Chapter Text
Soft winter light fell over Fumihiko’s face and gradually welcomed him back to the land of the wake. Grumbling a little at the intrusion, he buried his head in the plum pillow and pulled his blanket tighter around him, not letting any of the comfortable warmth escape. Just a few more hours of sleep before he’d have to get up and prepare for work. It would be too cruel to leave this comfortable place now. Soft, safe, secure. He could stay here forever.
His eyes shot open.
That wasn’t right. This wasn’t his apartment. There was no comedy show to prepare for. Memories returned to his sleepy mind.
Jujutsu sorcery. The Culling Game. Iwate Prefecture.
He should be lying on the forest floor by Lake Gosho, not in a bed.
Slowly, he sat up and looked around. Indeed, he was lying in a bed with bleached white covers and a pillow of the same colour. Around the bed was a plastic curtain that was partially pulled back at the moment, but barred his sight of the room he was in. The faint smell of disinfectant confirmed to him that he seemed to be in a hospital. Next to him was a wide window overlooking a courtyard. The pavement was cracked from unknown forceful impacts and some of the trees that stretched up to the horizon were badly burned or had fallen over. Destruction like this had become a common sight in the cities surrounding the Culling Game barriers, particularly Tokyo, over the past months. Judging by the sun, it seemed to be afternoon. All these clues did nothing to tell him how he had gotten here, what had happened to him or how much time had passed.
The last thing he recalled was a crushing fatigue overcoming him and a bright face smiling down at him: Kenjaku, his partner. Details of their fight and eventual resolution up on the stage of dreams came back to him.
You were hilarious!
A small smile tugged at his lips when remembering the moment. Kenjaku’s genuine laugh, the light flush of his cheeks, how his words sounded more true than any other critique or praise he had ever gotten for his performance in his life. It had allowed him to close his eyes with relief, knowing he had both accomplished the goal he set out to achieve at the start of the fight and his lifelong dream. He had made that last person laugh and thereby received so much more. Finally, he found someone who understood him and saw him for who he was. Someone who he effortlessly connected with and who elevated him as well as let him return the favour. A real partner.
Fumihiko looked up. Would Kenjaku be at this hospital as well? Did he return to Tokyo? Was he maybe the one who had brought him here in the first place after he suddenly fell unconscious? They didn’t have much time after the show to let what happened sink in and reflect. He’d like to talk to him again, ask what his future plans were now and about the general situation. All his questions about his own whereabouts still remained. It would be best to take a look around.
Decisively, he flipped back his covers and pulled the curtain aside. A regular hospital room revealed itself to him. The lights were turned off and the other beds empty. As he got up, he noticed that he was still dressed in the white burial robes he had taken on as a joke, only the tenkan had been taken off. Died of laughter and returned to the living in search for more. A yuurei of comedy.
His feet were naked, but there were a pair of slippers by the bed. To the side was a nightstand with a glass of water and his Centerman suit on it. He decided to leave his clothes there for now, but downed the cool water in long, greedy gulps to somewhat relieve the headache forming beneath his temples.
Freshened up, he stumbled across the room towards the door. When peeking out, he was met with an empty hallway stretching from one end to the other, several unassuming doors leading off of it. To the left side was one with a blind window on it. Maybe a doctor’s office. He decided to try his luck there first. Carefully, he walked down the corridor, for some reason feeling like he had to be quiet to not disturb anyone even if there was no sign of life.
Just as he reached his destined door, it opened before his outstretched hand and a woman in a long white coat came out. She looked tired. Her eyes were sunken, accentuated by dark circles that had carved themselves deep into her skin. A lit cigarette was sitting in the corner of her mouth, burning down almost forgotten as the doctor seemed lost in thought. Lost enough that she almost ran straight into Fumihiko, who let out a surprised yelp at her appearance. The woman grunted in irritation, stepped back and just now looked up at him. Once she recognized him, her expression didn’t become much more welcoming, but took on a professional character.
She - Ieri was her name if he remembered correctly - took the cigarette out of her mouth and blew the smoke to the side. “Oh. Takaba-san, you are up again. Don’t just wander around like that.” Ieri-san gestured at the door she had come from with her cigarette. “Come inside, I was gonna check up on you anyway.”
