Work Text:
Satoru Gojo was no stranger to feeling isolated. Born at the top of the food chain in the jujutsu world, he was often hailed as some sort of godlike figure, so high up above everyone else that no one could ever hope to reach him. The tragedy of his predicament was that this ideology wasn’t exactly untrue. No one had ever truly reached Gojo, not fully, especially after his near death encounter following a conflict with Toji Fushiguro.
Instead of killing a god, like he had intended to do, Toji had only done one thing and that was accelerate Gojo’s ascension into unfathomable power. On the brink of death, Gojo finally learned to understand the one thing he could not, allowing him to use one of the most difficult abilities in the jujutsu world: Reverse Cursed Technique. After gaining this ability, Gojo only added to the distance placed between himself and others.
Following the defection of Suguru Geto, Gojo’s isolation only grew. In short, he became untouchable. Now regarded as the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, Satoru Gojo was thrown into the depths of jujutsu society and tasked with the most strenuous missions out of any other sorcerer at the school. But simply being the strongest was not enough anymore. The system was too broken and unforgiving to those who were not strong. How could the strong protect the weak if the weak were doomed to begin with?
Gojo used to think it was bullshit— that the idea of jujutsu sorcerers existing to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves was an utterance of nothing but self righteousness. But even in the jujutsu world, simply being able to protect yourself wasn’t enough. The idea of strength had become twisted. To be strong was not actually strength if you weren’t selfish. Caring too much meant that you were weak and caring too little meant that you were arrogant. But even if you were strong, you weren’t really if you put the interests of others above your own. Maybe you were strong on the outside but on the inside, at the very core of your humanity, you were weak. Satoru Gojo was strong, yes, but his heart (though few actually knew this) was soft and much weaker than he let on.
Because of this, and despite having everything, Satoru Gojo could accomplish nothing. At least, not on his own.
In order to change the jujutsu world and ensure that no one would ever have to be alone again, Gojo began recruiting the next generation of sorcerers who would be able to make a change. One such recruit was Yuta Okkotsu.
By his second year in jujutsu society, Yuta had grown into a powerful sorcerer, second only to Gojo himself. But it wasn’t selfishness that got him there despite his strength. Contrary to popular belief about what made a person truly strong, Yuta Okkotsu climbed through the ranks of jujutsu sorcery by means of selflessness. Sure, he was violent when need be and soft when the times showed for it, but Yuta was also balanced. Unlike Gojo, Yuta knew exactly how to let the important people in and keep those who did not deserve it out. Gojo, however, kept everyone out when it came down to it.
No one truly understood him. How could they? What mind could possibly even begin to understand the unsurpassable entity known as Satoru Gojo? Who could possibly comprehend his loneliness?
Yuta certainly couldn’t, but he did have some sort of an idea. Satoru Gojo may have been a god in the eyes of many, but to Yuta he was just a man who had been gifted with a power that drove intense fear into the masses. Yuta saw Gojo as someone who had been shoved into the thicket of jujutsu society with no regards to his humanity. He saw Gojo as something more than a weapon. Because in contrast to popular belief, underneath that shiny exterior and those bright smiles and that incredibly annoying personality, Satoru Gojo was broken. And even if Gojo often pretended that nothing was wrong, whether to keep himself sane or simply protect everyone else, Yuta knew that anyone who could kill their best friend and pretend to be fine had more skeletons in their closet than they knew what to do with.
Especially if said friend was the only person on planet earth who had even come close to understanding him. Perhaps they did at one time.
But maybe Gojo didn’t simply need someone to understand him, especially after he awakened because it seemed that no one could truly comprehend him following the event. No, what Gojo needed was someone to believe in him, and not just in the way sorcerers often did. Being the strongest, and being believed in simply because you are the strongest, wasn’t enough. So when Satoru Gojo stepped into that crowd of his students just before his big fight with Sukuna, a genuine smile on his face as he received pats on the back from those most important to him, Yuta finally understood.
Gojo simply needed someone to believe in him. He needed people to believe in Satoru Gojo, not for them to believe in the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.
Perhaps that had been the core of why Gojo felt so alone. No one saw him. No one could truly relate to him and he could not truly relate to anyone else either. It was this very truth that drove Gojo to keep everyone out because what was the point in letting people in if it would only be futile? What was the point of letting people in if he could do nothing to save them later on? Gojo couldn’t even save his best friend. How could he possibly expect to save anyone else?
After all, he couldn’t even save himself in the end.
