Chapter Text
Itadori Yuuji’s first thought as he was dragged into consciousness was: Who brought the sun inside?
His second, as he stubbornly clung to the last drags of sleep, was: What on earth is that smell?
He couldn’t tell how long he took to open his eyes. He allowed himself to drift until he could bear to wake up. Waking up meant more curses, more death, more running. It was hiding in abandoned buildings, being followed by someone who had once tried to kill him now claiming to be his brother. It was eating whatever he could get his hands on whenever he could find it, food was rare and he needed the calories. In the quiet of his mind, he could admit that… He was sick of it all. Sick of the fighting and the running and the cycle of death— But he was a cog, and cogs keep running until they break. Despite everything, Yuuji hadn’t broken just yet.
It was that thought that had him peeling open his eyes, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. He wrinkled his nose as he saw the dirty, slimy rubbish bag his head was pillowed on. Gross! He heaved himself upright and sat leaning against the wall, rubbing his face with a tattered sleeve frantically to get rid of the feeling, when his shoulder brushed a man sitting next to him. He was a little shorter than Yuuji sitting, almost entirely bald. His face was covered in poorly shaved facial hair, with eyebags like bruises and they made the man look unhealthily pale. He was sitting so still that he could be mistaken for a statue.
“Sorry, sorry, I…” Yuuji trailed off as he saw the gaping hole in the man’s chest. The skin around the wound was discoloured and peeling, flies were buzzing around the corpse, and he could even see maggots worming their way around the open wound. The blood had soaked through his stained tank top, and Yuuji couldn’t even guess what colour it had been originally. He didn’t even try. His eyes kept coming back to that hole every time he looked away, the tissue seemingly alive with the insects swarming it. He watched as a fly crawled out of the man's open mouth.
Oh. That’s where the smell was coming from.
His eyes darted across the body, catching all the little details his mind had glossed over—the body was a ghostly white mottled with blues and purples and blacks, his knuckles caked in dried blood. His eyes were half-lidded and milky, his neck bruised and misshapen. Yuuji had thought he was just fat, but now it was clear he was horrifically, terribly bloated. He barely looked human anymore. It was so much like–
Purpled skin, bloated bodies, unnatural postures, shapes no human should ever take, corpses, so many corpses, crushed beneath rubble, burned and broken and it’s his fault all his fault—
He clamped his hands over his mouth before he could hurl what little food he had choked down the night before, scrambling away from the corpse. His back hit the dumpster with an ear-piercing Clang! He stumbled forwards before shifting to the side, refusing to turn his body away from the corpse. He tried to look away but his eyes kept returning to that hole, the flies, the maggots, the air thick with that putrid sulfuric scent—
His head cracked against the pavement with a dizzying burst. What? Blinking the spots out of his eyes, he glanced down at his feet and saw an open rubbish bag tangled between his shoes. Ah.
He slowly rose this time, wincing and rubbing the back of his head. It had hurt just enough to snap him out of his panic. Slowly, he shuffled out of the small alley, glancing left and right at the deserted street. Unsurprising, given the state that Tokyo was in at the moment, but something about it felt wrong. It didn’t look like Tokyo. It didn’t feel like Tokyo. Where else could he be, though? Sure, he was pretty sure he hadn’t fallen asleep in an alley next to a days-old corpse, but maybe Choso had moved him! He still didn’t trust the half-curse fully, but he had to admit that he seemed… Genuine with his care. It was nice. Speaking of, where is he? He wouldn’t normally let me out of his sight while I sleep.
Yuuji spread out his senses, hoping Choso was somewhere nearby so they could move on, but he found nothing. No trace of his cursed energy at all. That’s weird. He started making his way down the street, looking for any trace of his supposed Brother. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t sense any cursed energy. Nothing, nada, zilch. There weren’t any residuals left on the body, either…
His musings were interrupted by something cold and hard being shoved to the back of his head. It was accompanied by a nasally voice saying something, but Yuuji couldn’t catch what was said. Is he speaking English?
