Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s in the dark you come to awareness. It's warm and cramped; and entirely alien in its familiarity. Faintly, you can feel sensations within this small void, ripples in the air around you, a subtle current that churns in beat with great and distant rumblings, and a pins and needles sensation as, what must be you, your limbs and body, twitches involuntarily.

You should be panicking. You really should, but you're not.

You don’t belong here, yet you are content to be here. There can be nothing better than here, this oxymoron of vastness and smallness, where the growling of what must be a monster soothes you in a way you haven’t felt since you were a child and your parents would hold you close. Peace and safety enfold you completely.

Your consciousness slips away and you let it, snuggling back into the dark with a hidden smile. You could rest here forever.

There could hardly be anything better.

The second awakening is mildly more unpleasant and significantly ruder. 

There you are, suspended in heavenly dreams and completely untethered from any worry, a sublime existence if the vague shadows of memory have anything to tell you – and then something is elbowing you in what must be your gut.

Unacceptable.

You respond in kind, lashing out at this interloper, it hadn’t even crossed your mind that there could be something else in this haven with you. How disappointing.

Despite your struggles, this new mass is obnoxiously solid and stubborn. It doesn’t seem fully aware of you, not like you are of it, but that doesn’t make its warpath any less brutal. Slowly but surely this new adversary encroaches on your little corner of the world, completely unrelenting as it pushes and pushes and pushes.

You are becoming increasingly aware of how little space there is in this haven.

Concerning.

You are also becoming steadily aware of how the menace is not just usurping your peace, conquering your territory, and pushing you into the spongey boundary of your shared existence, they are now encircling you.

You can’t see it, but you can feel it. The larger body, the stronger body, dwarfing you as you’re pulled close and-

Is this thing about to eat you?!?

For the first time, fear taints your little paradise. You don’t want to die, not again! Pins and needles race along your limbs as something grabs your arm, you can feel something else pushing against your legs as you’re pressed into it.

There’s a soft thrum that pulses from it, weaker than the great rumbles that come from beyond the haven, and the panic pauses as you take it in.

He also stops. Maybe He’s hearing yours.

The stillness stretches an odd tension that does not grow or wane, at least from your perspective but sits nestled in the back of your mind.

You are afraid.

Fear keeps you alive.

The fear burrows deep, buzzing as your limbs flex and warmth rushes through your blood. It’s electrifying, this fear, burning, as you tremble in the dark and face this adversary head-on. Something charges within you, a lifetime of rage, grief, and sorrow crowning its head, a rebirth of the dying into something that will render this threat dead.

And then you hear it.

It’s not the thrum of a heart, it’s fainter, a murmur, but the fear freezes and the anger fizzles out in the face of this new curiosity.

You don’t even realize you’ve moved closer.

You can barely make it out, senseless gibberish that you doubt has any translation to a real language, but you can feel it.

Contentment.

Curiosity.

Interest.

-who are you?-

The question isn’t posed in words exactly, but the meaning is similar enough so your mind translates.

-who are you?-

You don’t know the answer to the question. That should bother you. You don’t care enough for it to bother you. The heat still coils in your body, a current not yet fully dispensed, but you can sense how it wants to lash out, strike at the heart beating so close to you.

You don’t know what it would do beyond that. But something tells you it would do something. Something that would not be good for him.

For some reason, a part of you flinches at the idea.

-who are you?-

There’s warmth and there’s heat. Something that exists outside of yourself within this haven, and you can feel something between the two of you, a cord pulling you together, knitting you closer even as you push away.

How did you miss that?

-who are you?-

Persistent and stubborn, that’s what this thing is. But the encroachment doesn’t feel hostile, not anymore at least. 

Rather than listen to the question-not-question that hurts your head to consider, your focus deviates to the cord. It’s not visual, not entirely, but you can feel its solid and heavy presence. You feel your own heat reach out to the warmth, winding along it and following it to him, threading out to his form in a prodding curiosity.

And then it hits you.

You can see it, a smiling boy with pink hair, laughing with you under a shining sun as sakura blossoms dance in the wind. You can see him pouting as you refuse to hold his hand out in public, shrieks as you wrestle and launch pillow after pillow at his face, the same peaceful contentedness as you lay bundled in blankets, hearts beating in time just as they did in the womb.

The vision fades, but your sight does not. You can see his tears, his anguish, and hear his screams. You see blood and gore. You see violence and death. A city burning. Humans mutilated and tortured. Faces burned, blown apart, and bodies torn apart like Kit Kats. You see moments of joy shattered by endless streams of loss, and you never made it far enough to know if it was worth it.

Who are you?

You’re a victim of Truck-kun and have been blasted into the nightmare creation of a cyclops-cat. In short; You’re fucked.

You can imagine that birth is a traumatic experience for everyone, now you know that babies are also included in that assumption.

You had precious few days left to bask in that blessed uterine haven and resign yourself to the fact that you were now reborn- or to be reborn , in the world of JJK. Time seemed to dwindle as you and your brother were smooshed together and a far too small container. 

The haven was now more resemblant of a torture chamber, and your rapidly developing agoraphobia now had to contend with the inherent claustrophobia of the situation at hand.

Yuji was very lucky you had decided not to eat him.

Love.

Contentment.

Warmth.

Yes , you can’t help but think as you nuzzle into his side, hearts beating in tune, he was very lucky you decided to keep him around. For the plot.

The fucking plot.

The heat surged again as if your mind were summoning storms with the mere thought of its wrath. Resigned you were maybe, satisfied you were not . It took concentration and effort to match the pace of your heart with your brother, for the burning swarm within you to cool to the same level of his mellow warmth.

You felt a hand squeeze your wrist.

Proud.

Love. 

Content.

You couldn’t help but echo the feelings back. You dearly missed your space… but you don’t know if could go back to being alone. Not that you’d have much choice in the matter. You probably won’t be given much of a choice of anything.

You kick your heel out and dig it into the barrier that surrounds the both of you. You have no proof it will do anything to the corpse-stealer you’ll have the displeasure of calling mother in this lifetime, but the vindictiveness soothes something in you regardless.

Bad.

Mean.

Love.

Nice.

You pat what you think is a face. Well, can’t all be sunshine incarnate, YuYu.

The dark haven, a womb, now there a thought , is peaceful and borderline happy in its monotonous existence. It's that very boring existence that makes the slight changes, the rapid tightening of space, the subtle change of flavor around you, the gradual shifting of your positions.

It could all be in your head. It’s not like you have any basis to compare to.

The sudden disappearance of the warmth that has been fused to your side says otherwise. Yuji is gone.

Oh fuck, it begins.

There is an inexplicable moment when you try to ignore the obvious, the inevitable doom that’s coming for you. As if you can nestle yourself back into the void and sleep in ignorance.

The walls of muscle pushing against you heartily disagree with your attempt. You don’t have a choice in the matter. You are being born whether you like it or not.

It would not be an inaccurate statement to say you came out of the womb scowling. Tiny arms crossed over your body, film-covered eyes glaring as the shapeless shadows that poked and prodded you.

You couldn’t understand them. Of course, you couldn’t understand them You hadn’t spoken the language before, why would you now?  

Your shrill scream, much to the relief of the doctor, was one final curse to the universe before you shrouded yourself in cold apathy.

For a baby, it must have looked adorable.

The one thing that almost broke your composure, was the high-pitched chattering sounds that echoed in the sterile room.

Surprise, your mind supplied. They were surprised. You could feel it, a tangible thing in the room.

Were they not expecting you?

Measured, cleaned, and swaddled you found yourself passed around until you came to your final destination with your twin.

Yuji Itadori. 

He was there, eyes closed, tiny fist clenched, and brow furrowed; he was there. You were placed down on the same chest, familiar rumblings vibrating just under the warm skin, and the oddness of hearing it on the outside, without the echo you never noticed or the accompanying thrum or your brother’s heart, made you pause. That inferno deep in your gut is smothered by the steady rhythm of Yuji’s heart.

You missed it.

You may not have a choice about being here, certainly not about where or who you’ve been born to. But you still have a choice. You can still choose what you do. You can’t turn your head, but your eyes somehow find the dull gold ones that look down at you. From within the haze of your vision, Kaori Itadori smiles with all their teeth, and dull eyes already running calculations, you can feel them picking you apart.

As your Yuji’s fist finds your wrist, you match that smile with all the gummy malice you can muster. Your entrance into this world was most certainly not planned, your knowledge, limited as it is – why did you give up watching after those spoilers? – would be more valuable than Sukuna himself if used correctly. You are a complication by your mere existence, you have yet to do anything and the beat of your heart is a threat to the ego of the sorcerer that squeezes you.

Huh. You and Yuji already have a few things in common besides a face, then. You're both going to give millennia-old men the grey hair they deserve.

Righteous.

Yuji, still clasped on you just as tightly as in the womb, began to fuss. His adorable face scrunching up as your limb was pulled closer, gummy mouth opening to cry, and-

A gentle hand cupping his head, thumb rubbing soothingly against wrinkled skin. As Yuji calmed, your gaze couldn’t help but find dark brown eyes peering at you through thick glasses with something that only could be described as awe.

“Karera wa utsukushīdesu.” He cooed, “Arigatō, Kaori, anata wa subarashikatta.”

You blinked. The words themselves meant nothing, but the love radiating from it transcended language. Jin Itadori smiles and it’s like the heavens have parted for the sun. He picks you up, sparing you from the cold corpse that calls itself mother, and carefully unwrapping Yuji’s fist from your wrist. You are cradled in the crook of his arm and you grab the fingers that trace over you.

You can’t tell, not with your baby-vision or the light that reflects from the glasses, but you could swear there are tears in his eyes.

“Kono chīsana sapuraizu ni wa namae ga hitsuyōdesu.” he laughs, looking back to his wife. “Yūji to iu namae o tsuke sasete kureta no ni, uchi no musume ni namae o tsukete mimasen ka?”

You hear the incubator respond, voice light and strangely indulgent. “Wakaranai. Nanika aidea wa arimasu ka?”

Why couldn’t you be born understanding Japanese?

“Yūki? Sore wa kōfuku o imi shimasu. Sore ni tsuite wa dōdesu ka?”

Kaori snorts unimpressed at her husband's words. His suggestions for names didn’t seem to fit. As it would turn out, you were a surprise. Yuji, the fat little conquerer he was had completely shielded you from view at every ultrasound, a feat that wasn’t too difficult given he was more than double your size, but it did explain why Yuji seemed to have extra limbs in some of the images. 

Kaori felt mildly disappointed with how that mystery had been resolved.

“Aichan, sonogo no Kaoru-chan wa dō suru no?”

Naming the spare after this body was tempting. It wouldn’t truly be after them, not even in spirit considering that poor Jin only knew her as his wife and not as the genius he truly was. Any name in her honor was a name for a ghost.

A ghost.

“Yūrei to iu namae no kata ga yoi to omoimasu.” 

The sorcerer watched as Jin kissed the head of their daughter, an infant that would have been better never born. Yuji had a purpose and while Kenjaku saw himself as above superstition, there was a reason why twins were often seen as ill omens in their world.

Itadori Yurei would eventually die for the sake of Kenjaku’s binding vow. There could only be one vessel for the King of Curses, and that vessel couldn’t be hampered by shared cursed energy, not if Ryomen Sukuna were to be completely free.

And yet, there was an opportunity here.

Perhaps it was a rush of hormones or exhaustion from giving birth but, as Kenjaku examined his creations, a sense of intrigue began to undermine logic.

He remembered the cursed energy that coiled beneath his skin, the bloodlust that had leaked from an occupied womb. 

Sukuna had once had a twin. Perhaps there was something to that connection that helped him gain so much power so quickly.

Perhaps it might be useful to have a spare vessel. A spare body. A spare child.

Oh, Itadori Yurei, welcome to the world.

You are truly, deeply, irrevocably fucked.

Chapter Text

The blessed thing about sleep is that it almost functions like a time skip through life. Stuck in an infant’s body, you want nothing more than to skip through the next twenty or so years and get to the good, moderately stable, non-world-ending part of life. 

As it stands, you could settle with jumping to an age with motor functions.

Where’s that technique? Huh?

And then something happens, and you are incredibly pleased to be an overly aware child.

“Yurei? A wandering specter? A ghost? That’s what you name my granddaughter for?”

Language, as it turns out, does come quickly to the desperate and the immersed. While reading is beyond you completely, at six months - and you know it’s six months exactly because Jin took your footprint this morning and pink paint is still stuck between your toes – you can finally understand what is being said around you. Much to the relief of your bored tiny child brain.

You are soaking in the gossip like a goddamn sponge. So what better time for dear old grandpapi to come visit?

“Yurei is better fitting.” You feel more than hear the gasp Wasuke lets out at Kaori’s words, “Yuji and Yurei, match well enough, doesn’t it?” 

Oh yes, you see them sitting there. All smug and demure as they flutter their lashes and tilt their chin to Yuji, freshly fed and absolutely dead to the world.

If it wasn’t for the mindboggling amounts of happiness that radiated from him, you might pity him for missing out on this scene. Because it is going to be a scene. 

You sniff, and yes, that is the scent of milk, dirt, and drama .

“It’s too morbid for a little girl.” He adjusts his hold on you, hand cradling your neck as you sit on the crook of his forearm. You’re being held like a football and it is the best dang thing that’s happened this week. You love Jin, you do, much more than you should given the inevitability of his death, but the man cuddles you like you’re a glass doll and Kaori has an obsession with holding Yuji like he’s a Grammy Award. Today you are a football and you love it .

Also, help that this puts you at a prime glaring angle. Not that Mommy Dearest can tell since you are being ignored.

“Names have meaning, they’re what you want your child to be. Why do you think we chose the name Jin ? Benevolence . And Yuji has some of that kanji in his name too. Abundant Benevolence for Humanity – roughly speaking.”

You watched in fascination as one of Kaori’s eyes twitched. Was that involuntary, or did the brain purposely pull that move to convey annoyance?

Your musing was cut short as you once again found your position moved, this time dangling by your armpits in front of the sparkling dark eyes of Wasuke. “We’ll call you Mio , little cherry blossom. That’s a better name.”

“Yurei is a-”

“It even calls back to you in a way, since Kaori means perfume. Flowers and smells match well enough don’t they? ”

You were 90% sure that, in that exact moment, had Jin not been in the other room and Wasuke not the only other person capable of caring for Yuji upon Kenjaku’s abandonment, the old man would be very very dead.

This was your new role model in this life. You had chosen.

Before Kaori could think of a caregiver replacement that was not Wasuke , Jin thankfully arrived bearing offerings for the two squabbling warriors.

Setting down a tray of freshly brewed tea, the man pushed up his glasses and sat between two hoarding dragons without the faintest clue.

The millennia-old sorcerer crooned, dead silver eyes fixating on you like an insect ready to be pinned. “Your Father thinks I should have named your daughter Mio .”

The returning smile was as oblivious as it was blinding. “That could be a good nickname!”

You sneezed as something rotten filled your nose.

Yuji began to stir with a whine.

Sadly, your time as a football came to an end. Both you and a grimacing Yuji were placed down on the floor for your daily Tummy Time , as Jin called it. According to Kaori, it was vital for your development.

Faintly, you couldn’t help but wish your wimp noodle of a newborn body could make matricide a possibility. Kaori was not subtle about their preferences. As it stood, you may just be fighting for your life outside the womb as well, or at the very least to be noticed .

What an odd inversion of your father’s previous life.

… Yuuji wouldn’t try to eat you, would he?

Yes. Yes, he would.

The fat little monster you called a brother was a hallowed saint. Something Kenny didn’t quite seem to understand. Every time Yuuji’s toothless maw would clasp on to you– something more and more common now that you were gaining mobility –  they’d be there in the background, fawning and muttering about that ‘killer spirit’ he was embodying.

You’d like to show clam chowder killer spirit, alright.

As it was, out of the entirety of this family tree, you might actually get off rather than easily. Being identified as the spare to Yuuji’s heir status, the Ken-undrum of your life was more interested in sitting back and ensuring the perfect vessel survived infancy with you as little more than enrichment.

You could live with that. You were ‘kenough .’ Barely being classified as an afterthought to a psycho was significantly better than being a source of interest. Besides, Jin Itadori was a man with a soft bleeding heart, something Yuuji definitely inherited from him, and you were all too ready to soak in every ounce of that warmth.

And Wasuke wasn’t half-bad as an advocate either.

“I suppose you’ll want to take Mio in a second then?”

Wasuke, no!

Kaori peered over the rim of her teacup, taking her time swallowing before deigning to answer. You could practically see the hair flip.

“And why would I need to take her? Yurei is very content where she is.”

As if on cue, all the adults look at you and you try to look like you’re looking anywhere else. Oh my, what a fascinating blob there in the corner. Is that a dust bunny?

“To feed her. I know you were feeding Yuji when I first arrived, and I wouldn’t want to interrupt your schedule.”

“Jin already feed her.”

“He did?”

“Yes. I don’t breastfeed Yurei.”

Wasn’t that the blessed truth.

“I can’t produce enough milk for both children, Jin is so understanding. So Yurei is only on a formula diet. It helps, and, besides, I’m already planning to start weaning Yuji off in the next year or so. Hardly makes sense to start her on it now.”

“But couldn’t you split it between them? They don’t have to be entirely one or the other, but Mio was so underweight when she was born. Wouldn’t it be better if-”

“I’m sorry,” she ducks her head, hand clenching Jin’s thigh, “but I’m not very comfortable with continuing this conversation. It’s so embarrassing- like I’m a failure as a mother if I can’t give both like I want to.”

Ara Ara, the gaslighting goes hard on this one.

It doesn’t take too many brain cells to understand why Kenjaku has a particular interest in Yuji’s milestones or early developmental care. Can’t have the vessel’s growth stunted by neglect after all. Even if the obsessed behavior blurs with the enthusiasm harbored by most first-time parents, it’s the obvious favoritism that draws up red flags. And Wasuke is falling for it about as well as a kite in a hurricane.

Not like you care about this particular issue; Yuji can keep those rotten titties all to himself. If Kenjaku were to try it out on you, you’d probably spontaneously grow your teeth just to make your bite hurt more.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Yuji appears at your side and bites your ear. You ignore the feminine coos over Yuji’s gurgles any day.

He always knows how to make you feel better.

When it comes to the basics of childcare, you don’t know what the usual scheme is. The last time you went through this you weren’t exactly taking notes, and, though you know there was a Before for you, you don’t really remember anything of substance.

Is it strange? Should you be more worried about that? Your memories are definitely selective.

It's a mercy, to have almost everything washed away. You don’t remember anything, you just know things. You know you had been alive, that you’d had a family, and that you’d been a student somewhere. The specifics escape you, but you know it. You remember a voice drowning on and on as you’re hands cramp against a keyboard. You remember walking down brick paths in the early morning, a steaming drink in hand as the sun blinds your eyes. You remember hugs that felt like they’d break your ribs. Late nights laughing at a movie, you remember debating ornament arrangements on a Christmas tree and agonizing over gifts for a birthday.

You don’t remember them . The people that would have made up those moments, but you feel their absence. Family and friends missing, a gaping, bleeding hole where they once supported the caverns of your heart.

Yuji is in there now. He’d been there before, but now he was fleshed out as an actual person .

It's not a replacement. It helps. It's not filling anything.

That burning returns, something acrid moving up from your gut and settling in your chest. It’s hot. It’s painful. It feels good . Burning, burning, burning, as if your soul is an ember that your grief fans as much as it cracks.

Your throat feels stiff. You're so alone in your crib, separated from the masterpiece and, while usually you can survive it – you are older than you should be and Yuji always feels closer than he is – right now, you just want your brother there with you.

He can bite you all he wants.

You don’t want to be alone.

You think there’s something wrong with you. Something imbalanced.

You are an adult. You are a baby.

You should not be both. 

You are.

You can feel all these emotions, these complex things that were once as natural as breathing coil and squeeze you like a snake waiting to devour. You can’t process this. Not yourself, not the world around you, not the world to be; not while you a stuck with a baby’s brain and twenty-something mind.

You had been twenty. You remember. Tweenty-something. 

You remember drinking a beer, faceless people surrounding you as the TV blared in the background and younger children played outside. You remember you felt happy.

You’re burning alive.

You open your mouth, but smoke chokes you, its hands wrapping around your throat, your cords, and strangling you till the only sound you can make is a near-silent groan.

You want to scream.

Fear.

Grief.

Heat.

You feel Yuji perk up. You can almost see him, gold eyes blinking open and head-turning in your direction, back to where you lie forgotten in the nursery. You wonder what Kenjaku would think about the behavior.

Love.

Contentment.

Concern.

You squirm, uncomfortable in your own skin as something expands and tightens. The more you panic the more it seems to grow.

Fear. Grief

Lonely. Fear

Heat. Burning.

You want to rip off this flesh suit you call a body, but your hands grab nothing but air as you silently flail. You don’t even have the guts to scratch out your eyes.

Pathetic .

Confusion?

Fear?

Panic.

You think you hear crying out in the living room, Yuji’s wails from just beyond the open door, and Kenjaku’s syrupy murmurs staining the air like freshly poured tar.

Everything is beyond you. It's just you, and the heat, and the fear . 

You don’t notice a voice breaking through Yuji’s cries, let alone hear its words. You don’t notice the floor creak or the steady thumps of footsteps approaching you. You can’t even see who it is that leans down over you, your eyes blurring and vision hazy.

“Shhh, little one. It’s okay.” A hand reaches in, callused fingers wiping away your tears. “I’m here, Mio. I’m here.”

It's not the corpse mother that hovers over you. Its Jin.

Your soul leaps.

He picks you up, just as carefully as ever. Hands reverent as you rise, arms enfolding you and holding you close. You sway with his steps as he walks, his heart beating against your ear and your eyes fixated on each other.

There’s a faint hint of hint of red in them; a hint of the monster connected to your blood. You reach for them anyway, the burning heat in you quieting, your ember of a heart dimming. The steady beat of your Father and the constant thrum of Yuji lulling you back to a calm.

A second face comes into your view. The dull fish eyes stab through your tear-stained ones.

You don’t think Kaori has ever looked this focused on you before.

Not good .

You cannot give Kenjaku a reason to take notice of you. You’re existence has already screwed you on that point, but you can do damage control.

You love Yuji, you do, but his place in the madman’s plans is sealed. You are a new variable. You do not want to know what Kenjaku would do for their own enrichment when given the opportunity.

So you take that heat, that burning in your gut, and you stuff it down, down, down deep inside you and lock it away.

But Kenny is still looking at you, their back to Yuji who is safely propped up on the couch, and you can feel those eyes dissecting your insides. Trying to figure you out, trying to make you flinch. You are beginning to have your suspicions about what that warmth is .

So, you pull the only card you have.

“ Dada!”

Itadori Jin grins like he’s had his teeth whitened with bleach and capped in diamonds. It's blinding .

You’re lifted high in the air, or up to his face - unlike Wasuke, Jin would never dare fling you around like you're a ball - and your father laughs .  Kaori steps back slightly, her head turning back to Yuji as if he’ll start talking too. “T-That’s a full six months early.”

“We have a genius baby!”

Love.

Contentment.

Warmth.

Adults are weird. You can hardly believe you used to be one.

Jin immediately tries to get you to say it again, and of course, you oblige. You have no reason not to, definitely not because it looks like your Father’s jaw is about to pop out of his face, and now he’s crying far harder than you were earlier. Not at all.

“I need to call ChiChi, he’s not going to believe this! ” unceremoniously, you are passed into the arms of Kaori. You are almost dropped entirely before you squeal and the brain seems to realize gravity will take you if he doesn’t. You stare at each other as Dad fumbles around in the kitchen. Given a few bangs, you’re pretty sure Jin might’ve fallen once or twice.

Yuji giggles in the corner.

A loud squeal echoes from the doorway, “ Mio! She said ‘Dada’! She said dad!” 

Ah, he found the phone.

“I know! She must have Kaori’s smarts! We weren’t even trying yet. All the books say it’s too early for that. No, it wasn’t-”

“Maybe it was just babbling.”

Affronted, you look up at the brain - their face scrunched, stitches pulling at half-healed skin – and open your mouth once more.

“Awa Awa.”

Chapter Text

Life settled into an easy rhythm. It was peaceful. Quiet.

It was driving you insane.

This was JJK .  Not some sort of cotton candy rain clouds, friendship-is-magic soap opera! Doom was inevitable. It was coming for you all. Gege would take joy from you like stealing candy from a baby.

“ Lolly-op! Lolly-op, Da!” 

Indeed beloved bro. Indeed. You nodded sagely as Yuji reached out, pudgy hands grappling for what must have been a very bright and tempting assortment of candy. Greed and want were palpable as you stared off into the distance. 

You didn’t know what was so tempting about the child-bait your twin now faced. Having gained more weight, you’d finally been deemed big enough to wiggle your way to the back of the carrier rather than being continually observed on the front. Strapped to Jin’s back, free from the constant surveillance of your human vehicle while Yuji basked in the wonders - and attention - secure at Dad’s chest. People watching and intermediate napping filled your days. It was suspiciously pleasant.

Oh , but this nightmare of a universe had to balance the scales somehow, didn’t it? What sadness. Here you were, forgotten again with not even a heartbeat to comfort you.

“Yes, that’s right, YuYu. Do you want one? Do you think Mio would like a lollipop too?”

Damn it Father.

You’d roll your eyes if the man just down the aisle wasn’t pulling at your little eyeballs. Seriously, who went out in public like that ? It wasn’t a comfortable outfit with that shirt two sizes too small, even if those pants did look like a poofy dream. If the gym-bro was wearing socks with sandals you might actually cry.

A familiar clumsy prodding finally made you look away. Yuji, blocked by Jin’s shoulder, looked at you with the utmost urgency.

Joy.

Questioning.

Happy?

-Mo Want ?-

 Your nose crinkled as your mind worked. Lollipops. Large colorful things are somehow too sweet with too little flavor. Messy sticky things kids would go crazy over and drop or forget before they could finish it. A waste of time for any mature sensible adult.

“ Mo want! Mo want!”

Pressing your face into Jin’s neck, you hid your smile. How was that child so perceptive even at the age of one? Was it a twin thing?

No. Yuji was just special.

Candy grabbed and handed over to you both, a pretty little red thing, not the rainbow monstrosity that had filtered through your mind. Ideal really for a child and a perfect distraction as Jin carried on with his task. The errand of the day? Grocery shopping.

You rather enjoyed this. A chance out of the house, away from the probing dead eyes of your mother. Better yet, you got a chance to reacquaint yourself with the world and to watch as Yuji discovered these small fragments for himself.

Gnawing on the plastic-covered treat, you wait patiently as Jin darts around the small store to grab a few essentials.  These trips are never too long, or that eventful for that matter, so you are content to stay quiet and observe. Secure and safe, here with your brother and father, strapped in a harness and cooed over by the occasional stranger.

You're almost happy. You would be happy, tucked away from harm, if you were ignorant of how close trouble was to you.

Whining interrupted your thoughts, frustration seeping into your mind like a morning fog.

-Don’t bite so hard. Careful. Wait for Da to help- 

A group of women cooed at Yuji’s face, perfectly reminiscent of a glowering raisin. Grumbling, the boy glared at the saliva-covered candy and shook his fist.

“ Da! Dada help!”

You swear you heard someone swoon in the background. Actually, no , that was someone fanning themselves with a cereal box. Pity Jin was so blindly in love with that horrible excuse of a person. Your dad was a catch if there ever was one.

“It’s okay, Yu. I’ll help you in a minute. Just gotta pay for this quick.“

Amusement.

Patience.

Happy.

Yes, life was… good. 

Little did you know what was waiting for you.

Itadori Jin was stronger than the average man, even if he didn’t seem to realize it. Usually, after a few hours spent in town, he’d jog back home to his beloved wife with the twins snug against him in their carrier, bags in hand, and a permanent spring in his step. Today was not any different.

Until the grocer's door was opened to reveal rain.

Heavy, cold, endlessly falling rain.

Foot raised, a second away from bounding off, the man froze, still as a statue while his glasses fogged over and YuYu shrieked at the falling droplets. He could make a run for it and would have if not for the cargo he carried. The twins would get wet, soaked even under this downpour.

What if it made his babies sick?

Jin could just see it. Red noses and tearful eyes, tiny bodies shaking from coughs and wails. Yuji wouldn’t be able to sleep, he’d scream and beg for relief that Jin would be helpless to give. And you? He’s darling Mio? Jin could just see you, quietly suffering, rattling breaths and skin flushed with fever. Your fists clenched and face screwed tight; as if you were trying to wrestle the concept of illness into submission.

It would be all his fault.

Thankfully, before the man could spiral further - or Kaori forbid, leave the bags behind so you both be sheltered by his running form – a welcome sight stood tall beneath the afternoon storm. A bus stop.

Huh, he’d never noticed that before.

You, with your vision blocked by the mass of pink hair and sensing only the usual curiosity from Yu, recoiled in shock as a few spare wet droplets transformed into a burst of wind as the world blurred around you. It took only a second for Jin to run to the bus shelter, but it took you more than a minute to get over the whiplash.

Damn it Father.

Oblivious, the elder Itadori carefully set a small mountain of bags on the, thankfully, dry bench and conducted the futile process of wiping condensation from his glasses.

Amusement.

Love.

Content.

“Da! Da! Andy! Andy!” Yuji shrieks and waves the red offering like he’s trying to direct a plane to land. Much to the boy’s frustration, Jin only hums reassurances as he reaches back and twists – glasses crooked on his face, lens already blurring again – pulling you out of the harness.

He frowns as he looks you over, turning you this way and that. You watch as his expression grows comically darker at the small wet patches on the top of your onessie. The man looks outside, an expression like he wants to go to war with the weather.

You giggle and Yuji keeps chanting about candy.

It’s so domestic and peaceful, though Jin might not realize it, given how he’s inadvertently juggling both you and your brother as Yu is released for his own inspection, and you can’t help but bask in the tranquility.

Faintly, you think you smell booze. It’s odd considering you’ve never seen Grandpa, Jin, or Kaori drink… at least not around you or Yuji; but then you feel it. Something cold prickling at the back of your neck. It sets you on edge so of course you can’t help but turn to look, and there, in the corner of the shelter is a familiar face.

You’ll blame the fact you are a child for your failure to notice the six-foot-tall giant sitting a measly three feet from you on the bench.

He’s looking at you and, for some reason, it’s sending shivers up your spine. The gym-bro, poor fashion choices aside – thank all that is decent he’s wearing sneakers– is lounging on the bench like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Ankles crossed, one hand toying with a cigarette and the other dangling behind the seat into the great unknown of tiny hidden spaces.

But his eyes are looking at you and they look… tired.

His face is bothering you; you’ve seen it somewhere, and now that you're in close proximity you know it’s not just from seeing a sad man in the cereal aisle.

Where have you seen him?

You can hope that it’s from your people watching during errands, but your instincts say otherwise.

“Kids right?” Jin chuckles, Yuji balanced and held on a lifted knee as the other arm cradles you. “I need more hands.”

Father, no.

“You got any kids?”

Father! Does thou know of stranger danger? Cease speaking!

Yuji pauses his assault on the candy, his tiny figure helping Dad unwind the shrink-wrapped plastic. A task only successfully completed when he looks up to give you a side-eye.

The not-stranger sighs as if engaging in conversation is the most taxing thing that has been asked of him in the entirety of his existence – which you know fair – but he proceeds to take pity on the smiling pink-haired man anyway.

“I do. A son.”

You stare. The man looks away, as if the confession is shameful, even as Jin smiles and keeps talking. Your old man would probably ask for pictures if his hands and attention weren’t filled. There’s an odd crinkling to the man’s face, a part of his skin pulled taunt as his lips are pressed into a grimace.

Odd.

It’s almost a physical pain at this point. You’ve seen this man before, and it wasn’t from people watching which means…

He looks back at the three of you, eyes aloof as his hand pulls back uneven wet black hair, that smirk clear as day, the scar on his mouth obvious now.

… You are mildly ashamed it took you this long to identify Toji fucking Fushiguro the damn Sorcerer Killer!

Or… to be Sorcerer Killer? While he radiates deadbeat energy, his face doesn’t quite display the same murder mercenary level of apathy you know him for. Is his wife dead yet? Recently dead?

Has he already begun his descent, or is he on the precipice of that loss?

You… actually feel a little guilty. You never made it to season two of the anime, but you saw enough clips to know that Toji was a badass. His story was compelling, a tragedy of his own making, and you couldn’t help rooting for him even as he made some… horrible decisions. Abandoning and selling Megumi, killing Riko, probably some other shit that you were forgetting. It was… a lot.

He was a character who’d been pushed too far and took it out on the world. You can’t help but wonder if the gambling addiction that helped fuel that cycle was part of an attempt to regain some control in a world that had never bothered to be stable.

In short, you don’t know what to do about this development. If you should work cute baby magic and offer a hug which would revitalize this asshole’s interest in his own kid, and thus provide a stable home that would benefit both of them. Or if you should scream your head off and get your dad to stop talking to this man, only bad things can follow.

Of course, Toji just needs to open his mouth and your pointless moral dilemma is immediately thrown out.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate to give a one-year-old a lollipop… isn’t that a choking hazard? Something my wife used to say.”

Really? Was it now? You blink slowly at the revelation, looking down at the sugary treat with new eyes.

Looking at the gym-bro Toji, now reminiscent of a drowned cat you decide, there’s a split second where it comes for you to make a decision before the messy pointless thing you’ve been given is taken away by your well-meaning parent. 

Yes, you accept, this man is an asshole .

Some of your teeth had already come in. Tiny pointed little things that were crooked and unevenly spaced. You grin like a shark in human skin and offer only a glare before you shove the candy, plastic, and all into your mouth and bite down with a solid crack.

You have no idea that Yuji is currently attempting to do the same thing.

Cherry, artificial and sweet fills your mouth. Sure, the few teeth you have are protesting this life choice, Jin is currently freaking out, and the stranger is staring at you like he’s just seen a demon, but you let out a pleased hum regardless.

Really, being a mini terror might be your calling in this life.

“MIO! YU! NO!”

You’re shoved into the arms of Toji as Jin frantically tries to pry open Yuji’s mouth, the kid practically growling as he puffs up his cheeks; determined to keep the treat at all costs.

Ah, I’ve made a mistake.

You smile apologetically, red drool dribbling down your chin. 

Toji, perhaps through whatever fading remnants of fatherhood still exist in his heart, narrows his eyes at you in a look you're sure you’ve seen in a fight edit somewhere. 

Oh, no.

You move to squirm away, your coordination still unacceptable and impractical for anything of use, and Toji catches you immediately. Before you can comprehend the cries of a disappointed Yu - and is that Dad pulverizing the lollipop? – two fingers are already pressed against your jaw. You can feel Toji pushing against the seam of your teeth through your cheeks.

Indignation.

Anger.

Resignation.

Of all the humiliations. This was your candy. Developmental appropriateness disregarded, you knew how to safely consume a lollipop! Yuji might not, but that was very much irrelevant! Yet, here you were; being manhandled by an assassin who was clearly taking this business too seriously…

Actually, Toji looked about ready to turn you on his arm and slap your back in a few seconds. His fingers tighten their grip, and a good bit of pink spit has already built up on the inside of your cheek. 

