Premise: Yuji Itadori dies. Yuta Okkotsu does not succeed in bringing him back. He dies, and then wakes up one bright sunny day in school, surrounded by his senpai from the occult club. He is dazed and panicked. He is lost and alone, flailing about a cold, strange world. He dies again and wakes up again. In between dying and living, he finds the truth.
Chapter 1: A thing and an old man have a talk
Very much against his own wish, but perhaps entirely for his own good, Wasuke Itadori's grandson visits him every day. He brings with him flowers. Expensive ones. Bright yellow daisies and deep pink carnations all tied up in frilly bouquets. Like the ones boys bring them to meet with girls they like. He says it's for the nurses, but the truth is that he thinks the flowers might do something about Wasuke's encroaching death, or maybe lift the crushing guilt that has accumulated for the better path of his life. Never mind the wisdom that his wallet should barely be able to shoulder that kind of frivolous expenses if he knows what's good for his future, family trust or not.
By that fact alone does Wasuke immediately recognize that something is wrong on the day that is the last day of his life.
His grandson comes to visit him, as usual. But he is both too early - school is still in - and he doesn't bring the flowers.
Wasuke opens his mouth, about to yell something, then he stops. Staring at the kid, he is at once seized by concern and terror.
"Hey grandpa," it says to him from the doorway, standing there, wearing the face of Yuji as easily as breathing, but not so easily that Wasuke cannot recognize the boy who visited him yesterday and the thing standing there in the threshold of his hospital room are not one and the same.
He feels more than sees the barrier go down around the room, sealing it off from the eyes and ears of common folks who don't know what darkness haunts the corners of their quaint little world.
"It's been a long time. I have missed you." The thing steps into the room in full. It closes the door with a turn of its wrist - with Yuji's wrist. It is smiling. Wasuke's stomach goes sick at the alien wrongness of it all.
What did you do to Yuji? The concerned side of him wails. It's the sound a dying animal might make.
The terrified side of him, on the other hand, is vindicated. His unheeded warnings to Jin have come true. The curse that sprouts alongside the infant in that walking corpse's womb has finally awakened, and it has perhaps eaten his only grandchild as it comes into the world.
His hand, the right one that hasn't yet given up on him before the inexorable advance of old age, goes beneath the pillows propping him up on the bed. Wasuke keeps his knife there.
The thing's eyes follow his motion, discrete as they may be. A peculiar look goes through its face.
"You are breaking my heart, grandpa."
No, it's more likely that it will break Wasuke's heart. That's what the old man hopes happen. He has no chance of hurting this creature, whatever it is. But he has a chance, tiny it is, of bringing that knife across his own throat, and with his own death put a curse on this thing. It's the least he can do.
"Won't you please just listen to what I have to say first, grandpa?"
"I'm not your grandpa," Wasuke snaps, very much against his own wish. Nothing good can come out of trading words with this thing, but it would be a lie to say Wasuke is completely unaffected by the word grandpa in Yuji's voice coming from that thing's mouth. Unbidden, his skin pebbles with goosebumps and his pulse jackrabbits.
The thing goes quiet for a second. A sad look steals across its face, and the sheer genuineness of it all squeezes at Wasuke's heart. Over a decade of being the actual parent to his grandson tells Wasuke to quit this foolishness, that over there is the child to whom he has been mother, father, and bestfriend to for the better part of ten years. Yuji. The one surviving miracle out of the unspeakable tragedy that is Jin Itadori and his dearly departed wife's marriage. The one saving grace to Wasuke's misspent life.
But the rational part of him is also screaming. It is the part that sees him survive the madness of curses, tragedy, countless battles, and a suicidally misguided son to die on a hospital bed from the ravages of old age.
That there is not Yuji, this side is screaming. Yuji is a good bratty kid with more strength than smart and more heart than self-preservation. He is - at least until Wasuke breathes his last - a regular human boy but for the oddity of his designed birth. He is not, as long as this world is still sane and merciful, a curse shaped into the form of a boy.
And what a curse. It is an almost physical thing, like a black void imposed upon reality. Wasuke has no great talent for jujutsu, but even the weakest sorcerer can see, and seeing is what Wasuke is doing right now.
"You are my grandpa," says the thing, astoundingly, not with malice of any kind, but with a queer quiet determination. "You are the person who loves me the most in this whole wide world. Maybe the only one who ever does."
The greater the curse, Wasuke thinks, the greater the chance it thinks for itself. His hand grips the cord-wrapped handle of the knife. But perhaps he can distract it by talking. His eyes are hot and heavy. Dollops of tears run in the glands at the back of them, threatening to burst.
