Chapter Text
Gojo Satoru was supposed to be on a mission. Gojo Satoru also learned the best way to get any free time was to lie when his work was done. If he were earnest, they would send him mission after mission until dusk, sometimes even after the moon rose. Worst of all, they sent him alone.
He did not know where Suguru was, and he did not know the next time they'd meet. This was miserably, miserably lonely. No one to laugh at his terrible jokes, or snappy taunts at curses. They didn't send anyone else either. He recalled the look on Yagas face when he called him in for the first mission after losing Riko. It was unpleasant, like a parent sending their child off to war. Satoru said nothing for once in his chittering life, as Yaga explained Satorus’ new title as the strongest sorcerer. Alone. He unlocked his abilities, and his reward was isolation.
Fuckers.
At the same time, something was wrong with Suguru. He saw it. It was in Shoko and Utahime’s faces when he saw them. It was in the schedule, sending him on less and less but to higher danger. They kept Satoru as far from him as possible. Gojo experienced no high, but the rage, the indignity, he felt standing with a dead child in his arms and a clapping horde of cultists around him, stayed bubbling under his skin like molten lava. He wished he killed them, but for Suguru, he would do anything. It was important. Suguru said it was important.
Today was the same as yesterday, and the day before, and before that. Missions, demanding more, but Yaga yelled at him to fuck off earlier this time. Noon. It was only noon, and he took out everything they had.
Damn, he was so good at this.
Gojo ended up on campus, aimless. As soon as he realized Suguru was also still at campus, and awake, he started over to him. How long? Two weeks? Longer? Their paths were kept apart, two halves of a whole ripped away. If he was here, Suguru wasn't. If Suguru was, he wasn't. If they both were, it was too late at night to speak, too early in the morning to wake.
He needed to talk to Suguru alone. Busy in thought, his six eyes pick up the unknown presence with Geto too late. When he arrived on campus, it was just little Haibara with Geto.
He should've teleported then and there, even if it put Suguru off when he did. Now, some woman was with him, blonde and powerful. She felt familiar. They did not know each other, but the way she carried herself, spoke, and acted as a sorcerer was too similar to Satoru. It was Yuki Tsukumo. Satoru had no reason to freeze in his tracks. He shouldn't, couldn't, be anxious about it. He's still a quarter mile away as his eyes watch and listen to them. From the way they greet each other, it's clear they've never met before.
Satoru recognized the instant jealousy is in his blood, but there's something else too. Suguru influenced him, Satoru influenced him back, and right now some unknown variant too similar to himself was discussing topics with Suguru in a way that made the energy around him pulse. She couldn't tell. She didn't know what she was doing. To her, it was just a conversation. To Suguru, it was unbound thought, wisdom beyond his age.
And Satoru was glued to the spot. Why couldn't he move? This wasn't dangerous. He fought a special grade earlier. He won. Why did the thought of interrupting them…scare him? No, he knew.
What the FUCK was he supposed to say? He was a literal genius, but the idea of trying to interrupt them? Suddenly, the idea of doing anything other than fighting was hard. Gojo hated that. Nothing was supposed to be hard for him.
Maybe it's what she was saying to Suguru.
Or worse, that it was meant for him, and he arrived too late.
“Therefore, there's two ways to create a world where cursed spirits don't exist.”
The way Sugurus' heart practically exploded in his chest said enough about his hope for this.
“The first is to erase all humans cursed energy. I've seen cases where Heavenly Restriction essentially turned them into normal people, but Toji Fushigoro was the first time I saw someone with absolutely no cursed energy. He even gained resistance to curses. He was practically superhuman.”
Of course this one was unreasonable. Politics and other things would get in the way. Humanities curses were under the rug, and if they were brought to light? The chaos would be the tip of the iceberg.
“The second, is to make all humans be able to control cursed energy. If all humans became jujutsu sorcerers, cursed spirits would not be produced.”
Less bad, but equally unreasonable, with all the same issues of the first and additional issues of cooperation from humanity. There were still places in the world where school wasn't a given right. Cursed spirits could be lessened, but at the core, it was all or nothing.
Gojo mulled it over. Suguru spoke without hesitation,” In that case, why not eliminate all non-sorcerers?”
It made his blood run cold.
There was no way Suguru said that. Not Geto “kind, honorable, upright, morals so tight up his ass they made diamonds” Suguru. Gojo thought things were bad. Suguru was traumatized, he lost weight, but was moving forward. He was wrong.
Everything was in danger.
Yuki, oblivious to who Geto was, entertained the suggestion the way a philosophy professor would a student.
