Chapter Text
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
When he wakes up, he blinks. He blinks once with eyes that should be blind, twice with eyes that aren’t, and then reaches a hand up to wipe at them as if there was something in them. It takes barely a moment for him to realise something – everything? – is wrong. The world is off-kilter in a way it has never been before. For a very long moment, Satoru doesn’t move an inch.
There is an itch that he can’t place, crawling through his body starting from his eyes and leading to every limb and back again.
Carefully, he pushes himself to stand.
Heart echoing in his ears, he looks around himself. He takes in the walls, the floor, and the table in the corner decorated with an assortment of both paper and trinkets. For the briefest of time, he doesn’t recognise where he is. Then, all at once, he does.
It’s with careful consideration that he moves off the bed he woke up on. His eyes burn in a way they haven’t in years. Slowly, he turns in a full 360 and narrows his eyes when he realises that yes – this is his dorm room, the same one from what felt like millennia ago and only yesterday all at once.
He remembers the day he looked into this room for the last time, stripped to its bare bones like no one had ever lived there. But there are too many details here for this to be the same room, too many details that very few could replicate with this kind of accuracy.
He considers the possibility of this being a Domain or cursed technique, but his eyes tell him that this is real.
(If there is one thing he knows he can trust, it’s his eyes. Even now, even after everything.)
Satoru doesn't let his guard down for even a moment.
This doesn’t make sense, he decides and looks at the door to the room. He brushes his hair out of his face and steels himself for the unknown, knowing that whatever this is, it is something he could deal with eventually. Surety in his movements, Satoru heads for the door.
It opens before he even gets close enough to touch it.
The sound of it opening is almost akin to breaking glass in an open room. Satoru feels all the air in his lungs leave him at once. And then, without another breath, he tips forward and wraps his hand around the throat of the imposter in front of him with anger in every flare of his cursed energy pulsing around the room.
“Who are you?” He demands, his voice a dangerous, stormy sound. His hands shake with the willpower not to close them. “Because no matter what my eyes tell me, I know better now—”
Because I’ve already done this once before.
His mouth snaps shut with the force he uses to silence himself. He stares at the face in front of him. He stares at Suguru. And his eyes, and his soul, tell him something is wrong. Something that isn’t indicated by an oh-so-wrong scar on the face of his best friend because there is no scar.
Something is wrong.
Memories tear into his head from a fight minutes ago, hours ago, years ago ? he doesn’t remember, can’t remember as his mind races against himself, but his teeth rip into his lips as he tries to make sense of everything happening.
“Satoru—” The man in front of him chokes out, and Satoru lets go and drops him like hot coal.
He trembles. He trembles, looking down at the fake in front of him. He trembles, and he remembers “yo, Satoru!” and a box and darkness, and everything is wrong.
Satoru takes one step back. A second. A third.
He feels claustrophobic despite the wide space that inhabits the bedroom. He feels restrained despite the Infinity flowing around him at full power as it keeps everything away from him. Suguru stands in front of him, but that isn’t right because Suguru – his Suguru – is dead and someone else replaced him and he was just stuck in the Prison Realm and he doesn’t remember leaving (escaping?) and is he going insane already—?
Satoru inhales deeply.
He forces the trembling to stop. He’s Satoru Satoru, he tells himself, he can handle this.
(Even if this is—)
He bites his tongue.
“Who are you?” He asks again, but this time it is not a question. He looks into the eyes of the fake in front of him and sees confusion that slowly vanishes and disappears under something akin to suspicion. He looks so much like Suguru it makes Satoru sick.
Hands in front of him, Not-Suguru speaks with something that almost sounds like worry. “Satoru, it’s me. It’s Suguru. You know me. What’s going on?”
Infinity stands between them. The fake in front of him doesn’t move forward, but Satoru can see he wants to. He is infinitely glad that he doesn’t move. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if the fake got any closer. He doesn’t want to know what he would do if he had to look at that familiar face in all its detail.
Satoru exhales slowly.
“Okay.” He answers bitterly, nodding to himself, “Okay.”
He runs a hand over the desk chair behind him. The wood splinters the second the cursed energy swirling around him touches it. The fake flinches but doesn’t move from where he is rooted to the doorway. The world spins around and around and around—
And.
And yet.
His eyes don’t lie.
They burn inside his head, the light from the window next to him piercing through his skull, but he doesn’t move to cover them up. Here and now, his eyes are his only advantage because he can at least trust them to tell him the truth. But that’s wrong.
