knew this is what he wanted.
But now…
Shoko is left with the memory of his wild eyes filled with unbearable agony as he ripped out the stitches holding his skull together. His screams as his cursed energy swelled and shattered every light and window in a 50-mile radius. His body thrashing as he lost control of his cursed technique, as his hand burned with his red technique, ripping away the skin and muscle of her forearm, leaving her flesh adhered to his hand before he rolled off the hospital bed and onto the cold, hard tile of the infirmary, dragging the sheets and IV with him.
How he cried when he met her eyes, two broken people unable to look away, and she was forced to realize that she would never truly have the version of Gojo Satoru she cradles in her memories.
Because he died in Shinjuku, and Shoko fears that all she brought back is a broken mind and body.
Sighing, Shoko has to force herself to drop the bloodied rag into the washing bin before she chucks it at the wall as her rage at the situation only builds. She refocuses her attention on Satoru, who is finally sleeping peacefully in the infirmary, stitches intact, tear tracks replacing the blood that streamed down his cheeks, and the IV reinserted into his other arm after he unceremoniously tore it out in his panic.
Her reversed cursed technique left no wounds behind, both his new ones and the ones he gave her, but the stitches along his forehead refuse to heal beneath her hands.
Only time will seal his skull shut, but she fears that there will never be enough time to reverse the damage that has been inflicted upon him.
This isn't what he wanted.
Satoru agreed to let Okkotsu use his body like a puppet if Satoru were to fall, and that suggestion alone was almost enough to convince her to chew Satoru out until he gained his senses back, as how could someone think of something so absurd?!
(But the more she thought and the more he whispered to her in the safety of the night when sleep refused to take either of them, sitting in the cold winter air, she came to realize that the pain he wears like a second skin will only keep dragging him down until there is nothing left of him.)
But Shoko didn't because she knew the stakes, that there was simply nothing else available to them should Gojo Satoru die by Ryomen Sukuna's hands.
Shoko will never get the feeling of holding her best friend's hemorrhaging brain in the palm of her hands out of her head, but it was his wish to make sure that everyone survived to the very end, even at the expense of his own life.
This isn't what he wanted.
Eyes burning, Shoko furiously wipes away her budding tears, her silent fury only growing knowing that those cowardly elders are just as spineless as the ones Satoru slaughtered with his bare hands for ordering something so inhumane.
At Kusakabe for being the one to plant such a horrific idea inside their wretched heads.
At herself for doing nothing more than following orders that went against everything Gojo Satoru asked for when he was still around to make his own decisions.
Because now, he truly is everything he claimed to be: a weapon. A tool to be used and destroyed and brought back should he break, because he's the only one powerful enough to keep every coward safe from harm.
And Shoko wishes she were strong enough to step into the line of fire, if only for his sake.
Taking a deep breath, Shoko takes a step away from the bed, from Satoru, and takes a moment to just watch him, even as the shouting only grows louder beyond the infirmary doors.
His skin is deathly pale; the only life that has come back to him is the rosy tint of his cheeks that only comes from crying. With his chest bare and the blanket pulled down to his waist so Shoko could properly clean him off, she gets a full view of the dissection scar, an angry red, and the raised tissue that hasn't had enough time to fully heal.
His breaths are slow, steady, but so painfully quiet as the infirmary generator swallows his breaths. She counts every rise and fall of his chest because hearing him breathe isn't enough to convince her that he is actually alive.
But there's this part of her, cursed and absolutely wretched, a part so horrid that she regrets even entertaining the thought, that wishes for nothing more than for him to simply stop breathing, to hear that grating death rattle as Satoru finally passes on and finds the peace that he has always been denied.
The talisman meticulously wrapped around Satoru's wrists keeps his overwhelming cursed energy suppressed, if only until Satoru is alert enough to manage it himself again.
If he is able to.
Because who knows how much his mind has suffered after being forced back from the dead. How is his brain supposed to hold up after being wrung out and ripped out from his head to be left out to dry as someone else wears his skin?
There's a resounding slam against the infirmary doors, and Shoko rips her eyes away from the bed, still counting even when she can no longer see Satoru's chest rise, to look over her shoulder at the still closed doors of the infirmary.
As a hand finds the mangled bit of flesh on her arm, covering the scar, Shoko quickly makes her way to the door, and she readies herself to face the horde of scarred students that have been left without their beloved teacher when they need him the most.
With one last look thrown over her shoulder, Shoko takes one more selfish glance at Satoru, eyes tracing over every inch of him that convinces her mind that he's still in there somewhere, before facing forward and quietly pushing the door open.
Only to find that Kusakabe is doing a terrible job of de-escalating the situation.
Nobara and Maki are standing at the front of their make-shift crowd, trying to strong-arm Kusakabe into admitting what's going on; Megumi, Yuuta, and Panda clutched in Inumaki's arm stand in the back, their quiet anxiousness settling heavy in the hallway, Yuuta nearly looks ready to vomit, and Megumi seems like he's trying to slip away into his shadows as he wears something just as heavy underneath his eyes; Yuuji stands at Nobara's side, less vocally upset, but Shoko spots the nervous tapping of his foot as he looks between his classmates and the slight green hue coloring his face.
"Quit being a coward for once in your life and let us talk to Shoko!" Nobara shouts, raising a manicured finger and nearly poking Kusakabe's eye out. "We know something's wrong. We can all feel it!"
Just as Nobara is about to lunge at Kusakabe, Yuuji is quick to wind his arms around her waist and hold her back.
"Whoa, Kugisaki!" He blurts out, but she only slaps his arm in response, huffing in frustration when she can't break out of his hold.
"I don't care what any of you say. We are under strict orders to keep you all from getting involved in this," Kusakabe orders, arms crossed over his chest at a poor attempt at finality, but the students aren't convinced.
"Screw your orders, and screw you!" Nobara shouts, wiggling fiercely in Yuuji's unwavering hold. She slams a fist down on his arm as if it'll convince Yuuji she's not halfway to diving her fist into Kusakabe's face, and there's a part of Shoko, petty and tired, that debates letting her do just that.
“I'm just doing what's in our best interest.”
"Those dumb fucking elders can't be trusted and you know this!" She screams, and there's something terribly close to suffering in her remaining eye.
From where she stands out of view, Shoko spots the faintest hints of agreement from the others, ranging from mourning looks aimed at the ground, thinning of lips to bite back their deserved anger, and the shuffling of feet as if to stand with Nobara in support.
And Yuuji, a victim of the late higher up's misconduct and fear, loosens his hold on Nobara as a haunted look fills his eyes.
Taking this chance, Nobara slips free and steps up to Kusakabe, a sharp finger shoved back into his face. To give Kusakabe the barest amount of credit, he doesn't flinch away from a student half his height, no matter how volatile she approaches him.
"You were always a coward, that much I've been able to figure out myself."
"Kugisaki-"
"Shut it, Fushiguro!" Nobara wheels around to face Megumi, that fire burning bright, and Shoko pretends not to notice how her eye turns glassy. And for that matter, she ignores how the students have only grown more and more distressed the heavier the hallway grows. "I know you're just as upset about this as the rest of us."
There's that silence again, and Shoko slowly brings the infirmary door shut, the quiet clang ricocheting down the hallway. All seven pairs of eyes (give or take one) zero in on her as she fully slips out from behind Kusakabe, and she doesn't bother trying to hide the exhaustion hanging below her eyes.
However, her hand does automatically press down all the harder on the mangled flesh on her arm, pressing the cold expanse of her palm into the burning flesh.
"Ieiri-sensei!" Yuuta calls out, voice quiet and weak, pinched tight, and eyes rimmed red. "What's going on?” There's almost something pitifully hopeful in those dark blue eyes, and it pains Shoko to know that some time soon, she will have to crush that newfound hope with the harsh reality they are now facing. "There was this powerful surge of cursed energy." His classmates glance over at Yuuta, but none of them dare to interrupt him. "It felt like-"
"Kusakabe's right." Shoko stops Yuuta in his tracks because she knows what he's going to say. Swapping brains with someone, even for a few minutes, will ultimately have some side effects after the fact. Yuuta and Satoru shared a body, memories, thoughts...
Satoru may have been dead, but the unforgiving nature of Kenjaku's technique forced Satoru to live on in whatever way was possible.
And that hope Yuuta feels now... what he thinks he felt the moment Satoru took his first breath, the connection he's surely having to suppress lest he drive himself insane...
