Work Text:
Megumi
Gojo stood amidst the chaos, his breaths still uneven as he stared at the crumpled figure on the ground. Toji Zenin—or rather, Toji Fushiguro—lay lifeless, his expression frozen in that final moment of pain and resignation. Blood pooled around his body, seeping into the earth beneath them. The entire scene should have felt like a victory, but something was gnawing at him, refusing to let go. Toji's last words kept replaying in his head like a broken record.
"In a few years, my kid will be sold off to the Zenin clan. Do with that what you will."
A kid. Gojo clenched his fists at his sides, his eyes drifting aimlessly as he processed the statement. Toji had a child, and the Zenin clan would claim them in the future. His stomach twisted at the thought. It wasn’t an emotion he was used to feeling—this unsettled, gnawing sense of something being deeply wrong. Normally, he wouldn’t have thought twice about the words of a dying man. But this…
"Dammit," he muttered to himself, rubbing his face roughly. He turned away from the body, glancing up at the sky.
---
Days passed, but the memory of Toji's words refused to fade. Gojo threw himself into missions, his duties as a sorcerer, anything to distract him. Yet, every time he found a quiet moment, it resurfaced: the thought of some kid out there, alone, confused, and on the path to being swallowed by the Zenin clan.
He couldn't shake it.
It became a constant irritation, like a pebble stuck in his shoe. He complained about it to Geto whenever they had time to themselves. This day was no different; they sat together in the common room of the dorms, an open bag of snacks resting between them.
Gojo sighed heavily, tossing his head back against the couch. "I just... I can't stop thinking about it," he said, his voice carrying more frustration than usual.
Geto looked up from the magazine he'd been flipping through, raising an eyebrow. "Thinking about what?"
"The kid." Gojo’s fingers dug into his hair as he stared at the ceiling. "Toji said he had a kid. And that the Zenin clan would take him in a few years."
Geto blinked, his casual demeanor shifting to something more serious. "And why does the kid of the man who killed you matter?"
"It was his last words, Suguru!" Gojo’s frustration boiled over, and he jumped up from the couch, pacing the length of the room. "He knew he was going to die, and that's what he chose to say." He paused, looking over at his friend. "I can't just leave that kid out there."
Geto closed the magazine, giving Gojo his full attention. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know, Satoru," he began slowly, a faint smile playing at his lips, "you've got a real soft spot for kids."
Gojo groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I do not ."
"You do. You can’t stand the thought of a child suffering, especially when you could do something about it." Geto’s smile softened as he spoke. "You're not heartless, despite how you like to pretend sometimes."
"Yeah, yeah." Gojo waved off the comment, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. Geto wasn't wrong. As much as he flaunted his strength and played up his aloofness, there was a line he wouldn't cross, and leaving a child to fend for themselves was definitely on the other side of that line.
"But Satoru," Geto continued, his tone more serious now, "what do you think you can even do for this kid? You don’t even know where they are, or what their situation is."
Gojo huffed, crossing his arms. "I can find him. I mean, how many kids with a connection to the Zenin clan could there be?" He paused, considering his own words, and added, "Besides, it's not like I have anything better to do."
Geto sighed, leaning back into the couch. "You're really going to go out of your way to find this kid just because some dying man said something?"
Gojo's eyes darkened for a moment, a rare seriousness washing over him. "It’s not just because he said something. Who knows how that kid is living now, especially with that man as a father. If there's a chance I can stop that, then why shouldn't I?" He glanced at Geto, his gaze resolute. "If it were you, wouldn't you do the same?"
There was a long pause as Geto studied his friend, the weight of Gojo’s words settling between them. Finally, he nodded. "I suppose you're right," he admitted quietly. "But don't do anything reckless. You're still technically a child yourself."
Gojo grinned, some of his usual confidence returning. "I’m the strongest; I can do whatever I want," he said playfully, though there was a glint of determination in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. "I’m going to find that kid. Wherever he is, I'll figure it out."
Geto watched him for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Well, I guess that’s that, then," he said, shaking his head. "Just… don’t get too attached."
"Too late," Gojo muttered under his breath, turning toward the door. "Thanks, Suguru. I knew you'd listen."
With that, he strode out, leaving Geto behind with a sigh and a slight smile.
Outside, the sky was clear, the sun shining down on the academy grounds. Gojo squinted up at it, his thoughts already racing ahead to the task at hand. Finding a random kid wouldn’t be easy, but he was Satoru Gojo.
