Chapter Text
“Satoru.”
He blinked at the blinding whiteness surrounding him, interrupted in the center by a single figure. Black hair fell off of his thin, broad shoulders in a waterfall, each strand meeting another at the ends other than the few short strands hanging over his left eye.
“Suguru.”
Satoru’s body was numb, and he had a feeling that somewhere, in some other world, he was in excruciating pain, but not here. Here, in the everlasting chill of blank white surrounding, Satoru felt nothing.
“It’s not your fault.”
Suguru’s face was blank, devoid of feelings Satoru knew he was capable of feeling. If he was truly devoid of feeling, then he wouldn’t have shared gentle adoration with Satoru - wouldn’t have blessed him with love in the darkness of the night, wouldn’t have graced him with shared warmth and a bed long since gone cold.
“I’m sorry.”
Satoru wasn’t crying. He’d cried before, in the same clutches of helpless, white, unfeeling coldness. He didn’t shed a single tear this time, just stood still, barely even breathing as he stared straight forward, clutching the remains of his slaughtered other half in trembling, blood-coated palms, the crimson of his murdered affection slipping through his parted fingers.
“Why?”
Suguru knew why. They’d been through this. Almost every time Satoru closed his weary, all-seeing eyes, he parted reality into this pale expanse of light.
“You’re dead. I killed you.”
Suguru continued to stare, expression unchanging. Blood dripped from his eyes, and then his mouth, and then his arm fell from its socket, and the white transformed into an alleyway. If this was real, Satoru would vomit - he had before, several times in the clutches of reality, curled up on a cold bathroom floor early in the morning when nobody was awake to hear.
“It’s okay.”
This exchange was all too familiar. Back and forth, never more than five or six words at a time. Sometimes they would talk for what felt like hours. Sometimes it was merely minutes.
“I love you.”
Love. Not loved. Because truly, he’d never stopped, had he? Suguru was gone, but love never died. True love survived beyond the fragility of human mortality, everlasting and never dying. It was Satoru’s only weakness, this undying declaration of eternal togetherness.
“I’m sorry, Satoru.”
Sorry. Even after all he’d done, Satoru still loved him. It was never a matter of apologizing, because Suguru had already been forgiven. It had never been Suguru that had made him angry, but the world that had wronged him, stretching Suguru thinner than the strands of his dark river.
“Suguru…”
Why are you sorry? The world was never sorry. The world never apologized to you.
“Wake up, Satoru.”
No, don’t leave me again. Come with me! Wake up, Suguru. Wake up!
Wake up!
WAKE UP!
—
“Wake up, Satoru!”
Shoko had her hands pressed against Satoru’s stomach, her powers grasping at every thread of poison that remained in him. Whoever had poisoned him had intended to kill him, and kill him fast.
Even in sleep, Satoru wasn’t able to stifle his reactions. Nanami and Maki held him steady as he thrashed, back arching with each surge of pain. Loud moans and whines of pain escaped him, each one tugging at Shoko’s heart.
He’s never been in this much pain before…
He’d vomited almost five times in his sleep, each time more and more blood. He had wires sticking out of all stretches of his left arm - IV’s, general antidotes, pain medication. Nothing seemed to be of any help.
Yuta, with tears prickling at his eyes, desperately dabbed at his sensei’s pale, clammy face with an icy cold towel, doing all that he could to ease Satoru’s fever. An hour ago, his temperature had reached dangerous heights, peaking to almost 41 degrees.
Whatever poison this was, it was ruthless, enough to bring even the strongest to a state of terrifying agony.
Satoru choked out a hoarse, heart-shattering scream as he regained consciousness, eyes opening the slightest before closing again. He coughed and choked, and Yaga was quick to bring over a basin as maroon poured from Satoru’s already-bloody lips.
He whined and gasped out something incoherent, and his former teacher tried to calm him down, whispering sweet nothings.
Shoko resisted the tears that burst into her ducts as she focused even harder, willing her technique to repair attacked tissue, rebuilding organs and redirecting the deadly substance up through Satoru’s digestive system.
She winced, knowing he’d be awake for this unfortunate part of the process. Yaga was quick to replace the basin with something deeper, and Maki and Nanami held Satoru up, shooing Yuta away.
Purple and red mixed with bile, and Satoru gagged violently, struggling to breathe as Shoko continued to send the poison back up through his system. Eyes closed, Satoru’s arms jerked forward to his stomach, pulling Maki and Nanami along with them.
None of them could even imagine the kind of pain he was in. Shoko watched helplessly as her friend heaved and retched poison out of his system, doing her best to keep the blood inside of him. This was the last of it, she knew, the final stretch of poison before he would be in recovery.
