Chapter Text
Blood drips down his knuckles, pooling at his fingertips before falling into the sea of crimson beneath his feet.
The blood oozes from Kenjaku’s head, slowly claiming ground as it seeps further into the soil. A further stain on the earth and Yuji’s conscience, even in death.
Yuji’s senses return little by little.
The blood coating his hands vivid and scorching, slowly solidifying on his knuckles and fingers as it dried, another mark among many from this curse. Kenajaku’s head, bashed and finally resembling the inhuman thing it always was beneath the human facades it wore. The metallic scent overpowering the smoke of hellfire in the distance. Ears ringing as screams call ou–
“Brother.” A pressure on his shoulder.
Yuji flinches, snapping out of his daze as the swimming on the edges of his vision slowly clears, his body jerking violently away as if scalded. His hands raised instinctively, every nerve on edge and anticipating a fight, only for none to come.
A figure stands in front of him, hands raised, face creased in blatant concern. Yuji pauses before the hazy image finally settles in, his hands dropping as his gaze drifts downwards.
“Brother, are yo…”
The figure’s–Choso, he distantly realizes–voice fades, being lost in the buzzing in his ears as Yuji finally fully takes in the sight of his hands.
Blood–old and new–coats his hands, staining the entirety of his palms, fingers, knuckles a sickening red. He flexes his left hand, testing, dried blood flaking off and falling to the ground, fresh blood smearing before taking its place. He lets it fall to hang loosely by his side as he turns his full attention to what he has clutched in his other hand.
The…Prison Realm.
The cool grey of it lost underneath layers of blood, streaks running along the sides as chunks of skin and brain matter clung to it obscenely in places unbecoming for an object containing the Honored One.
What…what had Yuji done?
———————————————
Blood spews from Yuji’s mouth as he comes to awareness, his hand coming to clutch at his chest as he keels over.
A pain, jarring and unnatural, bullying its way through his chest, tearing and cutting at all resistance his flesh gives.
Yuji braces his hand on a wall, steadying himself as the blood mixes with the meager contents of his stomach, painting the concrete with the vulgar mix.
A piece of metal, jagged and broken, breaking through the resistance of his flesh, piercing his heart, searing and all-encompassing.
Yuji’s vision whites out, pain lighting up every nerve in his body, the impact of his knees against the concrete barely registering among the tidal wave of agony already washing over him. Another spew of blood and bile rises in his throat, depositing the rest of his stomach contents and the blood flooding his mouth into the growing smear on the concrete.
His heart stops dead in its tracks, a few pitiful pumps being rendered useless as his blood begins coating the front of his shirt. With his last remaining strength, Yuji’s hand clutches the Prison Realm in his pocket like a lifeline. An apology, a regret, dying on his tongue as darkness begins encroaching on his vision. I’m sorry, Gojo-sensei, I wo–
A debilitating jolt carves a path through his consciousness to his very soul, paralyzing in its intensity and magnitude. Every cell in his body seemed to be tearing themselves apart before throwing the jagged pieces together in a mismatch, uncaring for if the pieces were the original ones or not. His very soul seemed much the same, a raging destruction and recreation done over and over ad nauseam in rapid succession as if looking for a specific configuration, as if something was wrong with his current one and it was massively overcorrecting but couldn’t get it right.
As Yuji’s body finally goes limp, the last of his life leaving him within the blood pouring from his chest, a blinding kaleidoscope of colors and unfamiliar images flashes rapidly through his mind like a photo collage of someone else’s life. Glimpses of a black man-bun, riding a bike in the afternoon sunlight with another, late night cigarettes with a hazy girl, blood staining the sky, a two-pronged dagger swinging on a cha–
The rapid self-destruction and reconstruction within Yuji’s body and soul reach their climax, culminating in a final wave of agony as his very core latches onto the last image, a memory distinctly not his own, blurring and integrating into his soul like it was the missing piece to the configuration his being was incessantly searching for.
Yuji’s soul flicked and flared before being fully lulled into shape, settling around the new addition as if it always belonged. His breath staggered as the pain followed suit, slowly settling before subsiding entirely, lingering in certain places longer than others before slipping away entirely.
