There was no way Gojo was going to involve a regular human in the mess he'd managed to make. At best, the…conductor, or whoever he was, would freak out at the sight of him, just like Yuji and Megumi. At worst, he'd probably try to throw them in…train jail, or something. Gojo wasn't sure what they did to rule breakers on trains. He didn't really want to find out.
So he stood up, or at least, he tried to. His knees gave out halfway through and he slumped back into the chair, gulping back another coughing spasm.
His mouth tasted like blood.
"I understand why this might have been confusing," the train guy was saying from somewhere above him. "The train was indeed supposed to stop at the last station, and I apologize deeply for the inconvenience. We're looking into it right now. If you could just return to your seats, I'll notify you as soon as we have more information."
Gojo looked up at the man and nodded again, forcing his eyes open. The light pouring in all over the train car felt like shards of glass stabbing into his brain, and it was all he could do to keep from wincing. He could barely look towards Yuji or Megumi. Usually, it wasn't hard for him to filter out Six Eyes' information from his regular visual input, but now it was almost impossible. The students were roiling masses of cursed energy, every flicker of movement carrying him more overwhelming information.
"We'll go back to our seats," he managed. His voice sounded awful to his own ears, thin and raspy. The ticket man probably couldn't tell the difference, at least.
God, this was embarrassing. Gojo was supposed to be the strongest, and here he was stymied by a ticket checker and overwhelmed by his own technique. He could feel a knot of shame gathering at his stomach, growing slightly whenever someone glanced over at him. The strongest wasn't supposed to need help, let alone want help that he couldn't get.
Except the conductor was turning away now, and that was good. He'd believed Gojo about the seats, and Gojo wasn't going to have to get in an argument about train bureaucracy, or get banned from the Shinkansen somehow. Small favors.
"Excuse me! Wait a second, please." That was Yuji, popping out of his seat.
"Yuji!" Gojo hissed. "We're just going back to our seats, you don't need to-"
The man turned back. He didn't look angry. He looked concerned, and maybe a little confused. That could be a mask though, or his feelings could be about to change when Yuji started pestering him about…whatever. They needed the man to be going away and leaving the train car, not turning back to talk to them.
"Um…this is our teacher." Yuji gestured at Gojo. Gojo felt himself flush slightly, although he wasn't really sure why. It wasn't embarrassing to be someone's teacher, was it? "He…we were all riding together, and all of a sudden he got really sick."
"Yuji," Gojo said desperately. "This nice man doesn't need to know about all that, we're going back-"
Gojo undermined his own words slightly with a cough. No blood came up, thankfully. Or at least, no blood exited his mouth.
"What happened?" The conductor was addressing Yuji now, which was annoying to say the least. Although it would have been definitively less annoying if Yuji would just listen to him. They were Jujutsu sorcerers. They couldn't get help from a random train guy. They could take care of themselves, and he wouldn't know what to do anyways. They'd just be putting him in danger, and that was assuming he even wanted to help. This was such a bad idea….
"He got really dizzy and weak, and he's been throwing up," Yuji said. "Can you…can you help us? We're not sure what to do…."
"We don't need-"
"How do you feel now?" the conductor asked, looking at Gojo now. Gojo blinked at him. He honestly couldn't remember the last time someone asked him how he felt, and it startled a response out of him.
"Still a little sick," he said truthfully.
"Do you think you ate something bad?" the older man asked.
"I think it might be a migraine," Gojo said. His voice was very small. He knew he didn't actually have a migraine, but that seemed like the closest normal person equivalent that matched up with his symptoms. And his head really was pounding….
"My wife gets them sometimes," the conductor said, nodding sympathetically. "Have you tried covering your eyes?"
"Do you have something he can use as a blindfold?" Yuji asked earnestly. "He had sunglasses, but he dropped them? They…weren't really working anyway."
"I'm sure I can find something," the man said, nodding. "Do your migraines usually come on this suddenly?"