—
Gojo stood outside the run-down apartment complex, his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the building with a frown. It was modest, nothing remarkable—a far cry from what he’d expected. After days of scouring records and piecing together fragments of information, he had finally found the place. This was where Toji had lived, where his child—the kid who had been haunting Gojo’s thoughts—should still be living.
I wonder what kind of kid you are, he thought, staring at the front door as if it might hold some answers. The uneasy feeling in his stomach tightened. There was no turning back now.
As he was contemplating his next move, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Turning, he saw a small figure walking down the sidewalk, a schoolbag slung over one shoulder. Gojo’s eyes widened in shock. The kid was the spitting image of Toji—sharp features, dark hair, and those same piercing eyes that seemed far too old for a child. Gojo’s heart skipped a beat.
Holy crap, he looks just like him. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep his mouth from dropping open in sheer disbelief.
The kid stopped in front of the apartment building, eyeing Gojo suspiciously. Gojo could see him sizing him up, assessing the situation in a way that felt unsettlingly mature. Then, the boy’s brows furrowed, and he pointedly asked, “What’s wrong with your face?”
Gojo blinked, momentarily stunned out of his thoughts. Did he just… He quickly caught himself and forced a casual grin onto his face. “What’s wrong with your face?” he retorted, though it came out lighter than he’d intended. Inside, his mind was reeling. This kid has Toji’s personality, alright. Fantastic.
The boy squinted at him, clearly unimpressed. "You look like an idiot," he said bluntly, crossing his arms. "What do you want?"
Gojo felt his lips twitch, part amusement, part disbelief. This kid really was a handful. “So, you must be…” He hesitated, feeling a sudden, uncomfortable tightness in his chest. The kid looked so much like Toji that it almost made his next words catch in his throat. “You’re Megumi, right?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed, his mouth setting into a hard line. “Yeah, so? Who are you?”
Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. “Well, I, uh… I knew your dad,” he began awkwardly, still thrown off by the boy’s resemblance to Toji. “I wanted to talk to you about—”
“Don’t care,” Megumi cut him off, his tone flat and disinterested. He shifted his schoolbag higher on his shoulder, turning his gaze away. “Haven’t seen him in a while anyway, and it’s not like it matters.”
Gojo stood there, momentarily speechless. The bluntness, the way Megumi brushed it off as if it meant nothing— it sent a pang of sympathy through Gojo. For a kid this young to speak so callously about his own father…
“Well, alright then,” Gojo said finally, deciding not to push the subject any further. It was obvious Megumi had already built up walls, walls that wouldn’t come down with a few words from a stranger. “I won’t bother you with that. But listen,” he continued, crouching down to meet the boy’s gaze at eye level. “I just wanted you to know I’ll be around if you need anything.”
Megumi stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. There was something in his eyes—a flicker of confusion, or maybe suspicion—but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Yeah, sure,” he replied dismissively, turning toward the apartment door. “Whatever. Do what you want.”
Gojo watched as Megumi trudged up the steps and disappeared inside, the sound of the door creaking shut behind him. A heavy silence settled over the area, leaving Gojo standing alone on the sidewalk.
Well, that could’ve gone better, he thought with a sigh. But he wasn’t discouraged. If anything, the brief encounter had only strengthened his resolve. The kid might have brushed him off, but Gojo wasn’t about to walk away now. He’d seen enough to know that Megumi wasn’t indifferent—he was hurting, burying his feelings under that brash attitude.
Walking away, he couldn't shake the image of Megumi’s face from his mind. Toji’s last words echoed faintly in his ears once more, but now they carried a new weight. This kid deserved a chance. And as far as Gojo was concerned, he was going to make sure the Zenin clan would never get their hands on him.
—
Gojo stormed back into the school’s common room, his mind spinning with the encounter he just had. The doors banged open as he entered, his eyes scanning the room for Geto. He found him lounging on the couch, a book in hand, looking up with an eyebrow raised at Gojo’s dramatic entrance.
“You’re back,” Geto said coolly, setting his book down on the coffee table. “I assume you found the kid?”
Gojo huffed, throwing himself onto the opposite couch, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, I found him, all right. Little shit looks just like him, and has got the attitude to match, too.”
Geto watched him, his curiosity piqued. “So? What happened?”
With a sigh, Gojo sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he started to recount everything. “It was almost scary how similar they are. He’s got that same… intensity, y’know? And he’s what, like, a first grader? How does a kid that young already have a glare that could burn a hole through concrete?”
Geto chuckled. “Sounds like quite the meeting. Did you tell him about his father?”