Ignoring all common sense, Yuuji spun around to see the stranger head on. All he got for his troubles was the gun being pressed firmly to his forehead and the guy shrieking at him at a headache inducing volume. The man wore a black beanie over his face with holes cut out for the eyes, and was covered head to toe in bulky black material to hide his figure. Am I being mugged? In English!? What the hell. Why was Yuuji being mugged in the middle of the ruins of Shibuya by a tourist? How did he even get a gun! That’s insane!
Yuuji raised his hands very slowly, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible, and said, “Hey, mister, could we… Not? I don’t want any trouble, I just woke up and—” Yuuji cut himself off with a yelp as his mugger pushed the gun more firmly against his head and clicked the safety off.
The man shouted something else as he tried to make himself look as big as possible. Yuuji was a little lost, until he had a realisation: The man had no cursed energy. No curses in the area, a man with no cursed energy, a body with no cursed residuals… Yuuji felt his face fall flat as he took in the man before him. He knew he wasn’t the smartest, but even he could connect those dots.
Yuuji won’t kill him. His death wouldn’t change anything, despite being less than what murderers like them deserve. But… Some enforced empathy wouldn’t hurt, right? Right.
The gun pressed to his forehead started shaking. Clearly his change in demeanor touched some animal instinct buried deep in his brain. Good, it means the lesson’s more likely to stick.
Yuuji snatched the wrist holding the gun and pushed the arm away, not caring for the bullet that whizzed over his shoulder accompanied by an ear-splitting clap. Yuuji slipped past the mugger’s defenses quickly and kicked him in the stomach, hard enough to send him flying down the empty street. Yuuji was on top of him in a blink, dragging him from the ground and flinging him at a nearby wall.
He watched as cracks climbed up the wall from the impact. The mugger coughed as he pushed himself from the wall, blood dribbling from his mouth. Yuuji stalked forwards and pinned him back to the wall by his throat, reeling his fist back as he prepared to strike. His cursed energy dripped to his fist far too slowly, but he can think about that later. He paid no heed to the way the man whimpered and stuttered out what could have been pleas for mercy.
“I hope we understand each other better now.” Yuuji said as he let his fist fly.
Right as it was about to hit, something faint and barely-there brushed against his senses. Cursed Energy? Too late to stop, he buried his fist into the brick next to the man's head. He opened his mouth slightly and breathed in, tasting the air for that signature sharp-sour bite that all cursed energy has. Whether it be because of Sukuna’s influence or if that’s just how his mother made him—and wasn’t that a mindfuck. He was still wrapping his head around that one—He had always had a more… animalistic way of sensing cursed energy. He could feel it the same way all sorcerers could, but he could taste it, or smell it, sometimes he could even hear it. Gojo-sensei’s cursed energy was an assault to his senses; It always carried a faint, high pitched whine, and it smelled a little like a blown fuse. It felt like tv static in his mouth, and it tasted of– a lot. Mostly like laundry detergent, but there was always some new flavour beneath it. Really, it was fizzy and soapy. He didn’t mind it, not really. It became comforting, even! And if I can’t find a way to find fake-geto and free him, I’ll never feel it again.
Anyway. The point is, Yuuji can taste cursed energy, and it always has some kind of bite to it. When Ieri-sensei heals him with RCT, it has a sharp-bitter taste instead of a sharp-sour. He’d first thought it’d be sweet when he heard about it. He was sorely mistaken.
As his would-be-mugger shook and sobbed beneath him, Yuuji tasted neither sharp-sour or sharp-bitter. It was mellow, a little like a bay leaf. It wasn’t cursed energy, but it wasn’t positive energy either. Suffice to say, he was completely bewildered. Fushiguro… Where are you when I need you? The fear coming from the man made the not-cursed energy stronger, allowing Yuuji to get a taste of mildew swirled with gunmetal. It reminded him of Fushiguro, almost.
He shook his stupor off quickly, and pulled his hand from the wall. Yuuji shook the crumbling brick from his hand and delivered a swift blow to the side of the man’s head—with no cursed energy, this time—before pulling away and catching the man as he fell forwards, unconscious. He cringed at the situation and willed the guilt to go back down. He failed.