He sounded concerned. It was starting to make Gojo feel a little weird, for some non-sorcerer to act this worried about him. He didn't know exactly how to respond. He usually didn't have to answer this sort of question.
"This is worse than usual," Gojo mumbled, and let his eyes close. The light of the train car filtered past his eyelids, stabbing into his brain and making his stomach turn. Automatically, his hand went to his stomach.
"Do you feel sick?"
"Yeah, he probably does." That was Yuji again. "Could you get something for his stomach, too?"
"Of course," the ticket man said immediately. "I can bring some water with something for your eyes."
Gojo's stomach flipped at the thought of forcing down water, and he let out an inadvertent moan. He wasn't very good at drinking water at the best of times, and right now, when he was sick, and miserable, and starting to be genuinely afraid, water seemed like too much to ask of him.
"Not water," he whispered. "Soda?"
He hadn't meant to actually ask, and shame twisted through him as he cracked open his eyes to see the kids and the conductor all looking at him. But he just…didn't want water, and it would be nice to be listened to for once, and he'd felt too sick to stop himself.
Megumi was shaking his head. "No. Water. You can't have soda when you're sick."
He was probably right, but Gojo still didn't want to hear it. "Well…."
"Aww, come on!" Yuji turned big, pleading eyes on Megumi. "He can at least have some ginger ale, right? That's good for your stomach."
Gojo watched, feeling like he might throw up again if asked to talk too much. He knew he was the teacher, and if he wanted ginger ale, the students couldn't stop him. But that sort of relationship felt very far away right now. Everything was starting to feel very far away.
Megumi considered, then finally nodded. "Alright. Ginger ale, if they have it."
"Ginger ale it is." The train employee bent down to Gojo's level. "Don't worry, son. I'll be right back with everything. You're going to be okay."
"Th-thank you," Gojo managed. He wasn't sure what else to say. He wasn't used to being brought things. Sometimes, Yaga would bring him things, if he had a really terrible migraine or had run himself ragged taking on too many missions in a row, but Gojo always had the vague sense that the end goal of those interactions was mostly to get Gojo up and running again faster. This man…didn't even know that Gojo was trying to save everyone on the train. He just thought that Gojo was some teacher who wasn't feeling well, and he was trying to help him feel better anyways.
It was all very suspicious. All very unfamiliar. It kind of made Gojo wonder how many other people might have wanted to help him, if he had just understood what they were offering.
No, that was crazy. Sorcerers helped people - Suguru had taught him that, even if he had definitely forgotten it now. Sorcerers didn't help other sorcerers, and regular people also certainly didn't. This was just….
Gojo didn't know what it was, but he wasn't complaining. He was just…even after an experience like this one, he would keep his expectations low.
Pain stabbed through Gojo's temple. He folded himself over his long knees, wishing he was alone so he could curl up in a ball. He knew he would need to get up, and keep moving forward, and probably sooner rather than later.
For now, the only thing keeping him going was thinking about his ginger ale.
If Gojo was anyone else, Fushiguro would have thought he was dying. But since it was Gojo, he probably wasn't. He clearly wasn't doing well, but Gojo had been very well established to be the toughest person on the planet. And there was something a little strange about the idea of the toughest person on the planet being taken out by a paper cup of tea.
But he really wasn't looking good. He'd bent forward over his knees, burying his head in his folded arms. He was swallowing every so often, like he was thinking about either throwing up or spitting out more blood. Neither of which were good. His breathing had gotten a bit raspy somewhere in there, and this, Fushiguro figured, was also very bad. Fushiguro didn't think it was a terrible thing that they were sitting down right now, because Gojo had clearly been one bad step from collapsing to the ground. But at the same time, Fushiguro was worried - Gojo clearly wasn't getting better. In fact, it kind of seemed like the longer he sat here, the worse he got. And sitting here wasn't getting them any closer to finding the curse user.