But little did Gojo know, there were people in his life that understood him to some degree. Yuta saw past his often selfish and furiously outgoing personality, choosing to accept that Gojo was actually an intensely selfless man who would do anything to protect his students.
Shoko Ieiri recognized that Gojo was an idiot, but also understood that hidden beneath all those shiny layers of humor and carelessness, Gojo was actually grieving. She knew that because she was too.
Yuji Itadori never really saw Gojo’s childishness as a problem, because Yuji was a kid himself, but he also recognized that even though Gojo was practically a child in an adult’s body, he wasn’t a child. To Yuji, Gojo was the powerful wall standing between him and those who wished to harm him. If not for Gojo, Yuji would have been executed way too early. He wouldn’t have met Nobara, Megumi, or anyone else. He wouldn’t have had the life and the youth that he did without Gojo’s mercy. Of course, that mercy had been at the request of Megumi Fushiguro, but even so… it was Gojo that stuck it to the higher ups and did everything he could to protect and train the boy. And even if Yuji’s youth did not last very long, he was grateful to at least get the time that he did with those closest to him.
Megumi Fushiguro saw first hand how ridiculous Gojo could be, but after knowing Gojo for so long, he learned to recognize what the real Satoru Gojo looked like. Though Megumi, like many others, could not fully understand the man, Megumi saw Gojo in a way that a lot of those around him did not. Gojo was annoying, often rude, and sometimes just plain stupid, sure. But Gojo was also kind, loyal, and incredibly attentive. It had come as a shock to Megumi the day he realized just how much Gojo really payed attention. He had this ability to read people, not just on a surface level, and push little things into their life to help them accordingly.
For Megumi, it was Itadori and Nobara. For Ijichi, it was being a manager instead of a front lines sorcerer. For Nanami it was a pink-haired ray of sunshine who needed a real adult to teach him what it means to be a child in the jujutsu world. For Itadori, it was protection from the higher ups. For Nobara, it was a place to belong and people to belong with. For Yuta, it was Toge and Panda and Maki.
Even though Satoru Gojo was alone, he did his best to ensure that everyone else wasn’t. Gojo did everything for everyone except himself, and though he often highlighted his personal charisma (and externally, his good looks), he was never outward about his real self. Gojo never flaunted about the parts of him that really mattered. He had been painted as nothing more than the strongest sorcerer to the point where he accepted that it was all that mattered even if he didn’t truly believe it deep down. If being the strongest was all that mattered to the world, there was nothing he could do about it. Because to some degree, that fact was true. The world didn’t care about who he was, all it cared about was what he could do. And to them, he could do anything.
So Gojo kept convincing himself of that, not on the same shallow, surface level that they did, but on a personal level. Because if they weren’t going to believe in Satoru Gojo, then he was going to. At least, he was going to try.
Giving the world an awareness to the fact that he couldn’t do everything they believed he could was suicide. At least, he couldn’t do the things that mattered. Gojo had the power to destroy the whole world if he wanted to. What he couldn’t do was save those he cared about. He had the power to crush his enemies beneath his feet, regardless of who they were. What he couldn’t do was crush the one who had once been his closest ally. Gojo had the power to escape any situation he found himself in and flip the coin for his benefit. What he couldn’t do was run away from his dead best friend’s possessed body, leaving him frozen and later captured. Gojo had the power to kill Suguru Geto. What he couldn’t do was murder his best friend.
Gojo couldn’t kill Geto when it mattered. He could have stopped his friend’s rampage long before Shibuya or Sukuna.
Gojo couldn’t save Megumi from Sukuna. He had failed to consider that the king of curses would do something as outlandish as taking Megumi’s body. It should have been obvious.
Gojo couldn’t run away from Kenjaku in Shibuya. Instead, he saw the face of Geto and froze. He allowed his true self, that part of him that was human and missed his best friend terribly, to get in the way of what mattered. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
Satoru Gojo was human. He wasn’t a god, despite being painted as one. He was just a man.
Gojo was a man with fears and hopes and dreams. He was a man who could feel happiness, sadness, and even despair. Gojo could laugh and smile and cry. He could spout nonsense when he felt like it and wisdom when it was needed. Gojo was a teacher when he needed to be, a close ally when conflict arrived, and a friend if someone wanted one. If someone needed a shoulder to cry on, Gojo was there. If they needed to talk, they could talk to him. If they were feeling down, he would be there to make them laugh. If they were happy, he was happy. If they wanted to be stupid for a while, and just be kids, Gojo would do everything in his power to watch over them. And if they were lost in the darkness and needed someone to guide them, Gojo would be the shining light at the end of the tunnel, waiting for them with a bright smile and a pat on the back.