Because Suguru is dead, because he killed him, and now there was someone else in his body, but now they weren’t—
He’s panicking. He knows this with the same surety he feels in regard to his eyes. He’s spiralling, tipping into madness quicker than the drop of a pin, and the fake? person in front of him keeps staring. It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable.
His eyes keep saying this is Suguru, and his heart is beating out of his chest, and there is no scar, and there is concern on his face, and it doesn’t. Make. Sense.
“Who are you?” He asks again, but it sounds weak even to his ears. Satoru doesn’t cry and hasn’t let himself in years, but it is a close thing.
Suguru (not not not) takes a step forward.
And Infinity, with the familiarity of a loyal animal seeing its owner for the first time in years, falls outside of Satoru’s will.
His mouth feels dry.
Two hands, calloused and sure, grab hold of Satoru's trembling ones. Satoru flinches. The hands don’t let go. There is a blazing fire in the violet eyes of the man in front of him and it’s so familiar it breaks his heart and builds it from the ashes within the same moment. He wants to scream. He wants to unleash his most powerful techniques at the fake, wants this thing gone so he is Gojo Satoru again and not this shaking, pathetic caricature of himself.
“It’s me, Satoru. Come on. Look at me. You know me. You know me. Geto Suguru, never anybody else but that. That’s who I will always be. Okay? Look at me. Nothing else. Tell me what happened.” He sounds so real, is the thing. He sounds like Suguru. He sounds like Suguru, all those years ago, when it was just them against the world and that’s all they ever needed.
He sounds like Suguru.
His hands feel like Suguru.
He’s had dreams like this before. Dreams where Suguru never left, where Suguru was still alive, where it was all only ever a nightmare that lasted far too long. He always woke up in the end – sweating and tired and longing. He always got up, because those dreams were sometimes all he had left of Suguru and he wasn’t going to lose that.
He knew dreams.
This wasn’t a dream.
He pulls away from those kind hands. He knows he will shatter if he holds them any longer. Satoru can hear his heart beating loudly in his ears as he looks at the man in front of him. Satoru inhales, forces himself into a falsified calm, and makes himself see the truth.
His eyes tell him that this is Suguru.
His soul tells him this is Suguru.
It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t understand it at all. But he stands in a dorm room that he knows no longer exists, and he stands in front of a man who should be dead but is instead so much lighter and alive than Satoru has seen in over a decade after, well, after everything.
It can’t be real.
“Suguru…” Satoru whispers, and he takes his first step forward. His eyes burn, he can see their blue glow in Suguru’s own eyes, and Suguru holds him upright as he falls against him.
“Hey, Satoru.” Suguru smiles. He looks so worried. He looks almost scared. Satoru wants to see him smile oh-so-badly.
This can’t be real.
And yet.
Every inch of Suguru is warm as he wraps his arms around Satoru like it’s nothing but second nature. Satoru trembles. His eyes burn.
He meets Suguru’s eyes and smiles. He hasn’t been so happy in a long, long time.
He doesn’t want this to be a dream.
“Hi. You’re alive, right? That’s… I’m so glad, Suguru. Tell me how you did it when I wake up, won’t you?”
He has just a moment to see Suguru’s face screw up in confusion before the effort of using his eyes so extensively kicks him in the gut. His vision blurs and twists and he falls into a familiar darkness before he hears a response.
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfilment
Suguru doesn’t know what to do. He’s seen a lot of things in the few years he’s been a jujutsu sorcerer – pain, destruction, trauma of all sorts and unfair deaths over and over. It’s not an easy life. If he’s honest, it’s an exhausting and horrible one.
Despite everything, however, Gojo Satoru has always been by his side. They’re the strongest. It’s something Suguru both loathes and is proud of at the same time, but it has always been something that has been shared with the bright-eyed boy. It’s a relief, if anything, to not be alone at the top. It’s a relief, if anything, to have Satoru to lean on and to know he’s there for Satoru to do the same.
So to stand there unable to do anything as Satoru looks at him and asks who he is — it breaks something inside Suguru that he hopes can be fixed.
He does his best. He thinks that’s all he can do at the moment because Satoru’s eyes are glowing with the weight of Infinity and there is cursed energy flooding the room that he knows has the teachers on the move and Satoru looks at him like he’s a ghost. He doesn’t think Satoru hears half the things he says. He doesn’t understand half the things Satoru says.
