Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

[. . .]

"In the eyes of a child, everything is scary."

[. . .]

Chapter 1

Barking at a Tree

[. . .]

A 'normal' story such as this begins at the start of birth.

On a fateful Friday evening September 15th, 2014, two EMS clinicians hand a baby with hair the color of snow to one of the Kyoto Seiin-kai Children's Home's answering caretakers. The baby, wrapped in a fuzzy blue cloth and dressed in a simple white romper, languidly looks around with its ebony eyes, calm despite the jagged cut on its left eye—recently treated and stitched.

One of the EMS clinicians steps back into the area swarmed with the strobe-like light of the ambulance, wordlessly leaving the job of explaining the situation regarding the baby to their partner.

"He was found by two hikers a few days ago," They reveal at the questioning looks received. "He was buried in a makeshift hole in the ground, completely alone and without any belongings. It is nothing short of a miracle that he was discovered, especially considering the severity of his injury and the unknown time he spent in the wilderness."

Looks of horror are exchanged.

They indicate the apparent injury on the infant and follow up with the necessary treatment and emergency procedures to heed in case of serious complications. "There are no relatives to care for him," The EMS ends the explanation with a melancholic undertone as they boldly hold out a finger for the baby to take. When the baby makes no conscious movement to grab the gloved appendage, the caretaker holding the baby snuggles him closer to her chest, astounded by the tragic revelation of the baby's founding.

"Thank you for your hospitality," The caretaker states, bowing.

The EMS clinician bows in turn, handing them the accompanying medical documents about the baby.

When the caretakers at the scene assure them of their understanding following their shows of mutual respect, the ambulance leaves.

The Caretaker in charge of holding the baby, Hana, looks down at the boy with a small smile. "Welcome to your new home, little one," She states, walking back into the freshness of the building with her coworkers in tow, cooing and reaching for the bundle in her arms.

The baby blinks, and for a moment, Caretaker Hana thinks she sees his injured eye swirl a piercing red.

But on her next blink, any visible sign of red is gone.

"His hair is very wild looking," Caretaker Izumi humorously remarks, gently curling a strand. She turns her head, "He has no name, right?" Her question is directed to Caretaker Rin, on her right. He holds the folder given, skimming his eyes across it with contemplative patience.

After going through several pages, he closes it and shakes his head. "No, none. I suppose they left that job to us," He mumbles, glancing at Caretaker Hana.

Hana smiles.

The baby looks bored.

It makes her want to laugh.

Suddenly enough to spark something of interest in her brain.

"Kakashi sounds fitting," She mumbles, unsure of why the name is brought to mind. But the external power beyond it isn't made aware of for a mind as powerless as hers, so the oddness of it is immediately dismissed as just a stroke of genius.

The baby makes no obvious physical reaction, but the widening of his eyes makes her own pair curl with joy.

"Kakashi?" Caretaker Izumi and Rin let out incredulously.

"Why not Ken? Getsumei? Hifumi?" Izumi lists off, slightly erratic as she comes even closer for another peek at the baby.

"Even Katashi works," Rin pitches in, scratching his head.

Hana shrugs. "Something tells me his name should be Kakashi," She admits readily. The baby focuses on her when she says that, and something feels distinctly off in the way he looks at her. Too aware. As if he wields an answer to that. It's so off, in fact, that Hana rewards the baby with a slightly fanged smile.

"It's not very fitting," Izumi argues, pouting, but nobody else says anything.

The name has already been chosen.

[. . .]

Three-year-old Takahashi Kakashi, better acquainted with Hatake Kakashi, resides against the bark of a tree on an open playground. He pays no heed to the activities others his age engage in around him, enraptured solely in the storybook in his hands he had swiped off one of the older kids just this morning—the same kid who'd made some rather cruel remarks about his scar a few weeks back, right around his birthday.

Kakashi hadn't been offended. It wouldn't be the first time one child or another had commented on his unique appearance, with naturally erratic snow-like hair and eyes a tad too spheroidal. He's even been ridiculed for the mole just below his lip on the right side of his chin.

A visible, lamentable imperfection according to some of the adult staff. If he hadn't been brought to this world with a cut and a mole he'd be the handsomest child around, he'd heard during the nights he snuck around. An old man disguised as a child, they deign to label him for his mature nature, with an eerie stare that borders into the paranormal side.

Not that Kakashi cares. He hasn't cared for a long time.