Yuuji dragged the man into the nearest ally-way so that he could hopefully be a little safe. It should have been obvious that this man wasn’t like Maki-senpai, was far too weak, but in his defense he was frazzled and disoriented from waking up next to a corpse! He tried to remind himself that the beanie guy had it coming to him with how he tried to rob Yuuji and all, but he still felt bad at using so much force on a civilian.
He brushed the brick-dust off of his hands and hurried away from the alley and down the street, he really did not want to be here any longer than he had to. Picking a random direction, Yuuji set off at a brisk walk.
After a few minutes of contemplation, Yuuji can decidedly say that he’s not in Tokyo anymore. Hell, he’s probably not even in Japan! The buildings all look weird, and dingy, and old, and he doesn’t recognise any of these streets, and, most damningly, all the street signs he comes across are in English. He thinks it’s English, anyway. Whatever language it is, it’s not Japanese and despite what some people think of him, he’s not that dumb. Unlike what Kugi– Unlike what certain people think, he can read decently well! It’s not his fault that all of his previous English classes were boring, and that he’d much rather doodle or read manga than pay attention. It’s not like he’d even need to know it anyway!
Well. Maybe he’s regretting not paying attention, just a little bit.
There was also the issue of that weird not-cursed-not-positive energy. Yuuji had initially thought that the criminal had just been a one off but that was proven wrong pretty quickly. Now that he had noticed it, he could feel the way it ambled around the air and brushed against his senses. It was strange but not unpleasant. After observing some early morning risers, he decided it worked similarly enough to cursed energy. CE powers the body, right? It’s what lets people live. Well, this aura or whatever is what's letting these people live. He could be wrong, his theory is based off of half remembered lectures Gojo-sensei had given him and from what little studying Fushiguro had gotten him to do. I wonder what Fushiguro’s up to…
Before he could follow that train of thought, Yuuji walked past an old clothing store. It had certainly seen better days; The paint on the sign was peeling, and there were mystery stains covering the cracked glass store front. The mannequins were all missing limbs, several appearing to have gunshots in them, but the clothes they wore seemed to be of ok quality. Kugisaki had trained Yuuji well enough that he could tell if they were way overpriced, anyhow. As he leaned closer to the window in his inspection he saw himself for the first time in what must have been weeks, and boy, did he look rough.
His hair had grown out, falling just above his eyes. The pink was dull, greasy, and clumped with blood—curse and human alike—while his dark undercut was long enough that it was starting to look pink again. He tried tousling his hair to make it look less flat and unwashed, but no dice. His bruise-like eyebags were darker than the actual bruise on his face, his sickly skin making them stand out all the more. His lips were chapped and bloody, just like the rest of him. He thumbed at the ugly knot of scar tissue at the corner of his mouth, twitching as it ached. He pressed harder. His eyes were the worst of them all, managing to hold less life than the corpse he woke up next to. He looked dead. He should be dead. His mouth pulled into a frown, and when had that become more natural than smiling? He chose not to dwell on a question he already knew the answer to.
He hissed as he glanced down at his clothes. They were disgusting, frankly. Not only was his black hoodie somehow stained purple by curse blood, but it was also covered in scuffs and holes. He doubted the plain tee beneath was any better. The pants were similarly gross; but instead of just curse blood they were also covered in dried mud. His shoes were being held together by hopes, dreams, and duct tape. He really did need new clothes. He glanced longingly at the shop.
He didn’t have any money, and he really didn’t want to steal from a struggling business, but… Maybe if he only took the cheapest stuff. A new hoodie and shirt, at least. Some shoes if he was lucky. It’s for his own safety! He’d probably get arrested the minute he got to a more populated area for all the blood on his clothes. They’d think he was a monster! And they’d be right, but it’s the principle of it!
Swallowing whatever morals Itadori Yuuji had left, he pulled his hood up and stepped into the store.