Gojo shook his head. “Nah, I tried, but he cut me off before I could say much. Said he hadn’t seen his dad in a while and didn’t care, so I figured it wasn’t worth pushing it.” He paused, his brows furrowing as he thought back on Megumi’s expression. “He’s got this wall up, Suguru. Like he’s already given up on expecting anything good from people.”
“That’s probably not surprising, considering who his father was,” Geto remarked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “So, what’s your plan now?”
Gojo hesitated for a moment before letting out a huff, collapsing back into the couch dramatically. “I don’t know! I just know I can’t leave him out there alone like that.” He paused, running a hand through his hair again. “He’s living by himself with his sister. His sister, Suguru! They’re just kids!”
“Interesting.” Geto’s voice was calm, though there was amusement in his gaze. “Seems like you’re getting a bit too invested, Satoru.”
Gojo sat up straight, glaring at him. “Well, what else am I supposed to do? Just walk away? Let him get swallowed up by the Zenin clan or fend for himself?”
“No, of course not.” Geto waved a hand dismissively, his lips quirking into a small smile. “It’s just amusing, that’s all. You’re acting like a worried parent.”
That made Gojo pause, a look of horror crossing his face as he processed Geto’s words. “Oh, God,” he muttered, bringing a hand to his forehead. “I'm like a teen dad.”
Geto snorted, unable to keep a straight face. “Teen dad, huh? You know, I always pictured you in a different light, but this is far more entertaining.”
“Don’t start,” Gojo groaned, slumping back into the couch with a dramatic sigh. “I didn’t sign up for this. I just… I don’t know. I keep thinking about how Toji basically left this kid with a target on his back. How am I supposed to ignore that?”
“Because you have a soft spot,” Geto said matter-of-factly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he peered at his friend. “You always have when it comes to kids. That’s why you’re fussing over him like a mother hen.”
Gojo glared at him, though there was no real anger behind it. “I’m not fussing. I’m just… concerned.”
“Uh-huh,” Geto hummed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Satoru. Just admit it: you’ve already decided to keep an eye on the kid.”
“Of course I have!” Gojo snapped, his hands flailing as if to emphasize his point. “What was I supposed to do? Let him be some pawn for the Zenin clan? I’m Satoru Gojo; I don’t do things halfway.” He paused, then let out a frustrated groan. “And yeah, maybe I do have a soft spot, okay? But can you blame me? He’s got no one else.”
Geto laughed softly, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I get it. The mighty Satoru Gojo has taken on the role of a teen dad. What’s next, parent-teacher conferences? Are you going to start packing his lunches, too?”
“Oh, shut up,” Gojo grumbled, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing here, Suguru. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”
“Well,” Geto leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms with a thoughtful expression, “it doesn’t have to be. You don’t need to be perfect at this. Just be there. You’ve already decided to help him, so take it one step at a time.”
Gojo blinked, staring at Geto, then sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. One step at a time.” He glanced up at the ceiling, a sense of resolve settling in his chest. “If he wants nothing to do with me, then fine. But I’m still gonna be around, whether he likes it or not.”
“Spoken like a true dad,” Geto teased, and Gojo shot him a half-hearted glare.
“Keep it up, and I’ll make you his godfather,” Gojo retorted with a smirk, getting up from the couch. “Alright, I’m gonna go figure out what the next step is. Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime, teen dad,” Geto replied with a grin, raising a hand in a lazy wave as Gojo headed for the door.
As he walked out, Gojo rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile on his face. He might not know what he was doing, but at least he didn’t have to figure it out alone. He’d made up his mind to keep Megumi safe, and that was enough for now.
“Guess I’ve got myself a kid,” he muttered under his breath as he made his way down the hallway.
Mimiko and Nanako
The air was thick with the scent of blood and the remnants of cursed energy. Gojo stood over Geto, his face hidden behind his blindfold, but the anguish written in his posture was unmistakable. Around them, the scene was littered with destruction—courtesy of the battle that had just transpired. Now, the world had quieted, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing.
Geto lay sprawled on the ground, beaten and broken. His once-confident smirk was now a faint ghost of itself, blood staining the corners of his lips. Gojo stared down at him, every muscle in his body taut. They both knew how this was going to end; there was only one thing left to do.
Geto slowly turned his head to look up at his old friend, his eyes tired but still holding a trace of that defiant glimmer. "You're cruel, Satoru," he rasped, a bitter smile forming on his cracked lips. "Sending your students to fight in your place…"
Gojo flinched, though he tried to hide it. "I made a choice," he replied, his voice cold and resolute. "I had to deal with the curses you unleashed."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged with years of pain, betrayal, and what-ifs. Geto's eyes softened slightly as he took in the sight of the man standing over him, the friend he’d once thought he knew so well.