She can't allow it to fester and infect the others...
Because the man behind those doors, near comatose in that hospital bed?
They will be lucky if he even resembles the memories they have of Gojo Satoru.
"I can't let you in right now." The metaphorical foot she's put down sends shockwaves through the building, and it leaves Satoru's students staggering where they stand. The brief flickering of relief at seeing Shoko slip into the hallway is stamped down under her commanding tone and heavy eyes.
There's a ringing in her ears.
It sounds scarily like Satoru screaming for mercy.
Mercy she's been forbidden to show.
"Shoko-" Maki argues, and a quiet "bonito flakes" slips past the thundering of her voice.
"It's not my decision," Shoko presses, voice hardening even as her grief threatens to topple her from where she stands unopposed. "We have orders and I can't afford to go against them."
I have to protect you from someone who isn't here anymore.
"But we know there's something wrong!" Yuuji steps forward, and she hates to see the desperation in his eyes. It leaves room to hope in a world that only takes and takes. "We can all feel it."
Her lips part, gearing up to guide Satoru's students as far from the infirmary as she can, but she's unbearably tired and her arm spikes with a phantom pain, even healed.
God, she needs a smoke.
"Like I said, you have no place in any of this." Too harsh. Kusakabe speaks too harshly to these kids who are hurting. "Now, it's best you all leave. We can't have you lingering around here right now."
How can he be so unaffected right now?
How can he speak with such little care to these grieving kids?
How can he face these traumatized kids who lost the closest person in their lives, and feel nothing when he demands that Shoko defy nature and force a corpse to wear Gojo Satoru's body?!
Her best friend for fuck’s sake-!
The hand on her arm tightens, and it takes a great deal of effort to remain as composed as she ever is, even when her eyes burn and it's become almost impossible to breathe with these rocks pressing down on her chest. And when the need to slip back into the infirmary and sit in silence with a person she fears she no longer knows grows, she forces herself to face forward, to stand tall even when she can't possibly do this anymore.
How?
How did he ever manage for as long as he did?
Sharp green eyes watch her closely, and Shoko meets the piercing gaze with a matching one, but Megumi doesn't back down. Neither of them speaks, not that Shoko would be able to hear anything over the rest of the kids shouting at Kusakabe in defiance and righteous anger.
Megumi's eyes flick over her face, looking for any signs of a crack in her mask, any sign that lets him in on what's happening. Then he looks over her shoulder, trying to peer through the walls and find that source of the overwhelming surge of cursed energy, even though it's almost disappeared completely.
Even though it surges widely every time Satoru's screams light up the infirmary.
Then to her arm, poorly hidden behind her white sleeve and even whiter hand.
Can he see the remnants Satoru left behind on her deformed skin?
His gaze lingers, and his eyebrows furrow with an emotion she never had the chance to learn to decipher, lips pursing before looking back at her with steely eyes.
What will Megumi say when he learns what Shoko's done?
Satoru may purposely be oblivious to any love and care thrown his way, but Shoko couldn't help but watch how Megumi grew attached to him, even if it happened slowly, and how he loved Satoru from a distance, even though he never dared to say it aloud.
And she saw how he broke down after the fighting stopped and he woke up in the infirmary, how his eyes grew unfocused as Yuuji broke the news through bouts of heartbreaking sobs, how Megumi grew more quiet and withdrawn as the days passed.
She pretended not to hear how he cried in the not-so-empty infirmary, Satoru's name a whisper as he begged and pleaded for the last of his family to come back.
What would Megumi say when he sees what the last of his family has become?
"Ieiri-sensei," Yuuji cuts through the suffocating silence now that the voices have grown hoarse and the anger has been swallowed in favor of one last desperate plea.
But it's one Shoko can't allow.
"It's best you all head out for now." Turning on her heel, Shoko doesn't bother addressing Yuuji in favor of striding back to the closed infirmary doors.
She's been gone too long...
What if something happened in the short time she stepped out of the room?
...Does it make her a terrible person to wish to see Satoru just as lifeless as he was on the operating table, having passed in his sleep as Shoko took a bone saw to his skull?
"Wha-wait!" Yuuji shouts, and Shoko stops when a hand clams around her forearm, unknowingly grasping the burnt skin of her arm. "Please, we just... we have to know, Sensei.” A pause, and she can feel how everyone in the hallway collectively holds their breath. “Is it... is it Gojo-sensei?"
No one speaks. No one moves. And no one can even bring themselves to breathe lest everything shatter around them.
But Shoko has to. There is no room for hope in such a hopeless situation.
Pulling her arm free, Shoko refuses to turn away from the imposing infirmary doors, as she’s unable to bring herself to watch their faces shift into that familiar look of heartbreak and grief.
"No. Now leave. I won't ask you again."
When the doors shut behind her, she holds her breath and waits for the yelling to start up again. But as she looks ahead at the covered window, a clear sheet of plastic wrap blocking the rain from pouring through the shattered glass, she only hears footsteps slowly walking down the hallway.
Away from the infirmary.
Ignoring how Kusakabe is standing guard in front of the infirmary doors, Shoko tries to let herself relax, to pretend that there's something to hope for, that everything will fall back into place if she just gives it enough time.
But as she steps closer to the occupied hospital bed, her eyes fall onto the stitches holding Satoru's head shut, and there's no point in trying to fool herself.
When she looks at his bare chest, she begs for mercy and wants nothing more than to see him go still under her blurry gaze.
But Shoko is forced to keep counting, and she wets the rag again to keep her hands from shaking.
[for i am]
It's obvious something's not right.
Now, Yuuji may be a little dense - he can hear Nobara in his ear, laughing at him at how he's underselling it - but he's observant enough to notice that things haven't felt right these last few weeks.
Missions have taken over all their free time, eating away at all the extra time he and his friends would usually have to go out to town and shop, and just be kids like all these adults have been telling them to.
The hours they spend in the classroom drag on and on and on, making sorcery seem incredibly mind-numbing. Even though that's almost the exact opposite of what Yuuji’s come to know, at least everything outside of the mission statements they have to do.
Yuuji even fell asleep in the middle of Kusakabe's class one day. Nobara hasn't let him live down the fact that he got chewed out by Kusakabe of all people, but the reality of the matter leaves a bitter taste behind for them all to stew on.
Because it never used to be this way.
But the worst part of it all... Yuuji misses his friends.
He's spent countless hours flipping through the stack of the once dusty stack of movies that only he has had the strength to touch, hoping he could find one that's enough to lure one of his friends out to hang like old times. Standing outside Megumi's door and trying to convince him to just come out for a little while! I went and got pizza for all of us to share! Watching as everyone draws in on themselves, leaving poor souls like Yuuji to try and find a way back inside.
Yuuji has hardly seen Yuuta since his wounds have healed, but he knows that the root of his sudden disappearance has to do with the newly appointed higher-ups after the last group was unexpectedly ‘dealt with’...
These days, all Yuuji sees of Yuuta is a lingering wave of his cursed energy or from others speaking his name in hushed whispers.
Yuuji has seen glimpses of Nobara whenever he finds himself at the school for longer than a few hours. Other than the hints of scars peeking out from under her new eyepatch, he would think there's nothing about the past year that has left something inside her changed.
But maybe it's Yuuji projecting his own feelings onto every fleeting glance he gets of her. There's something in her eye, the slight wavering of her shoulders when she turns her back to him, that makes her look just as lost as Yuuji has been feeling.
Lonely... Almost.
Not that she would ever admit that to him. When he tried asking her about it early one morning before Kusakabe walked through the classroom doors, all it did for him was give him a flaming bruise on his shoulder and an irate Nobara who refused to talk to him until he forked over some cash he had put aside for a new pair of shoes.
So yeah, Yuuji is probably better reflecting in silence.
Seeing as he finds himself accompanied by his shadow most days, he thought he was the only one noticing how things just seem... wrong... as of late.
Somehow, it all circles back to the school nearly getting blown up (Megumi gave a slight grumble about how Yuuji's over-exaggerating, adding something along the lines that it was just the power that had failed).
But it was quiet that afternoon when they all found themselves in the student lounge, sitting in the dark, when Yuuji felt sudden waves of cursed energy surge through the suddenly creaking walls of the school, and there was a heart-stopping moment when windows shattered and doors swung open on their hinges, the whooshing as the sudden rushing wind blew through the broken windows.