A few minutes later, he was sprinting out of the store at breakneck speeds in his brand new outfit. If an alarm had sounded, Yuuji wasn’t there to hear it. It wasn’t until he was halfway across the bridge that he slowed down to a light jog. He was happy with what he got, even if he couldn’t quite ignore the guilt. A lightweight grey hoodie, dark wide-leg jeans, a red shirt, and a pair of black sneakers. He would have stuck with his old pants, but as he pulled them off he found a very sizable rip along the seam. He didn’t want to make the hole bigger and accidentally flash anybody, so new pants it was.
Now that Yuuji had time to calm down, he could admit that it wasn’t that bad. He still didn’t know where he was, but it looked nice enough. He could see the rest of the city up ahead, tall buildings in a gothic European style. There were deep grey clouds hanging over the city proper but it added to the aesthetic. He couldn’t help but marvel at how different this side of the bridge was. It was still dingy, heavily polluted, and dreary, but all the shopfronts had intact glass and there were actually people walking along the street!
Surely this could only mean good things. Someone probably spoke Japanese, and who wouldn’t want to help out a lost teen? He should be home in no time!
I’m never getting home.
Yuuji tried, he really did. He gave it his best shot! It wasn’t his fault that the people here were straight up awful. Every time he’d walk up to someone they’d either ignore him completely, or glare at him, or swear at him (The only thing he’d felt was important enough to learn in English were the swears), hell, someone even spat at him! Who does that! Yet somehow, all of that hurt less than when people would take one look at him and then cross the road to get as far away from him as possible. He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t his fault, these people were just nervous around strangers, but he’s never been able to lie. Not even to himself.
At some point he had snuck into a gym to use their showers, hoping without hope that washing the grime and muck would make him look more approachable, but he knew it was a lost cause. Yuuji wouldn’t have to deal with clumpy, greasy hair anymore. He didn’t have any soap so he had been stuck scrubbing his scalp raw and waiting for the water to loosen up the blood clumped in his hair. He refused to leave until he could run his hand through his hair without it getting stuck, and he continued to stay until the water went cold. Eventually he found the will to move again and continue on with his goal…
…Which brought him to now. Kicking a pebble down the road, hands shoved in his pockets, with clean-ish hair and smelling marginally better, as he stuck to the edge of some kind of park. He’d given up trying to talk to people a while ago and instead tried to remember how he got here; All he got for his troubles was a headache. Choso was there, definitely—He’d heated up tinned pasta and left it next to me with instructions to eat. I don’t think I did.
In an effort to ignore the cramps in his stomach (he’d gotten used to them a while ago), Yuuji tried to think of anything else. All he could think of was something he’s been trying to avoid since he’d died: Sukuna.
The curse had been silent the whole day. While not uncommon, or unwanted, unease gathered in his throat. Sukuna should have had something to say about waking up in an unfamiliar, foreign country, but there was no sign that he had even stirred from whatever form of sleep he had. Yuuji could feel him—The ball of his sharp, bloody, fiery cursed energy was burning strong inside him and it made Yuuji sick to his core to know he was sharing his body with such rot—but Sukuna didn’t so much as grumble when Yuuji jostled him. A loud, talkative Sukuna was terrible and unpleasant, but Yuuji could handle it. A quiet Sukuna was a scheming Sukuna, and a scheming Sukuna was very, very bad.
Yuuji tried to imagine what the curse was doing in his mini-hell domain. Maybe he was doing his nails? Sukuna really seemed to like them. Yuuji thought of Sukuna dressed up in a fluffy bathrobe with face patches under all four of his eyes, a fluffy pink headband keeping the hair out of his face while he painstakingly followed a nail art tutorial. The silly idea was enough to make Yuuji smile ever so slightly.
He was startled out of his musings by a loud rustling coming from above him. He’d ducked forwards and dropped into a fighting stance before he knew it, scanning the area around him for nearby enemies. Looking up the tree, he managed to catch sight of a dark shape moving through the branches. Stalking closer to him, zeroing in on his position, Yuuji braced himself for an attack—
It meowed, pathetically.
Yuuji stayed in his crouch until it registered that he was preparing to fight a cat, and promptly dropped his stance. He brushed imaginary dirt off his clothes and prayed that nobody saw that. How embarrassing…
“Hey, little guy. What’s up?” Yuuji crooned.