Dad is right there , and, occupied as he is with Yuji’s frustrated crying, and you know he’s watching this interaction and will step in if Toji causes any real harm.

But this is slightly terrifying. 

A pity you eat terror for breakfast… and every other hour you suffer in the clam’s presence. Still, this might be… a little childish. You know better. You used to be an adult, at the very least you can act like one.

You feel the fingers relax, Toji reading the surrender in your eyes. And you do surrender. You give the man exactly what he didn’t ask for.

You open your mouth and let the red mush fall into the man’s lap.

Let it never be said you don’t know how to pick your battles.

After a series of apologies, and napkins that emerge from the depths of Jin’s pockets, the incident is waved off.

“I’ve had worse stuff spilled on me.”

Yeah. That’s the problem-

“But I mean it; thank you so much for your help!”

“Don’t mention it.”

“My wife would have had my head if something happened, she’s so much better at this than me. Kaori has all the milestones memorized and she’s always getting new parenting books. I think she could probably pass for a pediatrician if she wanted to.”

“Impressive,” he says, but the eye-roll clearly conveys shut up .

“She is! My Kaori is such a good mother, she keeps notes on the twins, did you know? Writing down how their eating, behavior changes, and injuries. Just in case anything happens.”

The eye-roll has morphed into a side-eye. Father, the criminal thinks we’re weird.

Yuji nods frantically next to you, grabbing your shoulder as you both watch the one-sided conversation ping-pong back and forth. The rain is still falling and the bus, unfortunately, has not shown up yet. The shopping bags have been precariously piled on the bench- i t looks like it’s going to fall any minute and get wet regardless of Jin’s efforts - leaving you and Yuji cuddled close on your father’s lap, who himself is perched lightly on the remaining available space.

Which just so happens to be right next to Toji.

Okay. You pity the man. Happy now?

“The kids are going to be just as brilliant as her. Yuji is always so alert, you can just see him taking in the world like a sponge! And Mio started talking at six months! Only a few words, but she knew what they meant! She’s reserved but I can see her brain working hard.” He smiles down at you both, pride and love pouring out of every pore. Even Toji softens in the face of it.

“And look at them! They're adorable!”

The mercenary snorts, shaking his head and his words are barely audible over the rain. “Aimi likes to dress Megumi up as a bear.”

The man freezes, shoulders stiffening as he looks away, back out to the storm as if all life’s answers are hidden just beyond sight.

“Maybe our kids can get together sometime.”

“I’m just passing through. Picking up odd jobs.”

And he is, as much as his wife would hate it. Wandering around Japan instead of staying home with their son. Going back to old skills and habits to take care of hospital bills that just never seem to end.

But it would be worth it, staining his hands again if it meant Aimi could come home.

He wouldn’t know what he would do without her. He couldn’t take care of Megumi by himself. He couldn’t even take care of him now.

Toji Fusiguro wasn’t meant to be a father. Not like the cheerful man next to him.

The truth is, the Yuji Itadori of the future was more like the Jin Itadori of today than either would ever know. And while Jin may not have the calculating mindset of his kenorps of a spouse, he still has that bleeding Itadoi heart and eyes that can see a bit too deep than it seems.

If there’s anything you want to inherit in this whole mess, it’s compassion like that.

“You know, things are pretty good for me, choking hazards aside.” He smiles, but it’s not as bright, as blinding as his others. “But it didn’t start that way. Back when me and Kaori first got married, she got in an accident one day. Hurt her head really badly, doctors didn’t expect her to survive.”

Your hands grab his arm and you squeeze. You don’t want to hear this, you don’t think Toji is in the mood to listen to this, brooding as he is in the corner. Please stop. Please stop talking.

“It was touch and go. They told me she’d die that night, then that she’d never wake up from her coma, then that, if she did , she’d never be the same again. That the hemorrhaging caused permanent damage. That she’d never talk again, that she would have motor issues, that she could have seizures for the rest of her life.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, you feel Yuji leaning against you, concerned for your mood and not understanding it. You don’t understand it , you don’t understand any of this.

But you know Toji is listening now, even if he is turned away and you’re not looking. You still see it. You feel it.

“We got lucky. One specialist promised me he could bring her back and he did. I never got a chance to thank him in person, but he saved my wife’s life.”

Fuck Kenjaku . A thousand times over.

“And now I’m here, with these two blessings and my beloved Kaori waiting for me back home.

I don’t know what you're going through, I might be misreading you completely, but… life can get better. Sometimes in the way we want, others in a way we don’t see coming. And whatever’s haunting you doesn’t have to be the end. It can get better.”

Jin is so earnest, so good . He says things because he means it. He’s speaking because he thinks it’ll help. Toji doesn’t seem to know what to do with the sudden splurge of information, he’s shifting, uncomfortable, and Jin reacts instantly.

“And, hey, good luck on the job hunt!” he chirps, easy and upbeat as if he hadn’t just shared his own grief and joy, “If you have trouble finding something then I know Sakura and Higanbana have an opening. It would mostly be unloading shipments and other physical labor; all the flower selling and arrangements would be done by the boss!”

Fushiguro relaxes, his hand on his knees, and he looks at your father like he’s some alien lifeform. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that type of work.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, just tell him Jin sent you. He seems gruff, but Wasuke is a big softy at heart.”

Toji Fushiguro has yet to fall back into his old ways. His wife is not yet dead, his child not yet sold, and his title as the Sorcerer Killer has not yet been earned. The man seated next to him is not a Zenin, not a sorcerer, not a curse user. He is so far removed from that world, from the brutality and cruelty that Toji knows better than his own name, that he might as well be a different species of person.

Toji Fushiguro has been seen once before in his life. Once a little brat with eyes that don’t belong to a mortal, too blue, too cold, too high and mighty for a child. Eyes that reflected the looks of so many who saw him as less the bugs they stepped on.

This man, and his children, look at him with eyes that see just as deeply. Reddish brown eyes warm with empathy, and too golden gazes split between curiosity and a burning focus.

None of it is cold. None of it is superior. All of it is far too knowing . 

Toji can be seen. He was seen by his wife once and seen by the Gojo heir later, but he’s never been known , never had something peer into his soul.

He can feel it, something peeling back his layers and revealing the only truly vulnerable thing about him. Not even something the famed Six Eyes would be capable of. These are civilians. They have no part in his world.

They should have no part with him.

The rain is still falling when he stands. His pants sporting a new red stain that will not dry brown like so many others, and he prepares to leave. His cigarette has fallen to the floor, forgotten in the accident with the kids, and he steps on it, rubbing it into the concrete as – Jin? - watches. 

He nods his head, if he’s being rude he doesn’t particularly care, but when he wishes the man well he’s surprised to find he means it. Toji steps out into the storm, something pushing him to glance back one last time.

The man is focused on his children, his son snuggling into his side, asking how long they have to stay as Jin promises ice cream when they get home. The girl is looking at him.

She’s a mirror image of the boy, of her father except for those gold eyes that burn.

It's an oddly familiar position he finds himself in, caught by a child, and you don’t connect it, how you're inadvertently mimicking an old wound. It’s good you don’t because then you wouldn’t act like yourself. You are not Satoru Gojo, the spoiled heir and chaotic powerhouse.

You are Yurei Itadori, a girl who should not exist, was not wanted by your creator, and who knows both too much and too little. In that you know Toji Fushiguro far more than your brother or father could hope to.

You watch the man leave, preferring the downpour over the odd little family sitting at the bench, and a part of you wishes you were older, that you were braver, that you were bolder. Perhaps you could change something. Perhaps you could change everything.

You lean back into your father’s hold. Feeling the constant thrum of Yuji and listening to the steady beat of Jin’s heart. You let yourself be soothed by their warmth, your eyes already drooping.

What could you have done that would have changed anything? You are one . A baby . Your words have no weight beyond your capability of producing them. Your life is not notable when you are just another face in the masses. You have no connections, no skills, no power. You can’t do anything. You can’t change anything. You have no control over what these people choose to do or how they live their lives. You are a pawn on the same board as them. Just a pawn.

So why do you turn your head into your dad’s chest? Why do you reach out to grab Yu’s wrist and seek reassurance?

Why do you refuse to watch that man disappear from your sight?

Toji Fushiguro will die. The Star Plasma Vessel Arc will go on as intended, as directed by that one-eyed cat who built this world. Just one event in the cascade of sequences that result in the future you know. None of you are an exception to the cruelties of this world. Especially not the man who holds you now. 

You wished Kenjaku would get it over with already. You wished you didn’t care.

You wished you were strong enough to stop it.

Chapter Text

You are three years old and you don’t know if you’ll ever have a healthy relationship with anxiety.

You and Yuji were already three. While you don’t know how long Ken had been present before your gestation, three years by themselves felt fairly excessive for an experiment where the most hands-on part was… incubation. Yeah, for the sake of your meager sanity and Yuji’s innocence, you were leaving it at that. Kenny’s stitches had already completely scarred over, which had to make the body transfer thing harder - so why stay?

What was Kenjaku waiting for?

Well, it wasn’t like you could waddle up and ask them. 

Most days, Kaori leaves you and Yuji trapped in a playpen with toys while they sit somewhere nearby, usually reading or writing something in a little black book.

You very much hope it’s not this universe's version of the Death Note.

A part of yourself had honestly expected Kenjaku to plop you both in front of the TV and let your brains go numb from some kid show, but, mercifully, they didn’t. If anything, they’ve been remarkably “anti-technology” when it comes to the two of you. All of your toys are old-fashioned things from the days before batteries, speakers, and machinery were inserted into everything. You have colorful balls, you have blocks, you have wooden dolls. 

Ken-crunchy is apparently very concerned about your brain development.

Why? I doubt Yuji’s intelligence means much when he’s supposed to be a meat suit.

Maybe it was because you remembered a much more stimulating childhood, your brain already rotted and addicted to the instant gratification and overstimulation from modern-day entertainment that drove your actions. Maybe it was just you and there was nothing to blame but sheer boredom. After all, you were anxious, incapable of sleeping your days away, and now freedom lay at your fingertips. Or a few steps away from your unsteady feet. Semantics.

You loved Yuji, he was a constant that you’d grown attached to, reliant even. Especially to keep that burning in your gut down and smothered, but spending day after day after day trapped with only him and a few artifacts from a bygone era of childhoods was proving torturous.

And so began your side quest of research. Kenbert, the stay-at-home mom, was apparently not exempt from the pleasures of proper mental stimulation. Given that they were all brain - one that had dubbed themselves a scientist however loose the definition- maybe that was the one pleasure they truly enjoyed. Regardless, Jin had lovingly supplied a library for his wife. One that was brimming with books from the few times you’d been taken in there.

You needed it . You were salivating over it.

More than a few times a week Dad would bring you both in for a story before bed, one usually cut short either to Yu’s fussing or because you’d fallen asleep after dissociating. You could only handle a few rereads, and Hello Moon was only good for the artwork and not the plot!

You would never be left in there by yourself, not when you could pull down a shelf and get crushed by the weight of knowledge or when there ran a risk you might damage a valuable tome . So that left only one option.

Sneaking in.

Kendora had to be growing bored of you, he had to be given how you both were left alone unsupervised for hours at a time. Maybe they were secretly running experiments in the nonexistent basement. Figuring out how to release more calamities upon the world. It seemed likely.

The playpen that contained you was your standard model; an off-white plastic, with thick bars mimicking a jail for the walls, and a single entrance. Of course, it was tall enough that your hands could barely reach the other side on your tippy toes while Jin and Kaori could step over the barrier as much as they pleased, but that was irrelevant. What was relevant was the locking mechanism on the door.

A simple latch. High enough that it wasn’t on eye level, and therefore unnoticeable by most children, but still within reach.

You bided your time, playing innocent as the Great Ken went about their morning routine, completely non the wiser to the scheme you’d hatched. It was a Wednesday if the kitchen calendar did not deceive you - so helpfully tacked up on the fridge you stared at every morning as you were fed your scrambled eggs - and Wednesdays meant yoga .

Or more accurately, Kaori’s online Yoga class they took to ‘keep their figure’ whatever the hell that meant. Again, why?

Ehem , that class took about an hour, usually going over by fifteen minutes plus an additional ten that the brain took to meditate. All of it occurred outside in the sunroom. Of course, the door was open in case of any accidents, but that was a footnote and a pathetic attempt to mitigate this glaring weakness. 

So you went along with the schedule. You ate breakfast dutifully as you always do - after eating the mush called baby food you’d always be too thankful for actual texture to ever be picky – glaring at Yuji as he performed his daily ritual of flinging the offerings about. Until you realize both of you acting like angels could alert the brain. After that, you throw food and Ken to help further sell it.

Finally , the side quest is done, Jin ran off to wherever he worked, and Kaori changed into their workout outfit of the day, the plan could begin. You forced yourself to wait. Biding your time until you heard the digital voices start and could see the Kaori’s shadow reform into the image of whatever pose they started with.

-What you do?- 

You looked at Yuji, who was holding the dolls you’d been playing with yesterday, apparently ready to resume the soap opera drama you’d ripped off from Hamlet .

-What you doing , not what you do- 

He nodded, mouth forming a silent ohhh , as he asked again, this time with the correct grammar. You… didn’t know how to answer. Yes, you standing in the center of the pen, staring at shadows on the wall like a madman was enough to perk some curiosity. Yuji wasn’t stupid . Actually, he was remarkably aware for his age.

Was he born like that, or was it because he was born with you? And how egotistical to debate that question.

-Something bad. Mama will be angry.- 

Hopefully, that would be enough to put YuYu off. Despite your adamant… dislike for your mother , and you knew Yuji was aware of it on some level, he had turned out to be quite a little mama’s boy. Probably all that early life bonding.

-Mama will be angry at both us!- 

Or maybe you had underestimated the influence Kenjaku had. You were both proud and dismayed at that. While the rules about the library were inherently pointless for you, for Yuji they had some purpose. He wouldn’t know any better and you didn’t want to spend your limited time watching over him when you wouldn’t be able to pull this stunt for another week at the latest.

You turned to look at him, ready to put him down gently when those large, golden eyes stared at you, all the love and sadness in the cosmos pushing at you as they please , please , please burst from him like water out of a faucet. 

Damn him, he even had the lip quiver.

-You'll be bored- 

-I be with you!- 

And how could you argue with that? You’d have to be a heartless monster. A robot. Your heart was melting and you could feel the sludge pooling out between your ribs. Life would be so much easier if you just didn’t care.

Yuji was already radiating a smug satisfied happiness. You were throwing eggs at him tomorrow morning.

-Quiet. Follow quietly, and no touchy- 

Tiny jumps lifted his bare feet off the ground, his fists pumping as he grinned the same smile, minus you’d see on Jin.

You turned and made your way to the gate. Kendra was still preoccupied, if you understood the shadow currently they were attempting a tree pose, so you took the opportunity. No going back.

You couldn’t help but preen a little as Yuji watched you work, it was simple, balancing on a block so you’d get the right leverage and lifting the square bit of plastic, but he acted as if you’d performed some secret form of magic.

As he caught you before you could tumble to the floor, the gate swinging open quicker than you were ready for, you couldn’t help but return the joy back to him.

Surprise.

Happiness.

Excitement.

You made sure the gate was closed behind you, not locked but close enough that a quick and unlikely glance from Kenny would hopefully not invite further scrutiny.

You waved your twin forward, the pair of you clinging to the walks, urging each other forward with the odd hand movement, and generally attempting to smoother your giggles.

It was… fun, having a partner in crime.

The house you called home wasn’t particularly big, so you made it to the library space relatively quickly given your stumpy legs. Yuji, determined to hold up to his promise of not being bored and perhaps on some level of habit, went and grabbed a copy of Goodnight Moon from the small basket that held all the children’s books in your reading corner. You , however, marched over to your quarry.

The Big Boy Books … being a kid was ruining you, the cringe would kill you before Shibuya could.

You suspected these might be Kaori’s personal collection, you spied a few covers that had to have been romance, trashy and well-loved given the broken spines and shirtless men on the cover, but they were at the very bottom of the shelves, practically on the floor and covered with a thick layer of dust.

This had been Kaori’s collection, maybe something the woman had genuinely loved and enjoyed, but Kenjaku, just as he’d done everything, had supplanted and twisted that trait into his own.

More books lined the shelves, thick shiny textbooks that ascended into dark brown and black shapes- leather - your mind supplied. The words on some of the spines shine in the morning light just like your own eyes. 

Expensive .

Above them, sticking out at the very top were rolls, and rolls of what must have been scrolls. Hidden in the shadows, preserved from the light seeping in from the window, you couldn’t separate the mass of paper from one or the other. It was like a gradient, a mass that transitioned from aged yellow to a cream, and the occasional tan from a covering.

Beautiful.

-Close your mouth- 

Your teeth clicked as your jaw snapped shut, grunting as you stepped forward.

-Rude- 

Happy.

Smug.

Glee.

From what you were able to see, the general system seemed to put the more important works closer to the top, and the less favored or less used on the bottom. Kaori’s romances were forgotten at the base, but a quick investigation revealed that a number of pregnancy books took up the next chunk, later transitioning to ones on infants. 

Surprisingly, you didn’t find any toddlers in your eyeline.

Thankfully, the shelves stretched across two separate walls, so there was quite a bit to work with. Frustratingly, as you went along, fewer and fewer covers featured pictures or words you’d memorized through storytime.

Honestly, what did you expect?

You wanted to scream. So, so close and you were being held back because you didn’t know some stupid kanji. Ridiculous!

You didn’t scream, but that didn’t stop you from stomping your foot like a child.

“Mo?”

Yuji, nestled in a pile of blankets and pillows in the corner, Goodnight Moon still open on the first page, looked at you like he wanted to run to you. “Mo, Okay?”

You sighed. Getting angry wouldn’t help with anything, and you both needed to get back before the Warden noticed your escape attempt.

-We need to clean. Help put away, and sneak back- 

Slowly, he nodded, still watching you as if he expected you to start crying, but you both made quick work of putting the blankets back in the corner- even if your folding was rather sloppy-  and made it back just as Kaori walked in.

They’d finished early this time.

You watched as those dull eyes scanned the room, an obnoxiously cheery voice echoing from outside. You felt your stomach sink as Kaori stepped forward, cautious, head swiveling around and body tense.

Your eyes darted to the gate and you felt like you’d be sick. You never locked the gate .

Fuck .

Just behind you, Yuji’s face paled, his head also darting around, and tears forming in his eyes as he tried to figure out what danger had appeared. He didn’t even know what danger was , but the concept he was feeling was enough to put him in a panic.

You watched, still as a statue as Kejaku turned to look at you, eyes flicking down to the gate and you saw the exact moment the curse user realized what you had.

You held your breath.

A doll cracked under Yuji’s hands.

And Kenjaku… smiled .

They hummed, closing the latch, they looked at you both, cooing softly before reaching to ruffle Yuji’s hair. They looked at you, dull eyes probing as you stood there, stiff and cold but for the acrid turning in your gut.

You saw teeth as their mouth opened. Not a smirk, but it felt close enough to one.

And then they were gone. Back outside to the cheerful digital voice and normal schedule.

You did not see their shadow move. Not until the program finished and they came back inside. Kenjaku broke their routine that day. You had never been so relieved when Jin came home.

“Mo, pick! Mo pick!” Yuji screamed, bouncing up and down as Jin laughed and you stayed curled up at his side. As soon as he’d arrived home and you’d been released from the pen, you’d launched yourself at his legs and refused to leave him. The poor man hadn’t even showered yet.

You did not care. You left this man and you would die. Kenny would take you in the night and chop you up into little pieces. Or pull out all your nails. Or stuff you in a jar.

… wait a second, I have half siblings stuffed in jars .

You felt a warm hand pat your back, “You want to pick a story, Mio?”

You shake your head, falling back into the comfort and warmth of your Dad as Yuji peers down at you.

“I don’t think she wants to pick something tonight, why don’t you-”

“I think she should pick something” Evil itself appeared in the doorway, eyes glinting in the dark, “You coddle her too much. She barely talks because you or Yuji do it for her.” Kenjaku smiled, peering into the room.

Why were they here? They never come here for story time? Why?

“Go on, Yurei. Pick something to read.”

You look at the basket, more mindless, pointless excuses for literature stacked inside and you can’t help but inwardly recoil.

“Mo pick what Mo want.” Yuji leans close to you, his breath fanning your face and a lopsided smile, so earnest and genuine, that it makes a bit of tension loosen in you. 

He’s right. This is an opportunity. It’s torture via boredom or torture via the unknown that is Kenny and you need to pick one. You're not picking the devil you know, you wouldn’t dare to presume to know a lick of what those neurons are firing. 

Slowly, you peel yourself away from Jin, missing his warmth and heartbeat almost immediately, but you soldier on. You will be brave. You have to be in this world.

You move to the shelves, and you can hear Jin start to correct you, to direct you back to the age-appropriate content, only to be shushed by Kaori.

You do not feel reassured as you are waved forward. That smile is a crime against nature.

You stand in front of the shelves. Romance isn't a viable option, you do not think even Jin would humor you if you brought that content- Kenny you don’t know but Jin would definitely shut it down if those books are even half as steamy as some of the content you read Before. Pregnancy books also don’t interest you. They have diagrams, the content would be overly specific, and it would be easy for Jin to simplify the text.

You can’t help but whine, feeling all this attention on you. You bite on your knuckles, eyes darting as your mind works overtime, trying to find the best option because you will not be doing this again.

And then you see it.

It’s a small textbook, tall and skinny, with a shiny black cover. You remember the cover, it had an old drawing on it; an elegant old depiction of a group of men sitting at a long table and plucking at instruments.

This could be promising.

You grab it. You don’t stumble under the weight, if you were a normal child and not an Itadori you probably would. But you bring it back only to find something has changed while you had been deliberating.

It’s Kaori sitting on the floor with Yuji tucked against them. Jin has left.

Oh, fuck.

“Come, Yurei. Come here.” A flawless hand reaches out, wingers wiggling like worms on a hook and Kaori tilts her head like a bird as you hesitate. “Daddy’s cleaning himself up, Yurei. He’ll be back soon. Why don’t I read to you both tonight? Wouldn’t that be special?”

Kenjaku had never hurt you. Ignored you? Neglected you? Inadvertently nearly killed you from ennui? Yes. But they’d never hurt you.

Yet.

Steeling yourself, you marched forward, handing out the book and seating yourself at their side. Close enough to see the pages, far enough to feel somewhat comfortable. The door was right there , escape was right there .

Kenjaku couldn’t afford to damage Yuji. They could damage you all they want.

Confusion.

Comfort.

Happy.

You let yourself pulse the response back to Yuji. It was hollow compared to responses that originated from you, but he seemed to get the message. Snuggling back into Kaori’s side, eyeing you but saying nothing.

Kaori, as it turned out, was not so equipped at reading body language.

The squeal was instinctive, similar enough to a scream in horror movies, scenes when a character is grabbed by some alien monster- impaled, strangled, or pulled by their ankles- and dragged into a dark unknown where no one can follow, and only fluids and horrible ripping and screaming echo forth. It was that type of sound, and yet, Kenjaku shushed you as if you were giggling too loud in a solemn space. You are dropped into their lap, the book, open and ready, blocking your escape as the brain maneuvers their body to surround you. To hunch over you, like a bird over its chick.

Or a cobra ready to strike.

And Kenjaku reads to you. He does not skip words or simplify the meanings. It is dry and heavy, speculations of ancient eras, locations of artifacts, and referrals to other volumes and pages; but he works every word, a finger gliding across the page, slowly marking each symbol as its meaning is spoken.

This becomes the new ritual, the new routine. Every night like clockwork, you are in Kenjaku’s lap, Yuji dozing off at his side, and the same book is read, always starting from the beginning.

It takes three nights for you to stop panicking. It takes another two for you to follow along. 

By next Wednesday, you think you might be able to read it for yourself.

It’s the same routine, the same schedule. Breakfast, Jin leaves, Kaori stuffs both of you into the pen and moves outside to do her yoga.

The pen is different. There’s a new door.

It’s thicker, the lock actually requires effort, and you can already see it’s going to take some time to conquer this ugly thing. You also see the baby monitor, balanced precariously and stabilized by a single clip on one of the bars.

That should be your warning. 

You’ve grown too familiar with fear. Too narrow-sighted for what you want. You are a child, prone to childish tendencies. You pause and you think.

There’s a blind spot to the camera, and you angle yourself within it. There’s a block at your foot, the same one you used to stand on last time, and it seems like fate. A cube is not aerodynamic, and you wouldn’t rate yourself as particularly skilled, but you are strong. 

You throw the toy and it hits the camera.

It’s still connected to the pen, that clip holding on for dear life, and it’s not broken- you don’t think so at least. But it has fallen slightly, the camera crooked and turned to the corner away from the gate and hallway you need to go down.

It looks like it fell by itself. A faulty piece of hardware, and you, and oblivious to its failure.

You wait, listening and watching. Kenjaku’s shadow pauses, straightening, and for a moment you think they’ve noticed. That they are coming back in to fix what you’ve ruined.

The shadow shifts; one of the warrior forms.

You let out a breath.

-Mo, explore?- 

You look back at Yuji, who ignored your shenanigans so far. You lift a finger to your lips and nod.

-You want to come?- 

The boy looks down at his hands, the latest acquisition to your non-screen hoard. Jin smuggled in a toy fire-truck, something that only managed to stay after the batteries came out, and a good amount of pleading from both boys. It was the only hunk of plastic in your collection, and Yuji had started carrying it around with him everywhere .

Apparently, the fascination was also a temporary replacement for you.

-It's fine. Play. I’ll be back- 

He nods, head whipping up and down, a finger pressed to his own lips. It’s cute, and you can’t help but smile.

Love.

Happiness.

Nervous.

The gate is more complex this time. There’s a legitimate locking mechanism on the door. Some kind of bolt powered by a spring. You have to push down on a button to disengage it, but simultaneously lift the gate so it can open. You’ve seen it before. It’s going to be quite the test of your dexterity and strength.

It takes you five minutes.

Your journey to the library is considerably less fun even if it is quicker. But you're on a mission so you don’t mind it. You are going to read today.

You grab the book, pulling it down to the floor, and then you grab another. It looks similar enough, and you recognize some matching symbols on the cover; Volume, Era, Japanese, and Histories. It's promising. You open both at the beginning and are pleased to realize that, yes, you have memorized Kenny’s torture book successfully.

Now for the fun part.

You pull them both close and start examining the writing. Some of it is completely foreign, but others match and you cross reference what you recognize and use context to fill in the gaps. It’s a lot, your brain already feels tired and you're only on page two, but you feel so proud . You are reading . You are actually understanding what these symbols mean.

A shadow falls over the pages. You look up and dull eyes look down.

Kenjaku’s smiling, head tilting as he looks you over. “Now, what are you doing, little one?”

It suddenly dawns on you where you’ve seen that movement before. It was something you’d see crows do when confounded with an interesting puzzle. 

A toddler should not be reading textbooks. A toddler should not be trying to read textbooks.

If you were an adult, you might stammer and lie. Avoid eye contact and attempt to justify your presence as shame would bloom hot on your face.

But you’re not an adult right now, and you have no shame.

You look up at Kaori and you smile right back.

“Mama! Mama! I can read too!”

And, oh how it kills you , to smile like an idiot and slap those pages with your hands but you do it anyway. Kenjaku cannot prove anything. Nothing that you do not prove for him. All that you need to do is lean into the baby act and let common sense and logic dispel whatever suspicions, if there even are any, may be lurking in those grey cells.

Kaori just smiles as they nod and pick you up. Arms squeezing tight as if you are water that might leak out of their grasp, that monstrous rumblings you heard in the womb echoing from the chest you're pressed against.

Kaori never mentions the gate, the monitor, or the books. You do not try to sneak out again.

The new routine stays, Kenjaku reading a new book every night. Some are scientific manuals, other’s historical papers, and a few poems that make your head spin.

If Jin thinks this is odd he doesn’t say anything. He looks, almost relieved, every night when he walks in to find Kaori already settled, voice droning on with Yuji half-asleep and you held hostage.

Why is he doing this? Why can’t you leave me alone?

The routine stays. You fear this will last until Jin dies. You wonder if it was like this before.

You don’t know what Kenjaku is waiting for, but as that cold hand strokes your head, fingers winding through your hair, you can only wait.

Chapter Text

You are beginning to fear for your development. On the one hand, it's not like this is your first time ‘round the merry-go-round of life, on the other, you are pretty sure these levels of stress would not equate to healthy brain chemistry or appropriate attachment levels in a child.

Then again, it's only you that is aware of the subtext in this situation. While Kay and Jin’s minds remain a mystery to you, at least you know Yuji is oblivious to any tension that doesn’t originate from you.

Actually, that might not be much better.

Regardless, calamity is something you’ve become resigned to. You are literally living with an engineer of such disasters and, ever since that woman has suddenly deemed you interesting enough to play house with every night, you take great pleasure in the sanctity of your afternoons. They are Kenjackass free and that's how you like it. No probing, unblinking fish eyes that watch your every movement. No shadow hovering in the periphery of your vision. No specter suddenly appears at odd hours, just smiling as they stand there thinking . 

Like any scientist, the nutjob seemed overly passionate and involved in maintaining the viability of their project. Like any bored material girl, they also spent every minute that was not occupied stalking specimen-children indulging in the luxuries of the modern world. 

Yuji and yourself were the workday, the afternoon was “Mommy time. ”  Which, from what you could tell, meant some form of weird self-care. A seaweed wrap. A trip to see the opera. Fish pedicures. You’d even caught them crying over tickets to some blue lagoon in Iceland of all places.

Raisin Brain was living the high life; “You only live once, Jin!”  

Well, that was a blatant lie for both of them.

While being stuck in the pen was extremely boring– even if some interesting textbooks and puzzles had been thrown in with you; you knew a trap when you saw it – it was a… decent price for a bit of peace. It could even be enjoyable when Wasuke dropped by to visit. The drama Gramps could create with his presence alone was awe-inspiring . The little ticks Kaori would do every time her parenting was critiqued proved deeply cathartic, even if unnecessary. It had become your hobby, and only source of entertainment , to help out the Old Man in his crusade against the witch. It wasn’t malicious, the way you’d nod your head- Yu mimicking you- every time Gramps ranted. Nor how you’d make a point to cycle through every curse word Kenny said when she tried to make you say mama in front of him. Not even how you’d fling your food only when Kenjaku was attempting at feedings- who says “Here comes the villagers!” instead of airplanes? - and acted with prim manners befitting royalty with everyone else. If Kenjaku had actually been a first-time mom of twins, you’d suspect more than a few tears would have been shed due to your fun. Tears you would be disappointed to see. You knew your nemesis was better than that.

So, no, the pranks and antagonism weren't malicious . If you were honest… it might be borderline affectionate sometimes. A ribbing. A way to fight back and give a little justice to this world. And you really, really enjoyed doing it .

Kenjaku was keeping you both alive, that was more than you expected and beyond your standard, so it was given that your relationship would never be the most healthy. This situation was fantasic given the alternatives!

Unfortunately, everyone else was not on the same page.

Even more unfortunate, Jin was not on the same page.

“A girls' day! Some time to bond while I run errands with Yuji.”

You blink in utter bewilderment. What. The. Hell. Father. You blamed Wasuke for this. The man had been more vocal about your treatment recently, which was sweet, but unwanted… it’s given them all idea s. Proper bonding and healthy parental relationships could shove it. If Ken wanted to be a boy-mom, you’d cheer and support it to canon’s end.

Your father was oblivious to your contentment, subtly chasing his wife around in the kitchen as she made her regular chlorophyll smoothie. The corpse bride looks about as enthusiastic as you felt.

“Mio is so laid back- it’ll be fun for you both.”

See , this is why you need to invest in more tantrums. Now you will forever be known as the easy baby and agreeable child. Hogwash! You’d give Sukuna and Gojo a run for their money if you got the chance!

Curiosity

Confusion

-mad?-

-Seething, Yu. I’m seething -

Thinking for a moment, before nodding and deciding this was simply just one of the many Great Big Things that sometimes came from Mo, Yuji Itadori returned to stacking blocks as the adults talked and his sister kept to her odd meld of good and bad thoughts. Being happy and upset at the same time was beyond him at the moment. His brain hurt trying to make sense of it all. 

He smiled as Mo patted the inside of his head.

“I don’t know, Jin.” Kaori frowns, eyelashes fluttering demurely a streak of green on her lip, “I wouldn’t want to ruin their routine. That’s very important for children.”

You can’t believe it, but you are agreeing with the resident psycho. Yes, please keep the bloody routine . All changes this far have sucked. You desperately wish you could put your two cents in and request to revert to the borderline negligent behavior you’d received as a newborn… sadly that might backfire.

“Common, Kor, I know you’re trying , but putting them both to bed- while adorable , isn’t enough.”

Seated in the playpen, you had the displeasure of being at just the right angle to catch Kaori’s perfect face twist into something ugly as she turned away from Jin. The green mustache did not help as much as it should have.

The rotting stench only got stronger with Kenjaku’s displeasure.

“I know you care and are dedicated to the twin’s well-being, but there’s more to childcare than physical welfare.” Pushing up his glasses, your father’s tone turned pleading, “I looked through some of your books and they agree with me; they need quality time with us. Active play, conversations… with our routine.”

You would applaud Jin’s tactics, emotional affirmation coupled with the scientist's own research was a heavy-hitting attempt; but something about Kenjaku, the stiff way they were standing as if subject to rigor mortis, the way their face was turned away from all of you- Yuji included - made you hesitate to diverge your attention.

“I do spend time with the offspring.”

The voice was stiff, and so… unlike the Kaori that had been presented. No cat-like purr, no snappy syllables, no teenage girl level of snobby superiority. It was so flat. So strained .

“With Yuji , and even then I think we can work on that. But other than reading textbooks, you don’t spend any time with Mio. I’m worried about her. She doesn’t call for you, haven’t you noticed? She goes to Chichi and me, but she just watches you like you’re a stranger.”

You’re already looking away as K looks back to the pen. Walking on wobbly legs over to Yuji and his peaceful block tower. You aren’t hearing any of this, no sir.

“She’s not talking either. I know she’s smart, I know you know that too. Yuji’s already so vocal, but Mio doesn’t say anything at all. If anything she gets Yuji to speak for her.”

You sit beside your beloved bro, far too aware of how both parent units are looking at you.

“Build up high?” you ask, the words jumbled compared to how smoothly they run in your mind, “Too skinny and it falls.” 

A vision flashes in your mind, that tall single-block tower collapsing, burning and shattering apart as nondescript figures run and an oversized ape screams from the top of it all before falling to his death.

“Like dreams!” the psychopath in hiding says with a smile that could rival the sunshine, “Falls and goes boom! ”

You nodd, because what else can you do? Also, since when did Yuji know about King Kong?

The block tower is strangely absorbing, but you don’t miss the hushed whispers behind you.

“My Father has a point, love. Our kids need their mother. She’s special. She’s ours , Kay.”

“I know she is.” there’s silence, heavy and waiting as a cloud of rot blooms and widdens. You can’t help but wrinkle your nose in the face of it.