Kakashi may be physically three years old and look the part, but mentally, he harbors the mind of a thirty-five-year-old. He's already lived once, and irrelevant comments made on his person are something he has grown used to ten-fold.

Dying protecting the people he loves has that effect, he's found.

His new life, as unwanted and unexpected as it is, brings to light similarities that he'd been blind to in his previous life. Such as how easy it can be to blend in if he decides to play the stupid card, and how simple it is to adapt to an environment that harbors completely different aspects of things he never thought possible if he cares enough about it to change it.

Like the flying bob of disgusting mass floating in front of him.

You see, after going through the distant phase of being a baby with blurry vision and abstract thoughts simplified into eat, shit, and sleep, his mind began to wake three months into his first birthday.

The experience hadn't been exciting. Nor alarming.

It'd been a gradual process—a transfer of memories in bits and pieces that eventually developed into a blob of jumbled images lugged like a balloon overflowing with oil. A sensation of pressure enveloped his mind, akin to a headache, yet devoid of any accompanying pain. Said balloon popped by the time his second birthday had long passed, just months before his third birthday was celebrated with a mundane reading book and colors.

He remembered.

There was a war. The Fourth Shinobi World War, to be exact. And he'd died in it protecting Naruto from Sasuke's final blow, with a desperate Sakura trying to close up the hole in his chest and a crying Naruto clinging to the last bits of his consciousness.

Kakashi had some particular feelings about that. Feelings he has chosen to bury because talking about it to himself in a dark, lonely room didn't grant him the results of comfort he so needed.

But.

It turns out he wasn't so alone as he'd thought.

Along with the tragic memories of his previous life, there was something else.

It was a dark abomination of a monster sitting snugly in the corner of his room, inhaling wet breaths with multiple, crooked mouths and bulbous eyes that released a smell so reminiscent of cooked human meat that Kakashi's eye still twitches just remembering it.

That hadn't been the first time Kakashi had seen it. It'd been the first time it was clear enough to make out a distinct form that he hadn't liked at all. No sane person wants to see a monster of nightmares in their room, after all. Before, it'd been a simple shadow of many. Many, many, shadows he'd often seen in the corner of his eyes, but that wasn't anything new to Kakashi.

His previous life held similar traits. The guilt of losing comrades, he supposes. Ghosts tend to haunt.

He'd thought he was becoming schizophrenic. Because mustering the courage to casually ask his Caretaker Hana as to why they decided it was funny to shove a living nightmare in his room yielded no positive results. She'd looked at him, bewildered by an otherwise benign expression, and Kakashi realized that bringing attention to the thing in his room would be useless. (After taking delight in scaring Caretaker Izumi and Caretaker Rin with its mention of it afterward, that is.)

He hadn't slept that night.

Or the next. He'd been brought out of his room, lethargic because his puny body wasn't used to such strenuous adrenaline constantly pumping for long hours, and saw just how many of those things were around.

Small. Big. Medium.

All looking different, shaped different, and yet similar.

Moving or not, silent or not, they plastered themselves on nearly every dark corner wherever he went. Some were even attached to the staff and children—people that Kakashi had noticed were crankier, gloomier, or downright hostile. The creatures exhibited a stronger connection to abusive staff or children who lacked self-control, often retreating when he approached within close proximity.

Weeks passed as he observed those occurrences. He had no idea what to do.

Consequently, he chose to remain passive, enduring the terrifying gazes while skillfully feigning their absence.

Kakashi had gradually acclimated to their presence until one unexpectedly landed on his face right as he was finally getting some sleep, nearly suffocating him with a wet 'splat!' in the dead of night.

He'd been rightfully disgusted. Nearly horrified enough, if he hadn't discovered that if he touched them, their bodies would make a very messy pop.

Very disgusting.

He'd been given his gifts for his third birthday and taken them in quiet thought circulating back to that thing. And the rest of them he saw lingering where they shouldn't.

Thus, throughout his third year of living, as he learned at an 'average' pace using the instruments of education at the disposal of all children appropriate for his age, Kakashi experimented.

He'd interacted with more people than he would have liked to conduct such experiments: Could he manipulate the energy he apparently had? How much force could he apply before he ran out? Just how many could he get rid of properly, if he maneuvered such power to a fine point? Numerous individuals started to behave differently when he would silently fix his gaze upon them, gripping a part of their body long enough to reach the creatures and ensure their demise.