The building was frigid that night and the next few that followed, but Yuuji couldn’t blame it all on the cool winter air.
It's hard for him to pinpoint what exactly queued him in, but he's decided to chalk it up to simply a feeling.
And if Megumi's nervous fidgeting and the same shared glance between his friends says anything, they all felt it too.
All in all, Yuuji feels he's qualified enough to say that things haven't really been adding up for the last week or so.
(Not to mention that Kusakabe is literally standing guard outside of the infirmary, and both he and Shoko are refusing to share what's obviously going on,content to keep pretending like nothing's amiss.)
Which leads him to now, sitting in the student lounge with Megumi, Nobara, and the second years, planning how they are going to sneak into the infirmary to see what Shoko and Kusakabe have been hiding from them.
However, Yuuji's not able to entirely let go of the guilt he feels for trying to plot behind their backs, to sneak inside when they made it clear they are to do anything but.
But, if there's anything good that's come out of this, it's the fact that they all have something to bring them back together again.
To his slight surprise, it was Nobara and Maki who had herded them all into the student lounge that day. It's one of those rare days when everyone is on campus long enough for joint training that afternoon.
(Let it be known that joint training was a hit or miss most of the time before the war. Kusakabe's reasoning for joint training is solely because he doesn't have the time in his day to train the two grades at separate times. Nobara and Yuuji quietly whispered over Megumi's head that first day that it sounds like Kusakabe is just lazy.)
They all came to an agreement that, yes, Shoko and Kusakabe are most definitely keeping something a secret from them, and they all feel that, after surviving a whole war, it's well within their right for it to be their business.
"We need a plan," Nobara announces to her crowd, clapping her hands as if she didn't already have their attention.
"Salmon."
"A plan?" Megumi parrots, an unimpressed glint in his eyes, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back into the couch. "You're crazy to think there's going to be an opportunity to slip past Kusakabe."
Huffing, Nobara glares at Megumi from her place in the front of the room in front of the couches and coffee table. "Do you want to know what they’re hiding from us or not?"
"I'm just saying-"
"Well, unless you have anything to contribute to sneaking past Kusakabe and Shoko, then I suggest you be quiet."
Rolling his eyes, Megumi grunts in annoyance, but he doesn't say anything else. Yuuji watches from his spot on the couch across from him, lips pursing when their eyes meet.
Things have been a bit stilted between them since Shinjuku. Yuuji can't really say he knows what Megumi's going through, what with the loss of his sister and…
But Yuuji knows enough that Megumi has a lot to work through mentally. And even if Megumi refuses every time Yuuji brings it up, he will be here waiting for when Megumi needs him in any way possible.
Still, it doesn't make it any easier to watch Megumi hide away and refuse to talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. Yuuji has tried to reach out and be there for Megumi, but he's also getting a personal understanding about what he meant when he said that ‘you can only save those who are prepared to be saved.’
But that doesn't mean Yuuji is going to leave Megumi behind. His persistence and love for his friends proved to be strong enough to save them last time, and Yuuji isn't about to let Megumi fall down another hole after everything has supposedly worked itself out.
More or less…
There's a soft kick to his shin, and Yuuji winces more so on instinct than it actually hurting. Blinking himself back to the present, Yuuji follows the foot that had dug into his calf to find Megumi staring him down from the his spot on the opposite couch. His green eyes are laser-focused on Yuuji, and slightly irritated glint shines with the overhead light illuminating his irises, but there's also curiosity there.
Ignoring his friends speaking around them, Yuuji offers Megumi a shy smile and a slight wave of his hand, but says nothing before turning back to Nobara, who is kicking up a storm.
"C'mon, you guys! You can't seriously be telling me that you're not frustrated that they feel the need to hide something from us?!" Nobara shouts, her temper flaring into something nasty and uncontrollable.
Yuuji shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stuffing his hands underneath his thighs. It's not that he disagrees with her. Quite the opposite, actually. There’s something fishy going on between Shoko and Kusakabe, and Yuuji is just itching to know what nearly blew them sky high the other day.
But again... They would tell them if they felt they needed to, right?
Even though Kusakabe is pretty... what's a nice way to put this... unfavorable amongst pretty much everybody that knows the guy, Yuuji has faith in Shoko. She has always cared about them, even if she's not going to openly admit how she feels as easily as others would.
It's hard for Yuuji to go against the trust he has in the people who have done nothing but try to protect him, especially when he was meant to have been killed at the very beginning of all this.
"Kugisaki," Panda says from Inumaki's lap. His short and stubby legs swing idly where he is clutched tightly in his hold, and Panda's just as small paws (hands?) hold onto the useless sleeve Inumaki leaves hanging at his side most days. "I understand you don't like Kusakabe-" Nobara scoffs, her single eye giving a harsh roll, "but I'm doubtful that we should even get involved. Besides, I'm sure Ieiri-sensei would tell us if it involved us in any way."
"Shows how much you know, fleabag," Nobara gripes, her hands clenching at her sides. There's a disgruntled sigh, but Yuuji finds he's unable to look away from Nobara. "We are more than capable of protecting ourselves. And I don't know about you guys, but I'm sick and tired of being on the outs!"
"You're pushing really hard for this. More than any of us."
"What's that supposed-"
"Are you sure this is just about Ieiri and Kusakabe?"
Silence.
Thick and heavy, cloying where it passes throughout the lounge, and Yuuji thinks he's going to choke on it.
Panda is as small as a stuffed animal, having not yet grown back to his size that Yuuji met him at. But even looking completely harmless like if he were a toy, there's a dangerous presence, humming almost as loudly as a curse as he pins Nobara in place with his small panda eyes.
Beady black eyes that have become deep pools, and his stare enraptures a frozen Nobara, drowning her fury with the harsh realization that none of them really wanted to ever address.
There's something fractured in her eye, broken and lost. None of her previous anger can be found as she stares out at them, no matter how closely Yuuji is looking for it. Mouth gaping, her hands go slack at her sides, and Yuuji can't even hear her breathe.
Actually... No one in the room is breathing.
Yuuji's chest burns, but even when he sucks in a desperate breath, the pain deep inside him doesn't fade. And it never really ever went away; try as he aught, Yuuji tried to rationalize why nothing felt the same. He could make excuses and acknowledge the differences in the ways his friends hold themselves since the end of the war, and he could pretend that it came solely from the war and the things they had to do to make it to the end.
"W-what-"
But deep down, Yuuji knows that it hardly scrapes the surface of what is only feeding their grief from everything they've lost.
"What are you talking about." It doesn't sound like a question with the way Nobara spits it out, far too acidic, and her anger is slow to rise back to the surface.
But it's unmistakable who Panda is talking about, even if he hasn't even dared to speak his name.
(And now that Yuuji thinks about it, no one really talks about him since everything happened. Whether it's grief or quiet acceptance, Yuuji likes to think it's better this way than thinking he got what he wanted when he said it's better to be forgotten. To be a memory, but one too painful to talk about.
Yuuji could live a hundred lives and never forget.
He could never want to forget.)
Panda wiggles in Inumaki's lap like he's trying to get himself comfortable, even when he is forcing them to face the truth. Yuuji can't help but wonder if he can feel how cold the room has gotten underneath that thick layer of fur.
"I'm just saying that I don't think he'd want this for us," Panda says, painfully unbothered by the sharp daggers Nobara throws his way.
Nobara's eye twitches at the implication, and Yuuji wishes he were dumb enough not to understand who Panda is talking about because then he wouldn't be forced to remember that final stand in the middle of a war zone.
No one says anything to shut down Panda, and the slap to the face he has delivered, forcing them to face something none of them want to acknowledge. From the corner of his eye, Yuuji spots Megumi hunched over, fists clutching at the couch cushion as he hides his face from concerned eyes.
Yuuta seems to have lost all strength in himself as he stares at his feet, and Yuuji swears he can see the slight shake in his shoulders.
There's an angry air to Maki from where she stands in the room, a heavy frown and even heavier eyes that hold a fury that feels unlike what Yuuji has grown accustomed to seeing since she wiped her clan from the face of the earth.
It's hard to read Inumaki, and Yuuji doesn't think he's all that perceptive, but he does notice how he holds on tighter to Panda, fingers nearly clawing into his squishy and soft body. Yuuji would be worried about Panda getting hurt, but he's come to realize that there's not much that really seems to keep Panda down.
"At least have the decency to admit why you are pushing for something like this."