Yuji shifted, pushing away from his vile contribution to the surroundings until his back hit a wall, settling against it. He closed his eyes, steadying his breath as he focused on the new shape his soul had decided was required for all to be right and the new, foreign, contribution nestled in the center.
Yuji’s mind was hazy, muted by disorientation and the lingering phantom pain, but he was still certain whatever his soul had latched onto was not something belonging to him. It was distinctly different, a composition unfamiliar and wholly incompatible, yet contrastingly becoming the new anchoring for his very being. He could see it clearly through the haze, his soul latching onto and building itself around this exotic fragment to the point the edges between the two were already starting to blur, his soul accepting and fusing to this new inclusion rapidly.
He tried, a tentative gesture, to pull the addition away from his soul, to create a separation between the two, but was deftly discouraged as the action caused both a spiritual and physical outrage, pain lashing out in every which way. Alright, he thought, guess this is a part of me now.
As Yuji’s consciousness tried using his newly-acquired familiarity with souls to understand what was now a part of him, his awareness and senses started slowly clearing, the haze slowly dissipating.
Touch returned first, an aching that thrummed steadily across his entire body, the concrete cold but solid underneath him, the lingering blood sticking to his chin. Sight was next, his hazy surroundings solidifying into recognizable shapes; the rising morning light casting the brick wall in front of him in soft contours, graffiti visible but barely understandable in the low light.
Smell followed, and that’s what started throwing Yuji off. Instead of the permeating, bordering nauseating, scent of blood mixed with other viscera Yuji was expecting, there was absence. A noticeable lack, and in its place a pleasant mix of morning dew and freshly made pastries.
Hearing confirmed Yuji’s growing suspicion that something was off, sparking his full attention. He had gotten used to the silence, an ever-present lack of life, and the void left behind typically filled by it. Instead, there was abundance. Cars on uneven asphalt, a throng of soles treading on the sidewalk, doors opening and closing; sounds of life, life that shouldn’t be there, everywhere.
The realization made Yuji’s head snap in the direction of the noises, muscles tensing in anticipation, disbelieving of what he was hearing. Maybe Yuji was hallucinating, maybe he’d finally lost the few marbles he had left.
Yuji was greeted by the sight of people.
People walking on the sidewalk. People driving in cars. People going in and out of stores. If Yuji didn’t know better, he would say the last week had been nothing but a nightmare. However, Yuji did know better, if the scars on his face weren’t proof enough of last week’s authenticity. This was definitely a hallucination, right? Or some technique-fueled delusion, or even a domain he didn’t remember being shoved into.
You were just incapacitated, idiot. If this was a domain or technique-fueled delusion, they wouldn’t have waited for you to figure it out.
Yuji’s voice of reason, sounding suspiciously like Megumi, rang out in his head, ruling out two of the possibilities Yuji had thought up. Right, right, Yuji’s muscles loosened slightly, that’s true. Thanks, Megumi.
…maybe Todo has rubbed off on me too much.
Focus, Yuji.
Yuji turned away from the people, the sight unsettling him more than comforting him, making his stomach churn. So, a technique or domain was ruled out. Megumi–or more like his own elusive rationality–had a good point, if this was caused by a technique or domain, whoever casted it wouldn’t have waited for Yuji to realize it; he would already be dead.
So, maybe he was just regular hallucinating?
Here goes nothing. Yuji pinched himself. It stung. Not hallucinating either.
If it wasn’t a domain or hallucination or technique, that left Yuji a few possibilities of what this could be, but those were childish ideas fueled by that recent movie binge with Gojo-sensei. If Megumi, or–god forbid–Kugisaki, heard Yuji was even entertaining the passing thought of time-travel or dimension-hopping, they’d never let him live that down.
Well, Yuji decided, only one way to figure out what’s going on. Yuji pushed himself up, unstable on his feet, before he caught himself with the support of the wall. He steadied his breathing, waiting out the screaming ache in his bones to stop, to sit back down and not get up, to finally rest, before ignoring it outright.
Yuji knew he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box like Megumi, or even average like Kugisaki, but he was great at moving, continuing even when every muscle in his body yelled at him to stop. And, that’s exactly what Yuji would do. Keep moving until the answer was in front of him.
Yuji wiped the dried blood from his chin, taking a cursory glance down before something caused his attention to snag. A blooming of dried blood soaked into his jacket around a jagged hole, as if something had stabbed through the material. As if something had stabbed through him.