Satoru let out one final heave, Yuta covering his ears and eyes in the corner of the room as the final drops of poison spilled into the basin Yaga, who looked a little pale himself, was gripping.
Once he was done, Satoru opened one eye a crack, panting and coughing, clutching tightly at his stomach. He let out a few weak moans as Nanami wiped his mouth clean with Yuta’s wet cloth. He slumped to the side, and Yaga caught him with his now-free hands.
“You’re alright, Satoru. The worst is over now,” he told his former student, ruffling his hair a bit. Satoru stared ahead with his one minutely opened eye, which was glazed over and unfocused.
He mumbled almost incoherently, but his words indicated that he was at least present.
“W-who tried-tried to… k-kill me this- th-this time?” His words were as slurred as they were choppy, coming out between desperate gasps for air. Shoko shushed him quietly, coming to quickly run a hand through his hair and wipe his tears before she checked on his vitals.
She spoke quietly and a little shaky. “Your first years are looking into it, Satoru. For right now, just focus on staying alive.”
Shoko’s words seemed to seep into Satoru, registering and settling comfortably in his brain. His eyelids started to droop, and his exhausted body slackened. His students were helping him.
He’d be okay.
—
There were voices around him when he awoke next. There were still needles pricked into his arm, and a cool towel laid over his forehead, just above the cloth wrapped around his eyes. Upon evaluating his condition, he found himself feeling quite sick, but not nearly in as much pain.
His head pounded with the force of a milder migraine, and his stomach felt uneasy and sore. His limbs were shaky and he felt overly cold, but at least they weren’t burning as much as before. He felt immensely better than he had last time he’d been awake.
He registered the several cursed energies of his students, buzzing with anxiousness and eagerness, and the subtler, more serious cursed energies of Shoko and Yaga. Nanami was lingering in a room nearby.
“But I don’t get it,” Yuji’s voice said. “Why would they wanna kill sensei? Wouldn’t that be really bad for jujutsu society?”
It was Megumi who clicked his tongue. “Satoru’s rare and powerful. His eyes alone are up for a high price. People are greedy and desperate for money - so much so that they’d kill someone like him for it.”
“Fushiguro’s right,” Yaga confirmed. “Under the drive of money, his assassins don’t care about the potential repercussions that his death might have, as long as they get their money.”
The older man sighed, and a hand made its way through Satoru’s hair. “These attempts used to happen all the time when he was younger, during his high school.”
Shoko’s cursed energy rippled angrily at that statement. “Yeah. One too many close calls,” she agreed, her heels clacking across the floor as she approached Satoru’s bed, her hand finding his.
Maybe now was a good time to “wake up.”
Satoru groaned a little, attempting to sit up, signaling his awareness. He was met with a cold hand on his chest, urging him back down onto the mattress. The blindfold obscured his regular vision, but he could see Shoko’s cursed energy burning with agitation in front of him.
“Stay down, you idiot. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Shoko warned, keeping her hand on his chest. Her gentle voice betrayed the bite of her words.
Satoru’s head pounded as he strained his eyes to be open, despite how they shouted at him to close them. His migraine had him gulping down nausea, and Satoru took a deep breath.
His voice was hoarse when it came from his throat, probably from the force of expelling the poison. “Wh-who did it?” He asked. “-the kids okay?”
“We’re all perfectly fine and healthy,” Nobara assured him, and Yuji confirmed. “Although Fushiguro broke his hand punching the guy we caught.”
Satoru blinked. Huh.
Fushiguro’s cursed energy rippled with embarrassment at Nobara’s recollection, and Satoru could imagine the tiny blush dusting across his face as he scowled. Yuji bounded over to him, jostling Satoru slightly as he wrapped his arms around the tall man’s shoulders.
“Gojo-sensei, we were so worried! We made sure that the guys responsible were dealt with!!” Yuji’s loud voice sent strikes of pain through Satoru’s head, but he could hardly care. The boy’s enthusiasm and worry was enough to warm his heart.
Shoko pried Yuji off, and Satoru felt slightly disappointed at the less of contact. “Let’s be quiet, Yuji. He’s probably got a killer headache right now.”
Satoru smiled lightly, reaching for Yuji again. “It’s okay, Shoko,” he told her, gratefulness in his voice. “I’m feeling well enough for cuddles.”
Yuji returned, a giggle in his voice. Nobara and Megumi also approached, their warm energies a calming presence. They surrounded him with their affection, Yuji up by his chest while the other two hung around his legs.
“It’s okay, sensei,” Yuji told him. “We’ve been weak for you, and you’re always strong for everyone, so… it’s okay to be weak for us.”
Satoru’s heart expanded with appreciation, Yuji’s words washing over him in a wave of validation and acceptance.
He could be weak for them, even just this once.