Chapter Text
When Gojo got home, the light was on.
The light at home was never on. He didn't need it. He only bothered turning it on for guests.
His guard doesn't go up because his guard is always up by default. The Strongest has a target on his back--but right now, the Infinite reaches a little bit further than usual, the all-consuming Blue just within hand's reach.
Then he walks into his living room and banishes the Blue--by instinct. No thinking, all feeling.
Gojo lifts his blindfold and stares expressionless at Geto lying in a pool of blood on his living room floor. His Six Eyes tells him that's definitely Geto's own blood, that wound in his stomach is not fatal (though not good either), and that he is still conscious even if he doesn't look it.
He considers calling the Blue back, as if he hadn't sent it away to begin with, but that'd just be an empty threat. If he was going to kill, he would've already killed. Instead, he'd completely disarmed himself--like some kind of idiot.
"You shoulda gone to Shoko," Gojo says at last.
The noise stirs Geto seemingly awake--but he's always been awake.
"I don't need healing," Geto says while he bleeds out on Gojo's carpet. "I just need a place to lie low for a few days."
"Yeah? You could lie low in a hospital then, for all that healing you don't need. I know you've got at least two sets of fake identities you could use to check in." Gojo could kill him by doing nothing at this rate. He could turn around and get some coffee, and by the time he got back, there'd just be a corpse. "You shouldn't have come here. There's a dead or alive order out for you. Dead would be a lot easier."
Geto gestures--the message is unknowable. He's too weak for it to be any sort of meaningful body language--maybe it was supposed to be a shrug, some sort of do as you wish.
"Now's your chance to kill me, if you want," Geto says. His voice is surprisingly clear and steady given how little strength he has. "Coup de grace, old friend. A knife would do it, like a pig. I can't stop you, but I can't help but notice I'm currently not stabbed, twisted, exploded, or otherwise dead yet."
Gojo lowers his blindfold over his eyes again. Casually, he sits down on his sofa, not far from Geto--but far enough, he feels like he's whole worlds away rather than within arm's reach.
Gojo looks down at him and sighs. "I could still turn you in alive."
"You won't," Geto closes his eyes. He looks comfortable, regardless of how much pain he must be in. It's a bit infuriating. "The higher ups would kill me. Faster and preferable to do it yourself--preferable for me and for you."
"They'd execute you after a trial," Gojo answers, completely serious. His voice drops to something quiet and honest. "Justice, Suguru. I know you've heard of it. Maybe you deserve it."
"What justice do they have?"
Gojo doesn't answer because Geto already knows what he thinks. Gojo's already told him, at great length, drunk over bottles of plum wine late at night. There's no justice. The higher-ups of Jujutsu society are a murky mess of old sorcerers and old laws, running on a labyrinthine network of even older favors going back centuries. It's an antique. They're all antiques.
"Let karma judge me as it wills," Geto says--tranquil, as if the monastic garb is legit, and he's actually some sort of bodhisattva. "You wouldn't lead me to the slaughterhouse that those old men run. Not when you could do it yourself."
There's a knife in the kitchen for a culling, and no end of cursed energy at Gojo's beck and call for an execution. Killing is easy--letting people live, somehow that's harder.
"I could," Gojo ponders. He's not joking. "Maybe I should."
"I'm waiting," Geto says softly, fearless of whatever fate might await him. His acceptance gives him strength even now in his weakness. It breaks what's left of Gojo's heart into a thousand little pieces, to know that they are enemies.
A whole lot of nothing happens as Gojo doesn't move, still like stone, and they both know that whatever Geto wants, he's already gotten. Maybe they both already knew: Geto won the moment the Limitless Blue disappeared in the doorway without Gojo even thinking about it.
Geto was safe here, in Gojo's hands. Neither of them knew that for sure until now. Geto sighs audibly with relief.
"If I'm going to keep waiting, a bandage would be appreciated." Geto's eyes open again, and they're bright and lively, if slightly unfocused. "And maybe you should move me off this carpet. It's a rather nice carpet. I'm sorry about what I've done to it."
"It's a priceless antique." Family heirloom, but Gojo doesn't actually care much about his family heirlooms.
"I'm afraid it's the other sort of priceless now, unless you can find a buyer that particularly likes the color red."
"Nah, I'll pawn it off on one of your rabid cultists," Gojo deadpans.
At last, he pulls himself off the couch. Gojo reaches down towards Geto and hesitates only to wonder where to touch him. Shoulder, he decides. That's... not too familiar. That's acceptable.
They warp to his bedroom, with Geto on the bed and Gojo standing beside him.
"Oh, yes! From the priceless carpet to the priceless bed!" Geto immediately chastises when he realizes where he is. "That solves the problem!"
"Yeah, it sure does. The problem is the floor is a shitty place to bleed to death, and the bed is an actual place to put you while I find a doctor."
"I'm fine," Geto snaps, just like old times. It puts an easy grin on Gojo's face even as Geto scowls. "I have a curse spawning more blood, and another eating infection. I'll heal with time."
"I'm going to find you a doctor," Gojo declares, like war, or like love, "and if you're so fine, Suguru, I'm just going to watch you try to stop me."
Gojo waits for a response. There isn't one besides silent seething, which is so, so satisfying. Gojo basks in it for a while.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Gojo says, because having the last word feels great.
He's going to have to throw out the carpet. He's going to have to throw out the silk sheets, the organic mattress, and the whole teak bed frame, which is magnificently carved and custom made. He has no idea how much it's going to cost to find a doctor and buy their silence too. It's going to be a lot, but Gojo isn't worried about it.
He's worried about Geto though, and he wishes he weren't.
“Satoru,” Geto says, before Gojo leaves for the phone.
“Yeah?”
Geto’s quiet for a moment too long, not as smooth or as clever as he thinks he is. Then he says, “Thank you.”
Gojo lingers a moment too long himself.
“Are you?” Gojo responds at last, and he closes the door behind him.