“I’m going out, I need to think and I can hardly take a three-year-old with me today.”

Your relief and Yuji’s euphoria mingle and intertwine as the block tower falls. You had hoped that would be the end of it.

But Jin wouldn’t stop.

As it turned out, Yuji’s stubbornness may not have originated from the lunatic who spent 1,000 years making a side project, but actually from the unassuming pink-haired, glasses-wearing lunatic who was married to him. And dad? Dad played dirty.

Small suggestions over a few weeks, more books left out, opened to highlighted passages on the importance of secure emotional attachments and maternal bonds. When that failed to work, you found yourself the victim of baby fashion. Inconspicuously dressed up as a mini-me, in animal-themed onesies, in fluffy dresses with ruffles as tulle that made you want to kick your legs and scream because who was the fucker that thought style over comfort was genius for baby clothes?

Yuji pated your mind as Jin cooed over you, dressed in a tiara and everything, and envisioned a thousand ways to destroy this pink abomination that clashed with your hair.

He’d tied it up in pigtails. Pigtails! With the most vomit-worthy shade of yellow bows, you’d ever had the disgrace to see in both your lives.

Kenjaku looked borderline sorry for you.

You glared up at Jin. You’d never wish ill upon him, but were you wishing great unpleasantness for an afternoon? Yes. In great detail.

May you always be running late for the train. May you not find good parking on your next outing. May you stub the same toe thrice in a row. May your favorite pillow go flat. May-

“Jin, dear, I know you like to spoil Yurei, but why-” Kenjaku motioned to you, clearly unhappy as you languished in her husband’s arms, “Is she dressed like a rejected Disney princess?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought it would be cute if you took her out shopping, both my beautiful glam girls.”

“How sweet, but I-”

“But it will also be nice since Chichi is coming over for tea and she can dress up for him.”

That soft, sweet face, your father, Jin Itadori , the man who looked at Toji like he was a wet kitten and offered a job working for a florist, smiles with fangs you didn’t know he had. A shiver goes down your spine and the bloody thing isn’t even aimed at you.

Sukuna’s twin indeed.

“Oh, you hear that, Yurei? A Girl’s Day with Mama! How exciting, ” swiftly you are pulled from the demon-man’s arms, your world still spinning at this new facet of the Sunshine Man. 

Ken smooshes her face against yours, “I’m keeping you to myself all day, you little concrete operational enigma ~” 

In a blink, Jin’s murder face is gone. As if the soft, serene, patient, and loving look was all his face was capable of being. I have learned something today.

Don’t mess with Jin.

“You are a quiet one aren’t you?”

You blink. Slowly. Like a cat that’s debating on whether or not to grace a human with its attention. You’ve already decided of course, but most of the fun is in the act. You don’t think you are quiet, not really, but you don’t deign to give stitches an answer. Your eyes bore into his and you wait for him to blink. He doesn’t.

You smile and stick out your tongue. Ken huffs and goes back to looking through racks of clothes.

What can he do to you here? This is one of the few shopping centers in Sendai and, as typical for a Saturday afternoon, it is filled with what must be most of the population. Witnesses, darling mother. Offing half a town would get sorcerers on that changling ass faster than a vengeful curse could form. Background scheming can’t scheme under all that attention.

You are uncomfortable, physically and emotionally in this dress, and around this presence, so, maybe you aren’t in a particularly charitable mood. Certainly not one to play happy bouncing baby.

You are not Yuji, and you are not inclined to act like him.

Kenjaku doesn’t seem to mind. You don’t know if that’s because he doesn’t care about your, admittedly, unbaby-like behavior, or if he just doesn’t care about you.

You're not sure how to feel about that.

“How about this?”

A red jacket is held up against Kaori’s body, you can’t tell but you think it might be leather. You can’t help but wonder why someone hiding would wear something so bright. Then again, no one knows about Kenjaku right now… except maybe Tenegen? Maybe?  

Still. Something in you revolts at the idea of Kenjku wearing something so modern… and objectively cool .

“No, you’re right. This is completely the wrong skin tone; this body would look anemic in that red. Pity, I do so love that color.”

Oh, thank goodness.

“ Mmm , for the next flesh-suit then.”

Nevermind then.

And then there's a flash of pink. Sweetheart neckline, fake-jewel encrusted belt, and a skirt made of so much bloody tulle you wouldn’t be surprised if the manufacturer just wrapped yards of it around a mannequin because they could. You itch just looking at it. You're itching even harder because you're already wearing it!

“How about this? We can be matching! ”

You feel decently horrified.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, kiddie. This is what mothers and daughters do . I should enjoy this; it’s a first for me, did you know? I don’t often go for the female look, and I am never going through a pregnancy again.” The evil dress is put away and your tormentor sighs dramatically, the kiddie leash pulled tight as she lifts her hand to her temple. “You're quite an experience. A pity.”

You roll your eyes.

“So condescending, you must get that from me . ”

You stick your tongue out and blow a raspberry. Kenjaku only laughs, poking your forehead.

“ Temper, temper. Since I can’t leave you little masterpieces alone, I might as well use this time to pamper myself as I deserve. It’s hard being this level of genius; harder when things like proper documentation and missing persons make life so much harder. A hundred years ago one simply put distance and a smidgen of time between yourself and people. Problem solved! Now everyone is so damn nosey~”

Kaori looks down at you expectantly, as if expecting affirmation for the, admittedly interesting, rant. You almost missed the silent ominous version of the sorcerer. Was this what Yuji had to deal with?

- I am so sorry -

- Thanks! … why are we sorry? -

- Why are you sorry? -

- Are you sorry :( -

Ken-Kore must see something in your face because there’s a finger poking your cheek and a manic smile filling your vision.

“see! You understand my pain!”

You bite your lips to keep from snarling like an animal. Your self-control is melting faster than the polar ice caps, and you are this close to acting your age and making clam-head regret they ever had kids!

“… how would she last in a jar?”

- Yu! I need help! Stat! -

Every innate technique influences its user. Whether that was because the technique was part of the user, or because the user integrated themselves with their technique was anyone's guess, but the result remained the same regardless of cause. Cursed energy did things to people. 

Some of it was minor, those with abilities that leaned on the more mathematical side of existence were more inclined to those subjects. There was an instinctual aptitude for it; physics, measurement, and estimations made simple in brains built to act on calculations. 

For Suguru, it had always been about taste. When he was younger it had been subtle. His preference for simple hearty meals, savory and full of umami flavor, over sugar and other foods tainted by artificial preservatives had been a quirk of personality.

And then he’d eaten his first curse, and the world had made sense.

Smell and taste were connected of course. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to realize all of the unique perfumes and colognes he’d complimented his peers on were actually their cursed energies.

Embarrassing .

“Ooo~? What’s got you all red?”

Spearmint and ozone tickled his nose, slicing through his thoughts. “Nothing Satoru. It’s just been a while since I’ve last visited.”

“Oh, right .” A lanky arm curls on his shoulder, ”You were born in Senadi.” The platinum blonde looks around, sneering, “You miss it?”

Suguru hummed, eyes darting around examining the passing alien faces, “Not particularly.”

“Huh.” The arm fell off and the spearmint faded, faltered , for a moment. 

“ What ?”

“Nothing.” hands in his pocket the menace tilted his head, smirking, “I just thought you’d be more sentimental about it. You're always such a righteous softie… it's a bit odd to see you so, apathetic .”

“It’s just a place, not a people, Satoru. Life is different for those sensitive to cursed energies and not born in shaman families. It’s harder when you don’t have someone who can understand.”

“So, fuck ‘em all?”

A slap against the back of his head was the answer. “Geeze,” Gojo rolled his eyes, pushing his glasses back up, “don’t have to be so mean~”

“Life is meaner.” Sighing, ignoring the memories and the ache, Getou motioned to the scene around them. All of those clueless people wandering around, the occasional Grade 4 curse darting around, the faint static of cursed energy generated by hundreds of mindless little humans troubled by common mundanity. Life circling on and on, just waiting for suffering to come and slaughter blind little lambs.

“Satoru, we have the responsibility of being better,” regardless of what they do, the blind can’t understand, they can’t see, “Of course, the weak will fear what they don’t understand, it's natural. That’s why we need to stand by each other, sorcerer protecting sorcerer, as we work together to save everyone.” In a perfect world, that’s all they would need.

“Keep talkin' like that and I might just lose my sweet tooth.”

His arm fell to his side slowly, fondness and frustration mixing in equal measure, something only Satoru Gojo was capable of creating, “Excellent.” He laughed, “That’ll be enough to get Shoko to join in on my speeches now.”

“ Nooo, don’t you dare! I haven’t even tried half of the desserts on my bucket list. ”

Suguru’s smile softened to something more genuine until it faded as a passing woman almost bumped into him.

Sendai had gotten bigger since the last time Getou had passed through. How long had it been? Two years? He’d called, but just never had the time to visit. Not that his absence was likely missed.

His parents were probably relieved that he was gone. Better to be childless than saddled with a cursed one.

“Why are we even here? Why am I here? There are so many better things I could do with my time.”

“ Digimon Data Squad is not the best use of your time.”

“No, it’s the only use for my time. Until the next game is released. Then that will be the only thing worth my time.”

“I’m not on that list?”

Satoru waves him off, marching off to a tanghulu vendor, shiny candied fruit displayed and glittering tantalizingly in the afternoon light. “You go without saying.”

“There’s been reports of multiple cursed energy signatures around here and they’re only getting stronger. Do you know what that means? ”

Satoru turned back to him, already stuffing his mouth with two skewers and in the process of buying a third.

“ Eh? Umone, ont doin t’re ‘ob?”

Oh, how he wanted to rip his hair out sometimes.

“ A child, Satoru. There could be an unidentified shaman child that we need to find or a cursed spirit that’s smart enough to hide its signature. Or both.”

A grape cracked between his teeth and Gojo couldn’t help but whine as the stick was snatched by his former best friend.

“ Pay attention.”

“ But this is so boring~ And how exactly am I supposed to find a kid? Look around, Suguru, for a small town there are a lot of kids- what, you think the hypothetical kid is going to run out and introduce- OI! Watch it!”

Something hit his leg, and instinctively, Satoru threw infinity up, launching the projectile off him with a thud. Looking down, he expected a sugar high squirrel, or a ball, or maybe a runaway box of Kikufuku- he’d heard that was a specialty around here.

What he was not expecting… was a glare of shining gold.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Satoru, that is a child.”

No, that was not a child. At least not one Gojo had ever seen before. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but, something big was flagging his Six-Eyes. He just… couldn’t process that information.

“You don’t say? How interesting… ” The white-blonde abomination leans over you, those otherworldly blue orbs- and you hated that description, but it was arguably on point for the bugged-out miniature planets that were attempting to pick you apart to mere atoms because they could- meeting your own golden gaze. You didn’t know what to do in this situation. You were not fucking prepared for this.

- Yu I am never taking your advice again! Not until your frontal lobe grows in! -

-You need help ? -

“ Ooooo~ you got a twin, princess?” 

Maybe it was a combination of the shit day you’d had. Maybe it was the adrenaline of finally slipping away from Kenjaku. Maybe it was the damn dress you were wearing but you could not take this anymore.

So, you looked up at the Saturo Gojo and you finally did it.

You had your tantrum.

“ Oh shit!”

Dimly, you’re aware of the two men- teenagers - dancing around your form, still seated from where Gojo’s infinity had thrown you. And hey, wasn’t that something for the bucket list?

“What do I do? What do I do?”

“What did you do?!”

“Shhhhh, it’s okay, it okay- and she’s crying harder.”

You could understand why kids did this… this felt good. To just let it all out. All your anger, fear, and frustration in some tears and a few hiccups. 

10/10, you would recommend.

Something’s poking your face lightly. Your vision is a bit blurry, your cries dimming in curiosity as the shiny red thing in front of you.

A candied strawberry. Right there. 

There is no Toji to rob you this time.

You don’t hesitate to lunge for it, your baby teeth sinking in with a satisfying crack and you barely chew before swallowing, already working on the next piece on the stick.

“Well, that’s mildly terrifying.”

“Now you know how the rest of us feel.”

Three pieces in and you remember you have an audience. A very important audience. 

You look back up, and Kenjku’s face is in front of you. But it’s not Kenjaku’s, not yet. There are no stitches across his brow, no monk clothes, and his hair is tied up in a man-bun rather than free-flowing. This is Suguru Getou. The sane version.

You still can’t help but wince as he reaches for your face.

“Hello there,” the back of his finger’s brush cracked pieces of sugar from your cheeks, purple eyes soft and voice calm. Every attempt to be comforting for a lost child. How sweet.

Would he be like this in the future? If a random lost kid ran into him on the street?

You don’t know.

“Where’s your mama and papa, sweetie?” You look up at him, blinking slowly. Like hell, you are going to tell him. The three cannot meet in person, not until Kenny’s brain is inside that skull and Gojo trapped in the prison realm-

It is a really good thing they are not mind readers.

“Where are your parent’s kid?” Gojo is considerably less nice, almost bored, but you can see his eyes, and how they fixate on you. He’s bored, but you're an interesting distraction. Everything is a distraction to him. He doesn’t have a purpose yet.

Blue planets blink and he looks away, “Weird kid.”

Getou elbows his knee without looking away from you. “Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?”

“Mio.”

His smiles, fox-like eyes squinting, “That's a lovely name. Do you know what your mama’s name is?”

“Which one?”

“The one that ain’t ‘ mommy.”

You glare at Gojo, sticking out your tongue. He sticks his out back at you. Getou just chuckles.

You stand, patting the dirt out on your dress- hopefully, the thing is ruined forever - and you notice the matching tiara on the floor. You smile as someone steps on it, the cheap plastic snapping beneath oblivious boots.

“What a shame.”

“No, it's not.”

Getou frowns at you, “Aren’t you a princess? That’s a very pretty dress.” Gojo’s snicker turns to a yelp and he’s pulled down.

“No. Imm not a princess. Don wanna be.”

“Why? What girl doesn’t want to be a princess? ” You and Gojo gag at the exact same time, and Getou is mildly regretting he’s not recording this.

“ No !” You stamp your foot. This is more words you’ve spoken in a week, but this has been killing you all day, “Not pwetty. Color all wong for ‘air.” You hold up one of your pigtails to illustrate the point, and Getou, like a normal human, nods in agreement.

You then point at Gojo, now sitting cross-legged on the floor rather than matching Getou’s squat, and look down at him, summoning all the Kenjaku snobbery you can muster. “An no princess! No one tell me wha to do!”

“Really?” you recognize the tone of voice, the drawling “ oooo really?” voice that’s rightfully infantilizing given your current age … should be age? How old are you really? 

“Then what do you want to be?”

The question is redundant, but you can’t help to consider it. Who do you wan to be? You want to keep Yuji alive and prevent some tragedy, but what do you want for yourself? You think about that burning in your gut. The sensation that’s only growing stronger even as you’ve been containing it , which is oddly dim right now , but you think you’ve already figured out what it is. 

Even without Yuji, you wouldn’t have gotten a normal life in this world.

“Happy. Or conqueror. Or ‘ermit. See wa life make’ me.”

You shrug like that's it.

Gojo and Getou are both looking at each other with the same closed smiles and crinkled eyes you sometimes share with Yuji before doing something you know will be stupid. That silent communication. It does not bode well.

“Was you names?” you ask, patting your hands together and rocking on your heels, looking up at them with what is, hopefully, wide and sparkling doe eyes.

“Well this is Gojo Satoru,” Getou motioned to the white-haired teen, who threw up a peace sign and just said “ Yo.”

“And I’m Getou Suguru.” You smile, waiting as Getou tilts his head ever so slowly, and his eyes, slowly, blink closed. “We go to the same school to-”

You’re already gone.

The two boys look at each other, the same thought running in their heads, the scent of smoke and cinnamon still tingling in Suguru’s nose.

“Shaman-child?”

“Shaman-child.”

And the chase is on.

You run as fast as your little legs will carry you… which given how messed up your genetics are, is pretty dang fast. Psycho-evilness aside, you will give it to Kentucky, they have done a masterful job. 

“Why didn’t you grab her?”

“She would have bit me!”

You would have. You really would have.

There’s a kikufuku stand in front of you, you are tempted to toss it at your pursuers, one in particular , but you don’t think you could pay the vendor back and you don’t want Jin to get into trouble… so you just duck under it and loop around.

“Did you see her?”

“KIKUFUKU! Hello! I’ll take three dozen of your zunda and two dozen of the fresh cream and-!”

“No time for food! Child, Satoru! CHILD!”

You giggle. This is rather fun.

- YuYu, option one or option two? -

-Two! Two! Two -

Mmm , well option one was going back to the candied fruit, but if Yuji wants option two then the store with all those stuffed Kirby's it is! You might even get mistaken for one with your fluffy pink outfit.

Everything is remarkably bright in this world.

“ Have you seen my daughter? Where is my child?”

Why the fuck did you decide to be optimistic?

“ Yurei! Yurei come out here right now! So help me, young lady, I will leave you here!”

There, five feet ahead of you is Kaori, running around like a chicken without a head, screaming to the heavens, and occasionally shaking a random passerby. Your leash, the one you unclipped yourself from is wrapped around her hand like a boxing glove.

You think you see security approaching.

Slowly, you take a step back. And then another. And then another. And, slowly, you turn around. 

You're off like a shot. Hopefully, Ken wasn’t lying with the threat to leave you behind. You were pretty sure you could run your way home. Pretty sure.

-Change of plans Yu, mission aborted-

-Aww….so candy? -

-... I’ll see if I can grab something-

-No tell Mama?-

-NO telling anyone!-

“YUREI! GET BACK HERE!”

Shit, shit, shit-

  You’ve been spotted, you hear footsteps closing in, oh, you're so doomed. The pen for eternity. For eternity. Sukuna will be released and you’ll be in the pen. The Culling Games will happen with you in the pen. You will die in that pen. You will be reborn for your third life and Kenjaku will find a way to have you spend it in the pen. Or a jar… that's also on the table.

-YuYu, come visit me when I’m in prison-

Concern

Confusion

Laughing

-THIS IS NOT FUNNY!-

“Woah there, little lady,” a hand grabs you, and the world goes sideways. “Ally-oop!” You see the floor in front of you, gravity pulling your pigtails forward and…

It’s Gojo, and he’s carrying you underneath his arm like you are a football.

Only Gramps may carry you like this!

You struggle, grunting, as you press against his arms, but he only laughs. Still carrying you away like you are nothing. Hands in pockets and without a care in the world, “Geeze kid, you’re stronger than you look, aren't cha? Hey, hey calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.”

You try to bite the arm holding you, but the freakishly limber limb is strapping you down like a vice. If Kenny weren’t so close, you’d start screaming.

“Oh, good, you caught her.” A hand pats your head, and your teeth snap on empty air. “Fiesty, isn’t she? Were you this feral, Getou?”

“I don’t believe so, but we shouldn’t blame someone for defending themselves if they feel threatened, especially not a child.”

“ Let me go!”

Your head gets patted again, and this time your teeth do land on something, your eyes lock on Gojo’s, your mouth pried open by his infinity but the fingers are just within reach of your teeth.

For a moment, you paused. 

You have been using your mouth a lot lately. Do you have an oral fixation? Didn’t Freud have a theory about that? If a child wasn’t breastfed enough they’d develop one… huh, maybe Jin and Wasuke’s nitpicking had a point.

Or, maybe you were just a creative soul.

Your teeth clamped down, and you could feel the technique blocking you, but you just looked up at Gojo. You smiled and his drops.

“Hey, hey wait!”

You shook your head like you were auditioning to be tick-tock croc in the next rendition of Peter Pan. Bite you could not, shake until those bones were vibrating, you could.

“ Ow, ow, ow, stop it! Kidwe’retryingtohelpyoustop!”

A camera flash goes off. You still, catching Getou taking pictures in your periphery. Weirdo.

Shaking his head and pocketing the camera, Getou squats to reach your eye level and smiles. “Hello again.”

You glared.

“Can you let go of my friend?”

You shook your head.

“Please?”

You glared and shook your head.

“I’m sorry if we scared you, we didn’t mean to. We just want to talk to you, Mio.” He tilted his head, a lock of hair falling across his face, “Your jaw must be hurting. Wouldn’t it be better to let go of him?”

He has a point. And it would be significantly easier to scream if you had to. You still didn’t want them to meet Kenjaku, but getting mall security wouldn’t be too hard. If worse came to worse you could bite them again. And instruct Yuji to send over Jin on a rescue mission.

You let go of Gojo, spitting dramatically as if it had been the most horrible thing in your life.

He had tasted like peppermint. You kinda wanted to eat him.

“Thank you. What do you say, Satoru?”

The strongest modern sorcerer grumbled out a thank you in between a few “am I infected? ” and “ RCT can deal with germs right?”

“Do you think you can say sorry for biting him?”

“No.’

“Why not? That’s not nice.”

“It’s not nice to ‘ase round a three ‘ear old ither. This is ‘indnapping!”

“ YOU’RE THREE?!?” you winced at Gojo’s yell, the sorcerer who was currently reevaluating his life at the information he’d been called in to track down a three-year-old, “What is my life?”

Rot brutally pummelled into your senses, the only warning before vindictiveness incarnate grabbed Gojo’s collar.

“ Put down my daughter right now or I will gut you where you stand! ”

You know, the idiot should really take this situation as an excuse to practice his techniques more. This was just embarrassing.

Also, Kenjaku was meeting Six-Eyes and Cursed Spirit Manipulation.

Oh right, this is why you kept your stunts inside the house. Because you couldn’t have anything nice in this world!

Other than Yuji. Gege could pry him out of your cold dead hands.

Embarrassed

Love

Excitement

Yes, Yuji was stuck with you forever and you’d pull a Rika if need be to ensure it. Thankfully, such extremes were not yet necessary. Yet.

But given your rising panic, the presumed mishandling of canon, the risky possibilities of this encounter, and the blood rushing to your head from Gojo’s mishandling. It’s too much. Kenjaku is staring at the three of you like they're ready to paint the center red, witnesses included in the massacre. Gojo and Getou are oblivious. You can see and feel them tense, how Getou is angling himself in front of you two, how peppermint and static are rising in the air, how rot is coating the back of your tongue.

This is a mess.

It’s all your fault.

What can you do, to stop three special grades? You’re a baby.

A baby.

Your lips stumble, your throat clogged and heavy as panic rises in your chest, desperation rises and sparks something you didn’t think possible; “ M-mama!”

The sorcerers freeze, the two imbeciles with a combination of guilt and embarrassment at their apparent almost-kidnapping, but Kenjaku…

Kenjaku is looking at you with those wide gold-fish eyes, face pale as a sheet and scars stretched tight against her skull. 

She’s not looking at the teenage special grades.

She’s just looking at you.

Your throat is tight, your airways feel like they're shrinking, and something wet dibbles on your face. You open your mouth, but all that comes out is an intelligible cry, eerily similar to the curses you shrieked as you came from the womb.

You’re still yelling out a curse, but it’s one this life has gifted you rather than mere expletives.”

“ Ma-ma!, Ahh-”

Your control is slipping, you feel like you are being consumed from the inside out and you don’t know if it's the burning heat or pure emotion that’s shredding up your insides. 

You feel Yuji, distant, your bond pulled thin, and his concern and spike of fear makes you want to go home. To wrap yourself in his presence. To be cradled by Jin. To be balanced on Wasuke’s knee.

Your hands reach for your tormentor, your nemesis, the person you can and cannot blame for this lot in life. 

You call for Mother.

K does not move. Arms still outstretched from previous pleading and attempts to grab you or strangle the teenagers- you think the limbs might be shaking slightly. Muscles convulsing underskin, like a computer program that’s been overridden and fritzing out.

You're not much better.

Getou takes you from Gojo. Holding you upright and shushing you as he pats your head. “I’m sorry,” he says, “We’re not stealing your daughter; we were concerned to find a child wandering out alone.”

He passes you back, Kenjaku’s arms slowly enfolding you, pressing you against their chest as if they could absorb you with contact alone. You hear the great rumblings; a heart pumping, intestines working, a stomach grumbling, and blood flowing within a corpse that should be silent.

You grab their shirt, rubbing snot and tears into the fabric as you bury your face into that stolen sternum. It’s the familiarity you gain comfort from. It must be.

How could you ever feel safe with a heartless monster?

Suguru Getou watched quietly. Enraptured as Satoru chattered beside him. Apologies and backhanded compliments on the gremlin child, before he had to step away to take a phone call.

Sweet syrup, pooling into his senses like a haze, a rotten bitter earthy aftertaste pulling him out of his thoughts. His mouth moved before he could think.

“You're a sorcerer.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she pulled the child close. Her face blank and her eyes shifted between him and Satoru.

“I’m not part of any of the major clans, my ability is barely noteworthy to begin with. I'm certainly not worth this harassment.” her chin lifts and her lip curls into a sneer, “Especially by some students.”

Ah, the uniforms. For the first time, the black cloth felt a bit tight and the golden buttons a bit too heavy. Suguru adjusted his collar, a blush hot on his neck. “We were worried about your daughter. We had been called in about unusual cursed energy readings, the theory had been a spirit-consuming competitor or a rogue shaman. I guess we have our answer now.”

The readings would be a better match with an untrained sorcerer, like a child, but not even Satoru could have been exorcising curses at three. Better not to point out sloppy work to an already enraged mother.

And Mio’s signature was small as it was, he’d only been able to pick up on it when she’d been crying. She was a grade four at the most.

A weak sorcerer to-be. That child needed to be protected, from a misunderstanding world and cursed spirits that would be too eager to cut down a potential threat.

“I assume it’s been you that has been handling the curses around here. There hasn’t been enough activity to warrant much attention since I joined Jujitsu High School.”

Sniffing, the woman smiled, a hand stoking Mio’s head, rot entangling and covering wisps of smoke, “of course, what mother wouldn’t protect their offspring?”

The mother giggled, her energy remaining in the air even as the wrath disappeared from her face in a blink. She leaned forward, whispering as if sharing a secret, and Mio’s eyes latched on to his. “My husband isn’t aware. Neither is my father-in-law, that bastard of a man has enough reasons to dislike me already. I don’t plan on telling them. Our world is a dangerous one- the more you know, the more likely you are to experience that.”

Her head tilted, a closed smile on her face as a strand of hair fell over her face, tone calm and easy. Eyes soft. “If you could omit me and my family from your report, I would be very grateful. I don’t want my little one to get dragged into our world before I’m ready.”

-Too late for that bitch-

-Bitch?-

-A female dog, Yu. Tis a female dog-

“Of course. I understand. Since there isn’t any active threat, I don’t think it will make much of a difference.” He bows, Satoru stamping on his heels behind them, fully engrossed in the phone and ranting about wasting his time. 

”I had never realized how fascinating children could be or perhaps that is simply a by-product when they are mine…” The woman drawls, shifting Mio to her hip, the toddler biting her fist and looking between them.

Adorable.

“What is your technique, sorcerer?”

The question catches him off-guard. Again, he answers without much thought, the words slipping out like honey from a jar.

It makes sense to ask. To be curious. Gojo Satoru is distinctive among their people, so it is only natural to wonder what power is assigned to walk beside him. To wonder what clan is still keeping their edge. To see what politics may ensnare and what pull his name and power may hold.

The mother hums indulgently as Mio pulls on her hair. Not even blinking as the hand used to free the captured lock is promptly bitten and held hostage.

How wonderfully patient.

She chuckles, eyes crinkling and mouth stretching. She still hasn’t stepped back from when she first leaned in, if anything she moves closer, feet aligning back under her shoulders, body straightening to look him in the eye instead of up. 

“What an interesting capability! So, unique! I wonder if it’s a result of a spontaneous mutation or an evolution of recessive genetics…” 

Mio started pulling on her mother’s shirt, the neckline visibility distorting as the fabric stretched. Tiny face scrunched, head trying to shake the hand still caught in her mouth. Unlike Satoru, her mother didn’t react to such antics. Instead, she remained focused on him, eyes unflinching and voice soft, kind, maternal.

“Don’t fear, I don’t have any prejudice towards someone's origins. Power is power, and we all strive for it regardless of where we start.” It was as if she could see through him, see the insecurities, and old wounds that he’d let scab over. There was no unnatural sheen to her gaze, just empathy.

Empathy that must have been borne from experience.

“Just imagine a world where only the Kamo, Gojo, and Zen’in clans existed; the genetic bottlenecking and inbreeding would be outrageous!” She laughed, warm and soothing, syrupy and sweet, Suguru felt his mind slowing in the face of such sugar. It was different from the energized craze of Satoru Gojo. It was lulling and disarming. Inviting. “People like you and I add a little spice to the mix! How can we evolve if nothing new ever comes?”

The woman tries to reach out, but Mio grabs her mother’s wrist, possessively pulling it back, mouth still latched like a leech.

“If you are ever back in Sendai, please come to my home, I’ll treat you as if you were mine.”

Cinnamon and smoke. Sweetness and decay. It burns his nose, but his mouth can’t help but curl into a smile. 

A loving mother and a protective daughter. A sorcerer able to raise their child with the attention and understanding so many of them grow up lacking. Here in Sendai of all places, because of the acts of the strongest, this fragile domesticity can bloom.

A child and mother, and he’s helping to protect them.

He bows again as they leave and waves as the little girl watches him, golden eyes as unblinking as her mother’s. They still linger in his mind, even as the pair disappear into the swarm of humans.

“So we’re keeping quiet about this little secret? That there are three unregistered soccerers running around Sendai?”

“ Three?”

“The girl was a twin. Strong bond, I could see them interacting the entire time.” He’s silent for a moment, eyes unfocused under the dark lenses of his glasses, “I’ve never seen that before.”

“The mother said something about bringing them into the fold when they're ready. I don’t blame her for putting her children ahead of clan traditions. It's noble really.”

He can feel Satoru shrug as his body drapes over him, spearmint and ozone wiping out the fading traces of the other sorcerers.

“You know you owe me, I lost a stick of tanghulu during that chase.”

“How about I get you that kikufuku ?”

“We’ll have to eat it on the way back. The geezers are calling us back for a new mission. something to do with a star or whatever. You got my back?”

And Getou smiles, the words out of his mouth because there is no thought needed for them.

“Always, Satoru.”

Chapter Text

Things change when given enough time. In that way, evolution is inevitable. Small things grow and shift deep inside an organism. Deeper than you or even Gojo would be capable of seeing.

Gojo Satoru never saw Geto Suguru’s heart darken until a village burned.

How could you ever hope to notice a darkened heart fall further?

What could you do if you noticed?

Nothing.

You often awaken in the dark. At night when it’s silent and still; when monsters like to creep through shadows and hide just beyond what you can see.

In the beginning, it was because of Yuji. He was your starting point as he often is; waking you, mind screaming out in hunger, discomfort, or loneliness, tiny lungs working hard to propel the shrill screams your infant body couldn’t even roll over to ignore. It might’ve been a good thing, in the long run. Desperation had a way of pushing limits, and your bond developed far faster than in the womb. His heartbeat and quiet thrum of life were enough to anchor you, but your brother needed a more attentive touch. As your bond strengthened and he quieted, a stream of reassurance, warmth, and pressure akin to the possessive hold you’d had on each other since utero, would ping-ponging back and forth between you. You were connected, you and he. Even if Yuji didn’t realize it yet, it was the both of you against the world.

In later years, as hunger and fear were replaced by the soft nonsense of dreams, you were awakened by the creak of floors and the dim stretch of rot. There was a schedule beyond nightly feedings. An itinerary that had grown just as dependable as the way Yuji’s mind would nestle into your consciousness. The ever-lingering menace would disappear just as the sky was tinged in orange and red, only to return once color had been leeched from the world.

For your first two years of life, Kenjaku ignored you completely. In the night, under the moon’s revealing glare, there was no husband, no nosey father-in-law, no audience to play pretend for. The mask, though not the person-suit, peeled off. Sometimes it was by the window, or the door, or maybe in the rocking chair that the scientist would sit, still and mute, but awake and watching. As if a sentry, or a warden, Kenjaku would stand guard and observe. Waiting for something that never came.

In your third year, you came to understand it all a bit better.

You would wake up in the dark to distant sounds and creaks that were decidedly alien from the surefooted steps of your incubator. But it never dared to breach the safety of the nursery, and it never lingered where the curse user’s shadow fell.

Until one night.

Maybe it was the excitement of the day that had made Kenjaku late. Maybe it was complacency that made the old geezer slip up in their self-assigned duties. Or perhaps it was paranoia, and the curse user had lost track of time in their mania. All you knew was, that the very night after you had met Gojo and Geto, the rot-stench of Kenjaku faded away as the sun fell and hid behind the horizon and it did not return with dark.

But something else did.

Something knocked. Something scratched. A shadow brushed against the walls of your crib, a sound swooshed just beyond the open side, and a pale, and a pale translucent hand emerged into the light. Something clammy poked your chin, and a cold breeze raised the gooseflesh on your limbs as something pulled down your blanket, exposing your neck and arms.

Something wet dropped on your face, and your eyes squeezed closed as the warm, viscous liquid dipped down your cheeks like a mockery of the formula you’d been weaned off of. A nail traced your eyes, your nose, your lips, your chin. 

You stopped breathing as it leaned over you. Nose pressed into your hair and icy lips on your forehead. A hand wove its way under your blanket, under your onesie, and under your neck . 

The hand was familiar, the stench was not. There was no sweet rot. No great and distant rumblings.

There was only the smell of blood and something dark and oppressive that was smothering you. Something bitter. Something barely sweet. Something like rancid meat and garlic and shit. Something truly rotting.

The hand raised, carrying you with it. Your upper body leaves the safety and warmth of the blanket and mattress, and another hand traces your face again, that bitter smell suffocating as a palm covers the side of your head and fingers clamped down like a vice.

You struggled, arms flailing and legs kicking as you kept your eyes closed, you do not see, you do not see, you do not see-

A sting. Your own warmth leaking out into the night. Your blood spilled in the half-heart grip of the cursed spirit that held you.

Yuji began to wail.

The thing dropped you and wailed too.

You kept your eyes closed, your body still.

You do not see, you do not see, you do not see-

But your ears could still hear. Your senses could still feel. You could still sense the sudden wave of rot and syrup that clouded the nursery like the surge of a tsunami.

“You keep coming back don’t you?”

Kenjacku had come.

“They’re mine now. Everything is. So just move on already. Shoo.”

The small embers of burning within you cracked and shifted as the thing came closer. Fear keeps you alive, and fear wants you out of the situation. But the spirit didn’t return for you. It backed to the crib next to yours instead.

Though you could not see it, the dead woman was hunched over the sleeping Yuji. Hissing and wailing, taloned hands slashed at the air whenever the imposter came close. Her blood-stained stomach pressed against the sleeping boy, as if trying to absorb the child, to return what must have been taken. What she, in spirit, never got the chance to bear, but in body was hers.

A toddler may not return to the womb, but one may certainly suffocate their way to a spirit’s side.

While not particularly intelligent, this Ubume had been persistent and admirably sneaky. Always trying to get in. Always trying to get close. It was not often Kenjaku was faced with the consequences for his chosen face, but motherhood had a way of surprising the millennia-old sorcerer. Many surprises in fact.