Nodding and mumbling a stunned ‘thank you’, he followed her into her office. The room inside was spacious, made up of a corner containing a desk quaking under piles of notes and a bookshelf reaching up to the ceiling. On the other side stood a steel table that looked more like it was used for autopsies than patient examinations with a counter in the background displaying scalpels, scissors, forceps and various medical tools he didn’t know the names for. Fumihiko shuffled over to a chair in front of her desk and sat down while she took her place between the walls of paper.
“So, how are you feeling?”
“Good, I guess. Just a little tired and I have a bit of a headache,” he answered with a shrug.
“That’s good.” Ieri-san took a long drag of her cigarette. “You suffered from severe cursed energy exhaustion. I recommend you stay here a few more days until you have fully recovered.”
“Okay.” He paused for a moment before asking carefully, “Where exactly am I? And how long have I been here?”
The woman lifted an eyebrow momentarily. “Right, you wouldn’t know. This is the medical wing of the Jujutsu Technical College in Tokyo. Or what is left of it. We have December 26th today, so you have been asleep for approximately two days.”
Two days had already gone by. From her tone and general demeanour it sounded like the fights were over and she was patching up whoever was left. So much could’ve happened during that time, he wasn’t even sure what to ask first or what his next steps should be. Should he just return to his apartment as if nothing happened?
“I see. That’s quite a lot of time. How is everyone doing?”
The corners of her mouth turned downwards in a frown and her face darkened further. “As well as they can at this point. Not many in critical condition, those who were, already died on the battlefield against Sukuna and the curse. Let’s just say I’m glad it’s all over now and we can work on rebuilding what’s left.”
Fumihiko swallowed nervously and picked at his robe, unsure of how to react. “I’m sorry,” he tried.
“Nothing to apologise for,” she waved him off. “You had to deal with it too after all. I imagine facing Kenjaku was anything but easy. Good thing you don’t need as much medical attention as others.”
He hummed noncommittally, eyes fixed on his legs and the folds of his clothes. Silence settled between them, while both got lost in their thoughts. Eventually, he dared to speak up again.
“Say…” Suddenly hoarse, he cleared his throat. “What…what happened to Kenjaku? Is he around?”
She was probably the wrong person to ask for this, if Kenjaku was injured and being treated, then most likely not here at the school. It would make more sense if he kept his location hidden or sought out a public hospital. The doctor looked over to him, seeming slightly surprised at his question.
Letting out a light sigh, she answered, “Don’t worry, we took care of it. Kenjaku won’t be a threat anymore.” A dark foreboding chill ran down Fumihiko’s spine, settling in his guts and twisting his insides. Ieri-san’s words only continued to tighten the coil. “Thank you for your help, by the way. Okkotsu-kun said he wouldn’t have been able to kill the guy without you.”
Fumihiko’s hand clenched his robe, his heart thundering in his chest. There it was. That hated word he had hoped to not hear in this context. He hadn’t even considered it up until now, even though looking back, the intentions of the group had been clear and he should’ve known that they might succeed. Succeed thanks to him. The whole reason he had challenged Kenjaku in the first place had been to help the group and serve as a distraction after all. It seemed he had played his part well.
Ieri-san continued, misreading his shaken reaction. “Don't overthink it. I heard you don’t like killing, but you did a good thing and the blood isn’t on your hands. What’s important is that thanks to your actions a lot of lives could be saved. Many more would’ve died if you hadn’t given Okkotsu that opening to attack.”
Her words became faint, barely registering to him anymore. He saved lives - apparently - he should be relieved, grateful, maybe proud of himself even, but all he could think of was that he was responsible for the death of his partner. After all this time he had managed to find someone he truly connected with, who understood him, who could stand with him up on stage in an easy exchange of jokes and flow of conversation. And he had ruined it. Again. Another partner he had driven away, very permanently this time. There was no turning back, no begging the other to return, he had cut off their relationship with finality just as it started to blossom.