But he certainly couldn't move like this. Itadori had asked Gojo a few questions, mostly unnecessary in Fushiguro's opinion, but Gojo hadn't even attempted to answer them.
If the conductor couldn't help them, then he and Itadori would figure out the next step. Hopefully, the blindfold and the…ginger ale…would perk Gojo up enough to keep him moving. Fushiguro could attack from behind infinity with his shikigami, so Gojo wouldn't even have to take part in the actual battle.
He thought about saying that, but the last time he had, it hadn't seemed to make Gojo feel any better. Fushiguro decided to keep quiet, and save that for if it was necessary.
But looking at Gojo, Fushiguro was starting to feel pretty sure that it would be. Even his hair looked worn out, hanging limply over his folded arms. His head bobbed slightly, probably as he struggled to swallow another mouthful of blood.
"Oh," Itadori said suddenly, brightening. "I see the conductor guy. He definitely has ginger ale, Mr. Gojo!"
No response from Gojo, not even for ginger ale. Fushiguro frowned, feeling his chest tighten. It took him a few seconds to identify the feeling as genuine fear.
"Mr. Gojo." Fushiguro bent towards him, seeing as he got closer that Gojo's shoulders were shaking ever so slightly. "Mr. Gojo, can you-"
"Oh no," the train employee said with a sympathetic expression. He was holding a can of ginger ale in one hand, and Fushiguro spotted a scarf, like the sort the female employees tied around their necks, sticking out of one of his pockets. "You're feeling worse, aren't you?"
At that, Gojo finally hauled himself upright. Fushiguro watched in distress, noting how difficult the movement seemed for his usually graceful teacher. He teetered a little in his seat before propping his bony elbows on his knees, then sagged over them.
"Maybe a little," he mumbled. Or something like that, anyway. Fushiguro wasn't exactly sure what he'd said. It sounded like Gojo was talking around a hefty mouthful of blood.
"I found this," the ticket man explained, holding out the scarf. "I hope it helps to cover your eyes. Do you want to do that first, and then you can drink your ginger ale?"
The conductor was speaking quietly, clearly modulating the volume of his voice for Gojo's benefit. Fushiguro frowned, realizing that he should probably have thought of that.
Gojo nodded miserably, cracking one of his eyes open and holding a shaking hand out for the scarf. Fushiguro knew that Gojo could see through his normal blindfold, although he said everything looked kind of dim, but he realized he wasn't actually completely sure if that was a property of Gojo's technique or a property of the blindfold. He would still be able to see, right? Although, Fushiguro figured it probably didn't really matter, since Six Eyes could pick up the trace amounts of cursed energy even from inanimate objects, and he'd probably be able to get around with just that anyways.
Gojo wrapped the scarf across his eyes and started fumbling with the knot. Wispy strands of hair were flopping into his face, tangling in the scarf, and Gojo's hands were shaking really badly. He seemed to be struggling somewhat, which was weird. Fushigiro could count on one hand all the times he'd seen Gojo struggle with anything, let alone something that involved dexterity.
"Do you need help with that?" Fushiguro asked. "Turn around."
Fushiguro didn't really mean anything by it - tying the blindfold was just a task that needed to be done, and Gojo alone didn't seem up to the job. But Gojo stiffened.
"Megumi-"
"Turn around," Fushiguro insisted.
Gojo shifted painfully in his seat, and Itadori scooted away from him to make room. Fushiguro was able to tie the scarf on securely in about two seconds flat - unsurprisingly, it was nowhere near as challenging as Gojo had made it look. Gojo was still sitting very still, but Fushiguro could feel fine tremors running through him.
"You don't like being touched, huh?" Itadori said sympathetically. Fushiguro pulled his hands back automatically - for a second he thought Itadori had been talking about him. It was certainly true - Fushiguro didn't much like being touched. But then he realized that Itadori was looking at Gojo, and of course he was talking about Gojo. And that made sense, because normally Gojo wasn't touched by anything. He had the infinity up twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Things could only get through infinity if Gojo wanted them to, and normally, he did not.