The spirit did not react as he touched the daughter. Bruises and a small cut dangerously close to an artery, but overall fine even as the little one shook in the bed. Terrified would be too small a word for it. With dismay and a strange sense of anger, he noticed how she had wet herself. Tears ran down her face, salt entering the abrasion as urine stained the sheets.

In the dark, it looked remarkably similar to blood.

Cursed energy latched on and smothered the dear like mucus from birth. Residuals of the very pest that curled around the vessel like a cowering bitch. Tenderness turned into violence.

“You don’t care for our little ghost?”

Disgust settled in their borrowed gut. Rejection was not anything new, and favoritism even less so. He was guilty of it for all of his offspring. It made sense that Yuji Itadori’s perfection would be a masterpiece that even the spirit of his original egg donor couldn’t help but gravitate towards. But Yurei?

She was his own. Wasn’t that what Jin said? And wasn’t it true? The intelligence, the pettiness, the look in those eyes that mirrored Kenjaku’s soul in a way he’d never thought possible. Yurei was his . His creation. His child. His very extension. 

An unexpected variable turned gift. A potential ripe for evolution.

How dare this shallow remnant of a mother reject her?

The ghost, or what was left of her, died at the hands of her own technique. Gravity folded her cursed flesh down and in until she was nothing more than a smooth round marble of pain, anger, and longing. It was impressive that such desire had persisted long after its creator’s end. Kaori had been dead by the time the twins were conceived, but it would seem her desire had lingered and been spurred on by their creation. The craving for a family, for a child . 

Kenjaku crushed it beneath his heel.

Yuji was fine. Yurei was fine. The cursed energy was already fading, supplanted, and replaced by his own. 

Perhaps it might be better to wait. 

But no. Hesitation had allowed for this opportunity. Sorcerers had already been lurking. The twins were turning four in a few days; they had survived the riskiest time of childhood. In the modern day, it was practically guaranteed they would flourish until they came of age and entered the world of jujitsu.

It would be rude to cancel on Wasuke, plans had been made. 

Plans had been made a very, very long time ago.

There was no need to wait. No reason to hesitate.

Kenjaku stood still, the light of the moon casting a silvery glow on soft toys and wooden blocks. On the changing table and rocking chair. On the rug on the floor and the mobiles overhead. The cribs seemed to glow, their inhabitants' sleepy angels within. 

Kenjaku stood over one, a hand in his pocket, wrapped around ink-marked paper and the treasured seed that lay hidden within.

Yurei finally opened her eyes to look at him.

Gold, pure and burning. Wide and far too seeing, a gaze that would have been more at home on the Gojo prodigy than a little girl from a no-name deserter shaman. She knows  he couldn’t help but think, regardless of how illogical, his little darling knew what must be done. 

Kenjaku watched as the Umbume’s energy faded away, as his own covered and seeped through. He felt more than saw a tiny flicker of something else push against him. Not for the first time, he wished he might have Six-Eyes to peer in and peel back what little gift was hidden inside of you. Wishing that his technique allowed him to be more perspective of other’s energies beyond baseline auras. That he could absorb your mind and know you just as well as he knew Kaori.

But, then again, there would be no need for experiments if it were that simple. How boring would that be?

You and your cursed energy would remain a mystery for now. He could wait. 

He was always waiting.

Smiling, the better Kaori stepped back and turned to the drowsy prince. Yuji had woken up at some point and was now rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a scowling face. Utterly oblivious to how close he had come to death, confused at the tears on his own cheeks, and the distressed mood he had awoken into.

- Mo? -

Gently, as any mother would, Kenjaku pushed the little fists down.

“ Now, now, you’ll damage your eyes if you do that, sweety. Don’t want to give your Uncle an astigmatism, do we?”

Normally, the little boy would giggle. He’d reached up to his beloved mother with grabby hands and a plea to be held. This time, Yuji was oddly silent. He was looking at you, eyes finding yours through the bars of your crib.

Concern

Worry

Unease

- Mo? -

Fear

Fear

Fear

“Ah, ah, ah, my big brave boy, look over here.” Two fingers gently grasped his chin, pulling the child’s face back towards his own. “Mommy has something special for you, dearest.”

The other hand lifted from a pocket, something made of paper and almost cigar-like balanced between their fingers.

- I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry -

You cannot stop this. You’ve resigned yourself to it, but something inside of you is dying as Kenjaku puts the finger between Yuji’s lips. 

You don’t look away. You want to but you can’t.

- I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry -

“Eat it up. I know you can.”

You can almost feel it sliding down your own throat. The binding-covered finger was heavy and putrid. Indeed tasting of soap, vomit, and feces as Yuji would one day so eloquently put it.

You can’t help the bile that rises in your mouth.

“There, there, you're doing so well.”

You shiver as Yuji’s tiny throat works the disgusting thing down. Your faces mirror each other, teary eyes, flushed, and shared grimaces as you start gagging.

“See? Such a good job, little one.”

- This won’t happen again. I’ll never let this happen against your will again. -

You're retching. The heavy feeling in your stomach isn’t going away, it's getting worse . Yuji is curled up into a ball, tears freely running, and you can feel how his stomach is turning as Sukuna Ryomen’s digit settles.

Bile pushes up, and you force yourself to swallow it.

You're shivering. Curled up in the same fetal position with the same tears, the same pain as something new encroaches on your bond. Something foreign is weaving its way around the cord tying your souls together.

You hate it.

“ So, you are connected. A pity.” A hand pats your head, fingers winding around your hair, pushing it back and exposing your face with a small neutral hum.

You stared up at those fish eyes, your insides on fire as that asshole looks down at you with that same damn smile. Kenjaku coos, their attention fixated on you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweet thing.”

Hands pick you up, and you’re only half aware of it. You’re bathed, changed, and comforted as sheets are replaced and the cut covered with a bandaid. 

It's all a blur. The only constant is Kenjaku’s face and the gold-flecked fish eyes that don’t blink.

He pats your back, soothing you in your silence, muttering praises and promises, giving the shivering Yuji only a cursory glance.

It makes you angry. Grabbing fistfuls of their shirt, your tiny nails scratch at Kaori’s skin, as the burning in your gut lifts and rises. You want to bite. You want to rip. You want to devour .

You don’t know what to do with that.

The faintest trace of smoke rises, familiar and comforting, and the monster hums as their hand clasps the back of your head.

“So strong, my darling. You’ll burn so brightly while you can.”

You are laid back down, the blanket replaced and the corpse tracing your features just as the curse had done before.

“I’ll always be with you, Yurei. Mommy will never leave you.”

Had it been said by anyone else, those words might have been comforting, as it was, you were just happy when Kenjaku left.

He was lying . He had to be .

Why had you ever called them mother? And why did you wish they’d act like one?

When the dawn speared its way through the last vestiges of night, you didn’t know what to expect.

No. You were incapable of expecting anything.

Your stomach rolls and twists, your chest heaving as shivers rack your body. Tucked into a ball, you couldn’t even lift your head or turn your body away from the shafts of light that cut into the nursery. You’re a mess and it wasn’t even the worst of it.

Yuji was the worst of it .

You could feel him. The nausea, the disgust, something new that seeped into your bond and tainted it like a stain leaching into white wool. It was easing, slowly, but, damn it all , you both felt like you’d been hit by a truck and left to crawl off the road. Part of you wondered if this was what dying felt like.

It wasn’t. You knew that from personal experience, but this was still objectively terrible.

Something wasn’t mixing right, something was off .

You felt so, so, hungry.

You whined and cried, tears and snot running down your face and you couldn’t stop. You felt like an infant again- worse than an infant. Even as a baby you’d had a sense of self-control, but now-

Now you wanted to peel off your skin. You wanted to grab something and rip it apart with your teeth, you wanted heat and warmth, and the putrid rotting smell-

Kenjaku’s presence, cheerful and smiling- like the horror show the night before had never happened-  was enough for bile to crawl its way up your throat and your stomach to cramp and rage. You almost expected the organ to come alive, that it would dig its way through muscle and mucus, your skin splitting open with a red grin as it would reach out and open itself up like some carnivorous flower, smiling with teeth before latching on the curse user and devouring them whole.

You daydreamed about it. Oddly, satisfied with the concept.

You cried. You wailed. And it just wouldn’t stop.

Yuji was no comfort. Exhausted and spent, he just looked around with bleary eyes, the constant thrum of his presence the only noise that traveled across the muted bond. 

You wanted out.

You wanted to bite something.

You wanted to hold something close until it seeped through your skin and became part of you forever.

It scared you, these new feelings. Enough that you batted Yuji away when you were both put in the pen, his heartbroken expression and longing killed you just a little bit more.

Kenjaku just watched with a smile. 

Him. You want him. You want his skull between your hands and brain squished beneath your fingers. You want that rot to be smothered under your skin and burned away till you can only taste ash.

But you can’t do that. You're a baby. 

And that violent desire isn’t yours. You don’t want it to be.

Fear

Disgust

HUNGER

- Mo? It’s okay, Mo. It’s okay. -

HUNGER

Fear

HUNGER

- I’m here, Mo. I’ll protect you. -

You’re crying. Silent tears ran down your scrunched-up face, the pain still rattling your body- and you know it's only a fraction, a reflection , of Yuji’s- and yet your brother is still focusing on you. Comforting you, reaching out through the bond when you reject his touch, and sending waves of love , reassurance , and warmth .

He loves you. The pure adoration of a child, and it soothes the burning emptiness that lingers in your gut. A heart battling against your stomach.

Today, the heart wins.

Fear

Empty

Confusion

Slowly, carefully, Yuji shuffles to you on his chubby legs. Cautious as he breeches your space, waiting for you to push him away again.

You don’t.

He sits. A small oof as his diaper hits the floor. Gold meets gold, your sniffled breaths duet each other as your mirror reaches forward. His hand wraps around your wrist, and, even as the echoes of Sukuna Ryomen’s stupid stupid relic linger, he grins that toothy grin.

“I’m ‘ere, Mo. You donna need to be sad now.”

You lunge, your body wrapping around him just as he once did, back when it was just you and him in that tiny dark haven- a world without curses and fake mothers and death. A world that was just the two of you. And the hunger dies. The burning fades.

Within Kaori Itadori’s skull, a brain watches intently.

Chapter Text

Time lacks much meaning for you in this state. There is the morning, the day, the evening, and the night. The only references you have are the sun and the schedules of Koari or Jin or Wasuke. On weekdays Jin leaves for work. Wednesdays Kaori does yoga. Sundays Jin comes to visit for tea.

Round and round it goes. A calendar you have yet to fully integrate into but are at the mercy of nonetheless. 

But there are always exceptions. Jin taking a day off. Kaori disappeared for a bit longer than normal. Wasuke dropped by with a gruff frown and fresh flowers. A horror-filled night that you’d prefer to stuff down and ignore, even if every sunrise is marked as yet another day between your now and the previous then. Another gap in time, another barrier that the monster seems less and less likely to tear down and impale you on. Kaori, who still watches and smiles and thinks , but keeps their distance from you. That grin twitches downward every time you meet their gaze. What you’d give to be in that brain- what you’d give to take back that thought.

Everyday exceptions to the mundanity. That’s how you mark time.

Today is one of them. It’s less a realization and more an observation.

Your birthday is coming up, you think. You’ve caught Jin hiding ballons behind his back and Wasuke said something about expenses and sharing instead of getting two of everything. The hypocrite left two different bouquets of flowers. One in shades of blue and red, the other pink and yellow.

There’s also the princess crown.

It's damning, sitting there on a table just within your line of sight. Sparkly cheap plastic painted gold with pink jewels and feathers. Even more than the obnoxious abomination that was destroyed during the Mall Incident. If Yuji’s hair wasn’t pink, you’d be remarkably sick of the color. As it is, you can’t help but love it.

That does not mean you want princess dress rendition number 2. You’d burn all the tulle in the world if it was within your capabilities. Burn it and dance in its ashes.

Yuji watches as his sister’s face curls into a smile. Not like Dada’s smile, or Gramps, but something a lot like what Mama makes sometimes. Hands pressed together, fingers flexing, as their eyes narrow and lips slowly unfurl to reveal teeth. 

He clasps his hands, happy that Mo is happy, even if he can’t quite understand why fire and screams and dresses torn apart are fun. But Mo’s laughing at it, so it must be good. It must be just one of the many things that make up the wonder that is Mo .

You are amazing. Yuji doesn’t even understand half the things that he feels from you, the developmental differences keeping understanding just beyond his reach, but he knows that your important. That you are special .

And you’re his .

Love

Warmth

Mine

Despite being so intimately connected, you do not have an ability to truly read Yuji’s mind. Nor can he have complete access to yours. Just as you feel and hear snippets of him, what he shares, and the distant mumbles of what he keeps, Yuji too is limited.

Your mumbles just happen to be so much louder. 

Yes. Something is different about today. Decidedly off as you see Jin run through the house, glasses crooked and a smile he keeps trying to smother.

He’s not very good at it considering he keeps breaking into high-pitched giggles every time his eyes flick over to you and Yuji.

Concern.

Worry.

Confusion.

-Is Dada broken?-

-His danger sense already was-

That ever-familiar stench of rot sweeps through the room, you can practically feel it encircling the pen like a hungry beast- you promptly ignore the source of it, turning your back to Kenjaku as you sit with Yuji, watching as a toy elephant gores a stuffed cat. You nod in approval and try to pretend like your skin isn’t itching and your insides aren’t pulling towards the sorcerer who's laughing with Jin. No. You bite your cheek and turn your focus to Yuji . He’s what matters here. He’s what will last. You’ll ensure it.

Safe is all you can think of as your consciousness brushes his, love and warmth enfolding you as you’re clumsily welcomed in. Yuji preening, his hand moving for your wrist as he hands you the cat.

Stitched green eyes and soft white fur. Scratch out one eye, and then burn it slowly. Watch the plastic melt as fake fur incinerates. Pull it apart and let the stuffing fly. It’s okay because it's not real right? It’s not the author, just a stand-in. A vulnerable, unfortunately, resemblent stand-in.

Yuji drops the cat in your lap, patting your head he nods, and then returns to the wooden elephant. He’s colored it pink. You don’t know when he’s had access to markers or why Yuji decided to make it pink in the first place, but it is a stunningly beautiful modification regardless and you make sure to complement it as deserved.

You’re content to sit here with Yu and strangle not-gege. You are resigned to ignoring the cooing behind you.

“ They’re so big now, Kay! I can’t believe they're four today!”

“I don’t understand why you insist on sneaking around. Not like Yuji is aware of what's going on, or that either of them will remember this.”

“So you want me to cancel the photographer?”

“No, that’s for my memory, Jin. A picture will last longer.”

No, you do not shiver at the implication in that last sentence. You don’t.

“Mo?” wide gold eyes stare into your own, both hands reaching out with the pink elephant, “You want him?”

-No. He’s yours, Yuji.-

“You sure? He helps! Suuuuper strong and safe.” The elephant is pressed against your cheek, Yuji smiling toothily as his eyes almost sparkle. You feel a little like a stray cat being tempted by a can of tuna. “He helps people. Blasts away bad guys with his nose- like this” 

Thats all the warning you get before air and spit are blown into your face by the utter madman you call a sibling.

You can’t help but laugh, teetering back to the ground. Eyes so filled with the image of Yuji’s proud little face, the world, Jin’s cooing, and even Kenjaku’s rot fade far into the background.

In that moment, even if it won’t last, your heart feels a little warmer and the world less dark.

You don’t think three-year-olds require much in the way of birthday celebrations, but, apparently, your parents disagree. 

Part of those celebrations, apparently involve a trip to the mall. More specifically, a trip to the mall for a scheduled photoshoot complete with rented outfits.

You fight to keep from hissing as you pull at the white sleeves of the dress you’ve been draped in. A kimono somewhere in your brain supplies. You don’t think you’ve ever worn one before.

You… kinda like it actually. The fabric is soft and smooth, almost shiny, and dotted with embroidered red flowers. Your hair is down, trimmed to just below your chin, and brushed till it gleams. You feel pretty.

You just hate that Kenjaku is matching with you.

True, Kaori’s outfit is a brilliant red, with white cranes and splashes of something green tastefully decorating the fabric. But the fact that you are wearing similar colors is bad enough for you. It’s even worse with the knowledge it's with outfits they picked out.

Truly, Ken exists to torment you with fashion.

Yuji and Jin, however, are in exact copies of black and red kimonos and are adorable . Why can’t you be matching with them? Why?

You stew quietly, frowning even when Jin cradles you and the photographer directs you to your places. There’s cake at home; you’ll focus on that while ignoring how the morning sun is glaring down at you and how Ken’s eyes make you feel cold regardless.  Cake and flowers, and Wasuke coming over for tea.

Love.

Warmth.

Curiosity.

You lean out to grab Yuji’s arm, he’s held by the monster,  and your parents- standing almost smooshed together really- are close enough that it's not too much of a hassle to hold him while being held.

Faintly, you hear the clicks of the camera. 

There was a picture in the manga. One of Ken-Kore, healed stitches and holding toddler Yuji as Jin stood at their side. A family portrait, what should have been the first of many. What, instead, became the last remnant of a mother that never really existed. This must have been that portrait.

The kimono feels heavy, alien, with that thought. Your outfits don’t belong in that portrait any more than you do.

So why the change?

You wish you could ask- that you were brave or stupid enough to do so, but instead, you bite your tongue and keep your frown.

Just one more mystery of this world. You’ll debate about the implications later. Maybe when Jin hangs up the picture, or when the source of your bafflement is gone.

Satiated, you relax into Jin’s arms, your own hand clasped tightly around your twin, and focus your gaze on the empty lens that’s capturing this moment for all of time.

You do not look up at Kenjaku. 

You wish the rot had not become so achingly familiar to you.

You hadn’t seen any hints of the jujutsu world. No appearances from Gojo or Getou. No Toji dropping by the flower shop. No curses- or at least no curses like that night. You’ve started noticing them now, lingering outside home or in your periphery when you're taken out. They never come close.

You make sure never to give them a reason to.

Part of you is sure it is only a matter of time before those ugly bastards rear their heads- part of you wants them to, salivating at the chance of a fight, of blood and energy and teeth- you will enjoy peace while you have it. You’re living on a countdown to chaos, after all. But somedays… some days feel like they are just asking for trouble.

Today for instance. It seems a little on the nose, some horrible life-altering trauma occurring on your birthday of all days, but at the same time…

What else do you expect from Gege’s world?

And yet.

You're given a cupcake. Small and covered with icing, Yuji slams his face into it before anyone can start singing.

You shrug and do the same. Why not?

A flashing camera is the one constant of the evening. You both passed around, cooed over, and played with. Wasuke gives you a flower to hold, and Yuji promptly tries to eat it. Jin hands you over to Kaori, you promptly try to eat her. Just like Yu, your attempts are met with failure and laughter.

Your chest buzzes, warm and aching.

By the time other faces enter the Itadori home, neighbors or friends you think- people who greet Jin with friendly words and Kaori a slight bow- you’re already done with this iteration of a birthday. Tucked into Wasuke’s side, holding another flower, this one a bright cheerful yellow, you and the old man watch the festivities with a content fondness.

Happy, you realize as a person talking to Jin hands Yuji a gift and Koari lets out an unimpressed snort. You feel happy.

Surely bad things will come now. Now when I’m not ready for it, when this world almost seems good.

But it doesn’t. Instead, this good world fades out, dulled by the thudding heartbeat of your grandfather and the constant joyous thrum of your better half. Destruction does not come for you.

It doesn’t come on your birthday.

It comes the day after.

You were empty.

The realization came on suddenly. A moment of nothing and then a moment of everything, as if you’d suddenly gained a new awareness of the cracked heated thing you called a heart. Another hole had formed. A yawning cavity opened its maw, cold and vacant, devouring what once had been cradled inside the organ.

Empty.

You hadn’t felt this since the dark haven. Not since you found that thrum. Not since Yuji wove his way into your soul .

And now, something you hadn’t even realized you had was gone.

They’d left. A quick grocery run they’d said. A prescription pick up for new glasses, checking out a sale at a boutique, meaningless mindless errands that would be faster with two than just with one. Wasuke had come to babysit. Jin and Kaori had left, and now. And now-

Jin was gone .

You don’t know how you knew. One minute you're stacking blocks on the floor, the next you're staring at nothing, the world's gone quiet, and something is missing from your chest.

Jin is gone .

You can feel it. Right in your heart where a little piece of warmth has died, where something was stolen away. When had he become part of you? Why was he part of you?

Jin is dead .

A piece of you is dead.

You felt it, a door closing, a page-turning, a lock’s pins ticking against ill-fitting teeth. Something has ended. 

You can’t go back. You can’t open that door, you can’t restart this story, you can’t turn a key you don’t have in the lock.

You can’t go back.

“Mo?”

Dead. Dead. Dead and gone. And you're here, still breathing, still living when you should be gone too.

Why hasn’t Kenjaku killed you, yet?

Grief.

Grief.

Grief.

Why couldn’t he just get it over with?

- Mo! Mo! MoMoMoMo!-

Will you fail? Will Yuji be snatched away too?

- Don’t leave me, please, don’t leave me-

“I will never leave! Never ever!” He shakes his head emphatically, “Don't cry, I powtect Mo forever! I’ll beat up wat makes you sad!” His little face looks so determined, and you can feel it, that drive immature and unrefined, but strong and sure , that you could see him charging at Sukuna himself, toddler or not.

Oh. You're crying. 

And Yuji is holding you, tiny hands pressed against your skull and pure panic on his face. He’s crying too. And you feel it, the ache, sorrow, grief, and fear that is pouring out from him. 

It takes a moment, a second of you reaching out to comfort, to realize that it's not coming from Yuji at all.

“I’m hurting you.” And you ignore the frantic shaking of Yuji’s head, the way matching pink hair flies and his hands press harder against your temples. 

“ No! No, Mo never hurt me. And I’ll never hurt Mo. Ever! I protect. I help!”

“We’ll protect each other, YuYu.” 

You won’t promise to never leave, or that you’ll win against all the monsters- you won’t. You barely have a chance against the darkness that lurks in this world, and you don’t know if you can stay standing against the suffering that will come.

But you can promise that Yuji will not only have that suffering in the future. You can promise that you’ll take on some of that pain.

In the anime you remember how obsessed Yuji was about a good death, to give that final piece of dignity to those around him and give his own life meaning. Well, you have your own part to add.

“ I promise you’ll have a good life.” You breathe out, your hand latching onto his wrist. Not one free of suffering, or harm, or violence. But, as a vision passes of a bloodied and scared boy wailing amid debris overlooking a decimated city, you can promise something much simpler.

”You will be happy, Yuji. You won’t be alone.”

If it weren’t for how entwined your souls already are, you might’ve noticed the vow that pulled you even closer.

—

By the time the police knock on the door, grief and resignation have already marked you like hot tar.

Yuji still doesn’t understand. You don’t think he does. But the boy refuses to leave you.

He does not ask for Ma or Dada. He only says your name every time your soul begins to drift, mind turning to that dark cavern still bleeding and aching.

You smell Kenjaku. The rot pervades, stinking everything until it is all that your senses can perceive of the world.

You hate it. Even Jin’s clothes smell like them. You don’t know why you keep returning to it.

Wasuke keeps you inside during the transition, not letting you talk to the movers who take your things or the well-wishers who drop by with food and condolences. You and Yuji remain at his side, the old man unwilling to let you so much as go to the bathroom without knowing about it first.

His paranoia is understandable. His silent anger even more so.

You just wish that he wouldn’t save his crying for the late nights.

Within a week, you’re being loaded up, Wasuke taking you both somewhere far away from Sendai and the ghost of his son or the shadow of his monster bride. You are content, lungs breathing rot-free air for the first time in your existence, and a horizon of possibilities awaiting you. Yuji falls asleep holding your hand. Wasuke drives, puffy eyes fixated on the road like it might come alive and eat you whole.

It’s only you, staring out the window and watching a passing world, that notices the stranger on the corner. Standing just on the outskirts of the town, a woman with a face-splitting grin waves at your little car.

You don’t wave back, and the air, clean and fresh, feels just a bit emptier.

Chapter Text

If there is one thing you’ll give Ken-Chucky credit for, it was that they made life interesting while they were in it.

Hair pulling, sleep depriving, and a constant level of psychological torment kinda interest- but interest regardless. Some days you almost missed it.

Yep. It was official. Your development had officially been screwed over. Then again, what can you expect from someone whose brain has teeth.

Time passed in its oddly quick yet slow way. In a blink, you were three, then four, then five. A baby to a child and life showed no signs of slowing. Change, you couldn’t help but wonder, had a way of doing that. Of freezing the past, preserving it entirely, but cutting you off completely from that era. Never going back, not capable of lingering, the only way through was to move forward until the next end sliced that time away too.

They were gone, and both of them were never coming back.

After Kaori’s act of homicide, or the accident as the police put it- something that made both you and Waskue sneer, your shrunken family moved away from Sendai. The move surprised you. You had never thought the Itadoris would exist anywhere other than that out of the way countryside town. Still, based on canon, an eventual return was inevitable. Or you hoped it was.

Surely your existence hadn’t changed that much. You’d only been a drooling repressed baby for crying out loud. You certainly hoped you hadn’t taken canon so far off course with a poorly timed tantrum.

Didn’t you? If you weren’t in Sendai, if Yuji never went to that middle school, then he wouldn’t find the finger. Wouldn’t eat it. Wouldn’t be pulled into the jujitsu world under the threat of execution and last wishes.

Unlikely. Yuji still housed a finger and Ken-cod had put in to much effort- too much investment, not to pull something regardless of your family’s physical location.

It was… inevitable.

So, you kept quiet. Soothing your twin as the only world he’d ever experienced fades away. Trading the laid back oasis of the country for a buzzing city- one that made you almost puke, it smelt so strong, so bitter it made your stomach cramp and skin itch. This was not something you could have predicted. Had you any say, you’d recommend a trip to another country entirely.

Alas, Gramps did not ask for your opinion on the matter. 

Wasuke didn’t ask much, really. He said even less.

It reminded you a bit of Kenjaku, how the old man would silently watch the pair of you, unblinking and still, as if you’d both disappear the moment he turned his back.

You didn’t leave the small apartment for a long time after you arrived.

From what you could gather, Waskue still owned Sakura and Higanbana. He’d hired help to run the flower shop while you all lived in the city; Kaori and Jin’s life insurance offered enough cushioning to allow for it and a small rental in Kyoto. But those finances, and child protective services, were enough of a monthly worry that the isolated den your grandfather built was slowly taken apart.

It started with a job. Construction work after numerous failures at trying to be a cleric, Gramps apparently “didn’t have the face for it,” poor man. 

You’d made a point of kissing his forehead everytime he carried you around after that. Grumpy, older, and jaded he may be, but that was still your Gramps.

Yours. What would you do when he left you too?

You saw Jin in him sometimes. When he’d fall asleep in his chair, the tv playing with the latest anime Yuji was into- all of crunchy mom’s hard work being flushed down the drain- Wasuke’s face would soften, lines smoothing over and his raspy breath deepening.

He’d usually wake up with you tucked into his side. Neither of you said anything. You never had to with him.

The final change, as you and Yuji where released into the grand and frightening world, was one you really should have expected.

School.

Six years old and you were about to enter hell. Yay.

Backpacks almost double your size, a calloused hand holding one of your own, the both of you were escorted to Kyoto Primary School with a degree of weariness.

You had barely left the apartment within the last two years, especially not after the incident. The multistory building ahead of you, nothing but white concrete and glass, seemed no more inviting than a graveyard. Had about the same amount of curses too, if your senses were right.

You’d already done this all before! Why must you suffer again!

Yuji, tucked behind Wasuke’s leg stared up at your grandfather pleadingly, worry, worry, nervous, wafting off him to such a degree that a few curses began to approach. Low levels with pudgy insect bodies that could barely hover off the ground; they never got close enough to be threatening.

Nuances. The lot of them.

“You two, listen here.” Glazed eyes flicked away from the awaiting purgatory and to the frowning old man, your expressions perfectly matching even as your gaze sharpened. “Don’t cause trouble and be respectful to your teacher. Yuji-” the boy yelped as the leg of safety was pulled away, “Be brave and protect your sister if any twerp pulls something. But don’t forget to make your own friends.”

A finger tapped against your forehead, that same gruff voice and stern face focused on you.

So worried, so nervous. He’s going to be pacing most of the afternoon away. He can’t control life, he failed to protect one son, now an opportunity for more loss comes from you both.

“Ya gotta talk for yourself, girl. Don’t make Yuji here speak for you, stand up for yourself and be polite to your teacher!”

“I will, Gramps.” you smile, “As long as their not stupid.”

The old man snorts, not appeased but certainly amused, “You’re good kids, don’t let anyone tell ya any different. Now go.” With that, you're both pushed forward to the concret monstrosity and Wasuke leaves without another word.

Perhaps it is the sudden absence of your trusted adult, of that constant source of stability, but Yuji almost seems to awaken. A switch flipping from dependent to depender, and you can feel his hope, excitement, and, yes, lingering nerves. His hand finds yours, and the start of a new era begins.

It was quite comical, and oddly similar to several pictures of you both as infants; Yuji, bright-eyed and animated, and you scowling and flat as sunshine incarnate drags you into a glorified prison. Granted. This was your first time in the Japanese school system, but the similarities were enough that you were prepared to write off the experience and dropout before puberty just made everything worse.

Children scared you.

Just sitting there. Staring. Smiling with almost adorable gapped-toothed grins, beady eyes sparkling. They were so loud, and touchy, and blunt, and egotistical.

All perfectly normal given the developmental standards, but you weren’t part of those standards now were you?

You… didn’t really know how to be a child. It was embarrassing to join in on some of the games, annoying when your perfectly organized supplies got disturbed or distributed out and returned covered in dents, doodles, and mystery goo. 

Disgust.

Boredom.

Sadness.

Eventually, your peers stopped asking to borrow your things. You were completely oblivious to the shadow at your back, how the sun flared and glared at the poor souls that caused such silent despair and resentment.

Faintly, you did notice that, while no one asked Yuji for anything, he was always the first to offer when Sensei’s gaze turned to your desks. He was always the first to speak for anything really, the both of you disregarding Gramps command to try and be independent. Rumors circulated that the youngest Itadori was mute. You didn’t care to correct that assumption.

Your selfish little heart was perfectly content with this arrangement. And, despite the distance kept within those early years, Yuji didn’t seem to mind it either. It was the two of you against the world, and if Yuji shielded it from you for a bit- well, you were a selfish little creature, weren’t you? You’d pay him back for it. You’d promised to.

“Mo is special! She’s not stupid!”

”There is nothing wrong with my Granddaughter! What’s wrong with the rest of your disrespectful brats, huh? Are you teaching them to alienate along with their kanji?”

“Mo is my sister! She’s amazing!”

“Mio does not need any testing done. There is nothing wrong with her brain, emotional or otherwise, if anything she’s smarter than all of you! … I have the notes left behind by that woman to prove it.”

Yes, you are a selfish little thing. 

You did not care if Ming and Tai were getting married during break or if they had decided to divorce by the end of the day and now had shared custody of their eraser-children. You did not care if all the girls flashed and waved their hands, bragging about the brightly colored nails their mothers had helped them paint. You didn’t care how the boys taunted and claimed to be the strongest when they all ran so damn slow. You didn’t care who had gotten a note in their lunch or whose dad had walked them to school that morning.

You didn’t care. You took note- but that wasn’t the same as caring.

You cared about Yuji. You cared how torn he looked sometimes, between you and your self-exile to the far corners of the tiny world of children, and the shrill laughter and screams of that world. You cared about the barbed edge of anger that would radiate whenever he saw Sensei. You cared about how his mind would grip your own, holding tight and almost shaking as any poor deluded soul, child or not, infringed on your shared orbit.

You cared about Wasuke. And, oddly enough, you cared when those disappointed eyes met yours after you’d both been sent home; Yuji with bruises and a victorious air, you without a scratch but the shock of seeing goodness incarnate tackle some nameless boy who’d tried to sit with you in his seat.

You were selfish but you cared. How exhausting to be torn between the two.

Wasuke pushed and corrected, perhaps, in the original world, that was enough to shape Yuji Itadori into the golden soul he was meant to be. But here, in a world with you on his shoulder and in his head, there was more than one guiding voice to listen too.

You were selfish.

-Don’t leave me, Mo.-

But you cared.

-I never will. Now go have fun. Play for both of us.-

Sometimes, as you sat on the far edges of the playground- hopefully looking every bit as dramatic you felt- a familiar phantom scent would pick up on the wind. Most of the time it was the sharp bitter scent of curses, but others, others it almost smelt like rot.

It was never like that one time before. The incident. The first time you’d all left the apartment only to come back and have your eyes water at the odor. You had thought something died in the vents. Wasuke had practically torn the walls apart at your insistence. Nothing was ever found.

A few things did go missing. The abused cat plush. A drawing. The kimono picture.

It had never been as strong, but sometimes, you would swear there was the faintest whisps of rot in the air.

You learned to tune it out. As you grew, nothing came of it. Why should you care?

Life was boring. Part of you hated it.

You could feel valuable seconds of your life being wasted with every school day and when cram school was added in the evening, you felt the last traces of your control shrivel up and die. It wasn’t much different from your time as a toddler, this endless waiting, except you actually had motor skills and expectations to meet.

Sleeping in class became a game. Lesson roulette; Sensei would smack down a ruler on your desk and you’d have seconds to jolt back to consciousness and give an answer to the question of the day. 

The grumbling frustration and resignation that would emerge every single time always made you resume your nap with a smile. 

Admiration.

Envy.

Warmth.

-Don’t slack off Yuji, I’ll quiz you later-

-Onee-san!!!-

By the time you reach seven, most teachers know better than to interrupt your sleep schedule. Occasionally you’d find yourself under the bright-eyed tutelage of some poor soul that thought they could make a prodigy out of you.

Nope. You were staying in the same class as Yuji even if you had to flunk every exam in order to make your point. You were the bane of every adult in your life and there was a level of sick amusement from their exasperation.

Ah, well, there wasn’t much to engage with that would hold your attention longer than five minutes. The shame of being at a university level in an elementary school. In all honesty they should be on their knees thanking you that you haven’t diverted into more… active forms of entertainment.

You’d had a teacher ask Wasuke once if you had a habit of wetting your bed. Or if mysterious things had happened to animals while you were around. It was only after the old man’s face turned red; and a very long and loud lecture that had ended with the man looking like a crumpled ball of paper on the floor, that you finally understood the implication of the questions.

Kids were strange. You, inherently were strange. That didn’t mean you were a serial killer in the making… or a psychopath.

You felt things. 

You did.

You- you weren’t a psycho. You weren’t.

“No matter what you do or don’t feel, Mio, you’re a good kid. Choose to be good and that’s what you are. Doesn't damn well matter what anyone else says.”

Love.

Worry.

Warmth.

Maybe Kenjaku had messed with your head more than you were willing to give credit for- or maybe that was just a cover up for who you were. Maybe that distance you’d always had to your old memories wasn’t just because you were reincarnated. 

Maybe you were just defective.