"I wonder… do you still have that soft spot for helpless children?" Geto asked suddenly, his voice barely a whisper but carrying the weight of an old memory.
Gojo didn’t respond, his expression remaining stoic, though his fingers twitched slightly. He refused to acknowledge the way his heart clenched at the question.
But Geto smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of the answer he’d already known. "I see," he murmured. "Some things never change."
A painful silence lingered before Geto continued, his voice growing softer, more strained. "Those two girls—the ones I saved from that village—the ones you met... Mimiko and Nanako. Did they make it out safely?"
Gojo remembers them, the two girls who had clung to Geto ever since he rescued them. “Everyone made it out unharmed.”
Getos gaze grew distant, the faintest hint of worry creeping into his tone. "They’re strong, but... they’re not ready for the world yet. Not for what it will throw at them."
Gojo's fists clenched at his sides. "Why are you telling me this?" he demanded, his voice tight with barely restrained emotion. "Why now, when you’re about to die?" His words came out harsher than he intended, a shield to cover the turmoil roiling within him.
Geto closed his eyes for a moment, his face drawn with exhaustion. "Because," he said, opening his eyes and fixing them on Gojo with a strange mixture of regret and hope, "I want you to look out for them."
A hollow laugh escaped Gojo's lips. He shook his head, staring down at his old friend. "You bastard," he muttered, his voice trembling as he tried to force the words out. "You’re such a bastard."
Geto’s smile turned sarcastic, his eyes glittering with that familiar mischief despite the blood and agony. "I wonder where I got it from," he whispered, his voice a faint tease despite everything.
Gojo’s heart squeezed painfully, his breath catching in his throat. "Why..." he began, his voice raw, "why do you think you have any right to ask me for anything?" His question hung in the air, heavy and accusing, his tone wavering as he fought to maintain his composure.
Geto simply smiled, his eyes softening in a way that made Gojo’s stomach twist. "Because I know you," he replied quietly. "I know you can’t refuse me, no matter how much you hate me now. You may be cruel, but you're not heartless Satoru."
"You're not heartless, despite how you like to pretend sometimes."
For a moment, Gojo couldn’t breathe. The certainty in Geto’s voice cut through him like a knife, slicing open old wounds and exposing the raw, bleeding truth beneath. His shoulders trembled, his hands forming tight fists. "If you’re trying to make killing you easier, then it’s working," he bit out, though the way his voice cracked betrayed the fury, the anguish bubbling up inside him. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision, and he hated himself for it.
Geto looked up at him, his smile bittersweet as he watched his oldest friend wrestle with the impossible. "I’m not," he whispered. "I just... I wanted to make sure they’re safe. You’re the only one I can trust with that."
Gojo sucked in a shaky breath, his entire body trembling as he tried to hold himself together. "You don’t get to do this, Suguru," he choked out, the tears he’d been holding back finally spilling down his cheeks. "You don’t get to ask me for something like this after everything."
"I know," Geto murmured, his eyes slipping closed as he exhaled slowly. "But I’m asking anyway."
Gojo stood there, his heart breaking under the weight of everything unsaid between them. Years of friendship, laughter, pain, and betrayal. And here they were, at the end of it all, with Geto asking him for one last favor, knowing full well that Gojo would do it. Because he did still have that soft spot, because he still cared, even after everything.
Silence fell, the world around them seeming to hold its breath as Gojo raised his hand, preparing for what he had to do. But his fingers trembled, and he struggled to steel himself for the blow. He had to do this. There was no other way. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.
He stared down at the man on the ground, the one who had once been his closest friend, the one who had chosen a path so far from his own. "You really are a bastard," Gojo whispered, his voice shattering in the air between them. "And I hate you for making me do this."
Geto’s lips curved into a soft, almost serene smile. "I know," he replied, his voice barely audible. "But it’s okay. It’ll be over soon."
Gojo clenched his jaw, the tears spilling freely now as he forced himself to lift his hand higher, cursed energy gathering at his fingertips. "Damn you, Suguru," he muttered, his voice breaking. "Damn you."
And then, in one swift motion, it was done. The light faded, leaving only the quiet aftermath of what had transpired. Gojo stood there, his hand still raised, his body rigid as he stared down at Geto’s now still form. The world seemed to fall silent around him, the weight of his actions crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he gasped for breath. The tears wouldn’t stop, and he hated himself for how weak he felt in that moment. But above all, he hated the emptiness that settled in his chest, a void that he knew would never be filled.