No one ever saw Gojo clear enough to be any of those things for him. Shoko was Shoko, and though she would definitely be there for him if he needed her to, was it possible for even her to understand him? Gojo’s students were just kids, and what adult of his stature especially would dare impose their impossibly large problems on children? Suguru Geto was dead, and he stopped being able to truly understand Gojo the moment Gojo climbed out of the grave. So who, out of every living creature in existence, could understand Satoru Gojo?
Not one.
And Yuta Okkotsu, despite not understanding Gojo, understood this.
So if no one could understand Satoru Gojo as a whole, Yuta would choose to understand the part of him that mattered— the part of Gojo that was truly human. He knew how Gojo would feel about having to kill his best friend again, so Yuta refused to allow it to happen and took it upon himself to kill Kenjaku. He knew how Gojo would feel if his other students were left with no one to guide them, so he answered his sensei’s call to watch after them in case something happened to him. And when that something did happen, and Gojo was sealed away in the prison realm, Yuta stuck to his word.
When Gojo was finally unsealed, Yuta saw that Gojo had been affected, even if the male was impossibly good at hiding the fact. In the time between that event and the showdown in Shinjuku, Gojo was different. It was something he hid well— the constant grueling, sometimes agonizing pain that came with thinking about what he would have to do in the upcoming weeks. But Yuta understood. Maybe he didn’t understand how painful it was to be in Gojo’s shoes, but he did understand that Gojo was having a hard time with the idea of killing both Geto Kenjaku and Megumi Sukuna. Yuta had been told little stories about both figures from Gojo’s life, recalling his teacher’s fondness for them when he was reminiscing.
It was extremely rare that Gojo opened up in that manner, but Yuta didn’t shy away from being open to hearing about what Gojo held dearest to him. As a matter of fact, Yuta loved hearing Gojo talk about those things. Gojo liked to talk about himself a lot, sure, but not about his real self. So to be trusted enough to hear and understand the personal things Gojo talked about made Yuta feel honored. And he would be damned if he ever broke that trust.
So when Gojo opened up about being unsure about his fight with Sukuna, just a few weeks beforehand, Yuta made sure to keep holding on to that trust— to hold on to that humanity and believe in Satoru.
Gojo had believed in Yuta before anyone else did. It was his turn to return the favor.
“Do you ever get scared, Yuta?” Gojo had murmured as the two walked around the school, his breath causing a puff of fog in the chilly winter air.
Yuta snapped out of his daze, his eyes falling on his teacher. For a moment, he was startled at how real Gojo’s voice sounded, his words completely devoid of any sense of humor. Before he could answer, Gojo spoke again.
“Sorry, that was a stupid question,” the male chuckled, but his tone was strained and lacking its usual easiness. “Of course you do.”
“Sometimes,” Yuta replied, thinking for a moment. “But most of the time, I’m just kind of numb when I’m fighting.”
There was a moment of comfortable silence between them as they continued walking, and Yuta recognized that there had to be a reason Gojo was asking such a thing. Something was on his teacher’s mind and if it was causing him to forego his usual upbeat personality, Yuta hoped he could provide some comfort in place of his pain.
“Before you got unsealed, during the Culling Game I found myself in a fight with a couple other sorcerers. I remember, at one point I didn’t feel much of anything in terms of my emotions because I was just so focused on trying to survive and gain points.” Yuta continued, deep in thought as he stared at the passing sidewalk below him. “I’ve been caught off guard before and I’ve felt fear in those split seconds where the unexpected happens… so to answer your question: yeah. I guess I do.”
Another silence followed his response. Yuta realized that Gojo was giving him more room to talk, the notion that Gojo assumed something else followed his words leaving the boy feeling fond of his teacher all over again. Gojo knew him better than anyone else, and to have someone see him like that… Yuta admired Gojo’s attentiveness.
“Do you?” Yuta asked softly, careful to be gentle on the subject.
Gojo sighed, the sound barely audible. “Yeah.”
It was unusual to see Gojo so detached from everything he’d sheathed himself in, Yuta thought. There weren’t many times in his life where the boy could recall seeing his teacher like this— if he had ever even seen it at all.
“Have I ever told you about Toji Zenin?”
Yuta nodded. “You mentioned him once I think, when you and I were talking about Reverse Cursed Technique.”