He stepped closer to the tree and craned his neck back to get a better look at her. She had short, light grey fur that shifted seamlessly to a dark grey along her tail, face, and ears. She had a white underbelly, cute little white paws, and a little hook of white fur that followed the shape of her tiny cheek and extended up to her nose bridge. To top it all off, she had the largest, most adorable baby blue eyes he’s ever seen on a cat.
He could just see her tiny little teeth when she mewed at him, a loud but kittenish noise. She circled twice on the branch she was on before hunkering back down and looking at him imploringly. He could guess her meaning well enough.
“You shouldn’t climb trees if you aren’t close enough to get down, ma’am,” Yuuji mock-scolded her. He shook his head with a gentle smile, “I’ll help you down. Please don’t bite me, Kitty-chan!”
With that said, he slowly made his way up the tree. The cat didn’t seem nervous at all, aside from being up so high, but he really didn’t want to accidentally startle her. She was a very cute cat, and it’s been a long while since he last saw one.
After what felt like years, he was finally eyelevel with Kitty-chan. As soon as he was close enough he was being rammed into by a little furry head. His heart leapt out of his chest with a very high pitched yelp, as he nearly lost his grip on the tree because of her.
“Kitty-chan! What’s this for?” Yuuji managed between giggles as she started licking through his hair, “You’re very cute, but I have to help you down now.”
Yuuji carefully scooped up Kitty-chan and held her securely to his chest before dropping to the ground. As soon as they were stable the cat started squirming to pull herself upwards until she could shove her face into his neck, purring as loud as a racecar. He giggled and scratched behind her ears before looking around to try to find her owner. There was a woman deeper in the park nervously looking under bushes and up trees, and he figured she was as good a start as any. With the most gentle smile he could muster, Yuuji stepped up to the woman.
“Hello, uh, Miss. Is this– cat?” He winced at his own fumbled English. If he could go back in time and strangle his younger self to make him pay attention in class, he would. He pointed to the lady and then to Kitty-chan to make his intention clear.
She lit up at the sight of the cat, and wilted in relief.
“Elita! Oh, thank you!” She said, he thinks, as he tried to hand the cat to her. ‘Tried’ being the keyword here. Kitty-chan, or Elita, he assumes, had dug her claws right into his neck as soon as he tried to let go. He laughed weakly as the woman started—apologising? Yeah, apologising— about her cat. He tried to reassure her that he’s ok, but Yuuji doesn’t think he used the right words. When they finally manage to pry Elita off of Yuuji, the woman says something else that he doesn’t know enough to understand.
So, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, Yuuji says, “Very sorry. Not– Japanese only.”
Her eyes widen slightly and nods quickly. To his surprise, she replies in heavily accented but still understandable Japanese, “I’m very sorry! Thank you for finding Elita. Where was she?”
“It’s nothing. I found her in the tree! She was very high up. Very scared.” He shuddered theatrically, and the woman nodded sympathetically.
It took her a moment to understand, but when she did, “I see! Can I repay you? Ah, How. How can I repay you?”
Yuuji started to shake his head, really not needing anything, before he realised: He did need something! “Could you point me to a library? Please? Or somewhere with access to the internet.”
“Of course! Gotham City Library. It’s, ah, that way. Over the bridge. Look for a big tower, it’s near there. The library is… Very tall, with pillars out the front.” She scratched Elita’s chin and looked mildly embarrassed. “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“No! It’s fine! This is the most help I’ve had all day. Thank you, Miss!” Yuuji smiled warmly, and, lowering his voice to a low coo, said, “And thank you, Elita-chan. You’ve been a wonderful help as well. Maybe I should call you Elita-sama!”
Elita purred loudly and rammed her face into his offered hand, and Yuuji felt lighter than he had in months.
With one final chin rub to the cat and one last wave to her owner, Yuuji took off down the street with renewed vigour.
The sun was high in the sky by the time Yuuji found the library. He’d had to comb the area street by street, block by block, until he managed to catch a glimpse of the tower the lady had mentioned; and even with that marker, it had taken a lot of searching. But! The important thing is that he made it.