Suddenly, the areas felt much easier to breathe in. Suddenly, the children were in a better mood. Suddenly, things changed the longer Kakashi grabbed the writhing creatures and morbidly conducted deadly investigations that made him feel bad when he began to notice how much they cowered from him.

Some cried.

Some tried to eat him.

Some became much bigger, like the one in his room, and tried to kill him.

But Kakashi felt like he had better power. So he used it, feeling it out and forming it into the very same move that killed him.

His favored Chidori.

It came out different. Purple, yet with a mix of something else he couldn't quite explain. It felt like his chakra. Correction: he still had his chakra, that much he could tell. But it wasn't his chakra that completely killed the creatures. It was something else, something negative, charged with energy that came from his mind than his heart.

The very same thing he'd been practicing with this entire time.

Currently, as he reads, he reaches forward and snags the flying, irritating creature buzzing his ears.

It makes a quiet, hissy squeak when his tiny hand seizes it. He flexes his fingers and does his best to ignore the slimy coating, testing his control with a slight narrowing of his eyes.

Kakashi has named these common things Smelly Flies. Because they smell and are the easiest to kill, if not incredibly annoying in numbers. This is the 17th one he's had to kill today.

While they may often be a source of annoyance, their utility is significant for advancing further. Weak enough for his dexterous energy, to be precise.

He's been practicing his new power's control. His chakra is fine-tuned, if not just a tad erratic (and nearly nonexistent, now) from what it'd been in his previous life thanks to the dimension change. But this negative energy? It still spikes—still produces in mass numbers that have the potential to destroy objects other than the creatures he's been killing. Accidentally crushing his previous book was discouraging thanks to his carelessness.

(And his pencils. And his colors.

His writing paper, too.

His pillows. His blanket.

The right side of the wall. A disconcerting event that he made no explanation of when his caretakers asked just why the fuck an entire section of his room looked like it'd been burnt and crushed.

The last straw came when he accidentally burned Caretaker Hana, his favorite person for now. She'd been giving him some salmon and rice when he'd accidentally fizzled out too much energy thinking he could get rid of the nasty thing suddenly stuck on her head, causing her to jerk back and drop the steaming plate.

"Burned myself," She chuckled dryly with a small hiss of pain, giving him an apologetic look while she cradled her burning wrist. Kakashi remained quiet out of guilt and secret relief when the creature died. "I'll go get you another plate and clean this up, okay sweetheart?"

He worked extra hard to keep himself from creating any more injuries. It was why he preferred practicing his reach with the well-known abusive staff.)

Kakashi brings the squirming creature closer to his face. He wrinkles his nose briefly at the stench of rot it exudes, resisting the urge to reach into his pockets and use up the rest of the medical masks he'd been given from Caretaker Izumi yesterday per his request.

He doesn't hate these things. He has no particular thought, really. He just... doesn't like how many of them there are.

Kakashi doesn't enjoy being perceived, sentient creature or not.

He pumps in some energy, measuring the tiniest portion of it he can make.

The creature grows in size.

He tries some more.

It grows more. Overweight enough that it looks like it's about to pop.

He goes for a tentative third, trying to halve his given portion, but unfortunately, the Smelly Fly explodes just as it always does on his third attempt. It goes everywhere, including his face, and Kakashi's eye twitches, feeling immense disappointment in himself for forgetting how easily these things died, and for being unable to increase the number of times he could inject it with his power.

The distorted pieces of it will fizzle out and eventually disappear. But just because it will, doesn't mean he likes the sensation of it being all over his face.

Failure, he notes.

He'll need to find more of them to gather a proper concession. But he's lazy. For now, he'll enjoy his literature before the time for a break is over and he's forced to look at a packet of equations he knows the answers to already.

Closing his grimy hand into a fist, he studies the sludgy excrement briefly before opening it and flicking it to the side, sending the remains of the Smelly Fly onto the floor.

Or, perhaps not the floor. Because his hand collides against a sturdy object covered in fabric.

Kakashi blinks in slight surprise before twitching slightly at the scent of something distinctly sweet and not dead reaching his nose.

There's an unimaginable power right beside him.

For a moment, he's confused.

He's never felt a power like this before. And it's velvety. Like a tenebrous river chaffing against rocks hard enough to smooth them over. It also feels controlled, unlike the malevolent weight he's had to deal with ever since his body decided to start seeing things only imagined in horror movies in vivid 3D.

He turns to look, curious about what exactly he's sensing.