Kenjaku was terrible, Fumihiko saw firsthand what gruesome acts he was capable of, but he also saw a side that was so much brighter and more pleasant than that. Images of Hazenoki’s decapitated head and giant centipedes lapping at Fumihiko’s feet were easily overshadowed by Kenjaku's cheerful smile, his uninhibited laugh as they playfully splashed water at each other, his comforting presence next to him on stage, his gentle voice telling him not to cry, the feeling of the elevated beat of his heart under Fumihiko’s fingers as he dispersed the illusion around them.
He could tell when they first met and started talking that Kenjaku’s goals were really not much different from his own. There was that same drive for entertainment, to see something funny, absurd and interesting; experience it, create it yourself and share it with someone else. Kenjaku wanted Fumihiko to make him laugh and in the end he had managed to fulfil that wish, as impossible as it had seemed initially. Ultimately, there was no need for merging of people or excessive violence, Fumihiko had gotten the proof of that when they performed their first and final comedy show together. His statement that he thought Fumihiko was funny, implying that he really enjoyed their time together, was the last thing he remembered before falling unconscious. It had been such a sweet send-off gift.
And apparently he had slept through his new friend and partner's execution.
Where did it happen? When? Could he have prevented it? What were Kenjaku's thoughts when he was about to die? Did he think Fumihiko betrayed him? That would be a justified assumption.
Was this really how it all ended? How they’d bow out? Break up just as they found each other like a one-hit wonder? This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t accept it. They needed a farewell, closure. Or he needed it.
Becoming conscious of the long silence beginning to stretch between him and the doctor, he cleared his throat once more, but didn’t find it any easier to breathe or use his voice.
“What, uhm, what exactly happened?” he asked, voice sounding thinner and higher than he liked.
Ieri-san gave him another shrug. “I don’t know the details, only what I was told afterwards. Kenjaku was standing over you and then Yuuta cut off the head before anything else could happen. The curses previously held back by Cursed Spirit Manipulation started rampaging as Kenjaku lost control, but Yuuta took care of it. He then left you in my care.”
Fumihiko’s jaw tightened, imagining Kenjaku’s head lying only a few metres away from his, bleeding into the ground, his eyes becoming empty and staring up into the clear sky. Or at Fumihiko himself, accusatory for not intervening, for betraying his trust and their partnership. Would his partner have attacked him while he lay defenceless in the grass, recovering his strength? He’d like to think not. Kenjaku’s last words seemed to contradict that. He had made the sorcerer laugh and forget about his weird plans involving curses, even if just for a moment. That must have meant something, right? Either way, Kenjaku might not have hurt Fumihiko, but Fumihiko had definitely hurt his partner, killing him without even having the guts to hold the blade himself.
“Could I…see the body?” he mumbled out, purposefully avoiding direct eye-contact. He needed to see Kenjaku once more, confirm the death with his own eyes, confront the reality of it and see the brutal result of his actions. When coming down to it, he really only wanted to see his partner once more.
The doctor’s eyes widened momentarily in astonishment and light confusion before her gaze turned more probing, maybe even a tad suspicious. Then it was her turn to look uncomfortable, the crease between her brows returned and she distractedly fiddled with her burned down cigarette.
“That’s not possible, I fear. It has been incinerated. We didn’t want to take any chances.” The last sentence was said in a lower tone and gradually fizzled out. She spent a moment bitterly frowning at one of the papers on her desk, then she hastily stumped out her cigarette in an ashtray and reached for the package to light a new one.
Fumihiko could empathise with her feelings. If he had been a smoker, he’d have taken one as well, but as it was, he could only bite his tongue, trying to use the pain to try to subdue his ever more tumultuous emotions. It was a good thing Ieri-san was distracted or the vulnerable expression he was sure was visible on his face might have raised some questions.
There was nothing left. He missed his partner’s murder and now he didn’t even have a body to mourn over or something to apologise to. His partner was just gone, never to be recovered again. Their comedy show was a once in a lifetime event. He was sure he would never be able to reach those highs again. Certainly not alone. And who would want to partner up with him, knowing that he might very well spell that person’s death. Not to mention, would there be anyone who could take Kenjaku’s place? Who connected with him so effortlessly? He had not only lost his partner but his whole purpose. Just when he had found his conviction as a comedian again, when he had found someone who had awoken that excitement to go on stage inside him once more, it was taken from him. By his own actions.