His gaze drifted to the sky, the bright blue that felt so at odds with the darkness in his heart. And despite everything, despite the pain and the loss, he whispered, "I’ll look after them. I promise."
Because that was what Suguru had asked of him. And Gojo Satoru, for better or worse, would always keep his promises.
—
Gojo waited several days before making his move, allowing the dust from the recent battle to settle. There was no point in rushing; everyone involved needed time. The city had been through hell, and so had the people in it. Emotions were still running high, and if he went to find the girls now, it would only escalate things further. He needed to approach this delicately, for their sake and his own.
But even so, the thought of them gnawed at him. Suguru's final request refused to leave his mind. Look out for them, he had said, as though that would be easy to do. Gojo wasn’t sure if he could, but he had to try. After all, he had already made the promise—to Suguru and to himself.
A few days later, he finally set out to find them. It took time and effort to track down their whereabouts, but eventually, he did. The outskirts of the city were quiet, almost eerily so. It was here, tucked away from prying eyes, that he found them.
Mimiko and Nanako stood in front of a makeshift grave, their eyes fixed on the crude marker they had erected for Suguru. It was nothing more than a pile of stones and dirt, a pitiful memorial for someone who had meant the world to them. Gojo felt a pang in his chest as he watched them from a distance. For a moment, he considered turning around and leaving them to their grief, but he had made a promise.
As he approached, they both turned, their eyes immediately sharpening with a mix of fear and defiance. They moved into defensive stances, ready to fight, their cursed energy flaring around them like a warning. Gojo stopped a few feet away, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
“I’m not here to fight you,” he said calmly, his voice even. “Not right now.”
They didn’t relax, not at first. They glared at him, suspicion in their eyes, their tiny bodies bristling with tension. Gojo stayed where he was, letting them take the time they needed to process his words. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, they eased out of their stances, though they remained wary.
He sighed, feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. “Suguru asked me to check on you,” he said softly, his gaze flickering to the makeshift grave behind them. “Make sure you’re alright.”
The effect of his words was almost immediate. The tension in their shoulders loosened, their eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and hope. Mimiko, the seemingly older of the two twins, looked at him carefully, her guard dropping just enough to speak.
“He talked about you,” she said, her voice small. “A lot. We know… we know you were his best friend.”
Gojo felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, like a knife twisting in a wound that hadn’t yet healed. His breath hitched, but he forced himself to remain steady, to keep his face impassive. Best friend. The words felt like an accusation, a reminder of everything he had lost and failed to protect.
He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak immediately. When he did, his voice was softer, almost gentle. “You two are still young,” he began, choosing his words with care. “But you’re stubborn, and you’ve had a… great person looking out for you so far.” His gaze shifted back to them, and he tried to keep his tone light. “I’m not here to force you to do anything. But I’ll give you my number.” He pulled out a small slip of paper and scribbled it down, holding it out to them. “If you ever truly need help, I’ll do what I can.”
They stared at the paper in his hand, not reaching for it immediately. Nanako glanced at Mimiko, then back at Gojo, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But… we’re enemies,” she said, her voice strained. “You’re a sorcerer, a teacher. And we’re curse users.”
Gojo sighed, lowering his hand and letting the paper flutter to the ground between them. “You’re still children,” he replied, his tone firm yet tinged with a sadness he couldn’t quite hide. “I’m not going to let you be abandoned just because Suguru is gone. That’s not how this works. You shouldn’t have to fend for yourselves, not at your age.”
They didn’t respond immediately, their gazes dropping to the ground. The uncertainty in their expressions was painfully clear, as if they wanted to believe him but couldn’t fully bring themselves to trust his words. Gojo didn’t push them; he just stood there, giving them time to process. When they didn’t make a move to pick up the paper, he turned on his heel, ready to leave.
“Keep it if you want,” he called over his shoulder. “Or don’t. But the offer stands.”
He walked away then, not looking back. He had already said what he needed to. Whether they accepted his help or not was up to them, and he had to be okay with that.
As he made his way back toward the city, a bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat, escaping before he could stop it. “Dammit, Suguru,” he muttered under his breath. “You really had to put this on me, didn’t you?”
His mind drifted to Toji and the mess that had started this whole path. And you, too, he thought darkly. All of you keep doing this to me. Three kids now—three lives thrust into his care, all because of decisions that weren’t his to make.
“I’m way too young to be playing parent to three kids,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. But even as he complained, he knew he wouldn’t abandon them. He couldn’t. Mimiko, Nanako, and Megumi—they all deserved better than the cards they’d been dealt.