“What you just said would probably be the easiest solution.”
Stop her.
“Continuously eliminating non-sorcerers--”
MOVE.
“Forcing humans to adapt to the environment for survival and all become sorcerers”
DO SOMETHING.
“That's to promote evolution.”
She could not see it, Geto could not see it, but Gojo could. He saw the way something, what the fuck was it he didn't know, twisted and swirled around his friend. Visually it wasn't, but it felt…like a bomb. It felt like something violent and dangerous was strapped to Suguru, metaphysical and unremovable with force.
He was powerless without force.
The rest of their conversation is a blur.
“Do you hate non-sorcerers, Geto?”
“...I don't know.”
He needed to be everywhere, and yet he couldn't. This stress, this burden of a conversation was not for Suguru to bare, anymore than the guilt of Riko’s death. It had to be Satoru's own embarrassment, shame, and failure that shook his confidence to interrupt. In the back of his mind, Gojo knew he still felt so young and confused. He could level a city, but he didn't know how to buy house insurance or drive a car. Some part of him held on to a fraction of hope, maybe someone so like him, and so much older, would have a good answer.
She didn't, and she looped that ignorance around Geto's neck like a noose and hung him from a tree, oblivious to her damage.
How many times did he do that to others unknowingly?
He couldn't end up like that, tactless, unable to read the room. He saw his future in her suddenly, and was disgusted.
A lazy, disobedient sorcerer, playing with aimless philosophy instead of saving lives. He remembered the weight of Riko in his arms. So clearly, he saw the same white sheet over Suguru, limp in Yukis. It made bile rise in his throat. Why was Suguru always made to pay Satoru's sins when he's only seconds late? The answer came so, so easy. It was carved into his soul by now.
Don't be seconds late. Be perfect. Be omnipotent. Be God.
--
Gojo stretches out the time between missions, no longer obsessed with his previous need to be faster, best Suguru's, then his own records. He needed to find the right time to talk to Suguru about the other day. Satoru only put it off because he needed more than to object. He needed an alternative, and alternatives were not his thing, they were Suguru's. Satoru just bulldozed through whatever was in his way.
He sat on the edge of a classroom building, soft cheek on his knee as dark glasses hung off his nose, pensive, in thought.
And then, he heard the agonized scream of Nanami Kento. It was feral, broken, and he knew something horrible happened. Satoru stood up atop the far building, thankful his six eyes did not need him to be close. His heart dropped, stomach bile swirled, as he saw the corpse of Haibara on Shoko’s table. The sheet saved them the visual, but Gojo wasn't given the same grace. Cursed energy swirled around the corpse, the deep gashes, violent wounds. If he weren't trained for it, Gojo would have thrown up. Nanami had, several times, even with training.
Suguru was with him. All Gojo could do was mourn from afar. Suddenly showing up felt crass and inconsiderate. He was not wanted to assist with sensitive matters. People did not like him around during emotional moments. He was not made for that purpose. It was not his role. Suguru was better there than him. Kind, empathetic, soft, and considerate Suguru. Nanami cursed the Sorcerer world, and Suguru said nothing, listening to him vent with poise. Then, he spoke plainly and calmly.
"Nanami you can take a rest. Satoru is taking over."
"Might as well have him take care of all the missions."
Better to find out indirectly through Suguru than the phone call he would soon receive. Satoru agreed with Nanami, and his silence said Suguru did too.
So, when he was right, and he loved being right... Why did it hurt so much to hear? Yes, he was right to stay far away. They didn't need to say it directly. This was his fault too.
The burnout between the two men smelled like hellfire and brimstone. Satoru stayed frozen to the roof the same way he stayed frozen before Yuki. All his strength, but only one of him. Gojo saved a city today, a school full of children, but it felt hollow compared to the loss in front of him.
Don't be seconds late.
If they sent him with Haibara, he'd be alive. He could have done the mission in seconds. Infinity stopped him from cutting into his own palms with his nails, knuckles white. Gojo could do anything, was made to do everything, built brick by brick as the perfect tool to solve any danger. Resentment filled him like poison. Why were any of them going on missions? They had him. This didn't need to happen. Nanami never cried. Satoru never cried. He'd ask Shoko later what she thought could cause his technique to falter, because it was impossible his eyes were distorted by tears.
How long until Suguru was on that table?
Gojo stopped as the sound of rubble echoed. He accidentally crushed the cement around him. Whatever. Bill him. He could afford it.
He couldn't afford to lose his friend.