It feels inexplicably harsh when Panda breaks the ice like this, and Yuuji can hear the sharp intakes of breath, from shock or budding anger, he can't say. Yet Yuuji can't help but outwardly wince at it all, knowing that Panda isn't wrong to be saying any of this, even if it hurts more than anything Yuuji's experienced in his short life.
"I am being honest-"
"But I don't think you are. It's okay to admit what this is really about."
"I am! It's about Kusakabe an-"
"It's about Gojo Satoru."
It's quiet again, and Yuuji watches as Megumi silently cries in the cold and dark room. The only light in the room comes through the clear plastic covering the windows, but the sun burns as it pierces through the weak covering.
Each time only gets harder and harder.
"Panda-" Maki snaps, her eyes flicking from Megumi and Yuuta, stopping briefly on a frozen Yuuji, before directing her icy glare back to Panda, who continues on as if he didn't just make their whole world come to a screeching halt. She takes a half step forward, and Yuuji debates getting up to stop her from throttling Panda.
"Maki-"
"So what if this is about Gojo?" Nobara huffs, but she's lost all the hard edges so carefully kept in place around her, leaving her wounds exposed to the naked eye. Her lips purse like she's trying to hide how they quiver. "Is that so wrong? Am I in the wrong to still miss him? To feel guilty about everything I didn't do?" Nobara's voice increases into a broken shout, her grief rearing its ugly head as she stares down her silent friends.
A pause-
And Yuuji wants nothing more than to leave this room.
A harsh clearing of her throat and-
"He mattered to me, too," Nobara whispers, and the vulnerability in her voice would be shocking if Yuuji didn't witness her rage and desperation shove her off the cliff side. "Shoko and Kusakabe are fucking lying to us, and I won't be kept out of all of it this time."
This time.
Oh...
It's not like any part of it was Nobara's fault...
That blame lies solely on Yuuji.
But he can't really blame her for feeling the way she does, and maybe he should do more to try to talk to her about everything that happened, what she missed because of Shibuya, and the people she lost because of something Yuuji let happen. That is only if she actually opens up to Yuuji after all this.
When Yuuji looks back at Megumi, fractured and missing such a huge part of who he is, Yuuji knows that Megumi needs him just as much.
And god... Yuuji kinda feels like a coward right now.
It didn't do any of them any good to ignore the larger problem at hand. Hoping his presence and patience would be enough to fix this was stupidly ignorant of him.
Yuuji could never forget about Gojo Satoru, and it angered him thinking his friends were so ready to move on after his-
But looking around the room at the teary faces and pinched expressions as everyone seems half a minute away from crying, suffering in their silent but shared grief, Yuuji realizes that he wasn't the only one holding onto his name.
His memory.
To Gojo Satoru and everything he ever did for them.
Even if it cost him his life when it came down to it.
"I miss him too," Yuuji croaks, throat tightening as he speaks, but he pushes through despite it all. And his efforts are rewarded when Nobara's head spins to find his teary eyes, her eye glistening with the sadness they are all holding onto, and newfound appreciation as she watches him. "I think I can speak for us all when I say that, too."
Taking a deep breath, Yuuji pushes himself from the couch and walks over to Nobara, coming to stop and stand at her side.
His smile feels shaky, watery with tears unshed, but it feels real for the first time in a long time.
"So," Yuuji starts, and Nobara watches him closely with a wide eye. He holds out his hand, palm up, for her to take. She accepts after a moment of consideration, and Yuuji smiles even wider as he holds on tight. "What's your plan?”
[i am]
The plan goes something like this:
At the joint training planned for this afternoon, Yuuji, Megumi, and Yuuta will sneak away from the training field and head to the infirmary. Maki, Nobara, Panda, and Inumaki will stay on the field and make sure Kusakabe is distracted when they make their escape. Then, once 5 minutes pass, Maki will throw Nobara to the ground, where she will then pretend to be concussed.
It seemed obvious that Shoko wouldn't bring anyone to the infirmary for something as minuscule as this, so it should be enough to draw her out long enough that Yuuji, Megumi, and Yuuta can sneak in through the window and find out what they have been hiding.
It's not a very complicated plan, that Yuuji understands. However, as he, Yuuta, and Megumi speed through the campus and the shrubbery until the busted infirmary windows come into view, he can't help but notice that his hands have started to shake a little in anticipation.
It's been quiet between the three of them since they had slipped out from Kusakabe's sight; even though they have no idea what they will find in the infirmary, Yuuji can understand how this must be making his friends feel.
Because their minds must be churning just as fast as Yuuji's, theories and questions pilling high about what could possibly be that Shoko and Kusakabe are so adamant to hide from them, what could it possibly be that took down the entire electrical system of the school and the area surrounding campus, what being or curse object harbors such powerful and manic levels of cursed energy?
The familiarity tastes bitter, and Yuuji can't really bring himself to stew on it all for that long unless he really wants to cry.
And now that he thinks about it, Yuuta and Megumi probably feel a whole hell of a lot worse than Yuuji feels right now.
"We're here," Yuuta chimes in from the front. His voice is tight with an uncomfortable look that twists his expression. Yuuta's hands clench and unclench at his sides, and Yuuji almost runs into his back when Yuuta comes to a stop. "Those are the windows to the infirmary."
"Like I said before, I can just use my shadows an-"
"No, you can't, Megumi!" Yuuji rushes to says, and he winces at the unintentional volume of his voice. Yuuji nearly trips over the long grass that twists around his calf in his haste to face an annoyed Megumi, hands out as if that'll stop him from calling upon his cursed technique.
(And Yuuji doesn't want to be the one to ask how well Megumi is about to call upon his shadows after most of his shikigami were unintentionally destroyed.
He has a feeling that that wouldn't go over too well.)
Eyes wide with confusion, Megumi stares at Yuuji, rightfully baffled and a little irritated. "It's not a problem, Yuuji."
"But you're still healing from the fight." Yuuji wrings his hands in front of him nervously, shuffling awkwardly on his feet when Megumi's eyes narrow. "Besides, don't you remember what Shoko said? You're cursed energy and technique are still on the fritz after fighting Go-"
A sharp elbow slams into Yuuji's back, effectively cutting him off with a pained gasp.
Ah, right. Probably best that Yuuji doesn't bring any of that up right now...
Clearing his throat and ignoring the depressing cloud that settled over the three of them at the almost mention of their...
Actually, Yuuji really just doesn't want to think about any of it right now.
Besides, that heavy look in Megumi's eyes is back, and Yuuji winces at his mistake. "We just don't want you to strain yourself. Besides," Yuuji says as he gestures over his shoulder. "We can just climb through the window!" The false cheeriness is almost painful, but Yuuji tries to ignore how sour it tastes where it sits on his tongue.
"I can do it," Megumi presses, looking at Yuuji and Yuuta with irritation. "And even if we did go through the window, what about the broken glass?"
Yuuji waves his hand as if waving away Megumi's argument. "We can just brush it aside or drape my hoodie over the edge so we don't get cut."
But that doesn't appease Megumi and he takes a steady step forward, ready to keep fighting Yuuji on this, but thankfully Yuuta chimes in, stepping up so he can stand at Yuuji's side. From the brief glance he'd stolen, Yuuta looks as calm as ever, a gentle smile on his face, and eyes shining with understanding. "Let's just play it safe for right now, Fushiguro," Yuuta says, but Megumi bristles.
"But I can-"
"I know, I know." Hands held up in a placating manner, Yuuta smiles again, and Megumi nearly wilts at the realization, exhaustion pulling hard on his shoulders. "Just trust us this time."
"Well, let's not waste any more time!" Yuuji hurries ahead, bounding through the tall grass and nearly trampling over a patch of blooming flowers planted by the wall. Yuuji kicks up dirt and mulch in his wake, but he doesn't bother paying it any mind.
Their footsteps are quiet as Yuuta and Megumi follow Yuuji as he presses forward, and they stop with him as Yuuji comes to stand into front of the covered window. The blinds are drawn behind the plastic covering, and it leaves only a sliver to peer through, but even then, Yuuji can't really see all that much.
"Is she in there?" Megumi asks, and Yuuji looks this way and that way, but it's just too dark inside the infirmary to tell.
Patting his pockets, Yuuji turns his attention to his phone. He pulls it out of his pocket and scrolls through the notifications that have piled up in the last hour, until he finds a message from Inumaki that was sent only moments ago.