Abruptly, he stood up, feeling suffocated in this messy but too clean room with the autopsy table that only made him wonder if Kenjaku’s body had lain there not too long ago, if Ieri-san had cut it up before incinerating it and washing away the blood stains. He needed some fresh air and space for himself.
“I think I’ll go back to my room,” he mumbled out, taking a step towards the door.
The doctor was ripped out of her own ruminations by his sudden attempt to leave. Quickly, she stood up as well.
“Wait. I have some medicine for you. It will replenish your strength faster and help against the headache. You have to be careful not to damage your brain from overexertion, especially because your cursed technique relates to the mind.” Fumihiko frowned at that, not sure what she was getting at, but also not being in the headspace right now to question her.
She motioned him over to another door that when opened gave way to a storage room filled to the ceiling with medication, tools, bandages, jars with preserved organs, as well as some more outlandish objects he couldn’t quite identify, some of them wrapped in occult seals. While Ieri-san rummaged through some boxes for his medicine, he let his gaze wander over all those strange items, trying to figure out what they were, what they might be used for or who they might’ve belonged to.
Why were scientists so fixated on keeping organs or bones around anyway. It’s not like they could be used again anymore and they weren’t transplanting them either, just showing them off. Well, it was quite fascinating to see the inside of the human body, he had to admit that. After all, you rarely got a good look inside. Maybe there didn’t need to be a deeper reason than that.
Then something caught his attention and his blood ran cold. His eyes stopped at a container on a lower shelf, barely above the ground and half-hidden by a carton. Inside the jar was a brain that looked all too familiar to him. A relatively normal organ except for the mouth splitting apart the frontal end. He had gotten a glimpse of a brain just like that not too long ago. Kenjaku’s goofy expression entered his mind, the face that had managed to make him laugh despite his best efforts not to.
The expression of this mouth was different. Not the cheeky grin he had seen in the past, instead the mouth hung open, slack, little bubbles trailing out and up to the lid of the jar from time to time. The colour was different as well, washed out by the alcohol, leaving the organ looking sickly pale instead of a vibrant shade of pink and red. No matter these differences, he was sure this was part of Kenjaku’s body. There couldn’t be that many people with a mouth in their brain or he would’ve heard about it before.
To think that this was all that was left of his partner. Reduced to nothing but a display case in a doctor’s backroom. But it was something. A last memorabilia, a lifeline. Not all of his partner’s body was gone. He needed to cherish the last remains he had.
“Here it is.”
Ieri-san’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he quickly averted his gaze from the container, looking at the doctor expectantly with an innocent smile. She didn’t seem to have noticed his wandering eyes or at least didn’t see the recognition that had lit up in them for a moment. Instead, she thrust a pillbox into his hands.
“One pill twice a day. If you have trouble sleeping you can take one at night as well, but not more than three a day.”
“Okay, twice-a-day. Got it,” he repeated hastily as he was shooed out of the room.
“If there is a problem or another issue, you know where to find me,” she said, while making clear that this would be the end of his visit. “Is there anything else?”
“Nope, don’t think so,” he replied, putting as much cheer into his voice as he could master. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
He made a light bow that was quickly waved off by the woman. Giving gratitude was the least he could do. In his case there was not much more to do than rest, but he could clearly see that the last days or even weeks had taken a toll on her. For her sake as well, he should see that he left this place as quickly as possible to not be a burden. There were people who needed her medical attention more than him.
Back in his room, the early steps of a plan started to manifest in his mind. Returning to his apartment was the best option for now. Go there, gather himself and then see how he would move on with his life from there. Before that, however, he needed to get Kenjaku out of here. It didn’t matter if it was just the brain, he needed to do something. He couldn’t stand the thought of him wasting away locked in a dark room. This was his chance to make up for his past obliviousness and save his partner or retrieve his mortal remains at the very least. Fumihiko didn’t really know what he would do with the brain once he had taken it home with him, but there was still time to figure that out when he had managed to sneak out undetected. Even if it would just end up sitting on a shelf in his living room, that was better than being forgotten and neglected like any other medical display or worse cut up for further examination.