"What did you do to Yuji?" He puts as much venom as his ailing heart can bear into those words. It's not hard. His anger and despair are real.
"I am Yuji…"
But Wasuke is no longer listening. His arm whips upward. His body goes rigid. His heart pulses, once, twice. He sees the flash of the knife out of one eye corner. Here, death comes. His entire being funnels into one point above his heart, sharp as a dagger.
I curse you, he thinks furiously, gods be my witness I curse you from the depth of my heart. Let my death put chains on you and let my departed soul open the door to the end of your days on earth.
But it doesn't come. The knife hangs an inch from his throat. His hand is blue around the handle, and there on the wrist is the thing's hand, clasped tight around it. Despair nips at Wasuke's heel but fury is raging in his belly. No dignified death for poor Wasuke then. Fine. He will bite his own tongue.
But before the old man can do even that, there is a hand in his mouth, fingers wedged in between his jaws like skin-covered steel. It happens so quickly, the thing's hand must have moved within a heartbeat.
Wasuke flails aimlessly, but he can't even do that very well. His bag-o-bones body runs on nothing but fumes. Now the despair comes, like black sludge. Miserable is the man whose death he doesn't get to choose.
But then, something unbelievable occurs. The thing's hand moves, guiding Wasuke's own hand, still gripped tight around the cord-wrapped handle as if his life depends on it, to … its own throat.
Wasuke stares in disbelief as the naked edge of the knife kisses the thing's throat. It presses, skin pulled taut, but it doesn't draw blood yet.
The thing looks him in the eyes. Yuji's eyes, Wasuke thinks. It's the hardest thing to not look away. Those eyes shouldn't look so sad and tired, should never look so sad and tired.
"All I'm asking for," it says, slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "Is for you to listen. Please listen. It won't take long I promise. If, even after you have listened, you still don't like what I have to say, then you can kill me right here and now, grandpa. I won't hold a grudge."
How dare you! Wasuke rages in his head. How dare you do this to me! How dare you do this to the one thing I have left in life! Wretch! I curse you to burn in the nine layers of hell.
But outside he is quiet and still as a statue. His eyes are knives that wish to piece the thing's heart. He doesn't say a word. Its entreatment means nothing, nothing but frivolous dressing. It has him beat. It can do whatever it wants and there is nothing Wasuke can do to stop it, nothing but to curse it with all his heart.
And then it starts to speak.
"I am Yuji Itadori. I am fifteen years old."
No, you are not, thinks Wasuke spitefully. What you are is the devil wearing the skin of my little boy.
"I am Yuji Itadori. I am fifteen years old," it repeats, looking at him now as if it knows what he's thinking. Maybe it does. That would be good because Wasuke has all the curses accumulated over a lifetime to holler at it from the safety of his own head. "My father is Jin Itadori. My mother is Kaori. She is my mother, but she is also not my mother, not since she came back home one day with stitches on her head."
… what?
"I am Yuji Itadori. I am fifteen years old," it says again. Its voice is an ominous broken clock. "My grandfather dies today. He dies with regret and worries. Before he goes he tells me I gotta help people, because I'm a strong kid, but that I shouldn't be expecting gratitude. He says when it's my time to go, to make sure I'm surrounded by others. He doesn't want me to be like him. And with that he puts a curse on me that ensures I will never ever have a peaceful life. It's a heavy thing but to be fair, I don't mind. I meet good people I might otherwise not have. We make some good memories I might otherwise not have made. But grandpa, it sure does hurt me a lot. You sure did hurt me a lot."
Wasuke feels the ground give away beneath him. He listens to the words that come gushing from the thing's mouth, almost uncomprehending. His brain is struggling to keep up, but his ears don't take mercy on him and shut down. He sits there motionless as the thoughts in his head slow to a crawl.
"I am Yuji Itadori. I am human but I am also not. My mother made me what I am. She is my mother but also not my mother."
"I am Yuji Itadori. I have a father, a mother, and another one. The outsider. My parents might have wanted me, but it is the outsider who planned my existence."
"I am Yuji Itadori. Within a few days, I will be inducted into the ranks of Jujutsu High. I will serve loyally and with zeal. I will die by the hand of my upperclassman, Yuta Okkotsu, for the machinations of the elders of the Jujutsu world. Yuta is a good boy. He doesn't mean it. He plans to bring me back but what might have worked on a regular albeit cursed human did not work on me. He lost me. He was distraught. I want to tell him it's alright when I can. I don't know if we will be friends this time around. I hope we are. It's never easy fighting him."
