Chapter Text
Genocide. Mass genocide. Of course it’s easy to discard the idea as something insane or inhumane, when you call it that. That’s why it’s important to put it in perspective. More precisely, to compare it to the status quo.
They used to burn sorcerers in Europe, didn’t they ? When it was still a woman’s job, before it became lucrative, before it became a service they could sell. They used to kill the children who could see things in Japan, didn’t they ? No one one called it a genocide back then. They said they were scared and it was the only way. You can pretend to be scared of anyone, even a baby. Fear isn’t something you can disprove, after all.
To say ‘genocide’, there has to be a sound to it. There was no sound when they were burned. No sound when they died on a mission. No sound when you have to sit in class silently, even if a monster is breathing down your neck. Don’t move or it will eat you, don’t move or they will lock you up.
For a long time, Suguru had accepted the fact that weakness is when you can’t protect yourself from the thing that kills you. Can’t even see it. A stupid idea, when you think it through. Whatever will take you has to be something that is stronger than you. It’s the whole point of death.
He realized later that weakness is when you die and no one hears it. Like that saying, that if a tree falls and no one hears it, did it make a sound ? No, it didn’t. Riko didn’t make a sound when she fell, no human was left to hear it.
Like those kids that mine the shit they put in smartphones. Those baby girls that strangely aren’t born in certain villages. Those factory workers that get crushed bite-size into machines. Become a sorcerer, it will make your life worth something. The danger to salary ratio is abysmal. The advantages are non-existent. Only a certain kind of person (child) consents to be treated like that. Silent, silent, silent.
Suguru didn't want to burn the world to the ground. Just to make some noise. He had a few ideas. Let the population know of the existence of curses. Let them know the terror of it. Readjust the balance of power accordingly. Right now, sorcerers are part of a black market, and nothing good ever comes out of what is hidden between the folds of society. Yeah, maybe that meant a lot of non-sorcerers would die. Maybe all of them, even. But these are necessary sacrifices. Just like Riko, like Haibara. Sometimes it's fine when people die, right ? Suguru learned that in school. He got an A + in mourning.
Maybe Satoru will come back to kill him, maybe not. Regardless, he has much to do.
He brings that box to his lips, uncaring of the agitated screams around him. “I’ll let all of you live, since you helped me come back.” Twice, actually, by not giving his body to the school then by waking him up with his screaming, “we’re even now, Satoru.” He reverses the seal on the prison realm and tosses it at Shoko's feet on his way.
He expects the pang of hurt in his chest when he lets go of the box.
“I love you.” Blue eyes like cracked glass, empty and dull.
It shouldn't have changed anything that those years of one-sided love were actually reciprocated.
But it did, because Satoru couldn’t destroy his body. He saw it possessed and by the look of it, it nearly killed him on the spot. Ten years he thought that Satoru hated him, that their years together were the worst of his life. But Satoru’s ‘I love you’ wasn’t the ‘as an old friend turned enemy’ type. Not when they were spoken like you rip a heart from a chest.
What is worth it ? That’s the real question isn’t it ? He lived and killed and died. The way sorcerers are treated hasn’t changed. He became a liability to the most important person in his life.
He looks down at the crater caused by Sukuna, the deformed bodies and pieces of human flesh littering the ground. Kenjaku absorbed Mahito, and gave Geto the ability to shape his soul into something that could destroy this old trash from the inside and reform his own soul into a brain. With that new power, he could cast a spell that would make Japan a war zone between curses and humanity.
He could win. Satoru wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
But he looks down, at the terror and the destruction. He imagines Satoru moving at light-speed, trying to salvage human lives as he destroyed them, exhausted like he was before the prison realm.
Was it worth it ?
He finds the remains of his daughters and buries them. He had told them to be wary of non-sorcerers their whole lives. He hadn’t taught them about calamities.
It's the thing with ideologies, you look at them long enough and when you turn back everything has already turned to dust, and now it's too late to say 'I was right.' No one is there to hear it.
Was it worth it ?
Upon his release, Satoru gets rid of the threat caused by the transformed humans. That doesn’t change the fact that there is a huge black crater in the middle of Shibuya. Nanami is still dead, Kugisaki is barely alive in the stasis they keep her in, Inumaki lost an arm. Oh, and Yuji is back to hiding because he’s sentenced to death again.
There is so much to do. This time the higher-ups won’t excuse anything but perfection from him, if he ever wants to be a teacher again. Some of them have already declared him an enemy because of the imposter who stole Suguru, and he can’t really blame them. Luckily, the fact that he came back in time to hide Yuji and save those who could be saved has granted him some leeway, still.