He waited until the night, using the time to try and get some more sleep, but inevitably ending up just twisting and turning in his bed, haunted by visions of what might have happened at Lake Gosho right underneath his closed eyes. Ieri-san showed up one more time to bring him dinner, but aside from that he didn’t see her. Mindlessly, he chewed on the rice and salmon, not really tasting anything, thoughts incessantly turning in his head as he watched the sun set.
When he heard the door of Ieri-san’s office click shut and the sound of her heels disappearing down the corridor to wherever she was sleeping, he dared to sneak out again. A white plastic bag he had taken from the unused trash can was balled in his fist, in it were his neatly folded Centerman costume and the pills. The idea was to use the fabric as a cover for the container and the plastic bag should make the whole undertaking look less suspicious. Like he was just taking a change of clothes with him and not transporting a human organ. Better than holding the jar clumsily in his hand or under his arm, showing it off for all to see.
Now he just had to somehow get into the doctor’s office. Hopefully, she hadn’t locked it. It seemed like the medical wing was almost empty, so why would she need to. First, he tried the door handle, turning it slowly, careful to not make any commotion. It didn’t budge. Fumihiko frowned at the knob in slight irritation. His headache became a bit more emphatic. When he tried it again, more insistently this time, the door swung open before him. He sighed in relief. Just a bit jammed.
The office was dark, only meagerly illuminated by the light falling in through the small window in the back. The autopsy table shimmered in cold reflections, adding to the gloomy atmosphere. Everything was abandoned and a stale cigarette smell hung in the air. A queasy feeling twisted in his stomach, but he didn’t dare to turn on a light in fear of being caught.
Tipping towards the backdoor, he was relieved to find that one unlocked as well. He would’ve hated to search for keys in this darkness. The room appeared more unsettling now than before. Claustrophobically small with disembodied eyes, hands and other indescribable objects bearing witness to his trespassing. Knowing the general direction of where it was already, it didn’t take him long to find the container he was searching for again. Crouching down, he was confronted with the brain up close for the first time. The room was almost pitch black, making the organ look even more ghastly, the mouth and blunt teeth grotesque in how human they looked in the freakish anatomy. It appeared almost cadaverous in the fluid it was swimming in, being robbed of what little colour had been left in the flesh.
Even in the darkness, he was somehow more sure than ever that this was really Kenjaku.
Another detail he hadn’t noticed before was the deep cut right above the teeth. Fumihiko didn’t remember it from the time Kenjaku showed their brain to him. Was this the fatal injury that killed his partner once and for all? A surefire way to ensure death even after being decapitated? It was hard to make out how deep it went. The flayed edges of the wound lightly swayed in the fluid, the ends having darkened and looking almost necrotic.
He touched the cool glass, fingers hovering over the special mouth that was hanging open lifelessly. It looked dead, but for some reason he had a feeling that wasn’t true. There was some sort of glimmer behind that glass, something he recognized and that felt alive and like the person he had come to care about just a few days ago. It was reassuring and gave him a slither of hope. As gruesome as the evidence looked, there was still something left, he hadn’t lost his partner completely. Maybe holding onto that flicker of life would be enough, enough to keep him going.
Carefully, he lifted the container up and settled it in his bag. It wasn’t too heavy, the plastic should be able to hold it. He draped his suit over the jar to completely cover it, feeling almost like he was tugging it in. Once he had checked that everything was secure and hidden from curious eyes, he stood up and left the doctor’s office, closing the doors behind him as quietly as possible. The stairs leading down were easy to find. When reaching the ground floor, he noticed a faint light coming from behind the door leading off the stairwell and deeper into the building. He thought he could hear distant murmuring, but thankfully managed to avoid running into anyone else before reaching the exit.
The fresh winter air embracing him once he stepped outside was a welcome distraction and seemed to immediately clear up his thoughts and shoo away the oppressive feeling that had been lingering over him ever since he talked to the doctor. Fumihiko took a deep breath, ignoring the light shiver that started to run through him. This wasn’t the time to be held back by slight discomforts like that. No time to waste, he had to get back to his apartment to give Kenjaku a secure place to stay.
Just as he was crossing the courtyard, eyes already locked on the gate, he was caught by a voice that made him nearly jump out of his skin.
