Chapter Text
Itadori was back again. Yes, he had seen him die in front of him, watched as Itadori sacrificed himself for him, had sat there while Nobara cried, but everything was back to normal now. So he should be back to normal. Except that he’s not.
Megumi was always a moody teenager; the times when he wasn’t being angsty were rare, and one conversation with him would tell you something was off about him. It makes sense, of course, his sister was in a coma, his parents disappeared, and maybe worst of all, he got stuck with Gojo as his caretaker. A man who wasn’t much older than him, a man who could barely take care of himself, a man who was the chosen one; so, of course, he didn’t have time for his adopted son.
Megumi didn’t really blame Gojo; he was grateful for being saved from the Zenin clan. But occasionally, deep down in a dark, hidden part of his gut, he yearned to be taken care of. Wanted to cry on someone's shoulder. Wanted to be told everything would be ok. Wanted to not be alone. He just can’t admit that, or maybe he doesn’t know.
So he picks himself up. Takes care of himself. Just like he has his entire life.
…
“Fushigurooooooo,” A loud voice outside his door had disturbed his peace, no doubt Itadori’s. “We have to train today, it’s time to get up! You already missed breakfast.”
Truthfully, Megumi didn’t care if he missed breakfast, didn’t care if he never got out of bed. But still he responds. “I’m up. I’ll be there in five.”
Training was the same boring stuff. He, Nobara, and Itadori were relatively even in terms of skill, so they took turns knocking each other to the ground. After two hours, he dropped his fists and turned towards the lockers to shower, leaving his peers alone. The hot water ran over his skin, stinging his burning muscles and freshly developed bruises, and while he scrubbed his skin raw, all he could think about was how awful he felt. There was this pit in his chest, it felt like the air was thick in his lungs, and his brain was fogged. Lately, it was hard to keep a string of thoughts together, and often they developed into something more sinister than their origin. Dinner plans turned into grief for when he and his sister would eat together. Schoolwork felt pointless. Even the missions he went on were getting sloppy. But he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to do anything about this.
He was drying his hair when someone snuck up behind him. He whipped around and slammed them against the wall, before he could realize who he was face-to-face with.
“Whoaaa Fushiguro, training's over, ya know?” A pink-haired man held a shocked expression, and once it registered that it was Itadori, he dropped him.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” The words had come out harsher than he intended, but his point still stood.
“Jeeze, I’m sorry.” The other boy rubbed his neck sheepishly, “I just came to check on you.”
“Why?” Megumi spat back in his direction.
“Ok, first of all, you don’t need to be such a jerk. I just wanted to see if you were alright. You’ve seemed off lately. More moody than usual.” Itadori had his brow furrowed as he looked towards his classmate.
“I’m fine.” And with that, the black haired man turned out the door.
…
Being a jujutsu sorcerer means sacrificing your livelihood. There is nothing more important than protecting the weak. Not your happiness, not your love, not your own life. Sometimes Megumi wishes to run away on a train to somewhere in the country. Leave it all behind, he would do it, if it weren’t for Tsumiki.
Tsumiki was Megumi’s everything; he visited her every day when he wasn’t on a mission, raised her before she fell ill, and was the reason he was alive. He was simply waiting for her to wake; every second of his life was spent waiting for her to wake.
Megumi was already struggling to get through each day, but it wasn’t until this one that he fully cracked.
It was a Sunday afternoon when Gojo’s phone started ringing. He was talking to Nanami about something stupid (probably himself) when he saw the name ‘HOSPITAL TSUMIKI PICKUP’ flash across his phone screen. He picked up and waited for the voice on the other line, praying it wasn’t something bad.
Is this Saturo Gojo?
“This is.”
The child in your care, Fushiguro Tsumiki, her condition has worsened. We need you to come right away.
He hung up the phone and ran to the student dorms, where he barged into Megumi’s room.
“We have to go. Now.” Gojo was panicked; there was a fear in his eyes that Megumi had never seen before.
“What do you mean? I just got back from a mission, and I’m really tir-”
Gojo cut him off, “It’s your sister.”
Megumi practically transported himself to the car; he ran so fast. Gojo wasn’t far behind him, and as soon as the door closed, Ijichi started driving.
Neither of the men spoke to the other. Megumi was always aware that his sister's condition was critical, that at any moment she could slip deeper than her coma, into death. He wished he could save her, but all he could do was beg whatever god was out there to save her, because what would he do without her?
As they rushed into the hospital, they ran to her room to see dozens of doctors and nurses gathered around her, her monitors beeping and blaring to get their attention. Gojo had to hold Megumi, who was utterly hysterical and trying to barge towards his sister.
“Let me see her!” He screamed with tears in his eyes.
“They have to have room to work on her Meg, give them space.” Gojo hushed him, but the words went over his head.
He couldn’t make sense of anything that Gojo was saying, or any sense of what was going on, until the chaos stopped. Everyone stepped away from the sleeping girl's bed, but the alarm kept blaring.
Time of Death; 17:47.
The beeping stopped. The blaring stopped. Everything stopped.
“Why did they stop?! She needs help! Why aren’t they helping her?!” Megumi could be heard down the hall; he was so loud.
“Megumi-” Gojo started, but couldn’t think of what to say. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to comfort his kid when he had just lost the other?
“She needs help.” Megumi lost all strength in his body, and Gojo had to guide him to the ground. He couldn’t fathom that she was gone; that his sister was not waking up, that he would never get to tell her about his life, about his friends, or about the world; he could only silently plead to the universe that this was all a dream.
“Shhh I know.” Gojo was crying too now, “She’s gone, Meg, I’m so sorry.”