The idea caused him to cringe. Yeah, no. We’ll just push that aside for later Yuji to deal with.
Yuji hastily shucked the jacket off, internally cheering when he didn’t immediately topple over, and tied the jacket around his shoulders, angling it in a way to obscure the matching flower of blood on his shirt.
Yuji looked over himself, mentally patting himself on the back when he didn’t immediately spot something that’d get him arrested. Sure, he had blood on his shoes, but no one would be paying enough attention to him to notice.
With that, Yuji approached the sidewalk. He staggered at first, before finding his rhythm, pushing through the ache in his bones. The brush of people as he walked made Yuji’s skin crawl, as if the concept of crowds died with him that fateful night, the whole situation instilling a sense of wrongness.
This uneasy feeling made everything blur together, time seeming to stretch and contract simultaneously as Yuji focused on moving, one foot in front of the other, unrelenting in his march. Yuji didn’t know how long he’d been walking–or to where– before he finally snapped back to awareness, his surroundings sparking recognition.
Shibuya.
Yuji was in Shibuya.
A pristine Shibuya.
The sight made him sick, his head fuzzy as images collided violently into him, unrelenting and with the force of a freight train, undeniable and unignorable.
The glow of billboards shining on his face, contrasting the haunting blankness he felt as he gazed into the crater of his own fruition.
Yuji pushed through the crowd, staggering into the nearest public bathroom, crashing into the nearest stall.
Blood, everywhere. On his clothes, in his hair, on his hands. The overwhelming stench and branding of it made his stomach clench, violently rejecting the food Sukuna–the demented bastard–had eaten while being an unwelcome puppeteer.
Yuji heaved into the toilet, throat burning as it hastily heeded his call but could provide nothing except scorching stomach acid.
Tears welled in Yuji’s eyes as he clawed at the ground, uncaring about the cuts or bile in front of him as he pleaded, begged, to just die already. He didn’t want this; he never had. He was just a naive, stupi–
Yuji pushed away from the toilet with his foot, back slamming against the stall door as he shoved the images away, forcing them to the back of his mind; hopefully forever. He didn’t know why he had such a visceral reaction; he’d been in Shibuya after Halloween, albeit a more ruined and destroyed one.
Was that why? Had Megumi been right abou–
“Hey, are you okay in there?” A voice, unfamiliar but oozing concern, accompanied with a knock on the stall door.
Yuji stilled, breath quickening without his input or consent before he reigned it in. “Uh, y-yeah.” Yuji cringed; his voice had cracked, throat tight as if forgetting how to speak due to lack of use.
There was a long pause. “Are you sure, young man? Would you like to call someone?”
The blatant concern made Yuji falter; he wasn’t used to concern from someone besides Megumi. He couldn’t linger on it, however. “Yes, I'm sur–” A lightbulb exploded in Yuji's head. “Actually, yeah, can I use your phone?”
Yuji was moving before the stranger answered, hiding behind the stall door as he cracked it open, holding his hand out. A phone was placed in his palm.
Megumi! I'll just call Megumi, why didn't I think of that earlier?
Yuji had Megumi's number memorized, so he could call him and he'd know what was going on. Megumi typically did in these kinds of situations, and even if he didn't, they just mee–
A flip phone. Yuji turned it over in his hand repeatedly, surprise stilling his racing thoughts. It was a little odd, but compared to an apparently intact Shibuya and crowds of people, it wasn’t the oddest thing he'd seen yet today.
Yuji quickly punched in Megumi's number, giddy excitement swelling as he waited. It wasn’t the most ideal situation, but Yuji hadn't heard from Megumi since they visited Master Tengen a few days ago, so any excuse to see Megumi was appreciated.
Click. “Megumi!” Yuji cheered, enthusiastically greeting his blessing with the little energy he had left.
“...Sorry, but you have the wrong number. No one by Megumi lives here.” Click.
Huh?
Yuji double–triple–checked, but that didn't change how he had indeed put the right number in. Megumi wouldn't have changed his number, probably couldn't, given everything going on, so–
The date caught Yuji's eye.
June 8th, 2006.
Maybe I wasn't off with the time-travel idea earlier…God, Kugisaki would have a field day with this.