He walked in and immediately bee-lined for the computers. He booted one up and changed the language settings to japanese, downloading the keyboard he’d need in the meantime. This was the Gotham library, so surely ‘Gotham’ is the location? It sounded vaguely familiar, actually… Putting the thought aside, he kept it simple and googled ‘Gotham’. The bar at the top inched across the screen; Yuuji had his nose almost pressed to the screen to see it move at all. When the page finally loaded, he saw…
Gotham City, or simply Gotham, is a city in the Northeastern United States. It is best known for the high rates of corruption and crime. Gotham City appears to be the home base of the vigilante known as ‘Batman’. Although a controversial figure, none can deny the good done by Gotham’s Dark Knight.
Yuuji stared at the screen blankly for what felt like hours. Batman? Like the western comic book hero? He couldn’t believe his eyes.
The next few hours were spent frantically scouring the internet, clicking through page after page of Batman-related articles. Conspiracy theories, news reports, calls for arrest. Some mentioned his sidekick ‘Robin’, and so Yuuji looked him up too. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Either this was the biggest internet prank ever pulled, or…
Yuuji was in another world.
But how? Why? There’s no way this was a cursed technique, he would have heard about it! Gojo-sensei would have certainly told him about it, anyway. Techniques like this don’t just fly under the radar. Besides, Choso was there! Although Yuuji didn’t believe that they were brothers, and he was still a little wary after the guy tried to kill him, he knew deep in his gut that Choso wouldn’t have let anything happen to him. Yuuji couldn’t help but worry about the half-curse.
Clearly, this needed more research. Yuuji eyed the computer distastefully and held back a groan. Needs must, or however the saying goes. He was going to get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he did.
It was dark out by the time Yuuji left the library, and he was exhausted. If he ever sees another wikipedia page it’ll be too soon. All that time, and he’d learnt next to nothing. He walked around aimlessly, glancing around warily. He’d gotten used to the business of Tokyo, the streets were full no matter the time of day or night, but here… It was empty. Too empty. He wasn’t sure why everyone seemed to have hurried indoors as soon as the lights went out; aren’t cities in the US supposed to have an active nightlife? He’d thought so, at least. He was probably just in the wrong district. Eh, not like it matters much anyway. The people here were so unfriendly that he’d rather avoid them, too.
He stopped every now and then to take in the architecture. Most of the buildings were brick and concrete, not like the glass towers found in Tokyo. It was so unlike what he was used to! Sure, all the buildings looked grimey and old and like they were falling apart, but he could at least appreciate the ambience!
Yuuji scoffed and shook his head, moving on. Maybe Fushiguro was rubbing off on him too much. He’d definitely have liked the library. Man, I wonder what he’s up to– He shook his head again, harder. It was best not to think about him, not right now.
He carried on for a few minutes longer, turning at random, and crossing roads to keep himself in the streetlight. He was confident he could take on any attacker, but he’d rather not be caught by surprise. Normally he was pretty decent at sensing when people would come up to him, but this weird energy was taking some getting used to! He had to focus so hard to taste even a fifth of what he could of cursed energy, and keeping it up gave him a killer headache. It wouldn’t stop him if it was just pain, though, and he was determined to make it back safely. He needed to get home, he had to keep clearing out the city, he had to make up for all the people he’s—
Is that screaming?
Yuuji whipped his head to where the sound was coming from. It is!
He took off running, the pavement buckling beneath his feet, and came to a massive brick building with raised tracks coming out either side. A train station? There were large arches that Yuuji assumed was the entrance, and it was undoubtedly where the screaming was coming from. It looked nothing like Shibuya Station, it was too small, too old, above ground, and yet–
He braced himself, prepared to run in and help—What’s with that red smoke? Is it a cursed technique?—when a large, heavy hand landed on Yuuji’s shoulder.
He tore himself away with a shriek and spun around to face his assailant’s—chest? He stumbled further away, watching the hand slide beneath the long, black cape. He’s almost as tall as Gojo-sensei! Wait, cape? Tall, black cape, grey suit, a weird head cover that only exposed his chin and had two sharp points, a giant bat on his chest… Holy fuck, is that Batman?