The next forty-eight hours are a blur of phone calls, reunions, finding Megumi and learning that Tsumiki is awake, and making sure his remaining students are alive.
When he finally goes back to his place, he showers and wonders if he should sleep a little, if only to relieve the building headache behind his eyes. He probably can’t though, not with that brain imposter still on the loose and the amount of assassins that have been hired to kill him lately. He should at least eat something.
As he opens his fridge, nausea overtakes him. He hurries up to the sink and throws up, throws up and throws up again. Bile that burns his throat as it comes out.
Of all of the organs that could have been messed up by the prison realm, he did not expect his stomach to opt out. He tries to use the reverse technique to heal it, and closes his eyes as a new, distinct pain overtakes his brain.
He sees red when he opens them, blood dripping from his eyes and nose into the sink. Infinity flickers and he fails to maintain it.
“Satoru.”
He jumps behind the counter at the voice, hiding and trying to wipe the liquid from his face. It’s the imposter, no doubt back to kill him. Or to put him back in that awful place. He is tired, he is so tired.
“It’s me. It’s really me. I’m not here to attack you.”
His heart is pounding like it’s in a hurry to be ripped out from his chest. He risks a look behind the counter. The imposter is crouching on the floor, frowning. That thing has cut Suguru’s hair, and tied them back just like when they were teenagers. He’s playing with his body like a doll, just to upset Satoru. He can’t say it’s not working.
“Satoru,” he sighs, with something like worry.
The name sounds familiar as it is uttered, and the face moves in a way that looks less artificial. White gaze is wrapped around his head as if to hide those awful stitches. Did he get better at this ?
“Should I leave ?” The man asks out loud, but not waiting for an answer. “I’ll leave. You should rest, I’ll come back later.”
With the taste of bile in his mouth, mixes a tragic hope. “Wait.” Talking causes another wave of nausea, and he throws up more bile on the tiles.
He’s too out of it when one hand comes to support his shoulders, the other pushing his hair away from his face. Maybe it’s all a lie, but maybe it doesn’t matter. If he can at least pretend for a little while.
When he’s done he leans in the coldness of the counter. The other is there and then not. He moves around him, there is the sound of water in the sink, of the bathroom door opening. Satoru doesn't remember how time works. The skeletons didn't tell him. He can only watch the legs amongst the spots of red. He took off his shoes. Suguru used to do that too, obsessed with politeness as he was, even when they illegally entered a house he would take off his shoes. It was funny, things used to be funny.
He’s so tired.
The man puts a glass of water in front of him. “Here, drink that first.” His face is so like Suguru's when he was worried, when Satoru would give himself headaches overtraining back in school. His brow is all scrunched up and his lips slightly downturned. Satoru wants to run his fingers over the features. “Satoru, do you understand what I’m saying ?”
The glass is brought to his lips, tipped so that he’s drinking in small gulps. Satoru’s brain goes somewhere very, very far from this world. Suguru cleans up his face with a warm cloth, then tucks his blindfold on his eyes. “Okay.” He takes his limp hand, “can you squeeze my hand if you’re conscious ?”
He tries to, since Suguru is asking. “Good,” the man smiles, and Satoru’s heart does three high jumps. “You’re in shock. Don’t worry. It’s impressive that you can delay it that much, or should I say worrying.”
He leans in to hold his elbows as he talks. Everything smells like puke and blood, but Suguru still smells like Suguru. Masculine and grounded, like white peach tea and cloves.
“Do you think you can stand up ? We’re going to your bed.”
Turns out he can. It’s easy, it’s not like his legs are broken. Suguru still leads him with a hand on his back. He has no idea what’s happening but he isn’t worried, and that’s new, that’s good. Maybe he did die in that box and this is heaven.
He’s pushed on his back and tucked into blankets. He’s so tired.
“You can sleep soon.” The man answers. Did he talk out loud ? “Just a moment.”
Suguru’s cursed energy fluctuates, and then parts of it detach from him. The invocation is white smoke with two orange eyes that have narrow pupils, cat eyes. “Hira, heal him.”
The spirit slides in his nose, goes through him leaving a sensation of cold like an ice cream in the summer. It fills his stomach, stretching it slightly full, then it’s gone.
Such an invasive technique. Satoru realizes he must be out of his mind to allow it to reach him.
“Alright, it’s done.” The mattress dips as someone sits close. “you’re safe. Good night Satoru.”