“You can’t sleep either?”
Fumihiko squinted into the darkness. A dark shade was sitting on a bench before the school building, body sunken into the seat, but voice still ringing clear although quiet. Taking a few steps closer, he recognized the person as Itadori Yuuji. The boy looked much older than when he first met him, despite only a little over two months having passed since then. In the night his eyes seemed even more empty and the scars on his face stood out stark against his skin. The look in his eyes was not so different from Ieri-san’s. A bit forlorn, melancholic, weathered with exhaustion, but hiding steel underneath. He was looking at Fumihiko with mild interest at the moment, not really judging him for running around in a burial robe when everyone else was inside trying in vain to sleep.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” he lightly tried to play off his shock. “What are you doing out here this late?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” came the quick reply. It didn’t sound accusatory, just curious. The teen’s eyes made him consider answering honestly.
He sighed, looking up at the school building and gripping the bag in his hand tighter. “Sorry, I don’t feel like I belong here or could be of much use. This isn’t really my world and since the fight is over, I think it is time for me to leave.” Itadori still watched him evenly, a painful sort of understanding flickering over his face. “I’m not that badly injured, so I am only taking away Ieri-san’s attention from the people who really need it. I just want to go home.”
The teenager hummed, sympathy swinging in the tone. His gaze lingered on the bag in Fumihiko’s hand for a moment. He tried not to appear too uncomfortable at the attention. Eventually, the other leaned his head back and looked up at the stars.
“I understand. I wish I could do that too.”
It pained him to hear such a defeated statement from someone so young. He had a place to stay and people around him to talk to, but he struggled to call it home. Fumihiko knew that feeling all too well. Surrounded by people, but unable to find someone to connect with, who saw down to your very core and understood you. And just like him, this kid was carrying the remains of his friends and loved ones with him. He wished he could do something; reassure him, tell him it would get better and make him laugh again with a silly joke. However, inspirational speeches weren't his strength and he knew how hard it was to laugh in this situation, he had trouble finding humour inside him himself. His future was still uncertain. All he had were scraps of something good he once had and trying to hold onto that as best as he could.
“I’m sure you will eventually,” he spoke up, trying to sound reassuring. “You have people who care about you, that is what is most important right now. As long as you have them, there is always something to return to.” He gestured at the building.
Itadori gave him a long thoughtful stare, but eventually his lips lifted into a light smile. Fumihiko decided to take that as a win. That was all he could hope for at the moment.
“Thank you.”
He gave the other the brightest smile he could master, even if it might not look entirely sincere. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to perform again, but promise me you’ll see one of my shows?”
The smile grew a bit wider. “I will. Can’t wait to see what you have in store.”
Before, he hadn’t even been sure if he wanted to perform again, but now he felt like he had to. There were many people out there like Itadori, who could use a little laugh, including Fumihiko himself. He had no idea where he would perform, what he would do and how he would master up the strength to go on stage again and make others laugh, when he had trouble doing it himself. The container with Kenjaku’s brain weighed heavily in his hand. It was a tentative goal and one that seemed impossibly far away right now, but he had one, something to keep him going and work towards. Just having his partner by his side, even in a diminished state made him think he could someday manage to reach it.
As he said goodbye and turned to leave he could feel the boy’s eyes on his back all the way until he had passed the gate, like they were pushing him out and onwards, away from the hospital and the people who were barely clinging to life and their convictions. Being away from the place made him pick up the pace, being all the more eager to return to his home.
Kenjaku’s brain was swinging by his side, a faint but nonetheless comforting presence at the edge of his perception. He gripped the bag tighter, a reassurance that he would never willfully abandon his partner. Fumihiko wouldn’t let him be taken away again. He would do everything to keep him by his side and make up for what happened in the past. After all this time of disappointment and loneliness, he had found his perfect partner and he wouldn’t let him go, no matter what came. He would give everything to once more stand on stage with Kenjaku and hear the cheer of the audience while they exchanged jokes. He would do anything to return to that dream. There had to be a way to bring it back. The flicker of life deep in that containment jar told him that not all hope was lost, Kenjaku was with him, if barely, and that meant there was a chance. He had to take it.