Suguru is scared. He’ll easily admit that.
In the two years he’s known Satoru, he’s never seen… this.
And then Satoru asks if he is alive and then Satoru’s bright eyes dull and then he tips on his feet and all his weight falls against him as the owner of the Six Eyes and Limitless – as Satoru Satoru, his best friend – falls unconscious.
He’s not ashamed to say he panics.
“SHOKO!”
Suguru paces back and forth across the length of the room, hands shaking at his side as he watches the rise and fall of Satoru’s chest as the white-haired boy lay unresponsive on the bed. His nerves are fire in his veins. He knows he’ll go mad the longer Satoru stays there.
Shoko watches him from her place in the seat beside Satoru. She hasn’t left the room since directing them in. Her face is impassive and unconcerned, but Suguru knows better than to think that means she doesn’t care. He can see the way she watches Satoru’s breathing like a hawk, ready to swoop in and do what’s needed if anything happens.
It’s been two days, and Yaga has left them alone with the promise to let him know the moment Satoru is awake. He hadn’t mentioned a word about schoolwork. It reminded Suguru that Yaga did care about them, even if he was usually so tired of them.
(He thinks Yaga is running interference with the clans because the radio silence from their beloved strongest sorcerer has made them suspicious , but Suguru hadn’t bothered to ask. It didn’t seem like a priority at the time.)
Suguru paces, heart beating in his ears, and wonders if Satoru would find the situation funny or if – for once – he would understand that people care about him. He wouldn’t hold out hope. Suguru stops next to the bed, brushing his hand against Shoko’s shoulder.
“I can watch him. Get some rest, Shoko.”
She glances up at him. Shakes her head. There are bags under her eyes. He knows that the dark circles are under his match.
“I should be saying that to you, Geto.”
He huffs a bitter laugh as he shakes his head. She watches him a moment longer, unmoving, and then turns back to Satoru. Suguru had glanced away, albeit reluctantly, while speaking to her and it was only as he turned back alongside Shoko that he saw it—
Two bright, blue eyes stare up at the roof unblinking. Satoru doesn’t make a sound as he wakes, but it still sounds like an explosion being set off. Neither Suguru nor Shoko move. Slowly, they watch as Satoru’s eyes light up with something close to recognition. Slowly, Suguru takes a step closer to the bed. Slowly, Satoru pulls himself up. Suguru’s hands twitch at his side. He wants to reach out. He wants to help Satoru. But there is a surety in every inch of Satoru’s movement that wasn’t there before the day Suguru walked in on him and watched as something inside the other sorcerer cracked. He doesn’t move closer.
The world seems to wait as Satoru pushes the sheets away from himself, as Satoru looks around the room with something like looks like nostalgia but that doesn’t make sense, as Satoru stands with a stability that doesn’t indicate the two days of unconsciousness that it should.
Suguru doesn’t have the same eyes as Satoru. He doesn’t see things the same way his friend does. But what he does see makes him almost scared – but whether that's for himself or Satoru, he isn’t entirely sure.
It doesn’t matter.
Satoru looks at him like he’s a ghost.
“You’re still here, Suguru,” Satoru observes, his voice softer than Suguru has ever heard it.
(“You’re alive, right?”)
“Of course I am, Satoru.” He answers, his voice shaking but sure, a stone pillar uprooted, “Where else would I be?”
He watches as Satoru blinks his eyes a few times in quick succession. He watches as Satoru reaches a hand up, covering the blue of his eyes and blocking them from the world. Suguru waits.
There is a bitter and sad smile on Satoru’s face that makes no sense when he slowly peers back out at them. It breaks Suguru’s heart. He wants to be careful, he does. This is a delicate situation even if nothing makes sense about it. He knows he should tread lightly.
But Suguru has always been impulsive when it comes to Satoru — it’s why they’re always tied to one another’s waist when push comes to shove. They understand each other better than anyone else could hope to.
“Where did you go, Satoru? What happened to you?” He bites these words out even as Shoko snaps her head toward him in something that is not quite fear.
Satoru stares at him for a long, long moment.
“I killed you.”
His ears are ringing, he thinks. They’re ringing with the same buzz that his curses make when they’re angry and they need to be heard. His ears are ringing because Satoru Satoru stares at him with bright, powerful eyes, and Suguru knows with his very soul that he is not lying.
It doesn’t make sense.