“Fine,” he sighed, shoulders sagging. “I’ll do what I can.” With one last glance back toward the outskirts, he turned his eyes forward and walked away, ready to carry yet another burden that wasn’t his, but one he would shoulder all the same.
Itadori
Years had passed, marked by brief, impersonal text messages that had become a part of Gojo's monthly routine. He would type out the same message on the first day of each month, a simple, "Still alive?" directed to Mimiko and Nanako. Their responses varied between terse confirmations like, "Yes," or the occasional selfie of them looking mostly unharmed, usually accompanied by a dry, “Still alive. Happy now?”
Gojo would always sigh in relief, his usual bravado slipping for a fraction of a second as he closed out the message. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was enough to keep his promise to Suguru.
But where Mimiko and Nanako had maintained a careful distance, Megumi had become a constant presence. The kid had grown, now a first-year at Jujutsu Tech. Despite Gojo’s promise to take care of him, he knew he couldn't coddle Megumi. He had to let him make his own way, fight his own battles, and tackle the dangers of their world with his own strength. Gojo kept an eye on him, of course—probably more than any of his other students—but he tried not to smother him. After all, Megumi had a fierce independence that reminded Gojo too much of someone else.
Which is how they ended up here, standing on top of a building in the dead of night. Megumi was bruised, beaten half to death, his eyes half-lidded as he struggled to stay conscious. Beside him, Gojo held the limp form of a teenager draped over his shoulder—Yuji Itadori, the kid who had just swallowed one of Sukuna’s fingers.
It had been an exhausting day, to say the least.
Gojo glanced down at Megumi, concern etched on his usually carefree features. “You alright, Megumi?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light despite the heaviness in the air.
Megumi winced, forcing one eye open to look up at him. “I’ve been better,” he croaked, coughing as he shifted painfully on the concrete. “What about him?” He nodded toward the boy Gojo held, his eyes clouded with worry. “Can you do anything to make sure he doesn’t get executed?”
Gojo’s eyes flickered down to the unconscious teen—Yuji Itadori, Megumi had said his name was. The kid looked so young, his face peaceful despite the violence he’d just witnessed and endured. He knew he could do something; he was Satoru Gojo, after all. There were plenty of ways he could pull strings, make demands, and bend the higher-ups to his will. But before he decided on anything, he wanted to understand why Megumi was pushing for this.
“Maybe,” he replied noncommittally, his gaze shifting to Megumi. “But I’ve gotta ask: why do you want him kept alive?”
Megumi went silent, staring at the sky for a moment, his expression unreadable. “He’s got no family left. No one to look out for him.”
Gojo sighed, feeling the weight of the situation settle over him. “Yeah, but that doesn’t answer my question,” he pressed. “Why does it matter to you?”
Megumi shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. “I guess it’s personal reasons,” he said, his voice quiet and strained. “I just… I don’t think he should be left to die just because of something that happened to him by chance. He only swallowed that so save me. It’s not his fault.”
Gojo stared at him, a mix of pride and exasperation bubbling up inside him. Of course, this was what Megumi would say. He’d seen firsthand how unfair life could be, and he was doing exactly what Gojo had done for him all those years ago—stepping in to save a life that others had already written off.
“Alright,” Gojo muttered, feeling that last piece of resistance crumble inside him. “If it means that much to you, I’ll see what I can do.” He glanced down at the boy in his arms, feeling the weight of yet another responsibility settling onto his shoulders. “Looks like I’m taking in another one.”
Gojo thought to himself, a wry smirk playing at the corner of his lips. That makes four now. How in the world had he managed to end up as the reluctant caretaker of four damn kids? Mimiko and Nanako—whom he only ever heard from once a month with a short text confirming they were still alive—and Megumi, who had stubbornly grown into a strong sorcerer under Gojo’s watch. And now, this kid—Yuji Itadori, Sukuna’s vessel.
It was ridiculous, really. When had he become responsible for so many lives?
“Y’know,” he began, glancing down at Megumi, “I must be some kind of idiot, right?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge of disbelief that he couldn’t quite shake. “You guys are going to be the death of me.”
Megumi managed a faint smirk, his eyes glinting with something close to amusement. “Please,” he muttered. “You would have taken him in anyway, just like you did with me. You’re just using me as an excuse.”
Gojo blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, really?” he replied, feigning offense. “And what makes you think that?”
“Because you have a soft spot for kids,” Megumi shot back, his voice growing stronger, more sure. “You practically forced me to let you take care of me. This is just the same thing all over again.”
