Chapter Text
FUCK!
It was supposed to be relaxing.
A nice, relaxing overnight hike through beautiful Maine.
The first day, it was. Beautiful mountains, evergreens for as far as the eye can see—which wasn’t far, due to the aforementioned mountains.
It was peaceful.
Someone was walking the trail today, pack heavy with a small tent and various hiking accoutrement. Poles in their hands, some REI rehydratable meals (enough for two for two days), a lightweight sleeping bag and inflatable pillow, and a utensil pack hanging off a carabiner.
A loud, borderline obnoxious huff, then, “Can you hurry up?”
A shout from a bit of a ways away, “I’M GOING AS FAST AS I CAN! WHY DON’T YOU SLOW DOWN?”
Another huff, and a spin to face around. “We haven’t got all day, you know!”
“WHAT?”
An adjustment of a baseball cap, branded for Acadia National Park. “WE HAVEN’T GOT ALL DAY, YOU KNOW?”
…
“WHAT?”
Not a huff this time, but a deep sigh. An award winningly deep sigh (Quite literally. They were a main character last school play, and won Best Supporting Character because of their sighing skills. Their sighing skills got them into theater in the first place.), “I’M LEAVING WITHOUT YOU.” They petulantly walk backwards.
“WHA—WAIT NO! WAIT UP!”
“NO,” they chirp back, still walking backwards.
“NONONONO LOOK BEHIND YOU—”
Ah.
There was a cliff there.
At their back.
Where they had just stepped onto nothing but air.
Last they checked, there was not a cliff there.
Last they checked, there should not be a cliff there.
They’re never going on another hike. Ever. For a handful of reasons, only one of them actually preventing them from hiking, or doing anything else ever again. Namely the fact that the mysteriously appear cliff was about eighty feet high into a pool filled with brain-eating algae and very pointy rocks sticking out from the surface.
So yeah, FUCK.
Why? Why did they have to die now? They hadn’t even graduated high school yet! They can’t drive, can’t drink, and now, apparently, can’t even LIVE. FUCK. TO HELL WITH DYING LIKE THIS! IT’S SHIT! A BIG, STINKING PILE OF SHIT! SO WHAT IF I FALL OFF A GODDAMN CLIFF, I WAS GONNA CURE CANCER OR SOME SHIT. WHAT ELSE WAS THE 5 IN AP CHEM FOR? PARTICIPATION?!? WHAT WAS IT ALL FOR, THEN? Nothing?
They hit the rocks before the algae could get them.
I’m sorry, mom.
I’m sorry to leave you alone again.
Please keep living without me.
And make sure to spread my ashes somewhere there isn’t a cliff.
It’s all dark.
Darker yet.
Nothingness
It has a feel to it
Describable.
Quiet.
Warm.
…
Lighter now?
That doesn’t make any sense, they grumble to themself.
Lighter yet.
Wait a gosh darn second…
…I shouldn’t be able to think right now.
Why am I? Is this the afterlife? Kind of a horrible afterlife, to be nothing.
Someone’s being uncreative, methinks.
Heh, methinks.
Nothing was happening, but the light was steadily growing brighter.
Can we turn that off?
…
No? Okay then. Just… brighter and brighter. Guess I’m not doing anything else.
Wait, am I going to heaven?
They are not. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Their eyes open up. It’s not a good first sight for someone who just died—horrifying, actually. All clammy and calloused hands grabbing them, holding them in the air.
Aww HELL no!
They tried to move their arms. It worked—too well for the slightly-scrawny high schooler. They burst out of its grasp and dart away. Too fast as well…
It comes at them again. “AH!” They do… a thing. It works? The... thing disintegrates, leaving only a faint smell of rotting.
“What the…” they mutter under their breath, inspecting their hands. Long purple claws on hands that seemed too large for what they remembered their body being. Of course, that body was dead, and last they checked, they were in some kind of weird afterlife. Maybe they’re still in the afterlife? Taking a look around, they catch sight of the picturesque moon.
It’s beautiful. Almost drawn in the sky, hanging there by some kind of threads that hold the universe together. Like string theory, they consider. This is an incorrect interpretation of string theory, which they know, but it’s a pretty enough metaphor to be excused. Take that, physics teacher!
So they’re on a rooftop. And just battled (?) some kind of creature. And now they’re looking at the moon…
This sounds familiar.
Deep breath in, another look around…
IS THAT FUSHIGURO MEGUMI FROM JUJUTSU KAISEN???
His hands are posed to summon… Mahoraga, they think. That’s not good. Not good at all. That’s the “oppa stoppa” or whatever people say on the internet. They’re pretty sure that they’re the “opp” that he’s trying to “stop.” They decide that the best course is to stare death down in an act of seemingly petty defiance, but Fushiguro didn’t move a muscle. He’s probably scared—the big guy’ll kill him too, they remember. They sigh, rolling their shoulders. They should probably talk now, right?
“KID—"
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing with my body? Give it back!” They say. Wait. No, they didn’t say that? Okay, remain calm, and say something threatening? That usually works?
“Your body? Who decided that?”
“My…parents? Who cares, I was here first, you know!”
“Hmm. Take it, then. Or try—”
And they’re falling backwards.
They can see the clear sky above them. They reach out a hand with a yell and a desperation to live this time. They can’t die like last time, unrecoverable and broken, leaving behind…someone--
Oh. They’re in Sukuna’s domain. That makes sense, Itadori was born with Sukuna-suppressing powers, after all. It also makes sense that they’re here because they’re Sukuna now.