“You chose to be who you are, Mio.” A gruff voice murmurs late at night, Yuji sprawls out between you, a small snot bubble inflating with every breath, and a hand brushes the bangs that fall over your closed eyes. “And I know you are good, my girl. Just like my Jin.”

Gramps really deserved more than the world gave him. Just as he pushed and corrected Yuji, that calloused steady hand also guided you. Questionable mental state or not, you’d be a much more concerning person without him. That school should have been on their hands and knees thanking him.

Yuji as well for that matter. Despite being equally as much of a pain in those first few years, he’d joined Wasuke as the angel on your shoulder… or rather the Jimmy Cricket in your head. The amount of time that boy had talked you down from the ledge of impulse and intrusive ideas should qualify him for sainthood.  Yuji always seemed to understand you when others couldn’t.

At first, Wasuke was just like the rest of the authority figures in your life. Significantly more paranoid and stubborn, but just as unrelenting and narrow minded even with his hidden gooey softness. You were seven, why the hell should you care about your grades and showing proper respect to elders you would never see again. 

Life was in a countdown; either a fiery doom in shibuya or execution due to finger eating. Or due to treason because like hell you’d let Yuji be executed- Sukuna or not.

You had higher priorities. Like breathing. And mastering your poker face. And figuring out your psychological status. And trying not to antagonize the curse in the corner of the room. You counted yourself lucky none of them willingly got within five feet of you, but it was only a matter of time with your luck.

In short, education could suck it. If you could test out and become Yuji’s permanent tutor you would.

Alas, it would seem that somewhere you’d gone from potential prodigy to serial killer in the making and back up to descending delinquent.

Cue the Book Incident.

A reading log and book report you were accused of falsifying; because of course the pink-haired menace couldn’t have read ten books in a week and written a paragraph summary for each with words like hence without cheating. 

Wasuke didn’t think you’d cheated either, the man had seen you read those books and listened to your rants about subpar plots. In the principal's office, your feet swinging underneath the stiff chair and Sensei glowering at you, Gramps had gotten the oddest smile on his face as he listed out a compromise; you’d redo the assignment during a detention period under supervision.

“You can do that right, Mio? If you’ve done it once, I’d say you can do it even better.”

You’d taken it as the challenge it was.

Rereading the ten books, dramatically turning the pages as you’d locked eyes with Sensei Hardass, the reading portion was completed in two days. You’d then brought in ten more books, most of them in English and all of them far above the deemed level of your ability. Or age group. Two days later, you turned in twenty book reports, all of them including the word hence, and proceeded to offer a short lecture on intersectional themes of hospitality and trust as was presented in host and guest relationships within historical Medieval Japan, Greek mythology, and western literature like the Great Gatsby. That was the most you’d ever spoken in public. You couldn't figure out if the heads poking into the room did so out of awe of your content, or sheer bafflement at the sight of your mouth moving. It might have been both.

Again, you were seven.

You may have flown too close to the petty sun.

At eight, your third-grade teacher finally seemed to understand the memo. You were left alone to read at your leisure as long as you got passing grades. 

And you did. Always at the same level as Yuji.

Yes, the sadistic little monster in you did find the eye-twitching absolutely delicious.

Your rapidly gaining a reputation as a punk to be; between the flagrant disrespect, know-it-all attitude, and complete disinterest in most activities would pin you as a prepubescent bum- if it weren’t for how you obviously weren’t cheating- in your opinion taking you to another room for a multiplication exam was unnecessary; and pointless, but you’d never ask Yuji for answers on principle.

Overall, not a bad childhood. So far at least. 

And then came the day when Yuji got sick.

Your bond, though the specifics and true nature was beyond you, did not just physically transmit feelings or thoughts. Sometimes, it also transmitted physical symptoms. Sukuna’s finger- you mentally spit at it- triggered a similar reaction. You’d never gone through something that bad since, but allergy season was something you’d wish on only your worst enemy.

This time the problem was nothing more than the common cold. A common cold that left Yuji feverish, throat scratchy, and nose permanently running. A cold that left you uncomfortable in sweaty clothes no matter the temperature and constantly wiping phantom snot from your face. Unpleasant.

Given your usual close proximity, you'd likely be properly ill within a few days, but, till then you still felt his muffled view of the world and tried to reply with as much comfort, love, warmth, as humanly possible.

May this have unintended consequences on your awareness? Potentially. Did you care as you ran towards Kyoto Primary, your sole purpose of turning in homework and gathering notes for the day before you could sneak back home? No.

Maybe you should have.

Usually, you’d do this walk with your brother. To do it alone felt off. So, running was only natural. Your small body ducked and weaved through the crowd with ease, your movements far too fast for a normal human. Rot whispered by your nose just as you turned around a corner a bit too quickly.

All you saw was black as your face planted into the back of someone’s knee. 

Embarrassment was quick, especially as you felt the person stumble. Swears and anger palpable, burnt coffee clearing your not-stuffy sinuses. Rubbing your nose, you really hoped it wouldn’t bruise. Glaring, you looked up at the obnoxiously tall person who’d been in your way.

Only for your blood to freeze.

“Why you impudent little monk-” Suguru Getou’s tongue stilled as he looked down at the child who’d run into him.

Pink. Pink hair, gold eyes, and a startled glare that pinged something in the back of his brain. Something important.

The little girl sniffed, shuffling back, hands holding tight to the straps of a school bag, she looked at him wordlessly. 

An arrogant little human. She looks the same age as Mimiko and Nanako. 

“Aren’t you going to apologize?”

She shakes her head. Hair coming loose from its ponytail, the pink strands flare out only to fall just above her shoulders.

It’s familiar. That coloring, that hair cut, that cold look. But it’s different too, like two pictures overlapping to create one. Does he know her?

She moves to duck around him- quick, far too quick for most people, and why does he half-expected her to run? But Suguru moves on instinct, his hand grabbing her shoulder. He isn’t even fully sure why. She is just a random civilian, a monkey, not even worth the dirt on his shoe.

But he grabs her.

And then he feels it. 

Cinnamon and smoke, cursed energy that rises out and clouds around her. It snaps at his own, a hungry little beast clawing at him, and Suguru’s hand jolts back.

The energy disappears, but the memories come.

A little sorcerer family living in Sendai. A mother and the pink haired daughter, she’d been a toddler then and he’d been a teenager.

Not that twenty-one was that far away from sixteen in the long scheme of life. But with everything that had happened… 

That had been the last mission before everything had gone so terribly wrong.

Suguru had gone to Sendai. Looked for the Sorcerer Mother, extremely embarrassed once he’d realized he’d never gotten the woman’s name… but there had been no sign of the family. He’d been forced to give up. Not long after, he’d found his girls. And he’d saved them.

And he’d been banished from jujitsu society for it.

Mio- he remembered that name- 

Mio, taking the momentary introspection and shock on the part of the curse user as the opportunity it was, had already fled out of sight. 

Yuji, back at the apartment, found himself rudely awakened from a medicated nap by his twin’s mental screaming. 

Suguru, finally returning to the present, found himself confronted with two realities and one possibility.

One. He’d finally found something related to the mysterious sorcerer. 

Two. It was a child. A shaman-child who’d repressed a decent amount of curse energy to the extent he couldn’t even sense it until Suguru had made direct contact. That skill was rare in adult trained sorcerers, but in a child? 

It was common for all the wrong reasons.

Nanako and Mimiko had been like that when he’d first found them. Bruised, beaten, and caged. Frightened for their lives, suppressing cursed energy was almost instinctual to young children. A natural reaction to life-threatening situations. An old survival mechanism.

And the pink-haired girl was doing the same thing. And Mio did it expertly.

Cinnamon and smoke lingered, and something broken and used started to awaken in Suguru Getou again.

A sorcerer needs help. A child was in danger. He could save her. Save her like he failed to do for Riko. Like he succeeded for his girls.

Suguru Getou, the second strongest, could help protect a weakling.

Across the street, a man’s smile stretched wide against skin, teeth clenched tight and squeaking against a shifting jaw. There was a moment of hesitation before neurons fired and nerves echoed their commands. A breath of air, a pause, and bit by bit pressure relinquished. The mask smoothed back over.

Pushing back brown hair, finger pads pressing against the stitched incision, the man let out a hum. 

The response was intriguing. Without the aid of hormones, he’d expected interest to fade, and yet.

Perhaps a portion of that woman followed him over. Some inane chemical that had merged with him just as his own DNA had overwritten hers.

An interesting theory. He might have to think about that.

He watched the Curse User. Watched how that filthy outstretched hand hovered in the air, how it slowly recoiled back, cupping an untouched temple. Even from this distance, they could see how the shocked face morphed, how aristocratic features hardened with resolve, as a body turned to the direction of the long gone child, eyes narrowing against the dust she’d kicked up.

What fun.

It would be prudent to make his move now. Now when his prey is vulnerable and the vessel he owns is tool enough to use. It wouldn’t take much for a trusted face to lure a target into seclusion, out of the sight and awareness of surrounding humans. Into the dark where life could be snuffed and a vessel abandoned. Circumstances ripe for another strike against sanity and then a finishing blow to cut short this Curse Users life… but there was an intrigue there.

He was a curious thing, and time wasn’t against him for the moment. Why not indulge? 

He’d moved quicker than he had in centuries, scooping up and restoring this vessel as soon as the opportunity presented itself. It wasn’t his preferred type; not influential, not particularly powerful, and rather aesthetically lacking if he were to put it nicely. 

The teen reminded him of Jin really. There was use in that, the finer points of manipulation required a level of investment. Affection created a hesitation like no other.

He was above that. He always had been.

The Curse User was vulnerable. Separated from Six Eyes and spiraling down. It was only a matter of time till the fool sealed his own death, if not by execution than by his own audacious arrogance.

What was more audaciously arrogant than to touch what was owned by Kenjaku?

Let this unique opportunity play out… He might just get more than a new tool out of it. He might get a bit more time as well.

The Curse Manipulation technique wasn’t going anywhere. If anything, time would make it stronger. Time made everything stronger.

Except for humans. They’d just grown stagnant. Weak.

There were a few exceptions to that truth, and there was a level of satisfied pleasure that his creations were proving similarly exceptional. Perhaps he’d had more of an influence in their genetics than he’d first believed. 

Afterall, they’d done so well in this new city. Adapted magnificently; Sukuna’s Vessel had developed nicely. Strong, potentially as strong as the last remaining Zen’in Heavenly Restriction brat, perhaps more so when the Spare dies, and he had proven also begrudgingly charismatic. In a childish naive way, shy and oblivious to the awe-stricken looks of his peers and the fondness of his teachers. 

And yet, he looked to Yurei for everything.

Had he not birthed them, even Kenjaku may have mistaken the younger for the older. It was a pity, that sharp intelligence stifling under inept teachings. Turning that bright little spark to a smoldering ember on the outskirts of a meaningless world.

That boredom the Spare floated along in, languished in, only emerging to meet a challenge before sinking back into the depths of mediocrity. His creation was better than that, capable of more than that.

Perhaps that was why they kept returning. Curiosity and frustration over the stagnation of so much potential- short lived as it must be. 

Neglecting the wards hadn’t yielded much results. He’d kept the ones within Wasuke’s pathetic den intact- what did that man even know about protecting offspring?- but not even the steady removal of protections around the school or along the Itadori’s typical route had forced the Spare to develop. No curses took the bait of fresh young meat, and Yurei never seemed to see curses as a challenge.

He knew she could see them. Her mask was a fine thing, but a mother knows.

If Yuji were to be targeted- but no, that would put the plan at risk. That would not be acceptable, the goal must be completed first and foremost. Entertainment and answers were, sadly, secondary.

But his ghost had grown restless. The Spare still felt that boredom, slow as she was to satiate it. He could see it. In the sharp strikes of her writing, in the listless face she wore every afternoon, in that imperceptible distance to every lesser creature around her. 

His creations were predators, and one of them had already grown her teeth. A pity she was not using them. Typical offspring required little more than time or a scare to develop their techniques. Of course, in no universe would anything of Kenjaku’s creation be typical. If a curse was not enough to awaken her potential, then perhaps a more human hand was necessary. 

Perhaps this development might satiate that boredom.

It certainly would abate his.

Chapter Text

Why did you attract lunatics?

Well, maybe that was a wee bit of an exaggeration, Kenjaku was saddled with you regardless of their desires— they dropped you like a hot potato as soon as you’d been evicted from the womb, if they come back it will be to evict you from life— and you’d only had a brief exchange with Gojo and Getou once .

And Toji. The man had stolen a lollipop from a baby. Perhaps not lunatic behavior, but most certainly not acceptable. Regardless of reasoning, that sin would forever hang over that sad, wet cat of a man… at least to you. He was probably dead now.

Did that mean his children were out on the streets? Or had Gojo already taken them in?

Regardless, they were all lunatics. Brief interactions that popped up out of nowhere and, previously, remained a brief one-time event. If you were normal, you wouldn’t even remember it.

So why the hell was Suguru Getou stalking you?

He must have already taken over the Star Plasma Cult. Or maybe he’d given up on it completely, too busy following a child to play cultist. Wasn’t he already supposed to have children? Burned down and massacred a village for them? What? Had he grown bored and wanted a shiny new set of twins. Was the pink hair a novelty?

-What’s Hysteria?-

-Currently? Myself. I am working on it Yu.-

-No problem, you don’t need to worry when I’m here!-

And with that, your sweet, angelic, cherub cheeked twin nodded as if he’d solved world hunger and went right back to coloring. You bit back tears at the love , warmth , and reassurance that flooded through your bond. Yuji giggled, mentally prodding you to join him at the table. You did. Your hands still even as he moved to make room on the single piece of paper, content to smile and watch the artist work, basking in his presence. Tongue sticking out, brows narrowed in concentration, and snot from his lingering cold ran down his nose, Yuji was enthralled in his work. He was talented, and that wasn’t simply your personal bias. The image of two dogs was easy to make out, well proportioned with primitive shading on the white, even if the black one was more reminiscent of a uniformed shadow. 

Your brother was amazing. Perfect.

Getou was never going to touch him . Not while you had any say. Not when the monkey-killer was a threat.  

From the safety of Wasuke’s den, that goal almost seemed feasible.

Outside, Getou seemed to disagree with that. 

You saw him every damn day. Always at the same spot, the street corner where you had face-planted into his knee.

He just stood there. Menacingly. Smiling. 

It looked nothing like Kenjaku had.

You didn’t want to dissect why you noticed that.

“Good morning, Mio. How are you doing today?”

How the fuck did he know your name? Your nickname ? A family name?

That burning twist in your gut festered every time the syllables dropped, and he grinned with half-lidded eyes. 

Grab him. Strangle him. Pull out the tongue and shove it back in. Pluck out the eyes and swallow them raw-

It was particularly awkward when he was in his gaudy priest outfit. The deep blue robes billowing out, gold and green sash glittering like a neon sign screaming weirdo . You ignored him, hoping he would get bored or just decide to attack you already— seriously, why was he so interested?— but Getou never did. 

He kept his distance somewhat. You were thankful, it kept the thoughts at bay, even if you could feel that amethyst gaze pricking your skull.

Gaudy-Getou never approached you either. He was on your usual route, obnoxiously planted too close to the school entrance to avoid going through a curse-filled alley that stank of rot, but he never moved from the spot. Never entered into your space, never followed you out of it, he just… stood there and smiled.

Like you were some kind of animal. Skittish and afraid. A trapped thing that might bite a hand that only wished to free it.

Preposterous.

By the time Yuji was finally better, you’d already mapped out a new route to school. You’d have to run a little faster, jump a fence or two, and there was an uptick in curses— they’d been appearing more often in the periphery of your vision, moving closer, testing the waters— but it was doable. Getou could get-out of your life already. 

Ausment

Pride

Insanity

- Mo, why are you cackling so much?-

-… don’t judge me. I feel you judging me!-

You saw a lot of cursed spirits that day. Flying over Kyoto and slamming against windows before bouncing off and trying another one. You ignored them as you did with every spirit. Equality and all that. Instead you let your eyes droop and sleep overtake you as it did every afternoon.

Had you kept your eyes open, you might’ve noticed the unblinking eyes that crowded against the windows to your classroom, the bodies that smooshed together so tightly some almost devolved into sludge. But you didn’t. Instead you dreamed of roasted BBQ and tried to ignore the itch in your skin and growls of your stomach.

You did notice the swarm on the walk home. It was impossible not to, the way they hovered around, following like a dark cloud on an ill wind. 

Spending most of your life ignoring something creates a dangerous reflex of continuing to ignore the problem. Hand clasped tightly around Yuji, his pulse beating in time with your own under your thumb, you kept your head straight and gait easy as you skipped back home. A carefree child. An oblivious target. You were smarter than this. You should be wiser than this .

Getou appeared the next day. 

Your stunt worked for a day.

One. Day.

And then there he was. Standing by the kenjacking gate, sheepishly nodding his head as he talked to a swooning sensei!

Yuji squeaked adorably as you grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the main doors and out to a side entrance before Ken— Getou could catch sight of either of you. Hopefully. Yuji, the angel, didn’t question it.

Fuck waiting for puberty. You were dropping out today.

- What’s a hermit?-

-Happiness, Yu. And my new secondary goal in life-

-The tower looks kinda small on that mountain, where am I supposed to be- oh, that’s a nice house!-

-Cottage in the woods, the tower is a diversion for my enemies-

-We have enemies now?-

-Tis an inevitability of life, brother dear. Especially this fuckin- don’t repeat that-

Mischief

Understanding

Gramps

-Yuji!-

Getou appeared scarily close to your apartment the next day. You saw him, gliding past and around buildings. A billowing gaudy Spector, like a cursed spirit of questionable life choices. The sight was so odd, that it took you a minute to process. Getou had long ventured past what you could see from the apartment windows, but it was when he came back, standing to the side as some of the slower- normal school children arrived.

He was looking. Nose wrinkling and eyes narrowing even as his grin remained unnaturally friendly. He practically towered over them, a hawk peering over ducklings. Head nodding so exaggeratedly, you could see it bobbing even from the safety of your home, his hands patting heads and shoulders before speeding off to the next group.  

What the heck was he doing? Whatever it was, he was methodical. Strategic taking his time… searching? For a child? Obviously for a child , he was following school routes and trailing groups of elementary schoolers like a frustrated shadow.

Why was no one reporting a strange man following children? This seemed like an oversight on the part of society.

But back to the matter at hand, why was Getou following children? Was this some sort of manga bonus that you’d never heard about?

Has Yuuta already become attached to Rika? The timeline would potentially match-up but how would Getou have heard about it? There would have been time for Rika to be cursed but enough time to develop a reputation? Jujitsu High didn’t even clock onto Yuuta’s existence until years after the initial curse. Or at the very least, they didn’t act on it. So what other child would-

Disbelief.

Fear.

Longing .

See . You attract lunatics .

How did he even find- your eyes flick up, the pudgy insect curses that always fluttered about like flies were still. Their black soulless eyes pinning you through the glass. Curse spirits always seemed to be just as aware of you as you were of them; the distance that would be maintained, how eyes for the smaller ones would avert their gaze and the larger ones would stare as if waiting for an excuse. The way your skin would itch and hands twitch and how your tongue would run along the edges of your teeth whenever you focused a bit too hard on them.

You had never seen them still like this. But then, this wasn’t the curse's decision to behave like this, it was Getou’s. How could you forget about his technique?

The curses had been following you. Getou had been tracking you. He knew where you lived. As soon as the flies returned he’d know exactly where your sanctuary was. 

- Mo. Why are you screaming? -

The weekend came. Just like always, Gramps grumbled about how neither of his grandkids had plans or friends to visit. Just like always Yuji and you rolled your eyes and waved him off with smiles and notes hidden in his lunch.

The weekend came, and Getou came too. You stayed by the window, watching as Wasuke left for his usual shift. You didn’t like the look on the Curse Users face when he saw Gramps. How that smile twisted and eyes narrowed. 

Hurt him . Hurt him, I dare you.

You hated the threat staring at what was yours almost as much as you hated the way those amethyst eyes darted to you in the window.

Three stories up. He couldn’t see you. Could he?

But you could see him. You could see all of him . The Suguru Getou of the past; the one you’d meet and the one you’d watched in another life, so hopeful and self-righteous, a vessel of potential and care. The Getou Suguru of the future; the twisted mess of a man who’d tried to kill a teenager as a stepping stone for genocide, and the corpse-suit that Kenjaku would wield with cruel mastery.

You could see Getou Suguru, but you could not see his reasoning for being here. You could not understand this merge of past and future. He was a wild card, not fully broken but already cracked, a piece of thread pulled away from its cloth and being plucked, it was only a matter of time till his sanity unraveled.

That was dangerous. That was a threat. He could hurt Yuji.

He would hurt Yuji. He hates monkeys.

For the first time, smoke was stronger than the lingering scent of decay.

Getou smiled with teeth.

You snarled back with your own.

” What’s the star plasma cult? Why am I getting all these pamphlets? ”

” Just give them to me, Gramps, I’ll put them out with the trash.”

Getou Suguru has become a lingering shadow in your life. Dancing along the periphery of your vision, moving ever closer just like every other curse.

Taking down a box of cereal. You almost screamed at the eye that emerged from behind it.

- You okay, Mo?-

-Yes! Yes, I’m fine. Uh, chocolate pandas again? Why do you like this stuff?-

-Cause it turns the milk chocolaty!-

“Fair.”

“What was that?”

Now you almost did scream, your diagram launched upwards, gritting teeth from your clenched jaws was the only thing holding back shrieking air. Forget the eyeball worm— what kind of negativity spawns a lone eyeball?— why was Getou Suguru talking to you again ?

“Do you like chocolate flavors?”

Meat. Burned and melting. Rare and weeping. Wriggling and beating in fear and rage as curses flow, give me meat.

Shock makes your tongue lose, much to your chagrin and Suguru’s delight.“Personally, I don’t really like sweets that much, but my daughters love them.”

With the cereal in hand, you turn and start walking. First Toji, now Getou, will Sukuna turn up in the cereal aisle next?

This is a cursed place.

- Yuji, do not come to this aisle ever, please.-

“They’re about your age. how old are you, Mio?”

Death. Death to the name sayer. Rip those syllables from your plucked vocal cords, strangle them around your throat. Take the name out of your mouth! You are not family!

“Are you shopping for your mother? That’s so kind of you-“

Ken-fucking-

“She’s gone.” Piercing dead gold-eye meet startled purple, and you fight to hold back a sinker at the shock that blooms across Getou’s normally smug face. “Now please leave me alone.”

It’s not till you’ve rejoined your tiny clan, Yuji snatching the Chocolate Pandas from you with a broad smile and Wasuke assigning another retrieval mission with a grumble and wry smile, that you realize Getou’s stink has faded into mere traces.

Good. 

You didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he followed you back to your sanctuary.

” Gifted Stars Children Camp? Yuji, Mio, is your school partnering with- ?”

”Nope! But we are learning about recycling, so I’ll just burn these and feed the ashes to the wind. Cycle of life!”

”Mo. That’s not how it works.”

”It is now!”

“Put the fire starter down, missy.”

”It is later!”

“What’s that book about?”

You flinch. You don’t know why, you've been smelling the scent of coffee for almost an hour now— wafting and lingering in the shelves surrounding you, circling and pacing, grudgingly pleasant compared to the bitterness in front of you, less offensive to your nose, almost… homey . Sweetness with the bitter, something layered and complex. Sadly there are no coffee shops in the library, this place would be perfect if there were. And yet, here was the smell of freshly ground beans, roasted to perfection, and emanating from a very annoying human.

You don’t look at him, not directly. Like every other curse, you’ll let your nose identify and receive glimpses as a warning. He’s dressed more normally, a black turtleneck and grey pants that look tailored, expensive . He’s close, bending down slightly, squatting to meet you on the carpeted floor, head tilted and a lock of black hair falling over an eye. Nervous , it comes to you. Nervous .

Is it possible to smell fear? Or is it limited to sight alone?

You sigh, flipping a page, letting the heavy paper fall with a dramatic wap before answering. 

Yuji and Wasuke are over in the children’s section on the second floor. The distance is superfluous, but it feels safe. 

And you're bored enough to accept that illusion as truth.

“Quantum theory.”

Amethyst eyes flick down, as if the tiny black print will verify your claim. You're nice, so you close the book— you already read it once— and show the cover.

You don’t preen at the impressed look. You don’t .

“Ah. You're very smart aren’t you?”

“Debatable.”

He chuckles. The indulgent kind you’ve heard parents give their children. 

For some reason that frustrates you.

“Intelligence isn’t the same thing as book-smarts. There are different ways to quantify it beyond grades, and, besides for all you know I just picked something up because the cover looked pretty.”

Yes. Because a solid orange cover with block lettering was pretty .

“You're a very intelligent three year old then.”

“I’m eight.”

“My daughters are nine.” Damn it, “I’d think you’d like them.”

You don’t respond, you just pick up your book again and try to once more enter your bubble of peace, ignorance, and blissful isolation.

Getou doesn't let you. Contact has been made, acknowledgement given– he's come too far to turn back and leave you to your silence. Slowly, exaggeratedly, he sits. Stretching long legs out, hands in your view as they sit folded in his lap, his posture relaxed and easy.   

The distance is smaller now. If you reached out your arm, you could touch him.

The bitterness shrinks back. Afraid.

“You can see it, right?” Getou whispers, leaning close. 

Of course you see it . There are dozens of them. Mindless blobs of fatigue and failure, of loathing and exhaustion. The worries and anxiety of hundreds of mind numbed students who’d unwillingly tread here before you. The purple mass of tar in front of you is just one of many creatures that lurk within this building. It's unsightly,  a tiny thing with hands forever pulling at its body, layers of stringy bruised purple tearing away, strands clinging to the brain-like mass beneath, before falling back and being reabsorbed. It’s moaning as it dangles from the shelf in front of you, annoying and darkly comical as it slaps its head-body against hardcovers and worn shelves.

What should you expect for the science section? Pitiful thing probably spawned from an engineering student.

Pity those poor souls. A miracle they haven’t produced anything actually threatening.

“You don’t need to be afraid, Mio.”

Oh, Getou is still here. Problematic.

“They won’t hurt you while I’m-“

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Amethyst eyes don’t react as you stand, the man doesn’t so much as breath. Getou just watches, head slightly tilted, face kind, legs stretched out and blocking the curse that still teeters around oblivious to anything but its own ingrained misery. But you can see it. The slight twitch in his brow, the focus peering from under those half lidded eyes. Getou hides himself well.

You see him regardless.

He can’t think that I’m— he can’t know.

But it would explain his interest. The panic in his gaze, the confidence that’s rapidly leaving him. Languid muscles straighten to something tense, like a panther prepared to stretch his claws.

Would it be in your defense? Or for your end?

Kenjaku might appreciate his future meat-suit cutting a loose end for him. Mother could even experience it for themself. Re-run Getou’s memories, live through your last moments again and again.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps they’d let those memories fade. What did Kenjaku care about you?  

There are two potentials here. You are sensitive to curses and you confirm however the hell Getou came to that conclusion— he’s still a threat to Yuji. Or, you can prove Getou wrong and get killed as a monkey. Because that's what he does. What he's supposed to do.

Either possibility puts Yuji in harm's way, but… if Getou knew, would he try to take you?

”You will be happy, Yuji. You won’t be alone.”

Cardboard creaks in your grip. The glossy orange dents and the spine breaks into something sad and limp.

You don’t care.

Getou is still there . Sitting ever so primly, ever so peaceful for the world-wrecking menace he is. It's only been a second, half a minute at most, since you cut him off and stood like you were preparing to launch yourself at the heavens. He looks half a second away from following you.

Perhaps he’d let you fly with his dragon.

The burning heaves in your gut and smoke clogs your throat as you do the first thing that comes to your frantic mind.

You throw the book.

And you run- no. You walk , fast and furious, but a walk, letting mild satisfaction bloom with the creep’s grunt of pain as the volume hits, but not even that pleasure is enough to alter the snarl in your voice as you stomp away. “My name is Yurei .” You call over, half hoping that he won’t hear it, half-hoping he does.

Getou can’t know.

No one can. Yuji deserves a normal peaceful childhood, the world will rob him of enough.

You won’t let a sorcerer steal anything more.

You won’t.

“ Mio, why are you- Missy, why are you ripping apart my mail?”

“T-there were more -flyers! A-and y-you won’t let me burn them!”

“… we can burn the papers. You don’t need to cry, Mio.”

“I’m not crying!”

“I am!”

“See, if it’s okay for Yuji to cry, it’s okay for you too. Now, come on and help me clean up this mess.”

“O-okay, Gramps.”

Similar to your first, in your second life, cafes exist as a paradise and torment. You barely understand half the items on the menu, but you know greatness lingers within those multi-colored trendy symbols.

You deserve a drink. But you love Gramps enough to recognize that he would probably have an aneurysm if he caught you sneaking into his sake. The trials of being eight.

Coffee would get you a reprimand about stunting your growth– but Wasuke’s health would remain optimal. Besides, you’d been having a craving.

The line moves slowly. Arduously, and you spend your time trying to decipher all the brightly colored writing and laminated paper advertising deals and events. 

You could get your foam shaped like a frog or cat. Adorable.

You let your mind debate which option is better. It helps, focusing on something so simplistically trivial and nice that letting your attention stray to the people that surround you. To the curses that surround them.

Your stomach grumbles. The burning is always stewing and rubbing against your insides. Does it actually scrap against your insides, or is it all in your head? If someone were to cut you open on the autopsy table, would you be blackened and burned or red and raw?

Somehow, this dilemma is more distracting than foam frogs and cats.

The store isn’t quiet. It’s borderline loud ; machines blast and conversations blur into one endless murmur, broken by the occasional laugh or yell to be heard. There’s the ring of the bell as someone enters. A greeting from the staff. Footfalls that move just out of tune as the twisting line moves forward.

You inhale. Let the sweet roasting smell caress your senses and enjoy this moment of peace. For now, in this moment, you are invisible. 

And then the moment ends. You almost didn’t sense him this time. 

Are you getting used to this?

He hesitates. You can hear the intake of breath before the pause. Feel how his form shifts from behind you, heels digging into the wood flooring, as if a surefooting will keep him solid in your interaction. As if this is a battle. A conquest. You're just another curse to swallow whole and devour.

He hasn’t given up. He probably won’t. 

Gojo and Getou are menaces for a reason.

Maybe it’s your mood, as relaxed as you can be in this life. Maybe it's the fact that you're already breaking a rule, slipping away from Wasuke’s watchful gaze, that makes you more inclined to keep pushing your luck. Maybe it is boredom, pure and simple, that dictates you.

Or maybe there’s a piece of you that still sees the Suguru of the past. The hopeful, shining teen with such big dreams. The playful mischief-maker. The arrogantly kind soul.

Maybe you just see Gojo’s face, and you can’t help but wonder what type of person could be that man’s counterpart. His equal. His friend.

What type of person is capable of breaking Satoru Gojo?

For once, you have a level of mercy upon the curse user.

You leave him to wallow in peace until he’s ready.

How kind are you?

“Are you alright, Mi- Yurei?”

No. You had no idea how to communicate that you wanted a large coffee- preferably with some magical concoction of syrups, and… you were leaning to the foam-frog. Everyone got cats, the frog deserved some love.

Getou would make delicious coffee. He smelt like one, bitter and dark, but with something sweet in the undertone. 

Honey. You needed honey with your coffee . Maybe you could skip the foam sculpture and get a bee drawing instead– 

Oh. Getou was still waiting for a response.

You could be generous.

“I have remained in the same emotional homeostasis since I entered this world.”

It was silent as you both slowly crept along in the line. The confusion was palpable and you weren’t aware of the tiny proud smile that surfaced on your face.

Suguru noticed. A matching expression bloomed on his own face, a soft hint of pride and accomplishment.

This was turning out to be nothing like Mimiko and Nanako. 

Yurei was proving to be a lively, if repressed, handful. She reminded him of someone, that arrogantly intelligent tilt of her head and carefree stubborn attitude. She had a similar enough piercing stare, even if it was less unsettling than— no, don’t think about it, don’t go back there . 

The past was the past. Suguru was here, in a cafe with a mischievous enigma of an eight year old that needed help. Mi- Yurei , hadn’t seemed to present any indicators of abuse. True she was withdrawn and her academic habits were abnormal. Yet those didn’t seem to be sudden personality changes, if anything, from what Suguru could remember in that brief interaction so long ago, Mio had always been a unique character. 

There were no bruises, no strange injuries, no suspicious medical records when he’d looked her up. She was protective of her family, something that seemed mutual based on their tight knit  behavior. Even that old monkey was grudgingly acceptable, reportedly relentlessly advocating for his wards based on the complaints of the girl’s teacher.

And then her brother.

Suguru hadn’t had an opportunity to interact with him, he’d seen the boy, Yurei’s living mirror, and the pair were startlingly reminiscent of his own girls. A little extrovert and introvert, living in mind bending harmony. Two parts of the same whole, united against the world.

But his girls had him. They had a window into and protection from the world of Jujitsu. And Mimiko and Nanako were flourishing, their confidence growing stronger, their understanding of their techniques deepening— his girls felt safe , their cursed energy flowing freely.

Yurei deserved to have that. Her brother deserved that. Every shaman-child deserved that .

And Suguru was going to build a world that provided that safety. Little by little he’d reshape this cursed word into something better .

For now, he’d start with the opportunities at home and at his side. One interaction at a time, he’d win over both children and bring them to a true home.

His girls were already so excited.

You, for your part, are oblivious to Getou’s inner monologue. Instead, the beans wholly consumed your attention.

You hoped this wouldn’t take too long, Yuji could only distract Gramps for so long before the old man became suspicious. He was probably already suspicious.

Well the bean juice was worth it! Damn it, you deserved some joy.

-Well, joy in a cup, Yu. No need to pout-

Your eyes do not deviate, not even to glance at the barista. Most certainly not to look at the winged bat-thing hovering over her, green scales peeking out from black fur, oversized fangs dripping a red goo as crimson eyes focus. Locked on to another girl with pierced lips and pink-hair. She has her own monster, a many limbed shadow that looms over her, merging with the blasts of steam she creates.

The carrier of Envy smiles at you, peering down with a smile from her spot on high at the counter. Glossy pink lips twitch at your refusal to look at her, but her gaze quickly reorients on the creep behind you. Getou must smile, because you can almost see her swoon.

The barrier of Anxiety isn’t immune either. You can tell, the way the blast of steam lasts slightly longer than the previous. Cold efficiency is broken for half a second.

Wasn’t it canon that most of Getou’s cult members joined because he was hot? 

Some buried thing in the back of your mind doesn’t allow you to judge them.

 “Hello! Welcome! What can I get you both today?”

There’s the ruffle of clothing. Not the drag of something as heavy as robes, but something loose and relaxed. Black shirt, black pants. Colors reminicents of the jujitsu uniform but the cut, a wide crew-neck, makes the Creep look almost… human.

You're looking up at him. Amethyst eyes fixed on yours, that same smirk-smile and ever-present head tilt. He doesn’t look like a monster like this. Just like a man.

You miss the exchange between the barista and Getou, just like you miss his question to you.

You blink slowly, head tilted, a pink strand of hair falling loose from the space buns on your head and drifting in front of you. You blow at it, nose wrinkling as you shake your head and the impulsive lock runs free. Annoying.