Inumaki-senpai:
shoko sensei is at the training field
make it quick
"Yeah, she’s gone."
Megumi and Yuuta nod in understanding, and Yuuji takes this as his time to reach for the corner of the window pane, pulling away the duct tape holding the plastic in place and tearing it away, until it's left flapping in the wind.
Running careful fingers along the pane, Yuuji feels for any sharp edges that might pierce into his leg or hands when he pulls himself through, but he finds nothing poking out.
Satisfied, Yuuji leans closer and parts the black out curtains si he can poke his head inside. He hears the sharp beeping of what can only be a heart monitor, and the gentle humming of a machine deeper inside the room.
Frowning, Yuuji squints through the dark infirmary, but with only the sun slipping through the sliver the parted curtains provide, it's not enough to light up the room for it to spill its secrets.
"Okay, I'm going in," Yuuji says as he plants his hands on the windowsill, bracing himself and trying to ignore how his thumbs dig into a spiderweb on the side of the building. "And then I'll pull you guys in, okay?"
"Just go already," Megumi gripes from behind him.
Okay then.
Effortlessly, Yuuji pulls himself through the window and into the infirmary. It wasn't obvious when he peeled off the plastic covering from the window, but now that he is standing inside the infirmary with the afternoon sun beaming down from behind him, he finds the room is incredibly warm. Almost suffocatingly so.
Which strikes Yuuji as odd because Shoko has always liked to keep the infirmary and the morgue on the cooler side.
It feels like an early summer day, the sun blazing as it leaves the black concrete beneath his bare feet scorching, like a water bottle becoming uncomfortably warm after it's been left outside for too long.
Letting out a breath, Yuuji sheds his hoodie and throws it onto the empty rolling chair pushed up against the wall. It topples over at the weight, and Yuuji finds that all but one of the wheels has fallen off.
Taking one last glance around the infirmary, Yuuji relaxes when he's able to see for himself that they truly are alone. There are traces of cursed energy in the room, but Yuuji isn't as adept at picking out where they originate from as the others are. So to him, it makes sense that the traces must have come from Shoko-sensei.
"Up we go!" Yuuji cheerily shouts as he lowers his hand for Megumi to take, and he pulls him through with little trouble. He hears Megumi grunt softly as he walks into the room, peering through the heavy darkness just as Yuuji had, and finding nothing.
"C'mon up, senpai!" But Yuuta doesn't immediately take Yuuji's offered hand, and instead, he stares right past his shoulder and into the room.
"Something's not-" A pause, and Yuuta swallows. There's a nervous look in his eyes, almost disbelieving. "Yuuji, I think... I think there's someone in there."
"What?"
"It feels lik-"
"Yuuji."
Turning around at the sound of Megumi calling out for him, Yuuji spots him standing in front of a drawn hospital curtain that Yuuji didn't pay any attention to when he first took stock of the room.
Except-
There's something terribly haunted settling on his face as he stares at whatever it is that he's found. Megumi's hands are slack at his sides, no more of that nervous energy coming out in anxious ticks Yuuji knows he's seen before in-
"What is it, Megumi?" Yuuji asks, but Yuuta walks into the room ahead of Yuuji, having pulled himself up the moment Megumi pulled away Yuuji's attention. Yuuta walks over to Megumi's side, peering around the drawn curtain, and Yuuji is left watching as Yuuta's eyes go wide and his mouth is left gaping, no sound escaping.
"What is it?" Yuuji asks as he hurries forward, and he almost trips over the chair in his haste to see what has left them absolutely speechless and borderline horrified. "What's got you guys-"
It's-
Yuuji chokes, hand clutching the thin curtain in a tight fist.
It-
It can't be-
How-?!
His world tilts, spins, flies off its axis. Everything stops. The ground is gone, ripped out from beneath his feet. Yuuji falls as there’s nothing left to catch him.
Yuuji can't breathe.
Knees weak, he takes a half a step forward, but his foot is weighed down by his horror.
"G-Gojo-sensei?" Yuuta stammers, but Yuuji can barely hear him through the static in his ears. It's grating, sharp like someone screeching. "H-how- how is this-?"
This is wrong
It chants through Yuuji's head like a mantra, taunting and mocking, and he can't help how he scours over Gojo-sensei's frail-looking body in search of answers because how-?
How can he possibly be alive?!
Long legs are pulled up to his naked chest, hiding his face from their view. Even as his world spins in nauseating circles, eyes blurring from the building distress boiling in his veins, it's unmistakable who is sitting curled up in that hospital bed. White hair, strands standing wild and knotted, streaks of red leave his hair stained..
And the scar
Ugly. Mangled. Stitches jagged and an angry red. Such pale skin is stained red with blood. Blood stains his forehead, hair mouth neck his torso split in half-
I watched him die
The bile burns, and he tries to swallow it before he actually hurls, but Yuuji doesn’t outright ignore the instinct to lurch for a trash can.
The beeping of the heart monitor fills in the gaps the silence leaves behind in the infirmary, but beneath it, Gojo's whispers bleed through like acid - broken, fractured, frantic. Mania bleeds from his curled-up body, and every shell of a word that spills out like oil sounds like a man who's lost his mind.
This can't be real
Short nails, cuticles torn and painful sores tainting once perfect hands, desperately sink into the tightly wrapped talismans snaking up his forearms.
Yuuji recognizes the symbols as they are terrifyingly similar to the ones that held Yuuji down after that night he consumed Sukuna's finger back at his school.
He can't read any of what’s engraved in the talismans, the symbols unfamiliar and blurring from the tears that streak down his cheeks, but the lack of power is horrific; the power of the talismans is undeniably cruel, caging his teacher like a bear in a circus.
Stripping The Strongest naked of everything that is instinctual.
No no no no- this isn't right!
Those long fingers claw, rip, tear in manic fits, like Gojo would sooner rip his arms off than stay shackled and helpless for another dragging second.
"G-Gojo-" Megumi wheezes, and Yuuji forces himself to rip his eyes away from someone he barely recognizes. Face almost almost pure white, eyes red and glimmering with horrified tears, Megumi stares at the man on the bed. Yuuji wants to speak, reach out, hold on tight, but Yuuji can't move-
"S-Sensei-" Yuuta cries, voice thick with emotion and that prolonged sadness that won't ever go away.
In the midst of helpless rocking and mindless mumbling, Gojo freezes where he sits on the bed. His head doesn't lift to look at them, but Yuuji prays he'll recognize them anyway.
Please, sensei!
It only lasts a moment, that eerie silence, before Gojo starts rocking in that bed again. It creaks and groans at the shifting of weight. Mocking, piercing, tearing through Yuuji as it only cements that this isn't some delusion his sleep-deprived brain came up with.
Nails, blunt, dull, the beds cracked and bruised black - he's supposed to be a corpse - dig and rip relentlessly at the talismans. It's only once he finds the tender and soft flesh that he starts doing damage.
"Sensei, no!" Yuuta shouts, horrified, hand reaching out like he has any chance to stop Gojo from tearing his veins free from beneath his scarred flesh.
An arm flings out, aiming straight for Yuuta before his fingers can graze his ghostly pale hand. There's a resounding slap, the movement so fast Yuuji can only see a jagged blur, leaving Yuuta sprawled out on the floor.
Cheek a blazing red, Yuuta gapes at the wild-looking Gojo as he lifts his head. Wide eyes, blue irises shockingly bright, pupils blown, and the whites painted with red spiderwebs.
When Yuuji stares into those unfamiliar eyes, he is hoping with every part of him that he will be able to recognize this person, to be reassured by the life that always sat behind those eyes. But when those piercing blue eyes slither from Yuuta to Megumi to Yuuji, no one but a stranger is staring deep into his soul.
Gojo claws at the sheets beneath him, nearly ripping them to shreds in his haste to back himself as far back as he can. On instinct, Yuuji steps forward, hands up, and in sight, to stop him before-
A hand slides back, anticipating the hard cushion of the bed, but it meets empty air instead. Yuuji's blood turns to ice. His lungs spasm on stolen air. Gojo is going to-!
With a slam that shakes the entire room, Gojo tilts off the edge of the bed, his body falling to the hard tile like a lifeless corpse-
Blood sprays as a needle goes flying, and it lands on the wrinkled bed sheets. Blood and saline ooze and mix, the spot steadily growing like that puddle of blood on cracked concrete in the middle of a crater.