"I'll be very careful," Fushiguro said solemnly. He finished up the knot, and pulled it tight.
When he sat back, he saw that Gojo had turned bright red.
"I'm sorry," Fushiguro told him, wondering if he should explain that he wouldn't have tried to interfere if Gojo's hands hadn't been shaking so much. But Gojo was embarrassed about something, possibly the hands, and Fushiguro didn't want to make him feel any worse.
Gojo went a bit redder at Fushiguro's apology, blending in with the blood on his face. "I'll be fine," he mumbled, turning his blindfolded eyes towards Fushiguro.
He didn't sound fine, he sounded embarrassed and in pain, but Fushiguro thought saying that might make him feel worse, too. "Can you see?" he asked instead.
Something like a smile lingered around Gojo's mouth, and he nodded carefully. "I can see okay, Megumi."
"Good." Fushiguro turned back towards the conductor, who'd been hovering nervously by them the entire time. "Could he have something to drink now, please?"
Gojo turned towards the man, looking absolutely horrified even under the blindfold. "Oh. You're still…here."
"He means 'thank you,'" Itadori supplied, taking the ginger ale from the conductor with a grateful expression. "Seriously, thank you so much!"
The train conductor nodded at Itadori, watching Gojo with a concerned expression. Itadori passed the ginger ale to Gojo, but the teacher just stared mournfully down at the can. He didn't even make a move to drink it, which was perhaps the strongest indication yet that something was very wrong indeed.
"Is there anything else I can do?" the conductor asked, still looking at Gojo.
Fushiguro watched him too, seeing red start to rim his nostril before the teacher sniffed loudly, the evidence of the nosebleed disappearing. He made a face, and Fushiguro saw him gagging slightly.
They couldn't let the conductor hang around much longer, or he would start to realize that something was really wrong. Fushiguro opened his mouth to politely decline, but Itadori sat forward in his seat.
"You know that something weird is going on with the train, right, Mister?"
"Itadori. No," Fushiguro said, shaking his head. Beside him, Gojo weaved dizzily, finally focusing on Itadori as well.
"Yuji," he said, sounding utterly horrified as well as very, very sick.
The conductor ignored them both. "I…realized that, yes. I don't know exactly how, but…."
Itadori was opening his mouth again, and Fushiguro had no idea what he might be about to say. He wondered if he should try to stop Itadori somehow. Although at this point, it was probably too late for that, and that was just going to cause more of a scene.
"You don't know what it is though, do you?" Itadori asked. "I just…um…wanna make sure…."
The conductor shuddered. "No. I have no idea. But when I approached the front of the train, I felt…there was…."
The conductor broke off and swallowed hard. Fushiguro noticed that sweat was beading his forehead, and he didn't think it had been there before. Okay, so whatever it was had really scared this guy. He probably couldn't see cursed energy, or he would have been both more scared and also more comfortable describing the threat. But lots of people who couldn't see cursed energy still got a weird feeling when they were around too much of it. And that, compounded with the fact that the train had mysteriously missed its stop…of course this guy sensed something was off.
And anyways, at this point, Itadori had already directly asked him if he knew something was wrong, so the cat was out of the bag. Fushiguro wouldn't have mentioned it to the conductor if he had been on his own, but as it was, Fushiguro was hopeful he could somehow use the situation to his advantage.
"Are there people up there?" Fushiguro asked. "Passengers, I mean?"
"Yes," the conductor said. "Of course there are. I hope they're not-"
"Can you get them to move?" Fushiguro interrupted. "Me and my…we're here to help. But we need space to do it, and we can't have the other passengers getting in our way. We need space to work."
"You're here to-"
"We'll take care of it for you," Fushiguro confirmed. "But you need to get the other passengers out of there first. Can you do it?"
"This will protect them?"
"Yes. And it's the only way."