Getou is kind enough to repeat his question; “Can I get you anything?”

And you, distracted, bored, overwhelmed, little you, speak before thinking.

“Can I eat you?”

There’s a shriek as the punk woman burns her hand and a snort from the register. You rue the fact that your beloved filter is not currently present and has abandoned you to this awkwardness.

- MIO! NOOOOO!-

Your order comes rapid fire, a level of urgency delivered even in your monotone. The Register-woman practically sparkles from the corner of your vision. Head bobbing vigorously as she writes down the order.

-Mio….-

-Yu?-

-I’m sorry. Gramps knows.-

- Yuji! -

-I’m sorry! He gave me the look!-

-ETA?-

-He’s kicking open doors, Mo. This is embarrassing -

-ETA!-

-I don’t know what that means! Run, Mio, run!-

You track the progress of your concoction with a single minded focus. Doom is imminent– more so than usual and less threatening– but it was tampling its way to you like an irate pink-headed lion.

Getou must have slipped the barista something, because your drinks were clearly jumping the line.

You didn’t really notice the looks you were receiving. The coos, the smiles, nothing penetrated your senses as you peeked over the counter, balancing on your tiptoes and ignoring Getou’s silent presence. 

“For the Getous!”

Whelp. There was a confirmation you weren’t going to deal with. Silence does not equate to acceptance.

Like a feral thing, you swipe the drink, biting the head off your bee sculpture before downing it. The scalding liquid, sweet and dark, barely registers in the wake of that oh so lovely caffeine. How you’ve missed it.

Suguru Getou simply stares, watching an eight year old girl chug a latte like a seventy year old man would down his whiskey. Or like how—

They truly are so similar.

An empty cup is thrust in his hand and the child bows as she says her thanks. He wasn’t aware she had manners.

For once, you don’t leave your interaction with Getou-san angry.s

“Mio! Get down from the window! What are you doing!?”

“There were no new flyers, so I’m returning these ones from whence they came.”

“Go pick up the litter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sitting at your desk, oblivious to the world outside you and Yuji’s mind— and the extra chores you have after your coffee stunt — 

If there was one thing Ken imparted onto you, it was how to out last insanity.

Two weeks in, and Getou disappeared like a sucker.

But, no , you can’t celebrate yet. Not until you get through a normal day without him first- you need to hold it in or you’ll jinx it.

“What is wrong with your face, girl?”

”She’s just happy, Gramps. Really, really happy.”

The sky is blue. Empty but for the flutter of cursed flies and an odd spiny wiggle that appeared and disappeared in the puffy white clouds. Honestly it’s rather peaceful.  Your morning has been peaceful. An easy sleep. Yuji’s drooling snores. A quick breakfast before Gramps kissed your foreheads and sent you both off.

No Getou on the sidewalk today.

The disappointment you taste is oddly similar to his own bitter residue. Hollow but similar.

You’re becoming quite the connoisseur of things too bitter and things too sweet. And yet nothing fills you.

Yuji is at your side, doodling in his notebook— a pelican you think— and his own contentment brushes against your stewing mind. Like the sun peaking through the fog, it’s a warmth that soothes you.

You don’t even realize you’ve closed your eyes, blocking out the world beyond the pair of you, until a clap rings out and the buzzing students fall still. Sensei stands in the front, hands clasped in front and a dazed smile stitched across their face.

You smell something. Something strange. Like pine that tickles your nose, draws your head to the side, and leads your attention to the door.

No—

Too many shapes step through. Sensei is saying something wholly irrelevant, because your eyes tell you everything important. Two girls. Similar in build even if their coloring and demeanor is so different. The blonde who stands, back straight and heels dig into the floor, fist clenched and jaw set like she’s prepared for a fight. The shadow at her back, dark brown hair falling like a curtain around her face, and toy bunny clasped in her grip— so deceptively innocent, so mockingly vulnerable— as she stands at her sister's back. Her twin’s shadow. 

“ We have some new transfers joining us!” Sensei practically coos. Hovering over the pair, ignorant or deliberately oblivious to the disdainful glares that are sent back.

Irritation. Disgust. Fear. Nerves.  

Getou? What did you do?

Why?

The twins are there. In front of your classroom, outsiders to your territory, shrapnel flung from the disaster of life and digging into your sanity. They should not be here.

Why did you send them here? Why come to a nest of beings you despise?

Yuji straightens on the desk beside you. His hand grips your wrist, body rigid as he perks up, like a dog scenting something new, alert and ready to wag in greeting or bark and snarl in defence.

Yuji’s hand squeezes, thumb tracing your pulse. Your mind reaches back, wrapping around the thrum that sings from him.

The classroom is almost filled. Every row of desks was occupied but for the last one. Your one.

It was just you and Yuji. The twin Itadoris, the twin islands, alone at the back of the world, an empty space at each side.

Two pairs of gold-eyes, wary and curious, confused and angry, stare unblinking and wide.

Twin chocolate-sweet eyes look back. Not at the class. Not at Sensei. They stare at you both.

The girls smile.

Yuji offers a wave with his frown.

You stare back out the window. More curses, more flies linger as she squiggle flies up and flees.

You can see the dark figure on the dragon’s back, hair flying in the wind like a mockery of a Disney princess.

Getou hadn’t given up at all.

“Welcome Mimiko and Nanako Getou! Please take care of them!”

He’d just changed the game .

“Dirty play, Get-out. Dirty play.”

Chapter Text

To be a twin was a very special thing. Regardless of what worldview that forged the lens that peered at the situation, there was something very unique about the concept of two existing where there was typically one.

For some, this little miracle was a spark of joy and wonder. For others, an ill omen. Yuji had never really understood either perspective. He and Mo just were. There were plenty more interesting things to look at, things more fascinating than how their faces mirrored or hair matched perfectly. The outside was never as interesting as what was inside. That was true of both people and food. Especially the stuffed pastries Gramps got them for their birthdays! Everything was boring until you bit in and got to the colorful, chewy, tasty inside.

Gramps said you can’t bite people, though. It was mean.

Mo said that would get you diseases. 

So, twins weren’t that magical of a concept to Yuji Itadori, being one made the concept rather average, and he never understood the bad luck and creepy version.

If two girls came up to him asking to play, he would!

Today was making him rethink that stance.

Yuji watched in mild confusion- and muffled annoyance, as the world was upended by the arrival of two strangers.

Mo, hissing like a particularly angry cat, bristling up beside him, smoking as her mind whirred. 

- Smash the phone, grab the doll, stuff it in the blonde's face, and pull the brunette down. Crack skulls, grab Yu, and run. Go into hiding. Sneak onto a ship and go to the Americas. Venezuela? No, stick with what you know. Maybe cut through Canada to go to Alaska— but Wasuke!-

“Hi,” Yuji smiled, raising his head slightly at the newcomers, tilting in such a way that he knew Mo and Gramps found it adorable. Showed off his dimples. Based on the looks of the new students, he’d need all the dimple help he could get.

He didn’t know the girls. But they knew them. They came straight for them as soon as Sensei finished introducing them. Didn’t even look at anyone else. Eyes fixed straight ahead like the two Itadoris were land amid stormy seas.

Not happy being here. Not happy being around others.

Like Mo.

But they didn’t smile like Mo. Mo smiled on the inside, all warmth, and heat, and shiny shiny teeth. When she smiled on the outside, it was simpler. A twitch. Sometimes, a peek of teeth for Gramps since he couldn’t feel her grin. Rare but bright. Real and firm. 

These strange smiles shook. Lips trembled and pulled tight. Teeth shoved forward and grinding.

Nervous. Unsure. Strange.

They seemed nice.

They seemed a little like Mo. A little like Yuji, too. 

Maybe that's why they came to them. Did they see it before Yuji did? The awkward hesitence, the unfulfilled want. 

It was hard, making room for a new world when your orbit was so completely filled by another. Gramps was the exception. Gramps had always been there.

Gramps said that wasn’t good. “There’s more to the world than each other,” and “ What will you do when you grow up and separate? Be alone?”

Yuji thought that was silly. He and Mo would always be together.

But…

He pondered- and wasn’t that a fun word- in the moments before the strangers arrived. Thoughts working and weaving a new idea with every soft footfall and threads of Mo’s design.

Friends.

An idea. 

Mo had made a friend by herself. So had Yuji. But they didn’t play games or whine about lessons or come visit home. Not like other people’s friends. Not like the friends Gramp wanted.

They needed to share friends. Or have connected friends. Like these new ones.

It would be hard. Yuji only had one friend. Mo had one friend. Neither of them where like the friendships he’d seen on TV or heard about. 

This would be tough.

Especially if Mo was still trying to figure out a way to get new identities and fake their deaths. The gas leak and explosion at their house was his current favorite, but launching a car off a bridge seemed more practical. For some reason, Mo kept going back to that plan. She didn’t like it, they would need bodies for it.

Eh. Mo knew best. She was special.

But… Mo also needed help sometimes. Yuji could help. He liked helping.

The twins- and wasn’t that cool? Another set of twins in his class— could they talk like he and Mo could— stopped in front of their desks and smiled at them again. This one was softer, relieved. They must really not like other people.

Rage.

Protection.

Gnashing of Teeth.

He stroked Mo’s mind, feeling her lean into him, thoughts now imagining throwing a desk at the pair before running through the city and lighting Stalker-sama’s robe on fire. There was a lot of laughing involved.

And a dragon. And weird blob things. The dragon was new, but the blobs weren’t.

Yuji liked the dragon. He’d have to try and draw it sometime.

The girls— what were their names again? Nana and Mimi? Koko? Well, they seemed pretty nice.

They claimed the empty seats. One sitting on each side of the Itadori makeshift table. That surprised Yuji. Wouldn’t they want to sit together?

Yuji wouldn’t want anyone between him and Mo.

Bruised knuckles. A small white thing clattered to the floor. Bloody gums, tongue poking at a fresh hole. Disappointed red-brown eyes, Gramp’s sigh, and gruff lecture. Surprise, shock, and confusion. He’d held back. His hand ached more after the apology letter. Quiet distance grew, no one looked, no one talked. Sitting by Mo alone, he felt sad. He felt confused. He didn’t know if he regretted it. He was sorry. He didn’t mind the result.

Yuji didn’t let anyone get between him and Mo. The feelings were bubbling again, being cornered and pushed, threatened and poked. Yuji patted them away. He could use his words. Gramps and Mo said words were better unless someone else was using their fists. And they hadn’t done anything yet. Mo hadn’t done anything yet.

It was okay. 

Cheap metal and wood rattled as legs shrieked against the shiny linoleum floor. The girls pushed their chosen desks closer, enough for the edges to touch, and it made a long table as they were all squished together. 

Yuji’s grin wavered.

He and Mo had already done that. Sensei had given up trying to make them separate their desks, and no one complained about it after Yuji had punched Haruto. He’d lost his baby teeth. Gramps was mad-proud about that. Yuji could tell.

He had been bothering Mo. Teasing and touching. Haruto had stolen Yuji’s seat when he’d gone to the bathroom. That wasn’t nice.

Mo didn’t care. Mo didn’t pay attention, but Yuji did. Yuji cared.

It was good to care. To protect. So Yuji did.

But, after that, no one else tried to sit in his and Mo’s seats. Or between them. Or next to them. And here, these new people were joining them as if it were natural. 

Yuji didn’t know these people. Did Mo?

Mo would have told him if it was important… unless Mo was scared. Yuji didn’t like it if Mo was scared. A really scared Mo only happened with the really scary things.

Frustration.

Nerves.

Burning.

No. Mo was mad. Yuji frowned. Brows scrunching as he looked at the brown-headed girl who had sat next to Mo. Her bunny was propped up on the desk, head sagging under the weight of floppy ears. She didn’t look scary. The blonde next to him didn’t look scary either. Not really scary anyway.

Mo was watching them. She didn’t move her head, but she was watching.

These girls were making Mo uncomfortable. But it wasn’t because she was uncomfortable, but because she was worried he would be. At least he thought so. It mostly seemed to be some type of equation, except instead of two plus two equaling four, it was him plus these girls, plus Stalker-man, plus life that equalled bad things. That equalled fire, running, and laughing… but a minus Gramps turned it all into a question mark.

Patting Mo’s hand, Yuji kept smiling and tried to focus on Sensei. His sister got stuck sometimes, and he needed to remind her that there was another world besides their own.

Mo squeezed his hand, her flat face changing to her forced calm face.

Proud.

Confused.

Excited.

Sensei seemed a little surprised. Blinking boorishly– he learned that word from Mo!– they just kinda sagged and shook their head before starting the day. 

Mo’s shoulder brushed his.

Stubborn.

Sheepish.

Thankful.

With the exception of Yuji, no one in the back row was paying any attention to the lesson. The new girls were silent, bodies turned to their pink-haired tablemates. An almost expectant air about them.

Were they talking?

-I hope not-

“Hi.”

Well, that was pretty normal. Yuji didn’t understand why Mo stopped breathing. He turned to the blonde one, beaming back at her. Gramps always said to be nice to others. Maybe these guys were just like him and Mo. Maybe they also wanted friends. Maybe they didn’t mean to make Mo bristle and Yuji clench his hands.

He didn’t think they meant it.

Yuji didn’t really think they thought a lot. That was his impression.

“Hi! I’m Yuji!” A harsh shush from Sensei, and the boy whispered, “And this is Mo.”

“ Mo ?” A brow arches, the bunny girl shifts in her seat as her sister leans forward, “But I thought-”

“She wants to be called Yurei.” Yuji clarifies with a smile, nodding his head as he pulls out a spare piece of paper for the daily spelling test. 

You don’t move. You're choosing not to take the test today. You’ll take the zero. 

Yuji drops a crumpled sheet on his desk, holding out an opened notebook, a peace offering to your new desk neighbors, as he continues, “But I call her Mo.”

Blondie declines the paper, shaking her head at Brownie when she reaches for one.

Are they not interested in school either?

No. Their interested in following the Creep's orders. Obviously.

“Why don’t you call her Yurei, then?”

“Because she likes it when I call her Mo.” Yuji says, puffing out his chest proudly as he announces it, “Only I can call her that. Not even Gramps can.”

You give one solemn nod in confirmation.

“So your…” Blondie almost gags, “ Gramps, calls her Yurei?”

“Nah. He calls her Mio.”

Once again, you nod in silent confirmation.

“And you're just… Yuji?”

“Yep!”

Blondie blinks. Dark eyes shift between the two of you before settling on her sister, who shrugs slightly. Seems you must be bewildering to even the oddities of normalcy.

“Huh. Well, my name is Nanako, and that’s my sister Mimiko.”

“Nice to meet ya!”

You don’t nod. You just stare at Sensei. They don’t comment on your lack of preparedness— the typical arrangement— but they don’t take the opportunity to comment on Nanako or Mimiko’s current lack of test readiness either. Interesting. 

How much did Getou donate to achieve blind favoritism for his adopted progeny? You struggled to establish that level of neglect for years. A couple of hundred calendars featuring his face? Some sweet talking? Please let it not be cult membership!

Your laughter is limited to a smirk, but Yuji giggles even if he doesn’t understand the context. Your brother is just awesome that way.

Sensei starts listing off the spelling words of the week. Studious little children keep their heads bent down and hands moving quickly as a pencil scratches against paper.

On the back row, only Yuji somewhat matches the behavior, even as he keeps lifting his head to glance in random directions or taps his pencil against his forehead, teeth, the edge of the desk, or his sister. You just stare at Sensei. The Getou Girls stare at both of you.

“You're really doing what that monkey is telling us to?” You hear Nanako whisper to Yuji.

It feels wrong to visualize griping that blonde hair— yanking on the strands and pulling it from the scalp, limp and bloody. Nanako is a child. The instinct feels revolting. 

So instead, you picture doing that to Geto-Creep.

Much better.

“Monkey?” Yuji whispers back, nose-wrinkling as he turns in his seat, “Sensei can be kinda silly sometimes, but I don’t think they're monkey.”

She sneers, and her counterpart stiffens beside you. “No. Sensei isn’t like us. We’re better, special.”

- Excellent. The delusional brainwashing has already been embedded in the sleeper agents. Wonderful parenting job.-

“Mo is special!”

Aw. You're blushing.

Nanako nods indulgently, her twin settles back into her seat, playing with the ears of her bunny.

“Yes.” Her dark eyes are wide and sparkling. Despite the color, something about them looks strikingly like Getou’s, “Special just like you and me and Mimiko and Yurei. We can see things that monkeys “ she spits, “can’t.”

There is a moment of silence. A second, really, before Yuji responds. Your head wips to him, prepared to shush them both, to silence this mess before—

“Oh. I can’t do that.”

That.

“… what?”

You shift, tilting your head out, a challenge in your gaze that Nanako can’t see because she’s looking at Yuji, gaping at his response. For you, it's either this silent threat or banging your head against the desk like a madwoman.

Yuji’s hand— physically this time— pats your head.

“That’s- that’s not possible. You can’t be—“

The boy smiles, dimples popping out in the wake of shining crooked teeth, and your heart melts a little. 

Shove  the bunny in Brownie’s face. Push Blondie to the floor, pin her with the desk. Flee, not from the door, they’ll expect that, but from the wall. Break it with your own skull.

“Gramps says anything is possible. Mo always finishes that with belief, but Gramps says it's hard work.”

-And murder-

“Gramps says no to murder.”

Nanako looks so confused, it's borderline funny. 

A soft voice at your back pulls your attention to the one you’d forgotten about.

“ Getou-sama said you were like us. ”

“We are! We're really similar—” Pink brows crinkle as the boy tilts his head, “And ho-mo sa-peens. But that's not what I mean.”

A hand slaps against his desk, “ No, you're supposed to be—!”

“Mo says disappointment is a natural fact of life. And— no, that's rude— it’s her opinion that there are examples you have in your life that should… learn that?”

-Kind mean, Mo-

-But truthful, and you dressed it up well-

-I don’t want to hurt their feelings! They look like their gonna cry now!-

“ Huh ?”

“I dunno either, but that’s what Mo says.”

“You-you're not a shaman?”

Yuji laughs, Sensei glares from their desk, “I’m a kid.”

Blondie makes a keening noise. This time, it's not even something a biased sensei can overlook.

-Well. We’re screwed-

The twins, seemingly inheriting Getou’s stubbornness even if there is no actual genetic connection between them, spend the rest of the day tailing you both.

They watch, puzzled faces that morph into disgust— and is that fear?— whenever they are approached by fellow humans.

You can empathize. You can. But Nanako and Mimiko are a hindrance to your peace and Yuji’s safety, and that is unacceptable. Perhaps you are overreacting, after all, they are nine. Children in every sense of the word, and even if Getou is supposed to be a homicidal lunatic, the man has never actually harmed you. Or threatened to even.

But still.

Always a possibility.

Especially now. You don’t know how Getou picked up on your sensitivity, but Yuji is actually, relatively speaking, normal. He may have one of Sukuna Ryomen’s fingers inside him— thank you, mother— but it’s sealed. Basically non-existent until Ken-jock decides to come and open it like a forbidden jar of pickles. Yuji doesn’t have any cursed energy himself. Freaky biology and unusual strength aside… he’s normal.

There is nothing for the shaman-superior family to find that would justify his existence. That is the problem here. And now, the girls are undoubtedly going to report that information to Getou.

Would you be able to take him? The second strongest? The man who's grown metaphorically fat on curses and has years of experience— the equal of Satoru Gojo against you? A little girl with a burning in her gut and too much knowledge?

Maybe you can count on Kenjaku transforming into a deus ex machina, but you doubt Mama-brain would save you. 

Would they come and save Yuji? If they made one masterpiece, they could make another.

No. Too much aligns, too much of their plan falls into place. There’s Gege’s plot; a reason and timeframe this world runs with. Yuji’s death would devolve all of it.

So you’re brother is safe-ish. For now, at least.

Doesn’t mean you have to like this situation.

At the end of the day, you see Getou. 

He stands by the school gate, waiting— something actually justified this time —  hands folded within the sleeves of his monk garb.

An eyestain, as usual.

The girls run to him, grabbing the dark blue fabric with cries of “Getou-sama ” and faces happier than the mockery they had entered the classroom wearing.

Sure enough, Sensei adjusts their clothes, wiping away non-existent dirt before strolling on over. All three shamans do not look impressed.

You grab Yuji’s wrist, feet moving lightly, and eyes fixated on the fashion abomination as you both creep out of the courtyard. Bits of sand and dirt crunch against your shoes, and the cement path seems longer than usual. Yuji quieter.

What is your brother thinking about? His mind is moving so fast you can’t keep track of it, not without focusing. You don’t have time to focus.

Sensei steps away from the cult leader. They look a little deflated, shoulders sagging, and face oddly wistful. Pitiful.

Getou has a hand on each of the sisters' heads as he smiles and talks. His voice is low, so you can’t hear anything, but the glint in Nanako’s eyes as she looks over at you is enough of a warning.

None of the Getou Clan knows how to give up.

What an admirable and terrifying concept.

Wasuke stands outside the gate. Pink hair sticks to his gleaming forehead, the only physical indicator of his rush to arrive. Still, something about him, the sturdiness or the constant of his presence, soothes your ruffled spirit.

You're running before you realize it. All attempts at stealth are destroyed with the stamping of your feet and Yuji’s yelp as you pull him along.

Warmth. Safety. Love.

Your bond with Wasuke is not like your bond with Yuji— nothing could compare to Yuji. But the comfort calls you, crooning with every beat of his heart.

Your face is buried in his side before Gramps has a chance to open his mouth. Forced to take a few steps back to stabilize himself in the wake of your attack, your caretaker looks to the presumed Sane One for an explanation. Yuji just shrugs and joins in on the cuddles.

A warm hand pats your back, a sigh rattles the ribs beneath your cheek

Objectively, you know why he’s here. Wasuke only takes a break from his job to walk you home if you’ve been in trouble or the weather is objectively terrible.

The sky is a cheerful baby blue, and the sun is practically singing. 

So Sensei’s voicemail home did, in fact, reach him. A shame. Not like you were planning to erase that message if given the opportunity. Nope.

“Is your sensei being an ass again, Mio? I can talk to them.”

You shake your head, hand still firmly clasped around Yuji, as you silently plead just to go home. The world had been exhausting today, 

Your grandfather looks at you, eyes flicking between your own, to your grip on Yuji, to Yuji’s confused face. He sighs. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head.

“Come on then,” he says, holding out his callused hand, “they started it right?”

“There wasn’t anything to start.” Your eyes roll with a huff as your tiny hand slips into his, only releasing your fully body hug once the point of contact is secure. Preening at the comfort it gives you.“Sensei is just sensitive.” And bribed. And biased. And a little bitc-

Yuji jostles your shoulder, an unapproving look on his face, and a warning weaving into his thrum. The rascal would rat you out to Wasuke. 

Brothers.

You don’t turn back to look behind you. Not as the scents of coffee and pine mingle and surge. Tempting your senses to come near. Plucking at you and softly tugging your attention, beckoning it to shift closer. You ignore it.

You are not ignored.

Behind you, amythest eyes narrow and Getou seethes. Pulling his girls closer, enveloping them in the cloth of his sleeves and the essence of his energy, safe and cared for, he watches two other children, swans, be led away by an old and decrepit duck.

That bastard, that monkey— it was probably his fault that young Yurei was repressing her energy so much. His fault she was stunted. His fault.

Who else could it be?

Never mind that there was no clear evidence of abuse. Something had to have caused the girl’s stunted growth. 

It was a logical deduction given that the elder man was the sole caretaker of the twins. Really, the only contact for them at all. Wasuke Itadori was entirely normal on paper. Not a single link to any facet of the shaman world other than Kaori Itadori, and even that took a significant amount of digging.

It felt better to have a name for the memory. Kaori, offspring of a tiny half-dead clan, a bride who’d left that life long before her marriage, and a mother whose only legacy was her twin children. 

They’d found her remains months later, bloated and drifting by the coast. She had decomposed surprisingly slowly, the medical examiner had theorized that while the initial impact had killed the husband, snapping his neck quickly, Kaori may have somehow survived. Crawling her way out of the vehicle, only to be dragged away by the river and pulled out to sea.

It had been head trauma that had finally killed her. Her face mangled and the top of her skull missing completely, the pictures looked agonizing to behold, white bone peaking out and shattered, brain completely missing, the ocean cleaning out and washing away blood with notches dug into her brain stem as if something had nibbled there.

Suguru Getou had felt grief and anger in equal measure at the sight of those pictures, old and dusty from their time hiding in folders, languishing in crates that sat in the forgotten corners of an evidence locker. He’d barely known the woman, had merely one interaction years ago. But she had been kind, and in a way, he was meeting her again through Yurei.

Irate, Getou made himself smile at the teacher who came up to him, prattling some nonsense apology for the behavior of the Itadoris. Some teasing apparently. Something that made his girls upset.

Monkeys. What did they know?

Siblings didn’t always get along. Blended families could take time to settle. Suguru would talk with his girls and try to understand what actually occurred. Perhaps over a sweet treat later today.

They had such a sweet tooth. Not as bad as—

And then Suguru could try to figure out how exactly to fix the Itadori twins. Perhaps the old monkey had inspired both children to repress themselves through strict parenting and neglect. The man worked long shifts, and the twins' lives were restricted to school and home. 

It might not even be intentional on the old monkeys' part. Just ineptitude to care for the better half of society. 

Suguru was reaching. He knew this.

But he had no other answers.

He watched from over the shoulder of the dimwit sensei he was temporarily leaving his children too. Watched as three mounds of pink slowly disappeared into Kyoto’s busy streets and people.

Getou didn’t quite believe it. He had a difficult time believing much of this situation.

Yueri Itadori had proven to be many things during their interactions: intelligent, sparsely worded, a gremlin, and remarkably passive to a point. All in all, the enigma was more stoic than child, a vast glassy ocean with only a subtle rise of waves to hint at the currents beneath.

This was not that child.

The girl was plastered to the old man’s side, arms wrapped around his waist and legs clamped around his own as she clung to him like a monk-

Getou blinked. Stunned.

Wasuke just patted her back with a sigh. As if oblivious to the radical shifting of reality, the inversion of the universe, the miracle in the form of knobby elbows and skinny legs burrowing into another human, like barnacles bound themselves to Kaori’s corpse. 

“Is your sensei being an ass again, Mio? I can talk to them.”

The words, spoken gruffly, did not fit the image Getou had conjured of the Itadori patriarch. Nor did Yurei’s behavior. Rubbing her face into the man’s side, inhaling deeply, and looking more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. That was not the behavior of an abused child. Not the behavior of a fearfully repressed child.

But she wasn’t releasing any cursed energy either.

He watches as soft words are whispered. As a little girl calms and her mirror bumps her, a playful look appears on his smiling face that seems to grow brighter as his sister stands taller.

And there was the boy. The one his girls said was normal. They had to be wrong— he himself had almost mistaken Yurei for trash when she was one of their treasures.

Getou was doing the right thing. Sorcerers belonged with sorcerers, only a shaman could understand and care for another shaman. Monkeys brought only pain and suffering.

And yet… 

Suguru watched as pink was slowly covered by the city’s grey, gut twisting in a cruelly familiar way as two lambs stood content in the den of his arms.

He was making the right decision. Getou knew he was.

He just had to complete it. 

”Why don’t we feel anything? They don’t feel like you.”

”Every signature is unique to the sorcerer. Some can be harder to feel than others, or may be easier for certain people to sense. That doesn’t mean it isn’t there, girls. They are just like us. What do you think of them, Mimiko?”

”… They seem nice.”

“Our sister has a weird thing about names.”

“Nanako, don’t interrupt your sister.”

“But our brother was funny. I like them, Getou-sama.”

“I’m sure they like you, too.”

Life wasn’t supposed to be sweet. That was a lie.

Life, this one at least, was dictated by the greater goals of those who’d existed long before your lackluster entrance upon this turbulent, cruel, and fascinating world crafted by a being you only knew as a one-eyed feline. Your expectations weren't particularly high. You’d be happy to survive to sixteen, count yourself lucky to make it to seventeen. Anything beyond that, and you were blessed.

You’d like to avoid becoming a childhood casualty. You want to try and relieve some of Yuji’s impending trauma, not add to it. The backstory was sad enough. But, it would seem, that your very abstract and workable goal in this life was crumbling regardless of its simplicity.

This was it. This is how you died. On the sidewalk with ice cream at your feet and Yuji at your side.

Not too bad, all things considered.

“Here.” A neon blue concoction of dairy, food coloring, and whatever razzberries were supposed to be was shoved in your cheek. You could feel the ice cream smooshing against your face. Cold and sticky. Borderline soothing to the perpetual buzz under your skin and the heat on the back of your neck. You didn’t react, your eyes locked on the omen of doom, a mere street across from you.

Yuji took the opportunity to smear it further.

“Come on, we can share mine!

-Yuji, if you don’t stop, I will shove that up your nose-

“Fine! Fine!” The ice cream is pulled away, somehow Yuji manages to take a bite out of it without flinching. You know there's no flinching because you can feel the absence of it. No cold shock, no recoil, no brain freeze. Just pure, stubborn joy as his eyes crinkle and dimples bloom from an open-mouthed blue grin. “But that would make Gramps sad! And I don’t want to hear another lecture!”

It wouldn’t make Gramps sad. Gramps would find it deeply amusing, but stuff that deep down, and give you both a lecture. You, not being a terror, and Yuji not enabling your terrorism.

It was a very familiar lecture.

Blue staining half of your red face, you grab the back of Yuji’s shirt and pull him back into the ice cream parlor.

By the time Getou enters, two girls at his side, you're already long gone.

“A staff door,” the man murmurs. Smart of you, also rather audacious. Most children wouldn’t register that as a viable exit, especially not this one, given how it's tucked in the back and leads out to an alley. But there it is, you're gone, the alley is empty, and even if Yurei wasn’t leaving behind enough residue to track, the grumbling employee behind the counter provides more than enough context.

Suguru wanders away from the exit and back to his girls. The Monkey behind the counter is kind enough to have provided samples of a few flavors to his girls in his brief absence. Angling for another sale. Presumptuous.

”Did you find her, Getou-sama?

”Are you sure she’s our sister and he’s our brother?”

”They act like monkeys.”

”Yurei is just confused right now. They both are.” Suguru pats their head, smiling warmly, “She just needs someone to come show her the right path.”

And that is all that it is. Those children just need someone to come and bring them to the light, to help them heal, to liberate them. Getou will liberate them. Free them from the costumes they’ve been forced to wear. Bring them into a family that can love them like they should be.

So deep in his musings, the man misses the silent glances between his current daughters. Children, idealistic and naive, only ever want to be helpful.

The productivity of such help is highly debatable.

A hand slaps against Yuji’s arm. It's awkward, the limb straight but the wrist flacid as Mimiko flings it, her other arm holding the bunny close to her chest, tightly, braced, as if she’s detonating a bomb.

She stares at the point of connection like it were one. As if she’s metal striking at a flint stone. There’s disappointment when no sparks fly, but she looks up, brown eyes questioning a space beside you.

You step back just as Nanako lunges.

“No fair, no fair, no fair!”

Perhaps you and Yuji should be more affronted by this one-sided game of tag. You were in the beginning, even went to Sensei for help— very out of character for both of you— but it would seem harassment is indicative of play among the prepubescent.

With long-suffering faces, you both slinked back to what had once been a lonely corner of the playground. Yuji has submitted to the inevitable like a dog facing the grabby hands of toddlers. You, a cat in this predicament, will continue to duck and weave your way out of the reach of unwanted hands.

The trend continues. Traps, tests, experiments that almost make you feel like a fish in a bowl. Naughty children tapping at the glass in an effort to make you move and look alive.

Ha. This is nothing compared to what trials you’ve overcome.

It’s clumsy. Understandably childish, but it's interesting; Getou was so much more subtle about his goal, and it had nothing to do with proving who you were. For these twins, it's as if that's all that matters.

Nanako and Mimiko have grown more organized, choosing a specific target for each to focus on. 

It would be concerning, downright harrowing, if not for who has been paired with whom.

Yuji runs, laughing, as Nanako chases him. He doesn’t see the curse in her hands, something that looks like a cross between a spider and a worm, a long, soft body squirming from between sharp, angular legs. All Yuji sees is someone giving chase for far longer and farther than anyone has ever dared to.

You can respect the dedication. Nanako huffing and puffing, face red and hair wild as she tries to prove that your brother can see it, can’t lie about it when it’s shoved in his face, can’t hide that signature when you touch it.

She reeks of sweat and pine.

You watch. Sitting in the shade as Yuji kicks up dust that the curse eats in Nanako’s stead, and eat your onigiri, ignoring the rumble and itch of hunger that plagues you.

Maple syrup. Not quite the same, but you wonder if pine sap would have a similar taste. You remember that, muted and vague, from before.

Mimiko sits next to you. Earbuds plugged in and eyes tracking the same chaos in front of you, the quieter one is your preferred companion.

She watches. Waiting for a slip-up, for a moment when you give yourself away, but she’s too anxious to actually antagonize like her sister does. A semblance of peace returns.

When a curse fly circles your head, you just offer a bite of food to your watcher.

You tried to ignore the stench of coffee in the air. The nearest cafe was two streets down. You knew that because Gramps said you were too young for caffeine and, like any addict, it just made all the potential answers to your craving that much more obvious. You weren’t smelling that blessed bean juice concoction.

You were smelling your doom. Again.

Because what else was a stalking cult leader supposed to be?

Deliberately, you refused to look at the McDisaster across the street and the three shadows seated under an umbrella. How do you get into these situations? Really, how?

Burnt Coffee

Salt and Pine.

You make the mistake of looking.

-Don’t wave at them!-

-But they look so nice! See, they’re waving back and smiling. Normal .-

“Nothing in this world is normal. That within itself is normality.”

“So… still normal.”

Fondness.

Ruffled.

Annoyance.

You should have chosen to spend your allowance at a KFC. Now that would have been Getou proof… or would that only work on Gojo?

You’d keep the idea in your back pocket.

”Getou-sama said we should be nice to both of them, you know.”

”Shut up!”

”… I’m telling Getou-sama you said that too.”

“We need to do something! Or they’ll never understand! It's for their own good, Mimi. Getou-sama said we’re supposed to take care of them! This is! Remember how we figured out what we were?”

“... Getou-sama told us… but… I remember before. I- I don’t like remembering before.”

“It's not gonna be like that, Mimi. Promise. We’re just going to push them in the right direction. They’ll understand. Getou-sama will too.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

The twins have updated their strategy. Or rather, have become more aggressive with it.

Frustration must have won out in Nanako. She glares, turning snarky and mean. Mimiko trails behind her, not helping or stopping it, but certainly bearing witness.

It irks you. It irks you because part of you was beginning to expect their constant company, almost enjoy it in your acceptance. Watching Yuji finally laugh and play without worrying about you… And Mimiko wasn’t terrible company either.

You're upset at yourself. Why must you always get so attached for so little?

Yuji is splayed out on the cement, shirt stained in a haze of green dust as he colors the mane of his dragon.

Until a foot stamps on it, a shoe smacking inches from his hand. ” Move !” 

“But- I’m sitting here.”