No one speaks, petrified at the scene that unravels in front of them. The monitor flatlines, but the mumbling never stops; edges sharp and chipped, voice frayed and weak.
It paints a grotesque image, harsh brushstrokes that smear blood and viscera along the cracked earth as flayed hands mar the canvas with the intestines that once oozed from his cleaved body.
None of it makes sense, yet the image it paints comes through clearly.
"R-rot- get it out- get it- no no no no no no get it- get it out. Get it out! Rot-rotting. I'm- what did you- I'm dying!" It's painful listening to Gojo cry out, and Yuuji stumbles back on his feet.
Oh fuck.
He's actually going to be sick.
A hand, palm soaked with blood, slides across the ground just around the bed. It smears, a bold streak along white tile, as Gojo slides himself forward on weak knees. Head hanging, he sways, weak, his body "R-rot- rotting. This body- it's- not mine! It's rotting!" - claws back to the surface, even as his mind drowns beneath the dirt piled high.
"Maggots." Gojo pushes himself up against the nearest wall, forcing his heavy head back against the wall. Those wide and frantic eyes pass over the three of them, unseeing - blind - seemingly staring at something behind them - "I f-feel them." Voice hoarse, cracking, and paper thin, Gojo cries for relief that will never come.
"G-Gojo-sensei," Yuuji whispers, words thick with tears. His hands shake when he holds them out in front of himself, and his legs nearly give out when he falls into a squat. Those blazing blue eyes rake over him, frantically flicking to Yuuji, then over his shoulder. To the floor, his bleeding arm, the talisman.
Yuuji, over his shoulder.
Yuuji, his raised hands-
Yuuji-
"Move!" Yuuta shouts, and hands grip his shoulders, throwing him to the floor.
The room swells and expands with an all-consuming power, ripping through the air and the ceiling above them with a punching crash. The air cracks, splitting apart as the world shudders, and Yuuji heaves helpless gasps.
Hands clamp down over his head as debris rains down on him, shock rippling through him at the speed of everything happening around him.
Red-
That was-
Gojo fired Red-
Red-
At Yuuji's face.
"W-what?" Yuuta chokes from somewhere next to Yuuji. Hesitantly lifting his head, Yuuji turns and finds Yuuta pressed flat against the floor, dust and debris coating his black hair, his shirt, and pants. A cut splits across his forehead, right below the healing stitches that unnervingly match Gojo’s, oozing blood at an alarming rate. Crimson drips down onto his eyelashes, and Yuuta swipes it away with a dirtied hand, unconcerned about the gash on his face.
There's a panic in Yuuta's eyes when they look at one another, horror leaving their bodies trembling and hearts near bursting from their chest.
Behind Yuuta is Megumi, sitting on the floor, hands plastered to the tile behind him, acting as the only thing preventing him from tipping backward. His face is concerningly white, green eyes wide as he stares at Gojo with a heartbreakingly shattered expression. His black hair is dusted just like Yuuta’s and Yuuji’s, but he thankfully appears unharmed.
Wait-
Whirling around, Yuuji seeks out Gojo as he pushes himself to aching knees. Something crunches beneath his knee, but Yuuji doesn't even acknowledge it.
"Get it out, get it out! It's- they're moving- I can't- I feel- maggots! Get them out!" Bloodied hands pull at red-stained hair, fingers twisting and tearing, as if it'll bring him relief when his scalp puddles on the tile by his feet. Nails dig and claw, seeking out the line along his forehead. Fingers seep and sink into tender flesh, forcing the stitches to tear through angered skin.
A strangled cry, like something is clawing its way free from Gojo's throat; wretched, manic, fueled by insanity. With horror, Yuuji gags as blood spills, drips, coats Gojo's face, hands, neck-
The skin under Gojo's fingers part, rip; the stitches pulling taut under his hands until-
SNAP
SNAP
SNAP
Another ghastly wail; Yuuji's ears ring, but he can't move as the massacre plays out before him.
The stitches SNAP SNAP until they hang loose from his mangled forehead, dead ends fluttering to the ground.
Soaked with blood.
"No," Yuuji gasps, scrambling to get close, but his body collapses, the pressure only building.
It crescendos with Gojo's audible misery.
SNAP
"No!" Yuuji screams, but Gojo only sobs as manic and desperate fingers sink further, and the skin parts-
His skull, stark white, that fine line etched into bone, peeks through bloodied flesh-
Another scream-
"Toru-" Megumi all but whimpers. His voice cracks, splintering as the cracks only spread at his wobbly feet. He almost sounds like a terrified child, calling out to the one person who always makes the pain fade, but he's instead forced to watch his family rip themselves apart at the seams.
"Toru," Megumi echoes softly, words thick, slowly inching closer and closer to a now frozen Gojo. Glass and wood scraps along the floor, surely digging into Megumi's knees as he sinks to the ground.
Right in front of Gojo.
As still as a corpse statue, Gojo stares at a spot in front of him. Eyes wide, pupils blown, crimson tears spilling down deathly white cheeks. Except-
As Megumi inches closer and closer, close enough that his leg could bump Gojo's, Yuuji notices how those frigid eyes are focused-
On Megumi.
"Toru," Megumi whispers, for Gojo, for himself, and he raises a heavy hand. Palm up, but never touching.
Frantic breaths fill the stifling silence, save for the piercing shriek of the flatlining heart monitor. Yuuji's lungs burn where he has plastered himself to the ground, fingers bunched up into his hair as fear shakes his body.
Megumi seems surprisingly calm despite his previous horror and grief.
Gojo breathes erratically, chest rising and falling in heavy motions as he tries to suck in whatever he can.
There's a spark of... something... in those panic-fueled blue eyes, and the fog only keeps fading more and more with every soft ‘Toru’ Megumi is able to muster. And Megumi is patient as he slowly guides Satoru out from the dark, using a name that feels ageless as his guiding light.
Cracked and split lips part, breaths slowing to a mildly steadier pace, and those war-torn eyes flick between Megumi, watching him where he lingers only inches away. Gojo's tongue wets his lips, or at least he tries, but it no longer seems like a mindless action that only feeds into his panic-induced mania.
"G-" Gojo tries to speak, but his voice pitters out instantly. Yuuji holds his breath, body falling painfully still, afraid one slight move will renew Gojo's panic. "G-Gumi," He stammers, and Gojo looks and finally seems to actually see Megumi, bleeding eyes and all.
"Toru," Megumi forces out through a sob, all before another rips through him. He doesn't wait for any sign that Gojo won't flip out as he grabs only his hands, guiding them away from his split and bleeding head. The blood is thick where it paints Gojo's fingers, hands, and down the talisman-wrapped forearms.
And it's only then that Gojo seems to finally piece everything together.
Lost blue eyes find the dust scattered in Megumi's wild hair, how it costs the floor in a thick layer, the sun shining through the giant hole in the ceiling, and Yuuta and Yuuji lying on the floor.
It's terrifying having the full intensity of Gojo's eyes on him, raking over his face as if watching a stranger, because there should be warmth and recognition.
Because never has Gojo Satoru been a stranger to Yuuji.
That recognition does come back, but it's swaddled by agony and horror when Gojo zeros in on the blood coating Yuuta's face.
And it must all suddenly click into place for him.
It's not a slow trickle.
No, the tears that follow are immediate, a rush of unrestrained emotion as Gojo breaks down in front of his students, helpless gasps and choked versions of their names, coupled with mangled attempts at what can only be desperate pleas of forgiveness as his eyes can't help but follow that thick coat of blood that covers their bodies.
"I-I-I-" Gojo tries, but he can't bring himself to say anything more in between the heavy sobs working through him. And still, Yuuji can't move, horrifically entranced by the sight.
Megumi is the one to finally move, tugging Gojo close with his viscera-covered fingers, pulling him tight to his chest as tears of his own spill from his weary eyes.
Megumi's quiet murmuring of ‘Toru’ doesn't seem to make it through the earth-shattering sobs Gojo can't hold back any longer, and each one Megumi chokes out only sounds more and more helpless, sinking further and further beneath their skin.
A trembling hand weaves through Gojo's slick hair, tangling fingers in blood-drenched strands, pressing his face deep into Megumi's shoulder, hiding him from sight, even as his shoulders shake and his pain only grows.
And Yuuji and Yuuta can only watch on in horror.
[i was machine]
She heard the explosion all the way from the training field.