His heart tries to leap, mistaking the additional scent of warmth and fresh linen as family, but he dutifully keeps it bound.

Kakashi blinks slowly.

A giant man with white hair is staring right at him.

[. . .]

Gojo Satoru is a genius.

There's no mistake about that. From birth, he harbored an intelligence few could rival, gifted with a keen intellect that made him good at everything he put his mind to doing. It is widely acknowledged that possessing exceptional intelligence at a young age is a remarkable blessing. Divine. Gojo belongs to the cohort that holds this belief, as there has been nothing he has been unable to accomplish.

Except.

That one thing, many years ago.

When he'd been too naive to think he could save someone who didn't want to be saved.

But!

He digresses. Gojo Satoru is a genius, and because he's a genius, he knows that the overwhelming cursed energy he senses just in the next building over isn't an extra Special-Grade Curse the Higher Ups thought to prank him with.

Maybe it helps he has the Six Eyes.

Maybe it's just raw talent.

But Gojo can tell that the Cursed Energy coming from Kyoto Seiin-kai Children's Home belongs to a person, rather than a curse.

He doesn't know if this is some sort of ploy from the Higher Ups to take up more of his time. Gojo doesn't mind, because at least he took this job before someone weaker than him could and accidentally kill themselves trying to do it. But it is odd of them to gather intel on the Curse to an absolute degree and then mindlessly forget about the much bigger energy in the next building over.

Gojo walks toward it with intent, internally scoffing.

Who's he kidding? They do that all the damn time.

It's why so many Sorcerers live such short lives. There's conveniently never enough information for a sorcerer to know just what they're dealing with. For all people know, it could be a simple fly head turned into a dangerous Special-Grade with the ability to eat brains with every thought produced.

Gojo doesn't have an issue dealing with curses. He hasn't, not ever, not really. Curse Users have a similar story. That Man had been a complete disaster.

The cursed energy swarming in the way back of the Children's Home is vastly different.

Because it's familiar, somehow, and Gojo doesn't know what to think about that.

He's interested, though. A Children's Home is vulnerable. He's going to investigate it because he's too curious for his own good, sometimes. But things work out in his favor most of the time.

Because he's Gojo Satoru.

And because he's Gojo Satoru, it doesn't take him long to teleport towards the designated source of the outstanding energy reaching out to him like a balm of mint on a nasty sweet tooth.

He knows he's completely trespassing at this point. But what others won't know won't kill him, so he looks around with unrepressed intrigue, raising his blindfold slightly for a better gauge due to the large number of kids screaming and running around. The greater majority of them are pliant and sitting, focused on personal devices, and the source of this cursed energy he feels drawn to is one of them. A little boy dressed in a white dress shirt and black pants.

With white hair, sitting against a tree, holding a fly head captive.

Gojo's lips quirk in immediate amusement.

Either the kid's a runaway Gojo Clan member, or Gojo's just that lucky to have found him in a place as random as this, but either way, Gojo has a new mission in mind.

Whistling as he emerges from the hidden corner that surprises several kids closest, he idly strides towards the tree. Heads from staff and children alike snap his way and Gojo dismisses them as an afterthought, intent on introducing himself to a possible Megumi 2.0 if he plays his cards right.

Upon arriving, he has the luck of witnessing the boy steadily kill the obstructing fly head. It's a possible accident because there's a subtle flinch undetectable to the naked eye, but not to Gojo.

In fact...

Gojo lifts his head and takes a quick survey of the area.

There are little to no curses. Has this kid been taking care of them? He's so strong, already!

Something hits him. He looks down.

The kid is looking up at him, bored.

"Um. Excuse me?"

He turns and locks eyes with a staff member—a woman with brown hair and red, triangular marks on her cheeks. There's paint on her fingers and clothes, telling Gojo that she must've stopped teaching some children arts and crafts to talk to him.

"Yes?" Gojo cocks his head.

She smiles politely, strained. "I'm afraid you can't be here without an escort?"

"Ah," Gojo turns to look down at the boy. The boy has long returned to his book. He regards the staff member, considering. His smile grows as he straightens, putting on his charm. He gestures toward the oblivious boy with his chin when the caretaker's expression morphs into irritation, "How much for him?"

The caretaker blinks.

"What?"

[. . .]

Money talks.

A lot.