Nanako sneers, ”And now I want to color, so move monkey .”

rage.

rage.

rage.

“Monkey-? Oh, monkey! Have you seen me on the playground? I can climb really quickly!”

-You don’t need to fake it, Yu. I could take them.-

-But then Gramps wouldn’t give us ice-cream money this week-

You raise your head, red chalk dust staining your hands as they push against your designs. The red orchids muddied and blurred underneath the pads of your fingers.

As if sensing doom, Sensei sighs and heads back inside to ready some immediately needed paperwork.

You should be quiet. You have been quiet. Only speaking the odd word or a few sentences this entire time. It wouldn’t be that different to bite your tongue and plead ignorance. To frown and let Yuji be your mouthpiece for his own defence.

No.

You will not leave your brother to defend himself. Not from an attack so obvious and unnecessary. Not from cruelty, he’s choosing to ignore it and take it on for himself.

Because that’s what he will do. Be the scapegoat. The sacrificial lamb. The child groomed for death and abandoned to a monster.

Yuji is more than capable of fighting his own battles, but your blood sings to defend what he will not.

“ Apologize,” you hiss. “He may not know, but I do. And calling people names, let alone using derogatory phrases, is not okay. Especially. Not. Yuji.”

“Well, that's what he is.” Nanako’s arms cross as she looks down at you, frowning and snobby. She’s stepped back slightly, her twin freezing behind her. “That’s what you both are, isn’t it?’

There’s an expectation in Mimiko’s eyes as they dart between two pink heads. Observing as always. Bunny hanging loosely in her grip. You see her eyes flicker to Yuji’s drawing, an odd look passing her face.

You're too angry to pay attention.

”No, I do not have a giant stick, nor am I part of a DND campaign. But I am, last time I checked, human. Same as you and every other person around.”

You don’t stop. The words poured out in a wrathful flood. 

”Also, you should be thanking Yuji. If it weren’t for him, you’d be going home to daddy with a broken nose.” There was something hungry and hot in the air, something in you that flickers a little brighter, something in your eyes that darkened to be a bit crueler.

Mimiko breathed in the cursed energy, feeling the sharp tingle brushing her arms, and shuddered as it scraped against her throat. 

“Do not insult my brother again.”

Yurei Itadori, who had sat quietly and unmoving the entire morning, somehow stared down at Nanako like how Getou-sama stared down at curses before he ate them.

For once, the twins leave you both alone. They backed away silently and ignored everyone but each other. Not even when Getou appears at the end of the day do they linger. Instead of walking out, a confused Monk trailed behind them.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Yuji tells you on the walk home. “You didn’t need to.”

“I did. I should have done something sooner.” You stop and glare, but your brother doesn’t cower under your heat. “ They are nothing like us, Yuji.”

He just smiles, pulling you along, all laughing, snark, and love as he whispers, “I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. But they’re people too, right?”

“You're spending too much time with Gramps. We need to get you actual friends.”

He grins like the idea is the funniest thing in the world.

Yuji is smart for an eight-year-old. He knows this because, even if his tests are returned to him covered in red and Sensei always looks down at him in exasperation, Gramps and Mo say he’s smart. So Yuji must be smart.

Gramps and Mo do not lie. 

His friend also calls him smart. Smart. Strong. Special.

Mo is special. Yuji doesn’t think he is, but his friend doesn’t believe him. Neither did Mo nor Gramps. Mo and Gramps aren’t very good at pep talks, but Yuji understood the intention. They didn’t lie, but Yuji didn’t think they understood.

So Yuji might be special, but he is smart.

So when Mo’s not looking, staring off into space, or glaring at the sky, or sniffing the wind, or sneaking around, Yuji whispers about their day to Gramps. He doesn’t say everything, but he says enough for Gramps to smile and slip a few extra yen into his pocket.

It's better than his friend’s smile.

Yuji wonders why that is.

Friends are such a wonderful thing. Yuji wonders why more people don’t talk about it. He wonders what it is to have a friend. Gramps is Gramps. Mo is Mo. Friends seem so random and weird— he can’t quite pin it down.

His friend is different from what he sees in his anime. His new friends are more similar, all gruff and rude but cute and caring. Neither is what Mo describes. He doesn’t think any of them are idiots who would kidnap him at midnight to go eat sugar, or would sit outside and take random pictures of each other. Or wave plastic swords and quote movie lines in terrible accents.

Sad.

It all sounds fun.

Yuji doesn’t tell his friend about his new friends.

Yuji is smart.

But sometimes kids are very dumb.

They try again. Later. The Getou Girls are stubborn things after all.

And just as emotionally immature. You can’t help but spit into the void of your mind. Yuji punches your shoulder as you both look down at bent heads and bowed forms.

A formal apology. Go figure.

”I’m sorry, Nanako was mean.” 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you that.”

Twin voices say together, overlapping as they peer up at you, ”Can we be friends?”

You're vaguely aware of your jaw hurting. More aware of the calm, love, and hope that Yuji is funneling your way. 

It’s like standing under a waterfall of good vibes.

You open your mouth, ready to spit vitriol that would make Kenjaku blush. How dare these people butt into your life? How dare they force themselves in, push Yuji around, and disturb the few years of peace you have that are supposed to be guaranteed!

But just as your tongue coils, a viper ready to lash out venom, you see something else.

Life will be no kinder to the daughters of Getou than it will be to Yuji- it will be crueler. You can see them, hypocritical brats that demean non-shamans in one breath while whining for normie-made crepes in the next. They stand just behind Getou as he declares war against Jujitsu High, and stand with him when he explains his plan to murder a boy their age. They are so spoiled, ignorant of the world around them, braiding hair and lounging in the sun.

They, whose faces were once bruised and dirty. Who were once smaller and so much more afraid, cowering in the center of a cage, clutching each other as idiots driven by fear and superstition lashed out at them.

In the future, their faces would be just as bruised and dirty, twisted by anger more than fear, but just as small in the scheme of the world. They would follow Getou’s corpse, trusting Kenjaku to return the body, and when he didn’t, they would be foolish enough to try and curry Sukuna’s favor so the monster might enact their vengeance.

So trusting. So hopeful. So broken.

Failure, after failure. It would end with them lost and alone. Or dead. You couldn’t remember exactly.

These were the best years of their lives. Yuji would lose almost everything, but there was always some remnant for the character to scavenge from. A sliver of hope to rebuild on before it would be torn down again.

Mimiko and Naniko would be left with nothing.

“Can we be friends?”

And why does Yuji have to look at them with such wide, adorable eyes?

He looks at you. A dimple angled towards your view on that tilted head, gold eyes that match your own, but are so much kinder than yours could ever be. Waiting for you’re verdict. Trusting you. Pleading with you.

What can you possibly do?

When the twins flinch, you don’t know if it comes from Yuji’s whoop of joy, his sudden hug enfolding them both, or your silent stare from behind him.

You will not tolerate threats to Yuji.

Even if incapable of reading your mind, the girls nod. The possessive coil around Yuji’s soul is telling enough.

“You don’t see anything?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes, stuffing your mouth with the pocky you’d managed to smuggle into class.

Sensei had already confiscated your first box. This had resulted in a plot to nick the aggressor's lunch in an act of justified retribution.

Banging that smug face against a wall and turning that body into a footstool wasn’t justified. 

-And both are mean.-

-... and both are mean.-

So the emergency pokey stash it was. It was better than nothing.

“Like, look out the window— you just see air?”

“Mo sees lots of things.” The boy didn’t elaborate, and Nanako looked mildly hopeful. Her sister, Mimiko, seemed to be awaiting the punchline. Content to simply watch the chaos unfold.

You offered her a Pocky stick. Good to reward wanted behavior.

Declining, she offered one of her earbuds.

Likewise, you also declined.

Why couldn’t things always be this civil?

“What do you expect me to see? A clown with a red balloon? A purple platypus-bear hybrid? Green blob of goo?”

It’s actually a pink blob. Faintly reminiscent of chewed-up gum.

Yuji’s side-eye needs work. The smile severely dampens its effectiveness.

Or perhaps, you can’t help but think, it doesn’t, because here you are offering a pocky stick in all your magnanimous glory.

Nanako actually takes it. You try to ignore her aggressive chewing.

When Yuji thinks of a giant blonde beaver, you both bust into giggles.

“ So weird,” Mimi whispers to her rabbit.

For once, you think you might not actually mind the smell of pine.

There’s a curse on your desk.

A curse. On your desk.

You look at Nanako, bag still slung over her shoulder, but she looks borderline surprised at its presence.

Your eyes narrow, a bitter, muddy smell flooding your senses as the gooey brown slime ball— vaguely reminiscent of a toad that’s had all its limbs amputated- slowly wiggles its way across your desk. It leaving a trail of slime. Chunky slime. Questionable slime.

Your eyes flick over to the one person who decided to leave early today. Who, under the guise of being studious, had fibbed and taken this living ball of septic waste with her.

Mimiko doesn’t flinch. She just smiles. Expectantly.

Never underestimate the quiet ones. You of all people should know this.

“Is there a problem, Yurei-chan?”

Yes. Your desk is being defiled, and you are rapidly recategorizing who is an active threat.

“No.”

“Are you gonna take a seat? Class is starting soon.”

You sit. Ridged. Still. You do not look down. You will not.

The curse stills. It's flat, round head lifting, turning to look up at you with an open gaping maw— why does that face look human?

“Is everything alright, Yurei-chan?” Nanako murmurs, stepping behind her sister with a smile. “You don’t see anything that’s making you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

-Yuji! Yuji! Yuji! Yuji! Yuji!-

Of course, when your twin arrives, he’s very confused about your sudden raging disgust, fear, and itch concerning your desk. He sits next to you, frowning.

“Mo? Are you okay? You look pale.”

He leans forward, resting a hand on your desk as he peers into your eyes.

Right. Into. The slimetrail.

You’re retching in your head. You know you are.

-I’m fine. Fine.-

You do not cringe as shit-smelling slime is plastered to your hair. It almost makes you cry, a head pat ruined in such a hideous way.

Comfort

Confusion

Humor

Your silence and stiff posture are not that different compared to your normal behavior— at least you think so, but the looks that pass between Nana and Mimi make a shiver of dread pass down your spine.

You want to burn the desk.

Again, Yuji talks you out of it.

He also looks at you oddly when you make him pick up a pile of air and drop it into Mimi’s bag. Seeing no physical harm, he goes along with it. The sudden rush of vindictive pleasure that hits him like a rogue baseball makes Yuji reconsider that assessment.

You don’t care.

His contaminated hand might as well be useful.

Life was boring.

It had been for a while. Fluctuating between giving you stress-induced arrhythmias to numbing your desensitized brain. In both situations, Yuji was your absolute anchor. The mental presence could rely on keeping your sanity afloat and clinging to when your mind wanted to fade into the aether.

Sometimes it felt like a world without Yuji would be a world without you, too.

You hoped that would be the case.

Concern.

Love.

Warmth.

Regardless, now somewhat acclimated to the twins, you’d receded from getting a heart attack every five minutes to dying in the predicament of your troubles.

So why not have fun with it?

Like an idiot.

It was just so… tempting. An opportunity to indulge that you rarely had an opportunity for, never had an opportunity for in this caliber. It was one thing to trigger smoke alarms, or steal from the vending machine, or put gum on Sensei’s seat. Supremely satisfying. Boring. 

If anything, it had turned into part of the status quo. A general upkeep of your future delinquent reputation. To be just enough of a terror that distance was formed without prodding the— dull, very dull if Getou’s stalking had proven anything, you’d overestimated the— other adult’s awareness to look deeper.

That and Gramps' disappointed face.

And of course, Yuji.

There was… mild guilt at the example you were setting. And here you were supposed to be the younger sibling.

In short, the Getou Girls were an outlet. An opportunity thrust at you on a silver platter, and the only thing that could have made it more obvious was if Satoru Gojo himself had presented it with crooked angel wings and an off-tuned trumpet.

You better believe you took it.

There was an attempt to be subtle in the beginning. Your version of subtle, markedly better than any sorcerer you’ve had the displeasure of witnessing so far in this life.

Yuji picked on it rather quickly. Even if he didn’t know the specifics of what was going on, the confused and amused glimmer that flooded you was enough of a confirmation.

You’d never told Yuji about curses. About what you saw.

Somehow, you didn’t need to. He took it all in stride.

It did make you wonder; how much did Yu know?

A conundrum for another time. Gaslight, gatekeep, and girlboss endeavors were today.

Lips twitching, you fought down the smirk. Mimi and Nana would probably not even notice it— few people did, but you didn’t want to risk giving yourself away. Not when you breathed in the fresh scent of pine with every breath, something lighting up and rearing in your brain. Stretching clawed paws and fixing your attention on two chittering pups.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t flinch as the curse hovered over your head either.

Your personal favorite was leaning into a lower-level curses business, frowning, and proceeded to describe whatever was behind the thing— a wall, the floor, a person— in great detail.

It freaked out the curses, too. A bonus.

It felt prudent to escalate your mischief. Just a bit, lest the twins grow too comfy with your antics. Not enough to do any real damage— you weren’t stupid enough to actually touch a curse, would it feel the difference between you and normies?— but enough to put the girls on uneasy footing. Make them think a bit after the freakout.

“Don’t play with your food,” Gramps would tell you, “it's rude.”

Well, Mimi and Nana weren’t food… and an occasional reality check was healthy. Not to mention deeply satisfying after all the harassment.

Their faces were also hilarious. You’d be living off this high for the next week.

The spider descended, fangs clicking as bone white hands skittered and grabbed at red silk.

“Do you see me? Do you see me? Do you see me?”

What was this thing supposed to be? Definitely a higher grade than the flies, not too terrible if Getou hasn’t killed the thing yet… 

You’d never seen Geotu enter the school.

Didn’t matter! He cared too much to risk anything happening to Mimi and Nana. Both girls stared at you like you were insane.

White hands pulled at your hoodie. Lifting the fabric slightly.

“Cold. Did they finally get an AC?”

A spider. It could be entrapment, maybe some gluttony or greed if one interpreted from a more vampiric point of view. Spiders sucked out the juices of flies— why wouldn’t they be considered vampiric?

“Yur-chan! Look up!”

“Oh. Look at that. One of the ceiling tiles is stained. Disgusting.”

The red silk, though… red string? Red fate… strings of fate! So perhaps it was entrapment. Or what if it was both?

“Do you see me? Do you see me? Do you see me?”

“Yurei-chan. Come here! Class is over soon!”

Hands for feet— very grabby— and an exaggeration of the fangs. Feeling trapped and sucked dry, and seeing no way out? Only a future that will suck a person dry and leave them an empty husk? 

“In a minute. Does that look like water damage to you?”

A desire to grab anything that might hold up hope for a bit longer. Or anything that could fill the gaping emptiness within.

Dark.

You felt a little bad for Sensei now. You doubted any eight-year-old, besides yourself, was capable of creating such a heavy and complex fiend of existential dread.

Mid-life criss was a bitch. 

You're still staring as Nana pulls you back to your seat, Mimi glares at your audience, her bunny sitting in front of her, arms crossed over its middle and head tilted forward into a psychopathic stare. 

When you look at them, everyone turns back around in their seats.

Sensei is just staring at the ceiling. The hissing spider-curse scittered back over to the crimson nest above their desk.

… maybe you should lay off on Sensei… just for a bit.

Here, Yuji would nod and say something along the lines of “ Yes, Mo. Think of what Gramps said,” or “And maybe give an apology gift too. Or Smiling! Smiling makes everything better!”

But Yuji doesn’t.

Because Yuji isn’t here right now.

Yuji’s seat is empty.

PANIC.

PANIC.

PANIC.

Calm.

Amusement.

Hungry.

A shaky breath leaves your mouth as you sink into your chair. Given your connection, losing track of each other is a rare phenomenon. You hate it with a passion even as Yuji’s thrum brushes against you and his mind pats your own.

-Chocolate?-

-Please.-

Heart calming, the last few minutes ticking away, you let yourself relax. Let yourself breathe.

You think you might like pine. In a clean car sort of way. It’s not too bad.

Complimentative, tired, peaceful, your mind slows. Yuji’s warm presence is the only thing you remain aware of as your gaze slips closed.

The soft fabric hand of a well-loved bunny pats your forehead. A mutter of “ idiot may’key ” from a chair over, and even the spider’s hisses fall back into a mess of white noise and half-made dreams.

A smile finally softens your face.

- Get Mimi and Nana something too, please. Use my money.-

-Already planned to-

You could get used to this.

But you shouldn’t.

You can’t.

But you do. You do, and you let the idea, the half-baked dream, slip in and come alive. You let yourself hope in those quiet corners, and then you cling to that hope as if it might yet be reality.

You know whose reality this is.

You’ve grown complacent. 

You’ve forgotten.

Unwise, when you did not live for yourself.

-Yuji?-

Kyoto was turning out less profitable than he hoped. Barely any cursed spirits lingered in the vicinity despite such a location’s natural affinity for spawning them. It was rather unusual, all things considered. He’d first come here a few months ago at the behest of a client— once he hadn’t been able to breath without tasting the bitter tang of cursed energy or look anywhere without spotting a vile spirit; an endless sea of fourth-grades, the occasional grade 3 lurking on shoulders or whispering in ears, and a pattering of grade 2s lingering in shadows— Nothing too threatening, nothing that wouldn’t reemerge after a time-consuming exorcism and grow fat and lazy on all of these pathetic monkeys.

Now, curses seemed almost… scarce.

There was still an endless supply of them. There always would be with the amount of monkeys that lived in the city, but despite Kyoto’s roots being the origin of the shaman world, what creatures lingered here seemed rather pathetic compared to the memories of his youth.

At first, he hadn’t had the time, or the freedom with so many eyes on him, to take advantage of this swarm of pets. He’d already left Nanako and Mimiko alone for longer than he was comfortable with, even if it was his organization now, Geto Sugrru would never dare leave his girls to the Star Religious Group for longer than necessary.

Too many memories.

Too many regrets.

But sending his girls to a monkey school did have its perks. He needn’t worry too much.

Yurei Itadori was a protective little thing; her brother, from the glimpses he’d gathered, also seemed to have that trait. 

The integration was going well. His girls liked them, and, despite the rough start, they seemed to like his girls as well. All his children getting along, it made his heart warm and soothed his spirit.

Kyoto, for now, had been picked clean of potential curses to consume. At least, not without gaining the attention of the sister school that was far too close for comfort.

He wondered if any other soccerers had noticed the sharp decline in evolved special grades.

They probably didn’t care enough to go looking.

With no curses to subdue and consume, the man allowed habit and curiosity to direct his path.

The route was ingrained in him by now, this small trek to Kyoto Primary School. He would be early today— perhaps he could catch his future charges before they tried to sneak away again.

It was faintly adorable when they did that. Concerning, but adorable.

Entering the gates, frowning at the concrete and steel structure— at least Jujistu High, for all its faults, knew how to incorporate color— something caught Suguru Getou’s eye.

Pink was like a beacon in the night for him these days, something about that shade always elicited an immediate burst of attention. In the same way, pine and salt of his girls’ energies always calmed him.

Children changed a person. Rewrote priorities and restructured the world.

Pink meant an Itadori. One of his children.

Had Yurei sneaked out again? She had a habit of that. It was a dangerous one.

Following silently, Getou found his pink.

A child was humming as they examined the contents of a vending machine. The school uniform is covered by a large yellow hoodie. Cursed Energy was just as repressed as ever.

Yurei jumped as his shoes padded over the cement, the scratch of loose gravel breaking that childish song.

Getou had never caught Yurei by surprise before.

Was she getting used to him?

The child turned, golden irises looking up at him with a shining brightness that would have been on par with Satoru had they not been so warm. The boy smiled.

“Oh, it's you!”

Suguru could smell it. The faintest wisps of smoke in the air, traces and remnants, a shadow. This one was an incredibly weak sorcerer, a window, if anything. 

The smell piqued his senses. But it was off. Smoke like a campfire, but it seemed almost tainted with something… soapy?

“I’m Yuji! What’s your name? Please take care of me!”

The boy gives a little bow, his attempt at formality cute and utterly ruined by his warm personality. It was incredibly odd for someone to be so friendly, to look at another with recognition despite never meeting before, and to introduce like they were strangers after all.

So like Haibara. May he rest in peace.

“I am Suguru Geto. It is very nice to meet you, Yuji.” He smiled, eyes half-lidded as the grin stretched across his face. This was a monumental moment, he was meeting his son in person for the first time. 

Based on the dimpled-marked face that greeted him, this was going far better than his introduction to Yurei in the cereal aisle. This was downright friendly.

Something. Something about it tickled Getou’s mind. Something about this situation. Something he’d missed or forgotten.

No. His first meeting with Yurei hadn’t been at the grocery store. Not on the street outside Kyoto Primary either. It had been… in a shopping district. Back when he was a student. With Satoru.

Satoru had said something about her. Something about a twin… how had he known that at the time?

A curse, one of the many surveillance and warning detectors he has scattered about the area, returns to him and settles on his shoulder.

Yuji didn’t even blink.

Neither did Yurei.

Even in close quarters to a curse and a sorcerer, Yuji’s signature remained stubbornly vacant.

So did Yurei’s.

Getou tilted his head toward his new son, voice warm and soft, a hand stretching out from his robes. 

“I will be more than happy to take care of you, Yuji.”

His hand sits on a bed of sakura curls, and the first thing that comes to mind is how soft the child’s hair is.

And then Getou realizes the difference between Yuji and Yurei Itadori. 

Yuji Itadori isn’t weak.

Yuji Itadori is empty.

Yuji Itadori was a monkey.

There is nothing there to feel. 

Disgust and anger, confusion and grief, they swirl within a second of that contact. There is no cursed energy in Yuji Itadori, nothing beyond the curse creating trouble that leaks out of all humans, all monkeys.

His fingers tighten, and Yuji winces.

That face looks so much like Yurei. 

That face hides an ugly truth from the world.

Yuji Itadori was a monkey.

Getou can’t breathe. The air refuses to leave his lungs, trapped in his throat, as if something grips his throat, choking him from the inside out. The air is heavy and hot. He can’t inhale. He can’t exhale.

Looking into gold eyes, he can only see blue.

Riko’s ocean blue. Dull and empty. 

Satoru’s glacial. Muted and cold.

And red. So, so much red.

The monkey, the boy, is still there. Still smiling. Head looking up at him, winching slightly under the fist that clenches his hair. Doe eyes. Gold eyes. Innocent eyes.

Monkey eyes.

They flick to something behind Getou. Calm, unflinching, stupid little lamb, they only widen. Mouth open as the child monkey waves.

There is something behind Suguru.

Something hot.

Something heavy.

Something angry.

Looking behind him, the curse-user does not see a towering monster. He sees a child. 

Another child with gold eyes, but these ones burn and prick. Flashing in pure molten rage, Yurei Itadori stands in the middle of a storm of her own creation. An unrelenting, oppressive, fearful mass of energy that encircled and slammed against the curse-user.

This was not the energy of a fourth grade.

This might not even be the energy of a second.

Smoke pried him open, forcing its way through his defenses. He could feel it tearing into his flesh, clawing against him. Feral and wild. Scared and unhinged.

A tiger cub clawing at a wolf.

Why was she so afraid?

What was making his daughter so scared?

“How dare you touch Yuji!”

Chapter Text

There is a moment before a storm hits. A silent, still moment where breaths are held and the world freezes. A silence that witnesses cannot help but brace themselves against, as the weight of life recedes, pulled taut against the anchors of its creation, and all the little pinpricks of people can’t help but look up and know. Know that the silence is but for a moment. Know that the surge is coming. Know that no matter what you do or where you run, destruction will follow, and there is only enough time to watch it bear down.

Getou knows this false peace. He felt it the moment Riko’s outstretched hand went limp, at the sight of dark blue eyes, dull and unseeing, widened only by reflex. The girl’s fall had taken years, eons. Her bandana forever floating and the red of her blood, flowing like an eternal fountain. Seconds dragged into a lifetime, a wave receeding only to crash back over him with a vengence and the cocky smile of the hitman who’d finished the job.

Suguru didn’t remember much of those moments, of the devastation that had lingered behind the flood. Riko’s body. The cult. Satoru. People clapping, applauding , for a child’s death.

Smiling, the monkey’s had been fucking grinning over it.

And Satoru, who had been ready to return his own wave of terror, to give a tsunami back to the storm and turn the waters red.

Suguru had stopped it then. Floundering among the debris of a world he no longer understood, he’d been weak and hesitant where the number one had remained strong.

Getou had never thought he’d feel the same stillness again, the warning before the end, the moment of peace before the ruin of a mistake too late to be corrected.

You had yet to experience that silence. For all your experience and terror, you had yet to freeze and become a victim of time. Such a horror had never crossed your mind.

You and Getou were learning not to count out such possibilities.

Anger.

Wrath.

Fear.

So much fear.

You think you're saying something. You think you do something, but all you can hear is the rushing of blood in your ears and the thrum of Yuji’s life. He is everything. He’s all there is.

He’s going to be taken away.

Yuji is right there. It wouldn’t take you so much as ten steps—no, five, and you could grab him. Grab him and drag him far, far away from the vermin that was touching him.

Getou is holding Yuji. Pink threads sticking out between callused fingers. A hand cradling a child’s skull.

How much time would it take? For that man to sever a head from a body? For that hand to shatter immature bone?

How much less time would it take to kill if he let a curse swallow a child whole?

How much time do you have to save your brother?

Fear.

Fear.

Fear.

You can’t breathe. You’ve forgotten how.

Yuji just stands there and smiles. “Mo!” he squeaks, waving a tiny hand, “I haven’t gotten the snacks yet! Did Sensei end class early?”

Fear.

Fear.

Fear.

Oblivious. Your other half is oblivious. His smile shines like the sun, and he feels just as warm and hopeful. Soft. Kind.

Yuji.

 -Mo?-

You should be thinking logically. Remember the plot, the plan ; Kenjaku wouldn’t waste his masterpiece.

Kenjaku should have smothered you in the crib.

The brain may not be the most rational creature. He was never the most predictable. You can’t even trust a murderer to murder.

Why did you ever start to let down your guard with Suguru Getou?

“Let. My brother. Go.”

And how you hate .

The scent of pine is strong but pitiful. It's wispy and shallow, trembling between your barred teeth, but you sense it before you hear the clambering footsteps.

Mimiko and Nanako screech to a halt somewhere behind you. This is upsetting. You’d prefer them to remain ignorant.

You’ll be kinder than Kenjaku.

You won’t leave a corpse intact enough to carry false hopes.

Kinder .

The burning slithers through your veins, smoke wrapping around your heart with every beat.

They won’t understand it. They never would, and how that makes a piece of you ache and mourn and scream.

You will be kind.

And you are sorry .

Death is in your eyes as you step forward, fire in your gut as your energy pulses and moves. Sluggish, atrophied, but alive and angry . Afraid and lashing . You are a half-starved animal. A predator cornered, a tiger poked and prodded through the bars of your cage.

Inexperienced does not change who you are. It does not edit what you are capable of.

It only challenges how well you may bite .

“ Mo! ”

Honey-brown eyes, bright and reflecting gold, block your view of prey . A hand grabs you, thumb to your pulse, and palm pushing you down.

Bright and grinning, your twin sun is immune to the flames that course through your veins.

Tiger to kitten, the teeth clamp down, and the smoke recedes. Not as a wave, not as trouble, a band pulled back, awaiting a slip of attention to recoil. 

Yuji tames your wrath with a look and a touch, and you want to cry as you wrap around him. Smoke engulfing like a cloak, your arms tight around his shoulder, he’s here, and he’s alive, he’s okay –

His thrum is music to your soul, and his heartbeat is grounding to your mind. There is only you and Yuji . Only his thrum and your smoke. No coffee, no pine, no rot.

Just you and him.

Like it should be.

- There will always be us, Mo. I promise-

Excitement

Worry

Confusion

A python coiled around your home branch. A dragon curled over your hoard. You grumble as Yuji turns back to the stunned Stalker-sama.

You are unwilling to do much else.

Yuji is in your arms now, safe . To let go of him now is unthinkable, even if to neutralize the threat.

You do not want to kill Suguru.

You might have to kill Suguru.

Don’t kill.

Kill.

The instincts rage and roar, something inside of you demands blood and pain. Something clings for peace and sanctuary. Getou the monster. Suguru the idealist. Character and man, stranger and mother , your vision doubles and dances. You can’t control it. You can’t silence it. You want to tear your head apart and throw these conflicting ideas to the ends of the earth.

The Earth is round. Those ideas would just come soaring right back to your skull and crush it into splinters and mush.

Getou is pale. Hand still hanging in the air as amethyst eyes stare at the pair of you in abject horror. It's how a normal person might stare at a curse. Disbelief, revulsion, shock warring with strains of grief and resignation.

Getou is strange. You don’t think you can understand him.

It may be better not to.

—Flay him alive. Peel away unblemished skin and reveal the tendons and muscles beneath.  Blue veins and pink flesh. Let the fascia string like a spider's web, pulled fine and torn. See if curses do linger in that belly, if their bitter tar has left a stain beyond the corruption in his gaze. Show just how pointless his ideas are. Sorcerer or not, all feel pain and all bleed red. All die—

“Getou-sama?” A trembling voice comes from behind you. There’s a thud. Something slightly heavy drops against the pavement. You don’t look. You don’t look because that means looking away from Stalker-sama and turning your eyes to two children who are about as threatening as that Spider Curse over Sensei’s desk. 

You don’t want to know if they’re here when you snap. Your bones vibrate beneath flesh, acid churning in your stomach, and a fire brewing in your gut. Your hands tremble against Yuji’s yellow hoodie, the color matching your own, and you know the fingers connected to you are twitching for something to destroy.

Yuji welcomes them. He welcomes you.

You don’t want to hurt Mimi and Nana. You don’t want to hurt anyone.

But you will. You can. 

So many ways to hurt. So many fewer ways to heal.

You want Yuji safe more than you want your peace.

But, apparently, Yuji only wants your misery.

“Have lunch with us!”

Bright. Cheery. Oblivious. Your mirror practically chirps the sentence, and the simmering boil within you surges back into a bonfire.

-No.-

-Yes!-

“Mo is really hungry,” he continues, turning his head around and batting his eyes, “Food always makes her feel better!”

The sound you make is inhuman, perhaps only matched by the strangled yelp from Getou as Yuji stomps over to him, your feet dragging behind you both. Yuji’s unnatural strength, far beyond what an eight-year-old should be capable of, reduces you to nothing more than an oddly shaped cape.

He is still holding your wrist, thumb against your pulse.

If he wasn’t… You don’t know what you’d be doing right now.

Calm.

Confident.

Calm.

He’s soothing you. His thrum interweaving and pulling you tight against him. The thread to your fabric of smoke, holding you together. 

The burn recedes, the wave pulls back. The surge abates.

You still watch. Glaring at the silent man in front of you, amethyst eyes wide and fearful , confused , sorrow , sorrow , sorrow —

Getou Suguru is a creature of stubborn will and painful regret. You know this. A righteous daydream twisted and brought down from the highs of heaven and into the demented hell this world had always been beneath its colorful veil— and yet , he dances through the carnage with a smile. An angel singing praises even as burned hands tear apart creation and devil horns impale his peers. A demented madman. A deluded soul clinging so hard to a dying dream that he strangles it.

But he isn’t that monster yet. Almost. Near. But not quite there just yet.

He isn’t alone either.

You can smell sour pine, quivering and confused behind you. Mimi and Nana follow at a skittish distance; their confusion and fear are bitter on your tongue.

It pulls at you. Like Gramps' disappointment, it pricks and tugs, and you don’t like it . Getou is their hero. Getou is their savior. Getou is their father .

They die without him. They die pleading for him. Die looking to save the desecrated remains of him.

Tucking your head against Yuji’s neck, feeling that artery pulse against your brow, you rumble and seethe. Why can’t life be simple? Why can’t you tear apart this reality with your teeth? Why can’t you bring the plot to its knees?

Yuji squeezes your wrist. Warmth wages war against heat.

The burning coils tight, heat that scorches you is pushed down, down, down, and it bites back. Enraged as it claws against you. 

—Spilt open his throat. Tear it apart and peel it back. Crack open cartilage and pluck out vocal cords, reach down and pull out that broken heart—

It revolting. It’s bitter . Tasting bile and rot and charcoal. The image of a red chuck of meat, the phantom feeling of warmth dripping down your chin. Your body knows it, your mind is familiar with it, and memory sings with the urges even as bile rises past your throat and fear zips up your spine.

You're not a cannibal.

You don’t eat people.

You’ve never killed someone.

And yet it’s not the bitter tang of bile that you swallow, but the watery mucus of saliva.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Comfort.

Worry.

Love.

The boy keeps his distance from the curse user, not daring to approach with the sputtering storm on his back, but he bows as much as he is able— your legs leave the ground before he rights himself—and the boy lets his dimples shine.

“Take us to lunch, Oji-san!”

The silence is deafening.

It’s quite a sight, two pairs of twins; a brunette holding back a blonde and a boy holding back his mirror. Two faces screaming death with their counterparts looking up to Suguru with wide-eyed innocence.

Getou blinks. 

It’s only from his years as a shaman, his training on the ever-evolving battlefield of curses, and the antics of that sapphire-eyed little— that Suguru can pull himself together to react.

He smiles. Slowly clasping his hands in front of him, head tilting and eyes crinkling as he nods.

“That sounds like a lovely idea.”

The hair on his neck is still raised, muscles still taunt as the bitter tang of his captured curses roils within him.

He won’t harm a child. He won’t be like the monsters that have ruined this world.

Yet, as he locks eyes with twin pairs, honey-brown veiling a raging molten gold, and that gaze drifts to the beloved faces of his other children, Suguru can’t help but feel a whisper of doubt.

He remembers the silences. The moments before disaster, when the world flips on its edge and reality comes crashing down.

Gojo’s smile as he was stabbed in the throat. Riko’s smile before the bullet carved through her skull. Nanako and Mimiko’s pleading eyes, broken, resigned, fearful, before their bindings were burned away.

So why does a new memory of silence enter Suguru's mind as Yuji pulls his twin along, as Mimiko and Nanako’s hands grasp his robe, and they all walk together in awkward clusters to a small sushi place not too far away? One of a trembling child with snarling, cursed energy, and the embodiment of childish innocence in her arms. A blank void of nothing reached out, a monkey , looking at him like he was a gift from the heavens, while the shaman-child stared as if he was a curse torn free from the bowels of the earth.

And why did the thought of it all make him want to scream?

Silence is neither friend nor foe, but you can’t help but think of it as a spirit within itself. A trickster sprawled above you, still hands clawed into off-white tiles as a jagged smile curves up past bulging hungry eyes. Silence is neither friend nor foe, but it hungers, and salivates for fullness in drama, enlightenment, or weight.

You can almost see it, how it would lean down, opaque and square, cold, bony hands clutching at the orange fabric of your booth, head twisting between either side of this quiet little standoff in a quiet little restaurant.

Drama. Enlightenment. Weight.

Silence would feed well here. 