The voice is there but he is not, he is opening the door to his bedroom lazily, checking to his left to watch Suguru doing the same. They have just finished their homework. He has the taste of lemon soda and dorayaki on his tongue. He’s wearing a sweater that isn’t his, not the high quality that fits him perfectly. Something soft and big, peeling at the sleeves and gaping at the neck. It’s late and their steps are light as a fish on the wooden floor. Suguru’s gaze meets his own and Satoru smiles big. He’s thinking of doing something stupid, of making one last joke before they go to bed. If he makes Suguru laugh he will be all annoyed at him because he doesn’t want to wake up the others. He will laugh anyway. But Satoru is too sluggish to think of anything.
Suguru pushes his own door and whispers, barely audible, “good night Satoru.” With a smile so homely he could sleep in it.
He drifts into oblivion.
Satoru wakes up slowly, but the six eyes are always one step ahead of him. The first thing that crawls into his awareness is the presence of another cursed energy into his apartment. He sits and finds himself face to face with an S-rank curse in the form of a giant snake. His breath itches. The memories from last night come back to him like hitting a wall face first. Suguru was there, and it was him this time. No one else would have let him live in that pathetic, dissociated state he was in.
He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. Fuck. What happens now ?
Satoru stands up and walks to the snake, finding that it has three tails in addition to being taller than him. The spirit has a post-it stuck to its head with tape, which in other circumstances would be total animal abuse.
His stomach flutters when he recognizes the handwriting.
“His name is Gurin, he’s protecting your apartment. He likes coffee.
Text me when you’re awake.”
And a phone number.
It takes him a while to find his phone in his dirty laundry. The battery is dead. He plugs it in the kitchen, and realizes that it’s been cleaned up while he slept.
Suguru cleaned it before leaving.
He makes coffee and gives one mug to the snake that has been following him around. “Do you take sugar with it ?”
Gurin doesn’t reply, instead he closes his jaw around the mug, and drinks its content in one gulp. His tails are wagging.
Satoru drinks his own and realizes that he doesn’t feel sick anymore. So Suguru has a healing curse now, ugh. He must have so many new powerful weapons in his arsenal. The power to shape souls, for one.
He could be stronger than him, even. What a relief that would be.
As soon as the screen lights up with the one percent charge, he turns it on and saves the number. He marks it as “S”, feeling like a husband who is cheating in the most obvious way possible more than someone who is obeying the demands of a renown terrorist.
“I’m awake.” He texts. That’s the bare minimum. As far as he knows, Suguru is knees deep in blood right now, just because he helped him last night doesn’t mean that changes anything about what he did.
He keeps drinking and stares at the screen. He doesn’t know what he expects. Threats ? Mockery ? Some more philosophical proclamations about strength ?
His phone lights up, but it’s Yaga’s name on the screen.
He brings it to his ear, expecting the loud voice. “They’re allowing you to make a statement. 5pm. Today.”
“What do you mean by allowing me ?” Satoru says lightly, sipping on his coffee. He can feel the headache that had subsided already making a comeback.
“This is no time to joke. You are guilty until proven otherwise. Your status is in danger, and my life too. I should have made sure you dealt with that corpse.”
He hadn’t though. Satoru wonders about that, how badly Yaga must have wanted to. Did he guess that it would have tipped him into insanity, possibly made him an even greater danger to humanity than Suguru ?
“It’s too late for regrets now,” Satoru comments, still keeping that cheerfulness in his voice.
“Regrets yes, but your explanations better be convincing. What are you going to tell them ?”
He shrugs, and realizes that Yaga can’t see him. “Dunno.”
He almost feels flames coming out of his phone, “well you better figure it out before the meeting.”
“I’ll think of something,” he softens his voice, not wanting to give the older man a heart attack. “Sorry, I’ll deal with this.” He stares at the snake who currently has his big head on the rice cooker. Maybe he likes rice too.
Yaga sighs, “what about the vessel ? Did you find him ?”
No one is exactly ready to defend the life of the teenager anymore. This is why Yuji is hidden far, far from Japan. Gojo hopes the abroad training will give him as much needed help as it did for Yuta. “No, but he can’t be too far, he doesn’t have a passport,” he lies, feeling guilty but unable to say the truth. He promised Megumi. He knows Yuji can do it, he has more mind power at fifteen than Satoru has managed to muster in his entire adult life. He just needs time, just like Yuta.
“Think very carefully about your next actions. You’re too powerful to risk looking like you have no control over the situation.” Yaga reminds him.
“I know. I’ll see you at the meeting.”
He hangs up and drops his phone on the counter. He knows what to do. One thing after the next, after the next. They will fuss over this disaster, and use it to demand him to give money there, some power over here. It is going to take time, but things will settle down eventually.
His phone vibrates and he picks it up, not even expecting the “S” on the screen.
“Good morning.”
A shiver runs down his spine.