In. Out.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! THIS IS MORE SHIT! WHAT DID I EVEN DIE FOR?”
At the very least, they didn’t have a blood pool. This should be a reflection of their soul now, not Sukuna’s, and they didn’t want the blood pool anyways. No matter how cool it would be in theory, it’s not practical. Sadly.
Now it’s a pool of glowing (?) crystalline freshwater, complete with smooth rocks covering ground nearly a foot from the surface of the water. Some aquatic plants gently breach the surface of the pond, near the edges. Cattails and reeds. Luckily (or unluckily), Sukuna—that’s who they are now, they suppose. It’s a cool enough name for them, so why not—they’re barefoot. The pool is just barely too cold, but they’ve had worse. Far worse, actually, this one time, they died—anyways.
The weirdest part is that they can’t see anything past the pool. It’s just pitch black, no lighting besides the glow from the pool. They squint into the darkness. When nothing is revealed by slightly closing their eyes, they let out a huff. “Lights? On? Do I have lights?”
Nothing happens.
They—He? If he’s (they’re?) going to commit to being Sukuna, should they (he?) change the pronouns? Whatever, problem for later Sukuna. For now, the lights—
Distantly, as from another room or two over, “Interesting. Can you switch with Sukuna?”
IS THAT SATORU GOJO FROM JUJUTSU KAISEN?
Sukuna. Switching. Oh shitballs. That’s them. They being to pace frantically, splashing water onto their flowing white robes.
They did not plan this far ahead. Not that they planned at all, but they have no clue what to do now. Do they try and fight him? Well, that’s a bad idea for a lot of reasons, namely that they’ll actually die again. Do they run? Gojo can teleport, can’t he? So no. Do they—
“One minute, right? Okay then.”
And Sukuna is in the front seat. SHIT.
In. Out.
As ink-black tattoos appeared on Itadori’s skin, his presence exchanged space with Sukuna’s, Gojo noted, smiling. “Megumi, hold onto this!” Gojo tossed the mochi bag over to him. Wow, the history books were not kidding about this guy’s vibes. Totally evil. How exciting!
“What is it?” Megumi snatched the bag from the air.
“Kikufuku mochi!”
“What.”
Sukuna takes a slow breath out, glaring that Gojo. “So this is how you welcome a King.”
“Ah! His ~majesty~ deigns us lowly worms with his presence!” Gojo clapped his hands together. “But back to the mochi~”
Sukuna breathes. It’s full of murderous intent. Gojo watches Megumi tense up, nearly crushing the bag in his hands. Gojo can almost see the blood in Itadori’s veins boil. The moonlight is darkened with the rage of this being, the wind whips across the rooftop. Sukuna’s four blood-red eyes pierce through Gojo’s soul and for a fraction of a second, around 0.2, Gojo freezes beneath the gaze. The King of Curses, at just a fraction of his power. So this is what they called a god, Gojo thinks. “You see, mochi…”
Sukuna turns his back. Wow, he totally thinks he’s above Gojo! Crazy. Talk about subverting expectations, huh? According to ancient texts, Ryomen Sukuna was a force of nature fueled by rage and hatred, and also ate people. Yikes. Though, Gojo supposed, it was the Heian era, so a lot of people ate people. Lots of cannibalism about, back then. Nothing to be done for it now.
But Sukuna didn’t seem to be nearly as murderous as the texts said. He didn’t even try to kill Gojo or Megumi when he was deemed less important than mochi! Gojo squints, still talking about the wonders of kikufuku. That’s Ryomen Sukuna, his Six Eyes helpfully informs him. I know that, he complains back. Tell me something useful. Six Eyes pause, and all squint at Sukuna. That’s Ryomen Sukuna.
“…Ah, the King of Curses here wouldn’t know this, but kikufuku mochi is sweetened edamame! They really love edamame flavors in Sendai, I even once saw an ad for a milkshake—”
“Silence.”
“No, thanks. Anyways, you can really only buy kikufuku mochi from one stall, called Kikusuian.” One of Itadori’s eyebrows twitch. Only about ten seconds left now, if Itadori had been counting correctly. He had. Gojo knows this.
“Anything you want to know about the mochi, Sukuna~?” Gojo cracks a grin, and it’s only slightly menacing. Mostly confused.
Sukuna looks over.
“I’m busy. Leave me alone.”
Busy? Doing wha—
“And sixty!” Itadori Yuuji’s body slumps forward. No one is driving for a moment, then he pops right back up and shakes his head like a dog would after coming out of a stream. “That was… interesting?”
Gojo grins. “So you really can suppress him! What a pleasant surprise!” Okay, he can use that. Megumi looks over at him. Gojo doesn’t turn his head, but he nods. “Look over there!”
“Huh?” Itadori spins around, falling for the oldest trick in the book, hah. Gojo knocks him out.
Megumi looks at his teacher, still holding mochi. Looking slightly embarrassed, he mutters, “I would like it if he didn’t die, Sensei.”
Gojo smiles at his student. “Leave him to me then, ‘gumi! Got a crush or something? Ah, young love!”
Megumi goes bright red, “Not like that, Gojo.”
“You know, I had a crush back when I was your age. Ah, those were the days!”
“As in the stone age, right?”
“Ah! My student wounds me!”
Gojo picks up Itadori and slings him over his shoulder. “Are you good to get back on your own or do you want a ride with the Gojo Express?”
“I’ll be fine, sensei.”
And then there was one. On the rooftop, that is. There were more around, but just the one guy on the rooftop.
He sighs.
Now, how is he going to get down from here?