To be honest, how could she not hear it? It nearly shook the whole campus with the magnitude of it all.
She could feel the buildup of the explosion before it all snapped, how the air grew heavy, and how her body swam through the bog of cursed energy before it all exploded.
The students could feel the wave of cursed energy too, of that she's sure. Shoko watched how Maki grew tense from her peripheral as she knelt in the grass examining Kugisaki. Inumaki's almost horrified ‘Tuna, Tuna’ filtered through the training field, drawing their attention far past the field.
So when the explosion came, a bright beam of Red shining eerily bright from behind her, she knew what had happened. And as she stumbled to her feet, leaving a baffled Kugisaki, who is pathetically cradling the back of her not-concussed head, Shoko could only hope and pray that she is wrong.
Because if she's right...
Stumbling on her feet, mouth agape, Shoko zeros in on the source of the familiar wave of cursed energy. She doesn't bother to throw anything back at Kugisaki, who now watches the sky in horror, as she rushes to Kusakabe. He's been standing off to the side of the training field, impassively watching the scene before him; now he watches the infirmary in the distance, but his expression gives nothing away.
Taking him by the arm, Shoko starts dragging him off the field.
"Wha-Shoko!" Maki shouts after her like she has any hopes in stopping her from rushing from the training field. Shoko guessed from the very beginning when she walked up to the training field that this was all some ploy, and Kusakabe whispering to her as she came in close that three of his students had gone missing only 30 minutes into training had been all the confirmation that she really needed.
Maybe that was when she should've done something because she had this intrusive thought that urged her not to ignore this.
But Shoko's exhausted.
And now, as she sprints down the hallways that lead her to the infirmary, Nobara and the second years close behind, she wishes she had given more of a damn. Because Shoko fears that not only could those three be seriously hurt, but that she left behind someone who needs her so much more than she could ever imagine.
The locked infirmary doors come around the corner alarmingly quickly, and Shoko sucks in a ravaged breath as she hurries forward, lungs burning at the exertion. Kusakabe is right behind, pushing past the small horde of students to disarm the cursed tool that would alarm them had someone tried to break in.
She thinks of the windows of the infirmary and how all that has been keeping the students out has been a pathetic sheet of plastic.
A sharp swear under her breath, and Shoko pushes her hair out of her face, lips twisting into the beginnings of an aggravated frown.
"Shoko, wait!" Kugisaki shouts from behind her. She sprints forward and grasps onto Shoko's coat sleeve, stopping her in her tracks. Shoko huffs, but she can't bring herself to shake off the obviously distressed girl. "What's going on? What the hell was that?!" She shouts, and the budding panic in her voice is poorly veiled.
"Move it, kid," Kusakabe snaps as he goes to shove his way in front of Kugisaki, forcing her back and off Shoko.
But Shoko's really had enough of all this secrecy.
They were his students, so they have every damn right to know what she and Kusakabe have done.
"No," Shoko bites, throwing a burning glare Kusakabe’s way. His eyebrows rise with incredulity, and he lets out an affronted huff as he sizes up Shoko. "This does involve them, no matter what you and the higher-ups may think."
"I don't care if they have any part in this!" Kusakabe snaps; Kugisaki takes this chance to slip free, and Maki hurries to pull Kugisaki close before she shoves herself and Kugisaki behind Shoko so she is standing in between them and Kusakabe. "They are too young and foolish to-"
"They fought in a damn war by his side!"
Breathing heavily, Shoko turns to face Kusakabe, unwilling to back down, even when he throws a furious glare her way. There's a fire in her eyes, coursing through her veins, but she tries to ignore how it dies slightly at the realization of what she knows she and these kids will be walking in on. "Let them have this much. You probably don’t care, but he wouldn't have wanted this for them."
Shoko hears Kugisaki shuffling from behind her, and there's a muffled ‘Shoko, what are you talking about?’ from Maki; she pays them no mind and focuses entirely on Kusakabe. "You forced my hand when you went above me to the higher-ups," Shoko spits, but Kusakabe stays steady where he stands before her.
"So now I'm forcing yours."
With a swift swing of her fist, Shoko sends Kusakabe sprawling to the ground with a startled shout. A solid CRACK blooms under her balled fist, and Shoko watches with overdue satisfaction as his hands fly up to clutch his bleeding nose.
Anger burns in his eyes as he glowers at her from his spot on the floor, but Shoko twists on her heel and throws open the infirmary doors.
She doesn't look back to find out if the students are following her inside.
The sight that greets them is...
Shoko has no words.
Looking around the infirmary, Shoko takes it in with wide eyes and a pain striking her in the chest. Sunlight bleeds through the gaping hole in the ceiling, plaster falling to the ground as the damage begins to settle. The shattered overhead lights swing and gleam when the sun hits the shards of broken glass just right, reflecting off the smattering of glass littering the floor.
"Holy shit," Maki says from somewhere behind her.
Shoko walks slowly into the infirmary, stricken with an ache for who she knows has suffered far too much.
Shoko finds the bed she last saw him on, almost comatose if it weren't for the bouts of mania that left Satoru trying to tear himself apart. But instead of sleeping in the bed like she left him, there now only rests his needle and IV, and a large stain soaking into the fabric that trails off the bed like a smear of his unjust suffering.
Blood, glass, and rubble litter the ground, and when she takes another step forward, something cracks under her heels. Lifting her foot, she spots a broken clock that has fallen to the ground. The hands are frozen at 3:32, or at least, Shoko thinks that's the time.
The hour hand is bent at an odd angle, but the minute hand snapped cleanly in two. The glass dome of the clock has shattered along with the lights and windows, spilling the mess on the infirmary floor.
"Is that-" Kugisaki starts, the twinges of horror bleeding into her tone. Shoko hears her stumble forward, stopping at her side.
"Gojo-sensei?" Maki echoes in disbelief, horror, or pain, Shoko can't rightly tell. In all honesty, it's probably a mix of the three.
Following Kugisaki’s wide-eyed stare, Shoko finds a relatively clean part of the infirmary. Pressed along the cracked wall sits Satoru with a white blanket wrapped around his shoulders, cocooning him in a makeshift safety net. His head is bowed, bloodied forehead nearly touching his knees.
His white hair looks like it's been soaked in a vat of blood. The stitches she had carefully woven back into the skin of his head have been shredded and torn away, leaving the skin to become even more damaged in his obvious struggle.
Megumi sits by his side, arm wound tight around Satoru's shoulders and keeping him pressed against his side in an uncharacteristic display of protectiveness. Tense fingers dig into Satoru’s wide shoulders, but he seems hardly to notice the tight hold Megumi has him in. Any of the blatant panic Shoko has seen Satoru clutch to during his few bouts of consciousness seems to have dissipated, but there's still a deep tremble in his shoulders that not even Megumi's stilted comfort can soothe. However, he has all but collapsed into the kid’s side, leaning into his student like Megumi is the only thing tethering him to his sanity.
There's a blank sort of look in Megumi's eyes as he stares ahead, but he looks up at Shoko when he must feel the weight of Shoko’s pressing gaze.
Kugisaki staggers forward, as if to join Megumi where he sits at Satoru's side, but Shoko clamps a hand down on her trembling shoulder, stopping her from wandering any further in case it's all it takes to set Satoru off again.
"Shoko," she hears from the side of the infirmary; she turns and finds Yuuji and Yuuta sitting on one of the hospital beds, their faces pale and pinched in obvious distress; when she looks them over, she can't find any obvious wounds.
Here it comes
"Yuuta," she echoes. "Are you all okay?"
There's a hitched breath from the side, and she throws a glance and spots Megumi watching her with disbelieving eyes.
"Are you kidding me?" Yuuta says, bordering on the edge of rightful anger. He lets out an incredulous laugh, high-pitched and brittle, before throwing a wild wave of his hand at Satoru and Megumi, where they are collapsed on the infirmary floor. He then waves to the giant hole in the ceiling, and his fist clenches as he pushes himself up from the bed. "Does it look like we're all okay?"
"How did this happen? How is Gojo-sensei-" Maki whirls around to face Shoko and a silent Kusakabe, and a striking look of disbelief makes her eyes shine. "What did you guys do?" She spits out, enunciating each word with force, barely able to hold back her indignant fury.
"Listen, Maki. We didn't tell all of you about this for a reason, not only because of the orders from the higher-ups, but because it's just what had to be done with the world we are living in now," Kusakabe says around his hand, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to help stem the bleeding.