Gojo paused, his mind flashing back to that conversation he’d had with Suguru so many years ago. The memory struck him like a lightning bolt—Suguru teasing him, calling him out for his so-called soft spot for children.
"You just can't stand the thought of a child suffering, can you?"
It had annoyed him back then, how easily Suguru had seen through him. And now here he was, proving Suguru right all over again.
He let out a slow breath, his eyes drifting skyward for a moment before returning to Megumi. “You’re just as stubborn as he was,” Gojo muttered, unable to keep a faint smile from forming. “You really are gonna be the death of me.”
Megumi rolled his eyes, the action familiar and almost comforting. “You’re impossible,” he muttered. “But you know I’m right.”
Gojo couldn’t argue with that. With a sigh, he adjusted his grip on Yuji, preparing to get both boys off this rooftop. “Yeah, yeah,” he conceded, turning to glance down at the unconscious boy in his arms. “Looks like I’ve got another kid to take care of now.” He hesitated for a moment, then added quietly, “But I don’t regret it.”
And that was the truth. As much as he complained, as much as he joked about not wanting to be a caretaker for these kids, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. It mattered. They mattered. Even now, after everything, he couldn’t just turn his back on them.
"Alright," he said, his voice firming up as he looked at Megumi. "Let’s get out of here. We've got a lot of work to do with this one." He glanced down at Yuji again, feeling a surge of determination. “And if the higher-ups want to try and execute him, they’ll have to get through me first.”
Megumi managed a small nod, eyes closing as he tried to rest, content in the knowledge that Gojo would handle things, just like he always did.
As they headed back, Gojo found himself muttering under his breath, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Damn you, Suguru. And Toji, too,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m way too young to be looking after four of these.”
But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t change a thing. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he had that soft spot, just like Suguru had pointed out all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, that was what would keep him going—fighting for these kids, keeping them safe from a world that had tried to swallow them whole.
“C’mon, you stubborn kids,” he muttered, the words laced with both affection and exasperation. “Let’s go home.”
Acceptance
After getting back to the school, Gojo’s first priority was making sure Yuji was secured and safe. Then, he made his way to the infirmary, where Megumi had been taken to recover. It hadn’t escaped his notice just how much blood Megumi had lost or how his injuries were far worse than he’d initially let on. Stubborn kid. The thought made him sigh as he pushed open the door to the dimly lit room.
Megumi lay on one of the beds, propped up by pillows, bandages wrapped around his torso, one arm in a sling. Despite his injuries, his eyes were still sharp, watching the door as if expecting someone. When Gojo entered, Megumi’s gaze softened, though he made no attempt to greet him. Typical Megumi—always the stoic one.
Gojo walked over and pulled up a chair beside the bed, crossing his arms as he looked down at his student. “You’re a stubborn shit, you know that?” he said, his voice somewhere between exasperated and affectionate. “Should’ve told me how banged up you were. I might’ve actually carried you back properly.”
Megumi gave a small huff of amusement, his lips twitching up into the faintest hint of a smile. “You were too busy carrying Yuji,” he retorted, shifting slightly in the bed. “Besides, I didn’t need to be coddled.”
Gojo snorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Right, because walking around half-dead is just another day for you, huh?” He shook his head, letting his gaze drift over the various bandages and bruises that marred Megumi’s skin. You really are just like him, he thought, the familiar pang of memory hitting him.
He was about to say something else, maybe make another sarcastic remark, when Megumi beat him to it.
“Wonder where I got the stubbornness from,” Megumi muttered, closing his eyes briefly, exhaustion still clear in the lines of his face. “Must’ve learned it from you.”
Gojo froze. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he couldn’t find his voice. Here he had been, mentally comparing Megumi’s personality and his instincts to his father, Toji Fushiguro—the man Gojo had fought and killed so many years ago. Megumi’s strength, his resolve, his way of holding his ground no matter what—it was all so reminiscent of Toji that Gojo couldn’t help but make the comparison.
But then, here was Megumi, indirectly saying the opposite. He wasn’t like Toji; he was like Gojo . He had filled that space in Megumi’s life, become the figure Megumi looked to, for better or worse.
Gojo blinked, his breath catching in his throat as the realization settled over him, far heavier than he’d expected. “You…” he began, his voice unsteady before he quickly cleared his throat. “You got it from me, huh?”
Megumi opened one eye, glancing at him with a knowing look. “Yeah, you idiot,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching upward just a little. “Who else would I have learned it from?”
“You really are stubborn, then,” Gojo muttered, his voice softer now, almost tender. He reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair, careful not to disturb the bandages around his head. “Guess I rubbed off on you more than I thought.”