This time? What do you mean this time?
"I am Yuji Itadori. I die on April of 2019…"
But it's 2018 right now. June of 2018.
"... before I have even finished my first year at Jujutsu High. Death is cold and terrifying, grandpa. But I don't stay long. I never do. I wake up again in June of 2018."
Today is June of 2018.
"My senpai don't know what's wrong with me. Then you die. And they assume things. Maybe they are right. But the people from Jujutsu High don't. They can see I'm different."
You are different, Wasuke thinks brokenly.
"I am Yuji Itadori. I die for the second time in June of 2018."
Today is June of 2018.
"I die because I panic and don't know what to do and I make bad choices. I wake up again in June of 2018. I die again in June of 2018. I wake up again. I die again. Dying hurts, grandpa. My friends aren't my friends. My sensei isn't my sensei. They never have a chance. They don't give me a chance… not if I don't do the right thing. They see the curse you put on me, grandpa. And that thing, it grows every time I die and live. Every time. I meet you, and every time, you put chains on me. Sometimes they are chains of love, but they are chains all the same. Pass go, collect 200 dollars. Pass go, collect 200 dollars. I have more dollars than I know what to do with. I might be a rich man to some but it doesn't help me, it doesn't help me at all."
...oh…
Now, the knife is lolling in Wasuke's slackened grip. But the thing, the Yuji thing, it's not done yet.
"I live. I die. I live. I stop counting the dollars. I did at first because I was hoping I might make sense of things. I thought there was some higher purpose to my return. It's not the case. At least not a purpose I know or choose. Now the thought of it just drives me nuts. I'm not proud to say I did some stupid stuff sometimes. Sometimes, I get angry. You get stabbed in the back enough by people you think you can trust, and you start having doubts and after that, the anger is just too easy to take in. Sometimes I give in. I let Sukuna do whatever the hell he wants. My life is a monopoly game and I have terrible luck with the dice so what the hell does it matter. The times I do that, the game never lasts long at all. You know, Gojo sensei, he's scary if he's not being a troll. He's strong, but he's also only human, only one man. He never loses, grandpa. That guy is just unbelievable. But he only really won one time out of how many I don't even know, and that time there was nobody left to even clap him on the back and tell him thank you for the win. I don't think even he thinks of it as winning. Sukuna never wins. But he can make it so that he never truly loses either. And the less that can be said about the outsider the better. I don't trust myself around it. It does things to me. It does things to my sanity."
Wasuke hears a bell going off somewhere. It's the one the hospital uses to notify the staff and patient it's noontime. It means food is coming and care is coming. Today is chicken curry, he vaguely remembers, with fruit yogurt and some hojicha with the good honey. He's probably hungry, if the ache coming from his stomach is anything to go by, but Wasuke can't care less about what his stomach is feeling at the moment.
"Recently I took to running away, grandpa. Sometimes it just gets too much. I got the bright idea that maybe it's me who is the lightning rod for all the bad stuff coming. So I figure if I go away, maybe the lightning won't come, or at least won't come down on people who have nothing to do with my problems. But that's not even the case grandpa. The outsider, the brain, it follows me. And then everyone follows me. Sometimes things are better, marginally. But sometimes things are so much worse. I'm not quite sure on the details of why and how, just that it's been the plan for a while now and my running away only ever deters it a little. One way or another, it finds me. All it takes is time, and time is everything the outsider has. The last time, I managed to stay away for a while. I managed to stay away for years. I ran to Korea, would you believe? I panicked and jumped into the sea and then I swam. I almost died halfway too. That was a stupid thing to do. But by now I think my body is less human and more… well… I don't even know what it is now anymore. Point is. I left with the clothes on my back and nothing else. I swam to Korea. I was just a kid with no name and no history to himself. I went to the slum. Nobody bothered me but some racist assholes. That's fine. I had worse. Then I kept walking. I walked and I walked. I stayed away from cities. Cities are just full of curses, grandpa, full of nasty shit built up from nasty people. Also the police. So I went outside the cities. It's hard, I tell you. But I have had hard before and it's not so bad once you get used to it. I went until I ran into this temple in the middle of nowhere. I think it was a temple. They took me in. I don't know why they did but I was probably a sorry sight and maybe they just felt too bad for me. A kid with nothing but empty hands and rags for clothes. I stayed there for a while. It felt good grandpa. What they say about temples and places of holiness, maybe there's truth in there. But never in my life had I felt so… at peace… before."