It disgusts Shoko when she realizes there is still no remorse or guilt in his eyes.
And even to her ears, his excuse is fucking pathetic. Shoko didn't say anything because she truly had no other choice. Kusakabe only kept his trap shut because he is spineless and refuses to put his ass on the line.
Maki seemingly agrees as she steps up to them, her fury potent. Pointing a finger at Kusakabe, she lays into him, "You’re fucking pathetic, you know that?" Shifting her attention to Shoko, something in her expression shatters - her hope and trust in Shoko - and she can hear how her heart breaks. "And you," Maki's voice cracks, and she sucks in the tears, sparing a glance at Satoru and Megumi, neither having moved from their corner of the infirmary, before standing tall in front of Shoko. "I had faith in you. We trusted you. I trusted you!"
Waving a hand around the infirmary, a tear falls from Maki's eye, and she angrily wipes it away with her fist. "So, how can you possibly explain to us that this was the right thing to do?" She nods back at Satoru, and Shoko can't help but watch as his battered body shudders, and he's still manically whispering to himself.
Maki steps away, running a hand, raked with tremors, down her face. Her lips pinch, and she turns back to helplessly watch the corner of the room where Satoru is left to grapple for whatever sanity Shoko was able to spare.
The hospital bed creaks, and Yuuji slips forward on unsteady feet. Inch by inch, he slips forward, never looking away from Shoko and Kusakabe. She sees the betrayal etched into his face first before anything else, and Shoko steels herself for the inevitable.
"How..." Yuuji starts, and he swallows as he looks between them, as if he will find the answers to his unfinished question. Yuuji moves quietly and mindlessly, like a ghost, until he comes to a stop in front of Megumi and Satoru; the longer Shoko holds his gaze, the more the tears in his eyes build. When he speaks, he mirrors Maki's anger. "How could you do this to him!" He shouts, waving down at Satoru, who has yet to make a sound, move an inch, or give any sign other than the whispers of a madman that he is still alive.
"I..." Gasping, Yuuji blinks, rapid and desperate, as if it'll be enough to force back his emotions, but it proves futile. "I... I wanted to believe in you guys," he faintly admits, and the betrayal in his voice is crushing.
Kusakabe stands tall in the face of the students' anger, but when that sliver of regret starts to flicker in her eyes, it brings her no relief.
And Shoko...
She swallows down the lump in her throat, but she can't bring herself to speak as her guilt and sorrow silence her. Her tongue is thick, heavy in her mouth, but it's not enough to choke her.
The scar on her arm burns with an intensity she could never prepare herself for, and she clutches at the scar with an unsteady hand.
I never wanted to do this to him! She wants to scream into the world, to free herself of this guilt she wears like a brand. But try as she might, her hand in this is unavoidable.
I love him too! Nothing has changed! She wishes she could admit it, but there's no fixing what she's done, not when Kusakabe set up everything to crumble and fall apart.
It wasn't my fault. But she knows without a doubt in this world that the blame weighs heavily on her shoulders; Satoru's blood coats her hands.
"Itadori," Kusakabe tries to talk him down, and his voice has only grown more nasally as he clogs the bleeding, but it does nothing to garner any sympathy from Yuuji. "You're just a ki-"
"We aren't some kids who need to be protected!" Yuuji shouts, loud and bellowing, and his voice escapes the room through the hole in the ceiling. Yuuji staggers forward, never parting too far from Satoru and Megumi, but far enough that it already seems like miles away. He almost trips on a loose wire, but he hardly seems to notice. "We know how the world works: we've known for a long time. And it’s been long enough where we can tell that this isn't right!"
Sucking on his teeth, Yuuji heaves heavy breaths.
And with a heavy sigh and agony in his eyes, Yuuji cries. "Gojo-sensei isn't some tool for you to use whenever you need him!"
"Itadori-" Shoko tries to speak, but she doesn't even know what to say because she knows that Yuuji is right.
Maki is right.
How could she possibly allow this to happen?!
Shoko knew what Satoru's mentality was before he died, and it strikes her to her core knowing she and Kusakabe have only proven it right in the end.
Murmurs filter from the background, and Shoko forces herself to look back at Satoru, clinging to Megumi as he curls further underneath the blanket, trying to disappear from this world. Even though she can't make out his half-crazed ramblings from where she stands, she knows what's rolling through his broken mind right now.
"This isn't right," Yuuji spits, fists clenched at his sides as tears steadily fall from his eyes. "This isn't fair to Gojo! After everything he's done for us, and you both decide to rip him back and trap him like some animal!"
I know!
Shoko stares with wide and burning eyes, and it feels like something died inside her chest as she is forced to listen to Satoru's silent cries, pleas for mercy that Shoko will never be able to show.
"He deserves better than this!"
The silence that lingers is swallowed by the whispers of a man who's lost his mind, and it's too painful to listen to anymore.
"I..." The voice is soft, yet heart-achingly lost and ruined, gravely and rough as screams of pain and loss have shredded his ghost-like skin.
From behind Yuuji, Satoru's head lifts, but his red bangs hide his eyes from anyone who can bring themselves to watch. "I..." Satoru tries again, "don't want this.”
"What did you do to me?" he asks, his voice sounding like a lost soul, but Shoko isn't even sure if that's who she's seeing anymore. It's not a question Shoko thinks she can really answer, as she went against the very laws of nature to make sure he would be able to breathe from a corpse.
With what little strength he possesses, Satoru slowly pushes himself to his feet. His head hangs, bloodied bangs falling like a curtain and hiding his face, but Shoko knows what she will see behind that veil.
"I..." He starts again, stumbling a step forward as his trembling hands clutch at the blanket, pulling it tight around him. The white sweatpants he wears are stained with his blood and dust, another stain that proves a cruel reminder of everything that's happened. Another step, and Megumi lets out a concerned noise, quick to rise and reach out for Satoru.
"I... was happy," Satoru speaks in a whisper, ghastly and haunted. "I was happy, Shoko." Head lifting, those hauntingly blue eyes meet hers, and all she can see is suffering as he pins her in place in the middle of the infirmary.
Another half-stumble, and Satoru's hands spasm for a split second, losing his grip on the blanket; it slides down his shoulders, falling to the ground to puddle at his feet.
Megumi rushes behind him, panic in his eyes and half of his name on his lips, but Satoru shrugs him away, his eyes searing as he stares between Shoko and Kusakabe.
"Why didn't you leave me there to rot?" Satoru cries out. ”I lived as your weapon, so why didn’t you let me die like one?!”
I wanted to respect your wishes! She screams in her head, but her throat clogs, and it feels like she's swallowed shards of glass. No matter how much she screams, there is no chance of him hearing her.
"I can feel this body-" Frantic hands press against his chest, the mangled bisection scar, the searing cut circling his head, and Satoru sobs as Megumi pulls his hands away; it's a horrific sound, a tortured soul begging for rest. "It's dying, and I can't escape it!"
"Satoru," Shoko pleads, mirroring his stumble forward with one of her own. Her legs feel weak, and she fears she'll crumble to the ground, but she pushes forward, if only to comfort the one person who's always understood her.
"Satoru." He blurs where he hunches in on himself, slipping his hands free to circle his arms around his waist with desperate fingers sinking into his rotting skin, and Shoko reaches out with crimson hands.
"Pl-please," Satoru whimpers, and a drop of blood drips from the shredded cut along his forehead, plummeting to the cracked tiles beneath his feet.
"Oh, Satoru!" Shoko cries out, wishing forgiveness for something she could never dream of doing, but was forced to do regardless.
Gojo Satoru has been defiled, a corpse reanimated and forced to breathe long after his due has passed.
Just as Satoru's legs give out, Shoko lunges forward on just as unsteady legs, catching him with arms around his waist. The tile is wet as her knees slam down onto the floor, but she can't tell if it's Satoru's blood or the tears they both shed.
Satoru sinks into her hold, forcing out painful sobs and heart-wrenching wails of grief and mourning, hands clawing at her back as he tries to hold on as tightly as he can.
I'm sorry
Shoko hides her stream of tears in his dirtied hair, shoulders quivering as she weeps for him, as his pain and suffering bleed out from his very being with each choked sob of her name.
"I-I'm so sorry!"
Shoko begs, and it echoes off the crumbling room, mocking her for the pain she's inflicted on the last person she holds close to her heart.
And she can only hope that Satoru can hear her.