Megumi swatted at his hand weakly, a look of annoyance crossing his face. “Stop being sappy,” he grumbled, though there was no real bite to his words. “I’m trying to sleep here.”
Gojo chuckled, his eyes growing a bit misty despite himself. “Right, right,” he said, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
Gojo sat there for a long time, just watching Megumi’s steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket. He didn’t want to leave yet, didn’t want to break the quiet that had settled between them. But as he leaned back in his chair, something nagged at the back of his mind, a question he had been putting off for years.
Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His mouth opened, the words catching in his throat for a second before he finally managed to get them out. "Hey, Megumi,” he began slowly, carefully, “do you… ever wonder about your dad?"
Megumi didn’t move at first, his eyes remaining closed as if he were ignoring the question altogether. But after a moment, he glanced at Gojo out of the corner of his eye, his gaze sharp and calculating. “Why would I?” he replied bluntly, his voice flat. “I have no reason to.”
Gojo winced. It wasn’t exactly the response he’d expected, though maybe he should have. He hesitated, wanting to say something—anything—that might make Megumi open up. “I just thought—” he started, but Megumi cut him off, shutting his eyes tightly as if to block out the conversation.
“Save it,” Megumi muttered, his voice quieter but no less firm. “I already know more about you than I ever wanted to.”
The words hit Gojo like a punch to the gut. For a second, he just sat there, blinking, his mind trying to process what Megumi had just said. More about you than I ever wanted to. It was so blunt, so straightforward, and yet there was something underneath it that he couldn’t quite grasp.
“Wait,” Gojo blurted out, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “That’s… that’s not what I meant.” He knew there was more to what Megumi was saying, but he didn’t quite understand it, not fully. Why was this hitting him so hard?
Megumi groaned, shifting slightly in the bed, his head turning away from Gojo. “Do you really need me to fucking spell it out for you?” he grumbled, his tone sharp but lacking any real malice. It was more of an exhausted exasperation, like a teacher explaining something obvious to a student who just wasn’t getting it.
Gojo’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at the back of Megumi’s head, his mind racing. Spell it out? He replayed Megumi’s words over and over in his mind, trying to piece together what he meant. And then, like a key fitting into a lock, it clicked.
I already know more about you than I ever wanted to.
Gojo had been worrying, comparing Megumi to Toji, afraid of the path Megumi might go down, wondering if Megumi ever thought about his father. But Megumi… Megumi wasn’t looking for that. He didn’t wonder about Toji. He didn’t care about the father he barely remembered because he had someone else— Gojo . Gojo had taken that space in Megumi’s life, whether he realized it or not.
Gojo swallowed, a wave of emotions crashing over him. He felt something warm and painful bloom in his chest, a mixture of relief, regret, and a touch of pride. “Oh,” he managed to say, his voice coming out much softer than he intended. “I see.”
Megumi huffed, closing his eyes again. “Took you long enough,” he muttered, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Now, can I sleep, or are you going to keep bugging me with stupid questions?”
Gojo let out a shaky laugh, raising a hand to rub at his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, trying to sound casual, though his voice wavered a little. “I’ll let you sleep, brat.”
He stood up, the weight of their conversation settling heavily on his shoulders. As he turned to leave, he glanced back at Megumi one last time, his heart aching in a way he hadn’t expected. So it’s me, he thought, finally understanding. He’s looking at me, not his father.
“Sleep well, Megumi,” he said quietly, his tone holding a rare softness. “I’ll be around if you need me.”
Megumi didn’t respond, already drifting back into sleep, but a part of Gojo knew he had heard him. With a sigh, Gojo stepped out of the infirmary, letting the door click shut behind him.
As he walked down the hallway, he couldn’t help but think back to his first conversation with Suguru about Megumi. Suguru had been right, of course. “You’ve got a soft spot for kids,” he had said, teasing Gojo relentlessly. Gojo had brushed it off back then, but now, years later, he was finally coming to terms with it. He had stepped into that role, filled that space for Megumi, and the kid had just spelled it out for him in the bluntest way possible.
“Damn,” Gojo muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Guess you were right, Suguru. Again.” But part of him knows that they would have ended up here anyways, Without Toji's final admittance, Geto's soft asking, Megumi's pleading eyes. He'd have always taken them in anyways.
He let out a deep breath, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he continued walking, feeling a strange sense of peace mixed with a bittersweet ache. It didn’t matter if Megumi thought he knew too much about him; Gojo would still be there. Because Megumi was his kid. All of them were, in some way.