———————————————
Yuji found himself in a Tokyo Cafe a little more than half an hour later, sitting in the furthest booth as he finally gathered himself.
The entire walk over only one thing–well, two actually–replayed like a film reel in his head. One, I have to get out of Shibuya. And two, how the hell did I travel twelve years into the past?
Getting out of Shibuya had been easy, which just left figuring out how in the world Yuji of all people time-traveled. It must have something to do with his soul, that would explain the massive reaction it had upon his awakening; it also must be related to whatever soothed his soul, the new addition integrated into his very core.
Before waking up, the last thing Yuji remembered was fighting another sorcerer, and judging by his situation now, he definitely didn't win that fight. Which meant something happened because of that, something he isn't remembering anymore–not for lack of trying. Everything after he left Jujutsu High with Choso was a blur, slowly getting hazier and hazier before there was nothing but colors, all identifying features lost like a watercolor painting. It was a similar case with whatever was nestled within his soul; he knew it was a memory of some kind, distinctly remembering getting a glimpse of it, but now it was foggy, and every time he tried pushing through the fog, a throbbing pain cascaded throughout his soul, like a fracture Yuji was putting stress on.
Whatever happened, whatever sent Yuji careening through time, he wouldn’t know; he had never been good at puzzles. Yuji was good with the physical, that was his expertise; stuff like this, the intellectual, was Megumi’s expertise. Yuji sighed, slumping down in his booth. If only it was Megumi here instead, he’d be able to figure this out. He’d know what to do.
Yuji, on the other hand, was completely lost. He had no idea how he ended up in the past, which meant he had no clue where to start on getting back home. He had initially entertained the idea of staying and changing things, stopping Satozakura High School and Shibuya from ever happening, saving…them…but he quickly discarded that idea.
Yuji had only ever caused problems, making things worse oftentimes instead of better. He caused problems for his grandpa with his mere birth, he retrieved the finger for Sasaki and Iguchi, he ate the finger; so many times Yuji had tried helping–only to mess it up. He wouldn’t do that this time; he wouldn’t ruin things by trying to help.
Yuji slumped even further into the booth, sighing. Thinking hard hurt his brain sometimes, especially now with all the complications of this time travel business. Things back home, while difficult, were easier considering the fact Megumi and Panda and everyone else was there to plan; all he had to do was follow the mission, another cog in the machine for them to use. That, while not eliminating, greatly decreased his chances of screwing things up.
Yuji slipped his hands into his pocket, thoughts shattering when his hand brushed against his wallet. Holy shit, why didn’t I think to check my pockets?! Maybe Kugisaki was on to something when she said I was a little dense.
Yuji hurriedly emptied his pants pockets; his meager worldly possessions laid out haphazardly on the table. His wallet, cell phone–screen busted now, and an unfamiliar protein bar. All that left was his jacket pocket, which–if everything else on him came back–surely meant it had come back with him too.
He held his jacket out in front of him, now acutely aware of the weight it held. Yep, it definitely came back too. Yuji felt a breath of relief at that, unzipping the pocket to peer inside.
The Prison Realm. Or, more accurately, the Honored One. Besides it, a pair of sunglasses nestled in the corner.
"Yuji," Megumi called his name, voice melodic, soothing despite the situation.
"Yeah?" Yuji turned around, one of Gojo-sensei's blindfolds hanging off his face.
"Take these, they're his favorite pair." Megumi held out a pair of circular blackout glasses.
Yuji gingerly took the pair, holding them up to his eyes, barely being able to see through the lenses.
"Cool! I'll give them to him when he gets out!" Yuji beamed, looking around Gojo-sensei’s office through the lenses, blindfold long forgotten around his neck.
Megumi sighed, “Yuji…”
Yuji’s breath stilted, thrown off by the vivid memory, a pleasant one at that. He teared up, gripping the fabric tighter like a lifeline. With hindsight, Yuji now understood why Megumi sighed. There had been no way to free Gojo-sensei in their time, all possible tools destroyed–ironically–by the man trapped himself. But now, with Yuji having been thrust to a time before that, there was a chance.
I’ll do it. I promise I’ll free Gojo-sensei, Megumi. I’ll free him, and tell him how you wanted him to have his favorite pair. I promise. I won’t let you down, Megumi, I won’t mess this up.