A thrum breaks it. Warmth, peace, intrigue, and sings with its soft hums as Yuji leans over the shiny yellow barrier that separates the seats from the conveyor. He’s vibrating, smile wide and eyes bright as he looks back at his hostages and the impending arrival of food.

Your jaw stops clenching. Your breath stops hissing. Your eyes do not look away from Getou.

Getou does not stop looking at Yuji.

A yowl burns its way up your throat– tear out his eyes, stomp them beneath your heel, and grasp his neck, twist his hands and snap his wrists, sever appendage from limb, and grip his face beneath them. Cold thumbs in eyes, palms to temples, push and crush, and burn and slice–

You are calm. You are very calm right now.

A hand squeezes your wrist. Thumb pushing into your pulse, and warmth leaking through.

Yuji can’t help but think, as he feels Mo burrow her way into him, as the anger and fear morph into a deeper confusion , that this is a great idea.

Sometimes people had to sit down and properly meet with everyone. Face to face. Without distractions or other grown-up problems getting in the way. Besides, when an opportunity comes, Yuji should help others- 

Just like what Gramps always said.

And this was the perfect time to help! Now they could all be friends! And everyone could be happy .

You are not nearly as deluded. Part of the perks of being somewhat adult, pessimism is strong within you. Yuji has revealed himself to be a mystery. Honestly, considering your connection, that’s quite impressive on his part, even if it is annoying for you. 

Not at all subtly, you slide right next to your brother and push him toward the end of the booth. He’s right up against the conveyor belt, but the thing is low enough that you're pretty sure you both could jump it relatively easily. Besides, with the mischief maker cornered, it frees up your attention to focus solely on the latest annoyance in your life, not the bane, only one person could ever qualify as the bane of your existence.

If you need to, you’ll make Yuji run.

-No.-

And you’ll make sure Kenjaku’s vessel gets a few more scars .

- Nopey Nope No-

The boy is all smiles and bright eyes. He is entranced by the conveyor belt as he swipes off plate after plate.  He’s barely eaten, too busy talking, the topic changing every three sentences to another bout of eccentric genius. Silence is well and truly dead in the face of Yuji Itadori. Tiny hands grabbing and pushing fresh entrees in front of your friends , like a proud grandma who's dead set on feeding her family.

Getou tries not to react; he’s not one for visual perceptions of the finer points of cursed energy, just like any other sorcerer, he’s only capable of seeing auras strong enough to be seen by themselves. Still, the nature of his technique and strength makes him more sensitive to such displays, but even Mimiko and Nanako, young and still developing, are gaping at the territorial response in front of them. Not looking away even as they whisper amongst themselves.

“ I told you!”

“ S-shut up!”

Smoke wraps around Yuji like a cloak, winding around him like a hissing viper. A cobra, flared and looking for a reason to strike.

Not even the monkeys are breaching the invisible barrier you’ve created. No one has approached the table; the customary greetings upon their entrance to the restaurant were hollow and fleeting. Another table, monkeys having some intelligence after all, has moved down, creating more distance between themselves and the unconscious threat. 

“T-this is weally good!” Yuji Itadori garbles. “Try it Mo! You’ll like it!”

You eat the sashimi he passes you without breaking eye contact. Salmon melting between your teeth, soothing and unsatisfying on your tongue. An extra set of chopsticks remains clenched in your spare hand. You’ll keep those free. Just in case. 

The tower of plates next to you shakes as another husk joins its kin. 

For a flash, the mountain of colored plates could be a mountain of bones.

Calm

Peace

Happy

You stare past your opponents, friends, enemies, peers, and you don’t see Getou’s eyes and stiff smile. You don’t see Mimi and Nana nudging each other into grabbing a plate from your better’s hands. You don’t see. If you don’t see, you can’t acknowledge. If you can’t acknowledge that the thing must not exist.

Works well enough for curses.

It worked well enough for Kenjaku once. 

There’s half an urge to spit out the food in your mouth, a whispering instinct to take a bite out of the man in front of you or chew on the boy at your side— but you don’t.

You shovel another plate into your mouth. You ignore how your throat twitches as rice, tuna, and nori squeeze their way down.

You're ignoring a lot today.

It’s hardly anything new.

“So.” There isn’t so much as a tremble in that smooth voice, and that fact makes you clench your fists, “a bit late for proper introductions,” Suguru chuckles in what might be a self-deprecating manner, “but it’s nice to finally meet you, Yuji.”

Rice goes flying from the boy's mouth, “Ni-c mee yuu! Immnon gunna choke– ehm, I’ve heard a lot about you!”

The slow blink from the man is oddly reminiscent of a feline. The smug smile and hopeful purr of his voice are almost comical as Suguru’s head tilts, and an unruly bang droops in front of one eye. An unassuming predator catching sight of a wandering chick. “Do Mimiko and Nanako talk about me then?”

Perhaps you're making too much of it. Of everything. Getou hasn’t done anything legitimately threatening. If anything, he’s been persistently and coincidentally creepy. Nothing outright murderous.

Why haven’t you ripped out his jugular? You're not making too much of it-

And an elbow meets your gut, and an eel roll is shoved into your mouth. You hate eel .

“Nope!”

“Yurei?”

“Na uh- well , she does sometimes. Then she gets all mean about me listening.”

-Yuji!-

-What? You do!-

You force your mind blank, shoving down the irritation that curls up.

“ See! Just like that! So mean- ”

Your teeth snap next to his cheek. Giggling shrieks are the send-off to a flung piece of a tuna roll. A hand yanks down on the strings of his hoodie, another rises, and one space bun is pulled free.

Like a popped balloon, or a lit firework, it's just a moment, and all of that pressure, that anger and hate is… gone.

There’s just Yuji. Yuji and his smile. His joy . His warmth . His light.

In a moment, you are simply Mo Itadori. A child playing with her brother. Belly-full in a simple world that you don’t need to understand. In a moment, Yuji blows out the wrath you’ve worked so hard to smother.

There’s a huff from the other side of the table. Your head jerks, alert even if docile, you stiffen at the odd faces being made by the twins across from you.

Were..? Were they laughing at you?

Grumbling, you steal all five plates from Yuji’s side of the table and start stuffing your face. Stupid children .

“Hey! Mean!”

A curtain of sakura pink moves with your snort. Drooping dangerously close to a puddle of soy sauce, you whip your head back and—

The hair falls right back. This time in the sauce.

Maybe you should let Gramps cut it back down to your chin.

…

No.

“She literally didn’t do anything?” Blondie grumbles though she doesn’t deviate from Getou’s side as she glares at you. The girl has some backbone in her. Or maybe she knows just how unthreatening a child must be to a master sorcerer. Maybe it's a fact they both realize, after the silent rush to the restaurant and agonizing quiet in the booth. Cursed energy or not, you are not the threat here. Not in a way that matters.

Mimiko peeks around her sister, head tilting in such a Suguru way that it makes your heart hurt. “Her energy was calm.” Fingers fiddle with earphones in her lap, plastic tapping against plastic, loud and jarring against the pulse of blood in your skull. 

Mimiko meets your eyes and her fingers still.

Something in you tightens when she doesn’t flinch.

You are a child. A little girl. A civilian in a world of monsters. Cursed energy or not, Getou could kill you in a second if he wanted to. A part of you is shocked he hasn’t already. A part of you wants to still try and kill him first. You were not strong enough to take on the Second Strongest in jiujitsu society. No matter what your instincts thought, Getou would obliterate you and whatever spattering of curse energy you kept smothered in your flesh.

—Purge the weakness, kill, consume, rise, and splatter them beneath your touch—

But what else could you do?

What… what indeed. What to do in this unprecedented situation? What opportunity? Yes, some dark corner of your being was calling for blood— and then some, if you were being honest— but something else was slithering its way forward. Something stubborn and sly compared to the blunt wrath.

Getou was a threat, that within itself was certain, but he wasn’t as threatening as he could be.

Opportunity.

You wanted to ease Yuji’s pain in this life. To lessen the severe hand of fate that a cyclops-cat decided to routinely smack him with. You would do that, if for nothing else than making sure your twin never bore those burdens alone.

But… What if you did more than support?

What if…

What if you dismantled it?

Getou himself wouldn’t cause that much trouble for Yuji, he’d be dead long before they could have met— would’ve been dead before the two could have met. The real pain came from Kenjaku wielding Getou’s body and technique. You were fuzzy on the details, but you knew enough to realize that Curse Manipulation was a vital component in the Brain’s plan.

But if Getou wasn’t there to be used, if Kenjack never got his grubby neurons in the curse user's spinal cord, never got that technique…

Well… that would be inconvenient, wouldn’t it?

Opportunity. An opportunity to snatch a tool away from Mother Dearest before they even had it, and a way to ease Yuji’s impending protagonist trauma. Suguru Getou could be yours.

There was also sparing Getou the desecration and maybe solving a sore point for Gojo, but mostly sticking it to the Brain and helping Yu.

Only helping Yu .

You could be pragmatic. You could be gracious . You could be better. 

You think Gramps would like this plan more anyway.

Wasuke could never find out.

A hand, pleased , patted your head as feet stretched under the table to timidly tap your toes. Oh. You’d zoned out for a minute there, hadn’t you? Two pairs of brown eyes met yours, degrees of worry and annoyance staring into your own blank ones. Mimi raised her fist. White wires poking out between fingers, as she hesitated. Plastic tapped against wood, only to softly slide across to you. Fingertips pushing the earbuds a little further, with a soft huff, Mimiko withdrew.

You stared, the world fading into a blur, even Yuji’s words dulling to faded lyrics as you took in the odd interaction. An uncharacteristic look of annoyance found you. You shrugged. Rolling her eyes, Mimi pointed to her ear before lifting a small black thing. Her MP3 player.

She… wanted you to listen to music? Why? What would she gain from that right now?

Slowly, you shook your head, leaving the temptation where it lay.

Comfort enfolded you, even as Yuji didn’t look away from his Very Important Discussion.

“Gramps says you can’t call people rude things or say bad words. It's bad manners… Unless they deserve it.” Pointing at you with the end of a chopstick, Yuji continues to Suguru’s indulgent nods and Nana’s quizzical gaze, “Well, she thought it.”

“Yuji–” Suguru’s voice is sweet and heavy, like syrup, and it makes you curse the sound even as you lean in, “you can’t know what someone else is thinking.”

“I always know what Mo’s thinking.”

“And how do you do that, Mon-key ?”

– Deathandpaindeathandpain,Nanakoshalldiescreaming,hertearswillclearawaythebloodandhermouthwillbeopeninasilentscream.Removethetongue,ripoutthevocalcords,pullawaythejaw,Mimiwillbesad,Getouwill despise—

“We share a brain.”

Every racing thought, every new crackling of the rising inferno, is doused in plain hissing silence. Yuji. What the f—

“Can we do that?” Nanako asks. If it's to Mimi, Getou-sama, or even the universe, she does not know.

“Yuji-” Suguru hides his mouth behind his sleeve, odd considering the man hasn’t eaten once this entire time, “You and Yurei don’t share a brain .”

“We do!” the boy insists, leaning across the table. “And it's a big brain!”

All three sorcerers turn to look at you, as if the silent girl, the one who terrorizes school systems, sneaks out to drink coffee, and reads metaphysical books in her free time, would offer any light on the matter. So, of course, you do.

“It has to be big,” you nod, “Yuji is very smart.”

Keeping the smile away is a harder battle than it should be, but you don’t know that the slightest twitch was enough for Suguru to think he could win the war.

Something shifts throughout the meal. Maybe it’s the fear reeking from the kitchens as empty plate after empty plates join the stacks of your fortress, but as the walls of dishes grow higher, something feels almost safer. At this moment, the Getou clan is inside your barriers. At this moment, that doesn’t feel like the threat it should be.

But you're not a creature of calm, are you?

“What do you want from us, Creepy-sama?”

Chapter Text

You had yet to kill anyone. This was an accomplishment that had gone unnoticed by the world. Despite the instincts screaming against your soul to tear, and bleed, and rip the ignorant apart— despite the violence hidden in the world outside of you, despite it all, you, Yurei Itadori, have not yet ended a life.

Tormented? Thinking back to Sensei, yes. Terrified, most definitely, but you had not killed. As far as you were aware. That was a streak of innocence you’ve carried on from your past life. A mercy the world did not yet know to be thankful for.

You would not kill Suguru Getou. This was your decision. 

“ What do you want from us, Creepy-sama?”

Little did you know that decision had almost been rendered moot. Multiple times. His heart was having the same fluctuations as an 80-year-old with road rage playing Mario Kart. It was a miracle Suguru was still breathing; he’d probably be dead now if he had a frailer constitution. 

He hadn’t made it to the ancient age of twenty-one by being frail.

“Yurei, you—and your brother— are incredibly special. I know-“

“Again.”

The man blinked, mouth still slightly ajar from being cut off mid-speech. You simply nodded at him, borderline encouraging despite the blank look on your features, “Try again.”

“What Mo means,” Yuji interjects, passing another piece of sushi to his twin as he smiles at the three ruffled ducks currently sitting in front of his tiger of a sister, “is that your opening line sounds suspiciously like the beginning of a grooming attempt, and that it’s additionally triggering. She does not resent you for the first trigger. You cannot help your face.” He pauses for a moment, the words circulating between you sounding significantly different in the air. “Hey— did you just make me insult someone?!?”

The smile that cracks from between your lips is borderline curse-like.

-Don’t worry, I won’t snitch.-

The offered sushi does not meet your lips. Instead, it's a mass of rice and a splash of soy sauce that meets your forehead. A killer shot, and a much-deserved one. With a shrug, you stuff the edible projectile into your mouth. Waste not after all.

- Yeah, Mo, be nice or face my fishie wrath!-

-Yum. Keep ‘em coming-

You ignore how the other twins seem torn between seeming disgust and odd fascination at the mute war on your side of the booth. Food fights may not be the most mature way of handling conflict- Gramps would skin you both alive if he could see you now- but the absurdity was… nice.

It made this all seem almost normal by comparison.

But it wasn’t. And you had a mission to complete. Now, that mission had a side-quest to fulfil. Gold-eyes narrow as your tiny spine straightens up. You know you're not threatening, know that, even if the burning in your gut feels like it will eat you alive if you're not careful, whatever energy you might have must be a drop in the ocean compared to the curse-manipulator in front of you.

Regardless, something in the air must change as the patronizing smile drops from Getou’s face. He’s looking at you with open curiosity and caution on his features. For the first time since you’ve met him, it doesn’t look like the curse user is prepping to pull out a pamphlet from his sleeves.

“Hey, Mimiko and Nanako,” your brighter half crawls over you, an elbow poking your stomach with waves of apology and humor as he escapes the safe corner you pinned him into. “Let’s go grab some dessert! There’s a really good crepe place that Mo knows!” 

Yuji doesn’t wait for the girls to follow him before he skips off, remarkably slow all things considered, as he peeks over his shoulder, smiling and waving them forward. There’s a cart a few shops down outside. Neither of you has ever been there. You always pay more attention to the actual restaurants featuring crepes than the small stands.

No particular reason for that. None whatsoever.

Mimi and Nana visibly perk up, two faces that follow Yuji’s departing form with the raptness of a baby eyeing shiny red lollipops. You’d know. You remember.

Curses upon Toji Fushiguro.

Twin pairs of puppy eyes dart to Suguru Getou. Pleading, pitiful, the picture of childish need and demands. The fake monk shakes his head. In a moment, a look and an odd huff that can only be described as fond escapes him, before hair is ruffled with head pats and a permissive nod is given.

“ Come right back, you three.”

Something in you cracks. You don’t know why. Gramps is kind. Yuji is all you need. 

You hold your loved ones between your teeth, even if they’re bound to crack and melt away; they’re the only things you need to feel satisfied in this world. So why does your gut twist and stomach clamp as the silence returns?

Yuji is all there is for you in this life. All that matters.

You have one purpose.

You need one purpose.

“He was correct.” The silence hisses back as your words snap against its fragile skin. Icebreakers are a good place to start, right? Humerous truth before you launch into your sermon? “His revenge is making me talk. Petty.” 

Pride

You smother your smile with a shake of your head. No sense in Getou thinking you're insane. That would be very unhelpful.

“Start again. Like I’m not a validation-starved child.”

One blink. Then Two. Suguru looks at you like you are some strange enigma crafted by the universe and placed upon the earth just to befuddle him.

Arrogant. You’d prefer to befuddle everything if you must befuddle at all.

“Fine.” Arms cross, and you wonder if those sleeves are silk with how they reflect the fluorescent lights, “You're a sorcerer, Yurei.”

“And Harry was a wizard before he passed his OWLS.”

“What?”

“What?”

Smoothing your voice to something a little higher, you cock your head and blink owlishly. A picture of innocence as you lean forward and ask, “What’s a sorcerer?”

Yes , you think as you brush your hair from your eyes, still an asymmetrical mess from your previous scuffle, you are the picture of naivety and deniability.

“You can see curses, Yurei, I know you can.” Amethyst eyes turn hard, a wave of coffee beans hits your nose as he leans forward, the intense eye contact pricking at something primal in your brain, “A sorcerer can see them and interact with them. That makes you incredibly dangerous to them, but also a target.”

A pink curtain covers your face again, as you look down. This time, you don’t brush it away. “So eye contact is aggressive. Answer: Carve out my eyes.”

“This isn’t something to joke about.”

If he knew you, he’d know that wasn’t one. “What proof do you have that I can see the… bad juju was it?”

“Mimiko and Nanako talk to me, Yurei, I’m their father.”

Tearful teenagers on their knees before a king. Twin girls whining for crepes behind a terrorist declaring war. Child soldiers fighting against experts at the whims of a mask-wearing monster. Two daughters basking in silence, one reading at their idol’s feet and the other brushing his hair as they ask about an old friend.

Gold meets amethyst. The burn bites at your throat like bile, “Then why don’t they address you as such?”

Silence returns. You didn’t mean to snap. You don’t know why you did, why something about the Getou family story pricks at you and makes your spirit hiss like water thrown into a fire.

You shouldn’t care. You didn’t in The Before. At least, not that you think with everything so muddled and grey and distant. It was Yuji who had captured your mind, Yuji who had anchored and weaved something meaningful in this life. The rest of the world, of these characters, hadn't been so much as a passing thought. You had never really cared for the temporary lives beyond the timed beating hearts of your small family. You can’t afford to now. Not when your life is on a countdown.

Not for the first time, and most certainly not for the last, Suguru wishes he might’ve had the Six Eyes, or some technique that would let him peer inside the mind veiled behind a too sharp voice and too distant eyes. 

But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? Too simple to reduce Yurei Itadori to a pattern of thoughts. There’s something there, something eerily similar to the bite he’s seen his girls lash out at strangers they don’t trust. A feral bite that looks more at home on a stray cat than a child. And when he looks back on it in his dreams, even Riko had those shields. Armor sharper than the cruelty they’d all been born into. Lives that had been held hostage by those who deemed to know better– little girls who had to reckon with their own mortality and find some peace in a world that was systematically taking everything from them just because of how they had been born.

Held hostage by those who say they know better.

He… he really wasn’t much different here, was he?

“Look. From my perspective, the most I can logically know about you is that you are a stranger who coincidentally shows up everywhere I am. You have two young kids, you claim to be your daughters, but they address you without any familiarity, and you're obviously not their biological sperm donor.”

This time it wasn’t a hitman in the shadows, it wasn’t a council of old geezers, or monkeys that had scared themselves half out of their minds… it was just him. Just him and a confusing, confounding pair of children that defied every expectation he’d had.

“Now you come here, take me and my brother away to a secluded location, and start with your special drivel with a Narnia story to boot. It reads like child kidnapping. Repeated child kidnapping.” 

Suguru Getou was Yurei Itadori’s monster. He was the thing that was destroying her childhood. God. And her brother – Yuji was a normie. He knew how close shaman twins were; he saw it every day when he looked at his girls. 

He’d just been ignoring the problem. Hoping he knew better than the facts that had been reported to him. The Z’enins had a similar dilemma, but not even they would separate the pair.

How had he entertained something not even the fucking Z’enin Clan would?

“You're not a cult leader, are you…  yet?”

“- What? ” The question pulled him back to reality. An absurd, cruel reality with his not-yet daughter staring at him as if she’d asked if it had started raining outside. 

“Cult leader. A bunch of devotees ready to do whatever you want? Like kiss your feet or child sacrifice, or some other bad thing that only the deeply delusionally brainwashed would?”

“No.”

“You're pretty enough to start one.”

Getou didn’t know how to take that comment.

“Look, even if what you were saying was true— I’ve been with Yuji his whole life. He cannot see what you're talking about. And neither can I. He’d tell me. So if that’s the case, where does he fit into your story?”

He tried not to wince. The girl’s gaze was too predatory to make Suguru think he succeeded. 

“My brother is not less than or something to be looked down at. If anything, he's better.”

“Yuji is not better than you-”

“You wouldn’t say that if you were in our mind.”

The psychic thing again? Something about it ticked a buried and smothered corner of his mind, a prick of memory too small and specific to be summoned. It was a cute joke on an annoying monkey stereotype. Suguru had half a mind to call her out on the lie, eight years old or not. But Yurei didn’t give him a chance. For a child who had been noted as selectively mute on most of her records, she was remarkably fired up.

It reminded him of Mimiko ranting about a new manga.

“In the impossible reality, Yuji is not with me, I still would find your offer stupid . See me using these chopsticks? Give them to— let's say a foreigner. One who's never used anything but forks, knives, and spoons in their life. Maybe they’ve only ever seen chopsticks on TV. How well do you think they’d wield the utensil?

“Inept. Pathetic. Helpless. They’d probably give up and use a fork. Or if they persevered, they’d make a mess out of it for a bit before they'd get the hang of it, but even then, they might do something rude like point it, stab their chicken with it, or stand them upright in their rice. Shameful.”

Politely, he nods in agreement.

“Now, change it up a bit. Instead of being in a restaurant enjoying a meal, both the foreigner and I are alone in the dark. There is an attacker, and we only have a chopstick. How well would we fare compared to the other? Regardless of familiarity, lodging a pointed object in an eye socket doesn’t take much forethought.”

Well, that was an escalation.

Hands folded in front of her, Yurei’s voice might’ve seemed desperate if not for the snarl she spat them out with, “Violence does not require skill. Anyone is capable of misusing something else; it simply depends on the context that provokes it. Whether that be chopsticks or the bad juju your kids keep talking about. We’re all just people, capable of kindness and cruelty in equal measure. It’s the human condition. From where I sit, you look awfully human. Just as much as anyone else in here.”

Sliding out from the booth, hands tucked into a white knuckled grip on your hoodie sleeves, you don’t look at the curse user as your mouth runs and runs.

“I just know about chopsticks. But Yuji, or anyone else who has been stuck with using a fork for their whole lives, isn’t any less important. And I’d rather stay with my fork-user.”

You may have ranted a bit too far and too soon. 

Damn it.

- Language!-

Based on the silence, you have most definitely overstepped. What even was the point of this? Did you really think you could change a man’s fate with a few words? That you , a stranger, a child , could alter the course of a destiny that was seeded when you were a toddler?

You would have had better luck if you had tried to warn them in the mall all those years ago.

Useless.

This is it for you, you suppose. An alternate viewpoint dressed up in metaphor and the vaguest amount of reasonable denial that could only be summed up by the sheer impossibility of you actually knowing anything. Honestly, you don’t even really know what you’ve said beyond the sheer raging frustration that's like molten lead in your chest. Hot. Heavy. Void. 

This is why you don’t care.

Now you will walk out, let the glass door close behind you, and that bell chime with your departure. You’ll find Yuji– you’ll steal his strawberry chocolate crepe– and leave Getou to his thoughts and the bill. You will never see him again. You will ignore the girls. You will convince Gramps to move back to Sundai or homeschool you, or leave you to your own devices completely.

This chapter ends here.

Forever.

Of course, you’ve forgotten that this world is built upon the sadistic mind of a writer. Whether Gege is still in control or not, his plot is the thread that anchors this universe to reality.

It’s a very mean reality.

“Yuji? Mio!”

You have also forgotten that you are currently eight . And that comes with certain… limitations.

-Oh, fucking dag nabit!-

-Language!-

-Let me curse! I deserve to curse!-

Wasuke Itadori, old and grey, kicks open the restaurant door with a strength that makes you wince in sympathy for the poor walls containing it. Your grandfather may be old, but as he steps inside, a hulking mass of bulging veins, weathered skin, and shrewd eyes, you can’t help but feel a level of pride and warmth.

This is your Gramps. 

You can almost see what he must have been like when he was young. A badass.

Silence has returned with a vengeance, smothering and uncomfortably warm, pointed, clumsy fingers plucking at the edges of confused minds. Getou isn’t facing the door. This is a mistake.

A large hand presses down on his shoulder, the skin thin and dotted with scars and spots of age, but the bones clamp down like a metal vice.

“ What, ” the monkey says, voice trembling with something that is very much not fear, “ are you doing with my Granddaughter?”

“Gramps,” Yurei says with a look that could almost be sheepish . “We’re having lunch. Want some?”

She motions to the mess of empty plates, loose rice, and dipping sauce that covers the table like bodies on a battlefield, her energy fluctuating and moving like a writhing octopus.

Smoke blooms on the hand as it lifts from Suguru. A trace compared to the thick veil that had covered the boy, but just as protective, as claiming, as it had been on her other half.

And that gives Suguru pause.

That should not be possible.

“Where have you been???” Gramps' voice is loud as he hovers over you, loud and gruff, but it is not a yell. He would never yell at you, not even as fear clouds around him, as relief and anger intermingle and struggle as he kneels down and pulls you into his chest. “Mrs. Chen said you both never came home- where is that boy? Don’t tell me he left you here with-”

“Whose Mrs. Chen?”

“Our neighbor.”

“We have neighbors?”

Of course, you have neighbors. What did you think the white shoe box of an apartment complex was empty except for the three of you? … Yeah. You kinda did think that.

“Did you think I’d leave you rascals to wander around without any chance of supervision?”

Yeah, you kinda did. Wasuke, however, was a paranoid bastard. Lucky, he wasn’t as paranoid as you.

Large hands cover the sides of your head, palms pressed tight against your ears as a behemoth of a man turns to his target with a smile that was too asymmetrical, eyes too wide, and nose scrunched ever so slightly wrong . That bloodthirsty gleam, however, was almost a mirror image.

“Now. Who the fuck are you?”

Like a ringing bell, Getou could practically see a winged Satoru singing with a harp as the clouds parted and opportunity came knocking.

“Allow me to introduce myself!”

Ah, there was the smell of cinnamon and smoke . Summoning every ounce of charm, every scrap of confidence, and charisma, Suguru Getou smiled and bowed towards the senior as if his life depended on it. The revulsion under his skin kept him from doing anything past a nod, but he tried regardless.

A life with the Itadoris’ counted on it.

Because he would have them. He would save them… even if he wasn’t entirely sure how to anymore.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you, Itadori-san. I heard Yuji and Yurei have taken excellent care of my girls during class!’

Something flashed in maroon eyes as the old monkey looked over him again. Slowly, those weathered hands let go of the precious creature he held, Yurei looking between them with a panicked expression that seemed oddly familiar.

Slowly. Deliberately, Wasuke Itadori asked a question to the second strongest person in Japan, like a conqueror giving a demand to the surrendered.

“Where is the boy?”

Strawberry creme slathered across round cheeks, Yuji merrily bounced on his heels as he waited for their new friends– cousins? Enemies? Frenemies? – To finish their desserts. Or to finish ordering them first. Not that he blamed them! They had a lot of flavors. Like a tuna mayo or a hot dog one! He might have to sneak Mo back here sometime. Mo loved meat. It would be perfect for her.

Beusment.

Frustration.

Question.

Passing the mostly intact and uneaten half of his treat– yes, for you – Yuji alternated between chewing his cheek and humming. He didn’t like being still. And Mo was antsy. That made him antsy. 

She’d been acting weird lately. Yuji didn’t understand it. Well, he didn’t understand a lot of things about Mo. He got the basics, though. That was enough. 

But he didn’t understand the basics of this.

His sister had been freaking out a lot, though. More than usual. She was always so afraid . That wasn’t good. But Yuji always made her feel better! Mo’s mind was quieter when he was holding her. Calmer. He felt better, too, having her close. Mo was always there. She was part of Yuji. All was right with the world when they were together. But the world got even better when she was clamped on his arm like a monkey. Yuji was happy, and Mo was getting happier.

School had been hard. Other people. More space. It felt wrong to separate them, even if it was only a little bit. It felt worse to see everyone whisper and stare, to feel Mo’s fear , shame , and emptiness.

She was hugging Yuji a lot, way more than she had since… well, a while. Yuji didn’t understand why they had to separate. Mo did, even if she was mad about it, but Yuji thought it was stupid.

Mo was his.

No one else understood how Mo was special. Not even Gramps– and he tried really really hard.

Mimiko and Nanako’s dad might. Not really, but maybe he knew enough about specialness to recognize it. Mimiko and Nanako seemed unique enough. And unique was kinda like being special.

Yuji wasn’t special. But Mo thought he was, even if Yuji knew it wasn’t exactly the same; Mo didn’t lie about Yuji. So Yuji was unique. Just like Yu.

“Have you made your pick, kiddos?”

Nanako glared at the stranger, “No. Your stuff is all weird.”

The vendor kept smiling placidly, “There are classic options.”

“Those are boring. Or are you gonna recommend something?”

“I’m new.” The man growled out.

This was true. Yuji had never seen Yu at this stand before. Last time Yu had been at a balloon stand outside Mo’s favorite cafe. Before that, Yu had been helping put books away in the library. Before that, Yuji had seen Yu win the grocery store a lot. Yu liked hiding behind shelves. Yu enjoyed being dramatic.

Yuji had first met the man at school; however, Yu had been stocking the vending machines and had given free snacks.

Yu worked a lot of jobs. It was fun seeing him pop up everywhere. It was weird. But Yu wasn’t that weird. At least Yuji didn’t think so. He couldn’t be bad. Gramps always said bad people weren’t allowed at school. Then, Mo always imagined ripping faceless bad people apart.

So, no bad people could appear in school.

So Mimi and Nana couldn’t be bad. Getou-san couldn’t be bad. If they all weren’t bad, then Yu-san couldn’t be bad either.

Yu was just unique! But a different, unique kind, like how Mo thought Yuji was a different kind of special.

“You're creepy.”

“Nana-chan!” Yuji gasps, scandalized, “That’s mean.”

“It’s alright, Yuji-kun,” the man was grinning at them, unusually pale skin pulled tight and stiff,  “Not everyone is as mature as you, my boy.” He leans over the edge of the stand’s counter, calloused hands firmly planted in the wood, gingerly holding his abdomen over it, “Besides,” Yu whispers conspiratorially, “I have very layered skin. It takes more than silly words to hurt someone like me.”

“Can I have a tuna-mayo?”

“Yeah! Two tuna-mayo! And make it spicy, creep!”

The vendor’s eyes don’t deviate from Yuji’s. Despite the bucket hat firmly planted on the young man’s head, Yuji had never seen Yu without it– those dark brown shadows that served as eyes were oddly bright. Pointed. 

Sometimes, Yuji thought he understood his sister a little better. How people could make you feel scared and warm at the same time. It was a strange feeling. Mo felt it often. Yuji often felt it from Mo.

The boy blinked, and the man pulled back. Smirking, he turned to the girls. With a wave and a dramatic pout, Yu sighed, “I’d love to serve you, young ladies, but I’m afraid I don’t have enough to make you both something to eat. Shoo then.”

Wide, doll-like eyes stare up at him. The eyes of little children who have forgotten what it is to be told no. Eyes of little children who have grown accustomed to doting words and sweet indulgences. The shocked gazes of children who had never expected to be treated as less than again.

Mimiko pulls her sister behind her, her dark bangs falling away to reveal her usually placid face skewed into something flushed and wrinkled as she shrieks, “Well, we don’t need your creepy crepes!”

Nanako, hands clenched tight, one burrowed deep into her coat pocket where a blocky pink phone lies, is quiet as her sister pulls her away.

Yuji is too, as he watches them sulk off without him.

“Can I have another one? For my sister, Yu-san?”

“Certintly. It would be my pleasure. Another strawberry cream?”

“Nah, I think Mo would like this one better!” the boy says excitedly, pudgy finger jabbing at a flavor on the menu.

Yu pauses for a moment, brown eyes narrowing slightly as a corner of that smile twitches. 

Yu doesn’t say anything more. Silently watching as the boy takes the crepe, juggling his still uneaten half in his other hand, before the child marches over to the shaman-twins.

He holds it out, brows pinched and grin faltering, “Here you go! Spicy tuna mayo. You- you can share it. I’m gonna share mine with Mo.”  There’s a pause, and something sheepish and genuinely upset in the boy's words as the smile finally drops, “I’m sorry about Yu-san. He shouldn’t have been so mean. He’s nice to me.”

“It’s fine. He’s just a stupid monkey. ”

Yuji didn’t flinch at the word. Yu didn’t either, but Yu didn’t feel how angry and upset Mo got with that word. Something burned and festered and bit , that squeezed and held and cried. Something really, really sad.

So Yuji knew it was not a good word, because Mo did not like it. Mo didn’t like them either. 

Or Mo felt a lot about them; fear , want , awe , hunger , sadness , even some of that same flickering warmth that was always there for Yuji.

No. Yuji couldn’t chase them away. Even if that warmth was his , Gramps said it wasn’t okay to chase off friends for Mio. Mo didn’t have friends. Neither did Yuji, other than his one maybe-friend, but Mo had a really hard time. Even if she never cared.

But Mo cared about Mimi, Nana, and Stalker-sama. Especially, Stalker-sama.

Mo was smart . Smarter than Sensei, and waaay smarter than Yuji or their classmates. People wanted friends on their level. It was why no one wanted to play against Yuji or talk to Mo. Maybe Mo just needs a grown-up brain that she could match with. And she was too scared of trying to make friends. That would explain it. Yes. It explained it.

-Yu? What are you thinking about?-

Mo was very brave, but that’s because she was always scared. Yuji could feel it. He didn’t understand why other people- even Gramps- didn’t understand that. They always looked at him funny when he had to explain.

Mo was special . She was different. She was his . But…

- Yuji? Yuji, hurry up, please. Gramps is scaring me–

Yuji wanted Mo to be happy. And maybe Nana, Mimi, and Getou-san could be the friends Mo needed. That Gramps wanted. That even, deep inside, Yuji wondered about. 

An arm, tentative initially but firm as it loops through his own and pulls him close, jolting Yuji from his thoughts.

“Silly monkey. Stop thinking so hard. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Yuji laughs, crepe in hand as he skips forward- slow, go slow- and waves his new friends forward. “Come on! Mo wants us to go back now!”

Not in so many words, but the river of amusement , misery , and endless streams of “ why ?” was enough of an indicator that it was time to return.

Yuji loved Mo. And, hopefully, Mo might get some of the happiness she deserved.

A pack of children frolicking past shop windows, each in their own world with food-stained cheeks and stubborn optimism in their blood, is entirely blind to the storm that hovers behind them.

Dark eyes with a yellow tint shine within the shadows. Muscles spasm underneath pale skin as a smile twists. 

Kenjaku is careful not to crack his own jaw.

Older vessels are always more fragile.