Batman, (Actual, real Batman, what are the chances? Yuuji had just finished going through his wikipedia page), said… something, in a deep, gravelly baritone. Right. English. He was really regretting blowing off all those lessons. In his defense, Gojo-sensei exaggerated a lot! How was he supposed to know that he’d actually need to know English someday soon!
“Ah… No– No speak. Please… uh, Japanese? Sorry.” Yuuji said through a wince. Let it be known that he tried his best.
He half turned towards the building, the screaming growing louder in volume. He could even hear children wailing and sobbing, sounds Yuuji had grown uncomfortably familiar with. He tried to tune them out for now, but he couldn’t help how his body reacted. Half turning towards the building, he stopped himself. He didn’t want to put his back to the man. Superhero or not, Yuuji can’t trust him.
Batman was silent, assessing him. Yuuji hunched in on himself self-consciously, he was a mess and he knew it. He really hoped Batman didn’t think he was a criminal. He knew he had the look; Pink hair, scars, the clothes. He probably smelled like a dumpster filled with used bandages, too, and wasn’t that a good first impression? Yuuji hunched over further, flushing ever so slightly in embarrassment.
“That’s alright,” Batman said, in smooth and perfect Japanese, what the fuck, “I told you to stay here, you shouldn’t go charging into danger. Go back home, your parents must be worried.”
Batman brushed past Yuuji, and he absently caught the sensation of his not-cursed-but-not-positive energy. It coated his mouth like molasses, tasting distinctly metallic with a smokey, gunpowdery undercurrent. All of that was undercut by something that tasted like how car polish smelled.
Yuuji was almost too stunned at being able to talk to someone again to register the words, but when he did he cringed so hard he might have pulled a facial muscle.
“I don’t- I don’t have a home, Batman-san.” He didn’t say that he wouldn’t, even if he did have a home. “Or… Parents.”
Batman didn’t pause his stride, pulling out a gas mask from his pocket, “Then stay here, and I will find someone willing to shelter you until you can find a permanent home.”
Before Yuuji could say anything to that, Batman donned the mask and disappeared into the red smoke. The situation reminded him about how he first met Fushiguro, and he couldn’t help the chuckle that puffed out of him. Any lightness tore away as the screams grew in volume, and as people came stumbling out from the fog. Right. Game time.
Yuuji pushed his hair out of his face and sprinted into the gas.
The red gas filled up the whole building, an opaque, swirling mass. It was thick and heavy as it entered his lungs, and Yuuji could almost feel it moving inside him. Smokey tendrils clinging to his body, refusing to leave. He coughed and choked on the feeling, frantically covering his mouth with his jacket collar; It was no use. The taste of it coated his mouth, sharp and medicinal, maybe floral? It made his eyes water. The more he thought about it, the more he realised it smelled like Gramps’ hospital room. He did his best to ignore it and pushed onwards. Dark figures rushed past him, all of them crying and clawing at their throats. Some had curled up on the floor in despair. He moved on, walking further into the red.
The more he walked, the thicker the haze seemed to get. The taste shifted, getting more floral. Sharper. It– It smelled like Kugisaki’s perfume? The tears in his eyes weren’t just from the coughing now, but he refused to let that stop him. He could hear faint, interspersed laughter from further ahead, and he ran towards it. He spied a shape in the distance. It was tall, lean, and seemed to be holding some form of gas sprayer. He hunkered down behind a set of stairs and took a moment to just observe. He opened his mouth and took a deep breath, trying to not choke on the smoke—which smelt different again, though he couldn’t place the scent—and tried to taste any cursed energy. He spread his senses out, but found nothing. He flared his own energy to hopefully net a reaction and got nothing.
Yuuji choked on a sob—when did he start crying—and shook his head roughly. The red smoke burned as it caught in his lungs; it was getting so hard to breathe. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, let it stop him, though. This– this thing had to be a curse, it couldn’t be human. It was Yuuji’s duty to kill it.