It… the Yuji thing... It's Yuji, isn't it? A cursed Yuji he made, out of the guilt and fear and cowardice in his heart. Wasuke's thoughts are awhirl. The knife has long since dropped from his hand, and distantly he realizes he's crying. Big dollops of hot tears gushing from his eyes, coming down his wrinkled face, and making a wet pool on the bunched-up blanket covering his lap.
Yuji pats him on his boney shoulder, patient and sad and everything in between. Belatedly he realizes there's a warmth flowing from his come-again grandson into him. It is this warmth that is propping him up. He looks to Yuji with some incredulousness.
"Sorry but I'm not so good at the healing part. The monks, they really tried to teach me but this is about the most I can do for you. Maybe an hour. Maybe two."
"... monks?" murmurs Wasuke. He's surprised he can even make noises, with how shattered his mind and his thoughts are at the moment. But Yuji doesn't seem to mind it at all, only cracks a tired smile at his dying grandfather.
"Yeah. In Korea, from the last go-round on the monopoly board. Took me in they did, sheltered me, and taught me. I had some good years with them, grandpa. Never thought I would ever have something like that again. I had ten years of relative peace. I learned to cook grandpa, would you believe?"
He almost can't. Yuji in the kitchen is like a house fire waiting to happen. About the only things he can't screw up are instant noodles, iced tea, and microwavable frozen meals.
"They taught me a lot. I owe them a lot. If I can come back there sometimes I would like to do something nice for them. But that's neither here nor there. Eventually, the outsider found me, again. And by that time even we in the middle of nowhere had heard of the disaster spreading from Japan. It's a hell of a world, my last go-round on the board, grandpa. Like someone took our world and substituted it with a 'I am 14 and this is deep' grimderp zombie superhero series. It should be fun except it's not. Things got bad, grandpa. As in I can't recognize the people and place, the what's up and what's down kind of bad. And the worst thing was, I can't even die. The outsider said Sukuna had settled in now. And that made it so that only a handful of individuals in this world could put a scratch on me, and the outsider wasn't going to do the honor. So… grandpa… I did what I had to. I killed myself."
There's a knock coming from the door. A nurse opens it, smiling brightly at the sight of Yuji. Before her is a cart with the day's food on it. Wasuke's grandchild stands up to take the tray from the nurse, smiles and says some lines at her. Then he closes the door and brings the food to Wasuke. He puts the tray on the swing-around bedside table.
He opens the cover. It is chicken curry and fruit yogurt with the good honey.
Wasuke looks at the food, steaming and smelling delicious, with the shell shocked look some third-worlder who has just watched his entire village burn down might wear. He says absentmindedly.
"I don't feel much like eating."
"Death on an empty stomach is not a nice thing, grandpa. Take my word on it."
He looks back at the boy.
"Is there more to that tale of yours?"
"Loads more"
"And I don't got much more time, do I?"
"You don't"
He grips Wasuke's hand. The old man nods once, then, with shaking hands, he takes up the spoon. He eats slowly, and with great difficulty. His grandson goes to open the window and pulls back the curtain some more so the sunlight streams entirely into the room and goes all the way to Wasuke's bed. Then he comes back and sits beside his grandfather and makes idle chitchat. Before long, the food is gone. And the talk is back.
Sometimes Wasuke gathers enough of himself to ask some questions. Mostly, he just listens with a shellshocked expression on his face and grief in his heart. Occasionally he thinks. Jin, what did I tell you would happen to any child coming from her? But then almost immediately he thinks. Oh but Jin, how happy you would be to see how he turns out. He's a good boy, that he is. I only wish either of us could have made things a little easier on him.
Yuji holds his cold hand the entire time, even as the hand goes colder and colder. Before long, there is another bell. The 4:30PM bell, to tell the nurses to wrap things up for shift change. Wasuke is reclined entirely on his comforter now and the freeze in his hands has grown all the way into his body. He feels cold all over, and it's not just in his head. He knows it's coming now. Humanity's oldest friend Death.
He grips Yuji with both hands, looking up at him he says.
"I wanted to tell you your da loved you. But I think I already did that in your previous go-round. So there's only one thing left I got to say."
He does that thing again like he did hours ago when all he wanted to do was curse this boy into undeath. Only this time the purpose is entirely different. It's still there, the dagger made up of himself. As the boy says, he's going to lay on some more chains, except it will be different this time. And if what he thinks is right, it might even help. Gathering up every last bit of goodness, hope, and love in him, Wasuke Itadori says unto his grandchild.
"Don't harm nobody who doesn't have it coming. And live free and be happy, Yuji."
End Chapter 1