But Satoru looked at him like he was a ghost. Suguru didn’t understand before – didn’t comprehend what the look behind his eyes meant. But there is guilt and horror and confusion mixed into those blue rings of colour. There is grief that wasn’t there the last time they had been together.
Satoru messes with them sometimes. He plays pranks. He acts like a brat because he knows they’ll indulge him. He’s also Suguru’s best friend and something like this—
Like this—
( “I killed you.”)
(“Who are you?”)
(“You’re alive, right?”)
Satoru wouldn’t joke about something like this.
(That doesn’t make it better.)
You did what? He wants to say.
Suguru can’t speak. Breathing is difficult. Shoko cleared her throat from next to him, gently resting a warm hand against his arm. Suguru doesn’t startle but it’s a near thing. He inhales sharply as she takes a step closer to Satoru. He exhales slowly as Satoru’s gaze falls upon her with a sharp blink as if he was seeing her for the first time.
They both watch as Satoru’s eyes light up with recognition. There is no grief when he looks at her.
Between one second and the next, Shoko takes another step forward and swings. Infinity stops the hit from connecting with Satoru’s face, but the move has its intended effect. Satoru rapidly blinks his eyes and takes a step back that sends him tumbling back onto the bed.
“Calm down.” Steel in her eyes, Shoko does not let Satoru get back up. “Both of you. It’s not going to help if both of you are all emotional, alright? We can talk. We can figure out what the fuck you mean by you killed Geto. But we are going to be calm while doing it. Okay?”
Both of the boys just look at her. Her eyes narrow, glancing back and forth between them.
“Okay?”
And it’s like nothing has ever changed, just for a second, as both of them echo a yes, Shoko like they’re back in class and the worst that they’d ever done was prank her on a day she was not up for dealing with them. She nods her satisfaction. She sits back down. She looks over at Suguru and gestures at the chair beside her.
He lets out a shuddering breath and drags it next to the bed. He sits down right in front of Satoru who looks out of place surrounded by the soft pillows and blankets they had adjusted around him over the past two days. Satoru looks back at him – eyes drawn back away from Shoko and aimed back at Suguru. It’s almost as if Satoru can’t bear to look away. It’s almost like Satoru thinks that if he does, Suguru will vanish and never return. It’s intense. He hasn’t seen Satoru’s eyes glow so much– well, ever.
It’s almost too much.
Almost.
He forces his confusion down. He forces his fear down. He yanks up his concern and care and reaches forward as if his world hasn’t tipped onto its side. He watches as Infinity falls away from Satoru as he takes hold of his hands and his heart burns with affection and relief at the fact that despite whatever this is he still holds that kind of trust for Suguru.
It’s enough.
He lets himself be calm. This isn’t about him. This is about Satoru. This is about his best friend looking at him like a ghost and telling him that he killed him, and he needs an answer but not if it’s going to bring that pain back into Satoru’s eyes at full force.
“Satoru.” He calls, and Satoru’s eyes – impossibly – focus on his face.
Satoru blinks once. Tilts his head. He goes through the same motions as normal, wonderful Satoru, but there is something off about the way he does so.
“Yes, Suguru?”
“Can you tell us what you’re talking about, please? We just want to understand. Let us help you, okay?” Suguru asks, squeezing Satoru’s hands gently.
There is a long, quiet pause. Suguru can see the way the gears are turning inside Satoru’s head, and he can see the way the white-haired boy considers his options.
He watches Satoru purse his lips and the words that escape them moments after are the last thing he would have expected, “Last I checked, it was 2018, and I killed you last year. But I don’t think that’s true anymore, is it, Suguru? Because you’re right here. And you’re alive. Not—”
Satoru takes a single, shuddering breath, cutting himself off. His works hang in the air, suspended by an emotion Suguru doesn’t want to try to name. Suguru wants to drag the rest of the sentence out of him but Shoko’s hand on his thigh tenses at the same time his entire body does.
He forces himself to focus on what he did hear.
It sounds like it should be a lie. A sick joke.
Satoru’s eyes burn into him.
What do you mean you killed me? Suguru thinks, terrified and worried and angry and not sure who to direct it at, desperately wanting to shake Satoru’s shoulders, what did I do?
Satoru doesn’t cry. It’s simply the truth of the universe. But there is grief so strong in his eyes that it knocks into Suguru’s very soul like a raging hurricane. It’s all Suguru needs to believe his words.
He knows, with heart-aching clarity, that Satoru is telling the inconceivable truth.