He crouched low to the ground and stalked closer to his prey. He could hear the curse going on about some kind of experiment. Something to do with fear? Whatever it was, he sounded completely insane and fanatical. Though, as he got closer, the shape seemed to morph. The shadow got bigger, more muscular. The voice grew into a deep baritone, almost lazy, and controlled. It no longer had a hat, maybe it never had one, and its arms rippled with corded muscle as it swiped its hand through the air in one clean arc. It wasn’t until the smell of smoke, fire, and charred flesh flooded Yuuji’s senses did he realise what he was looking at. Sukuna.
He must have said the name out loud, or made some kind of noise, because Sukuna’s right pair of eyes flickered towards him. Why is he here, why is he outside of me? Did I fail again? Oh god, the people, the city, they’re all going to—
“Brat,” Sukuna fucking purred, “What a surprise. It’s all thanks to you that I’m here, you know? If you hadn’t eaten my finger, I would still be contained. Effectively harmless. That city of yours would still be standing. You were too weak to stop me then, and you’re too weak to stop me now.”
Yuuji could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. His blood pounded in his veins, every instinct in his screaming at him to run and hide, to get away from this predator of a man; but he couldn’t. He was completely frozen. He could see squirming masses in the corners of his eyes—Transfigured humans, his brain supplied—it was shibuya all over again. Yuuji clamped his hands to his ears as tightly as he could, anything to block out the screams. It was useless. His breathing hitched as he sobbed openly, and choked as the gas only climbed further into him.
And despite it all, Sukuna himself was as clear as day. His arrogant, infuriating smirk, the way his four eyes crinkled with sadistic glee, and even the way his voice rang out as clear as a bell; He commanded all of Yuuji’s attention, and then some. Posturing himself as the calamity people believed him to be.
“Nothing to say, hm? It’s no matter. You always were boring, Vessel of Mine. I’ll make you watch me consume that friend of yours, the Ten Shadows; maybe then you’ll have something to say. He is quite easy on the eyes, that boy… I believe I’ll have him quench one hunger of mine before the other. It would be a shame to waste a body like that, wouldn’t you agree? I wonder if he’s loud… The pretty ones always taste sweetest when they beg for their death!” Sukuna laughed, almost doubling over. It was a horrific, caricature of a sound.
Yuuji.
Snapped.
With a wordless snarl, he threw himself at the demon.
He got lost in the rhythm of the fight. Kick, punch, dodge, punch, bite. Yuuji was barely more than a wild animal, using everything at his disposal to take Sukuna down. Sukuna didn’t dodge Yuuji’s hits, didn’t even try, he just stood there smirking, laughing, and taunting. Sukuna thrust out his arm, aiming for Yuuji’s chest, and Yuuji ducked down. He jumped forwards into a handstand and thrust his feet into Sukuna’s jaw, sending him flying through the fog. Yuuji ran after him, nothing more than a predator chasing its prey.
He found Sukuna slowly tugging himself out of the wall, broken brick flaking off of his body and onto the floor. Before he could get his bearings, Yuuji tackled him. Settling his weight on Sukuna’s chest, he slammed his fists down against any part of him he could reach.
Crack.
Yuuji.
Snap.
Was.
Wailing, screaming, bloody, burning bodies, a crater where a city should be, it’s all his fault allhisfaultallhisfaultallhisfault—
Done.
Two hands snatched at his throat, and he barely registered small pinpricks on his neck before those hands squeezed. He managed a scant few breaths before he ripped those hands away, crushing them at the wrists. The arms went limp. Distantly, he could hear someone screaming. Yuuji thinks it might have been him.
He couldn’t think through the haze, all he could see was red. Red blood, red eyes, red hands—no matter how much he scrubbed they would never be clean again—It was all he could do to slam his fist down again, and again, and again. No matter how much, how hard he hit, that smug bastard kept leering at him. It took all he had to gasp for breath, choking on nothing. Black tainted the corners of his vision, but he refused to stop. He kept punching. It did nothing. He felt as weak as a kitten. Yuuji finally tipped forwards, he was weak, so weak, how could he ever think he could save anyone–
He registered strong arms grabbing his midsection. He tried to struggle, tried to call out, but he could do nothing.
The black consumed him.