Gojo slowed to a stop, remaining quiet for a second. Yuta was deafened by the silence. “That was the first time I had ever been truly afraid. When I saw that blade piercing through my Infinity, I knew it was over.”
“But you survived,” Yuta offered, wondering where this is going.
Gojo hummed, turning his head to look at his student. Even though his eyes were covered by a blindfold, Yuta swore he could still see them piercing right through him. “The second time I felt it was in Shibuya, when Su— Kenjaku got me with the prison realm. Because I was stupid enough to believe that it really was him, just for a second.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Yuta began, his voice gentle. “But where are you going with this, sensei?”
Gojo didn’t answer, choosing to remain silent as if his words had gotten caught in his throat. Yuta pondered on all the possibilities, desperately wanting to understand where this was coming from, especially given that this wasn’t like his teacher at all. Then it hit him, like shards of ice into freshly fallen snow, the thought causing Yuta’s blood to run cold.
He didn’t want to say the words aloud, but they tumbled from his lips before he could stop to consider them. “Are you afraid right now, sensei?”
Gojo’s lips pressed together in what resembled a frown, his mouth now a straight, contemplative line. “No. I don’t know what I feel right now.”
Yuta stared at the male, his eyes wide and worrisome. If he was being honest, the thought of even someone like Gojo being afraid to fight the king of curses had him wondering, just for a second, whether they really could win this war. But after that second passed, Yuta shoved those thoughts down just as quickly as they appeared, choosing to believe in Gojo rather than doubt him just because he was being human.
“Do you believe in me, Yuta?” Gojo asked, his gaze no longer on the boy, now staring somewhere off in the distance.
“Of course I do,” Yuta replied honestly, ready to speak again but unable to due to Gojo’s next words.
“No, I mean…” his teacher trailed, obviously frustrated with the fact he was even in this predicament. How humiliating it was to be so human. Gojo faced him again, the crease in his blindfold making the furrow in his brows obvious to the boy. “Do you believe in me?"
Yuta remained silent for a moment, searching a gaze that was right in front of him but so far away at the same time. For quite a while, Yuta had thought that Gojo’s blindfold made him look less like a man and more like a figment of what the jujutsu world had made him. Of course, on a similar note, it was also what made Gojo— well, Gojo. But something about that fact had begun to bother Yuta. He knew that there was a reason Gojo had to wear it, because Gojo had mentioned it once after he’d asked out of curiosity, which wasn’t something that could exactly be helped. If he was being entirely honest, sometimes it was nice to just look his sensei in the eyes when talking to him— his real eyes. It made him feel like he was addressing another human being rather than a vessel of calamity.
Not that he only saw Gojo as that when he was wearing the item. Of course he still saw him as human even with it. But Yuta liked to be able to look at Gojo, especially when it was time to be serious.
“Yes,” he replied seriously. “If you’re asking whether I believe in you or only what you can do… then yes, sensei. I believe in you.”
A smile stretched across Gojo’s lips. “Good. That settles it then.”
Yuta’s expression suddenly twisted with a mass amount of confusion as Gojo began to walk away, an unsure sound leaving him as he wondered what was going on. “What?”
“I’m going to kill Sukuna,” Gojo replied, his joyful tone as about as fake as his smile looked.
Yuta frowned. “Hey— sensei! Wait.”
The boy caught up to him, stopping his teacher again. Gojo looked like a deer caught in headlights, and Yuta didn’t like it one bit. He wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be that way.
“I don’t doubt that you will, but…” Yuta trailed, trying to gather what he wanted to say. “You don’t have to do that, you know. It’s… it’s okay.”
Gojo stared at him for a moment, seeing no point in lying. He felt that it was unfair he’d even dragged Yuta into this in the first place. Gojo was an adult. Yuta was a child. Plain and simple. That kid already had enough on his plate and now Gojo was being as selfish as to add to it with his own problems.
“I know what you’re gonna say, sensei. So don’t. If you aren’t careful, you’re gonna start sounding like Nanami.” Yuta continued, his mouth twisting into a small smile as Gojo chuckled genuinely. “I get it. I do. But… you’re human too. I’m tired of people acting like you aren’t.”
Gojo sighed, affectionately ruffling Yuta’s hair. “Thanks, kid. I really… I really needed to hear that.”
Yuta nodded. “I know you can beat Sukuna. We all do. I hope you know that too.”
Gojo allowed a small, genuine smile to tug at his lips. “I know I can.”