The next day, to Yagas’ surprise, Gojo is the one to call him. Even as the sun set, and the moon rose, Gojo asked for more. It was half way through the night when he was finally yelled at, told to go the fuck to sleep, like Yaga wanted to be, his secretaries wanted to be.
Satoru hissed, sensitive ears ringing again.
“Fuck, fine, chill out dude. Not like you're gonna get prettier with more sleep,” Gojo snorted, laughing at him. It earned him a swift click and dead phone line.
He flexed his deceptively delicate fingers. A manicure later wouldn't hurt. The blood under his fingernails was not cute. Gojo needed balance, sanity. If he kept his appearance up, then some part of him stayed sane. If he looked okay, he was ok. It was a basic trick, but worked for him. It also convinced others he was fine. There's no use for a dull sword. The best ones were bright works of art, with shimmering silver blades. He liked to think it's how he looked in moonlight; beautiful and dangerous.
Gojo stretched, and decided to listen. A few hours of sleep would only result in minimal death, and he needed to perfect his reverse curse technique to go nonstop. Who knew how long that would be? It could be tomorrow, it could be years. So, as he returned to his dorm room, Gojo stopped outside Geto’s door. Silent, of course. Temptation said bother him, as was tradition, but his forced growth said let him rest. Satoru settled for checking up, and looked upon his friend from outside the door.
Suguru slept lightly. His form was curled up, seeking comfort, calm. Even asleep, his heart rate was too fast. Gojo Satoru was capable of so much, but fixing this? There was no instant fix to trauma, not for him, not for Suguru. He wanted to sneak in, press up next to him like he used to, breathe in his scent and hold him. Suguru would turn, hold him back, and he would rest his face in the crook of his neck. They'd fall asleep like that, nothing more admitted or spoken. Did they need to?
Satoru started to think he wanted to. Fear gripped his heart as he thought of Suguru on the table again. How did Nanami live after he never said it out loud? How couldn't he, the strongest sorcerer alive, allow himself to even think the words? The truth about his feelings for Suguru, that he was not just his best friend.
Suguru was his one and only.
Satoru blinked, time moved forward, he went to his own room, fell face down in the bed, and before he knew it, he was asleep.
He awoke as dawn broke, the songs of birds waltzing through the humid summer air. Part of him assumed he'd calm down after sleep. He did not. Haunted, painful thoughts flooded his mind in an instant. Yuki. Haibara. Nanami screaming.
“In that case, why not eliminate all non-sorcerers?”
Bright, ice blue eyes stared up at the white of his ceiling. His chest heaved, out of breath without ever moving a muscle. They both were wrong. Satoru reimagined that day, and knew the perfect way he could've interrupted.
He'd teleport in, his elbow resting against the wall, he leaned against it casually, cool. Surprise them both, make them believe in his borderline omnipotence. “Or, the secret third option, let me kill all the curses until there aren't any, and every time one does appear, then I just kill it too.”
It'd piss Suguru off. He'd make the cute face with his mouth hanging open in offense, disbelief Gojo said something so fucking ridiculous. Then, despite it all, he would be comforted by the safety. He would know Satoru still had his back. Suguru wasn't abandoned.
But that was just a fantasy.
Too little, too late.
“In that case, why not eliminate all non-sorcerers”
Satoru curled into a tight ball, wrapping bedding that felt too thin around himself, buried his face into a pillow unable to give his eyes relief no matter the darkness. If he never heard the conversation, whatever happened, he'd only be able to react to its outcome. But he heard it, and now he had to stop it.
He needed to stop Suguru before he walked a path of blood and genocide. Gojo didn't know where to place blame. Yuki was an obvious target, but Suguru was so smart, enamoringly so. He'd eventually realized what she had, and then he'd draw the same conclusion again. Which meant…
Was it his fault?
Was it his fault for bitching all these years, selfish and immature, about weak assholes? Was it his fault for failing to stop Toji the first time?
Was it his fault, if Suguru thought the same thing as him when he imagined a world without curses--- a world where they were happy? Did Suguru think of a world where Gojo knew anything about himself, had any hobby outside battle, training, was more than just a tool to be used, and slept more than four hours a night? Because he thought about a world where Suguru ate whatever he wanted, nasty tastes gone from his mouth, surrounded by cute pets who loved him instead of violent curses, where he followed whatever path made him smile.
If he gave Suguru that world, at his own expense, would he be forgiven?
Because he was going to.
Gojo Satoru accepted his fate at 7:36 AM on August 9th, 2007.
Today, he was going to defect before Suguru could.