Gojo doesn't like how easy it'd been to convince the Administrator of the children's home to adopt Kakashi. After he'd shrugged off the caretaker who approached him and found the main office, he'd gone through the process of asking for the boy. He specifically pointed to the white-haired one in the list of thousands, ignoring the nervous wringing of the staff member who'd insisted on helping him with the process.

He might've freaked her out a bit earlier.

In the end, the boy, whose name is Takahashi Kakashi (rolls off the tongue well, he thinks), is called into the same office he's been waiting for close to an hour in.

Upon entering with three of the staff in tow, Gojo lifts his head and brightens, giving a quick wave with a pen in hand. Kakashi looks very bored of him, but Gojo doesn't take it to heart. It reminds him a lot of Megumi, really.

He withholds from snickering out loud at what the teenager will say when he meets the new addition to the family.

He returns to the stack of papers he needs to sign. He doesn't bother reading them because they all state the same thing Megumi's had, sort of. Maybe. He vaguely remembers something about rights.

He may be putting himself into a bit of a doozy, here. But that's fine.

This kid is important.

He feels important, and he doesn't know why.

A typical individual may feel apprehensive about this unfamiliar emotion. Not Gojo, though. He feels a sense of exhilaration among confusion. He'll have another kid to show off, now!

A kid with a power very similar, and yet not.

He can't wait to see it in action.

While finishing off the last bits of paper signing with a small one-sided conversation in the background, Gojo is told he needs an evaluation. Child Protective Services and all that. He states he has no issues letting them scope around his apartment, but... He'll offer up a good load of money for them not to inquire about his job.

At the silence that reigns in the room and the questioning glances, Gojo calmly taps his finger against the desk with a small smile. "I'll leave a phone number if you need it. Otherwise? That's about all I can give." Yaga's number, evidently. He would've put in Megumi's, but he has a good feeling the kid won't appreciate it. He may even say some bad stuff just to spite him.

Yaga is the best decision, for now.

"Does he work for the government or something?" Someone asks from behind him, and Gojo nearly snorts.

Something like that.

The process is unprofessional and rushed. Rather than the extended weeks it may have taken to complete a home study, create a waiting family profile, and undergo legal procedures as law, one suggestion of money and a flex of the farce he works for grants him a minimum of two days to get everything ready. He is given guarded glances by the staff members surrounding Kakashi and keeping him close. At his willful acceptance of it, he receives disdainful glares, but Gojo doesn't care because waiting two days is better than waiting weeks for an eventual hazard similar to a Yuta situation.

It's a shame that this place can't be trusted, Gojo reflects.

However, he will soon have a new student to mentor, leaving him little inclination to address the situation. It's not worth his time. He's likely to dispatch Ijichi later for a comprehensive assessment, particularly due to the possibility of encountering a similarly powerful child who could pose significant risks but otherwise, the concerns of the civilians will continue to be their responsibility unless they intersect with the Jujutsu realm.

After three hours of sitting on his ass, the process is finished. Gojo stands with a casual stretch, ignoring the offered handshake by the administrator. He's not going to shake hands with weak-willed people.

He gives a final glance to little Kakashi, grinning with internal satisfaction when he senses the offended gaze of the administrator on his back. "I'll see you in two days, kid."

Kakashi responds by side-eyeing him. Hard.

[. . .]

The social worker poses numerous inquiries in the subsequent days as he examines the conditions of his apartment. Gojo finds this additional scrutiny somewhat displeasing, yet he refrains from expressing his annoyance, reasoning that postponing for another day is not a significant issue.

Upon receiving the necessary approval to bring his charge home, Gojo quietly expresses his irritation with a muttered "finally," but soon his mood lifts as he instructs Ijichi to escort him to the building after the social worker hands him a set of documents detailing the finishing aspect of the adoption process.

He arrives at an unexpected location—an adoption agency that appears to have been selected at the last moment, giving it a somewhat dubious appearance. The exterior is predominantly devoid of attractive floral arrangements, being instead enveloped in sprawling vines. Neglected and not well-maintained, Gojo feels somewhat insulted that an individual of his stature has been placed in such an unremarkable setting.

Ijichi tells him he'll wait around the block for him. Gojo waves him off and makes his way to the front double doors.

Upon entering, he makes a subtle sniff at the stale atmosphere. Old books, dust, and worn furniture catch his disapproving eye. His eyes catch the many dark auras of curses skulking about as well, including one that seems to be growing into a worrying size a great number of doors down from the main entrance.

Until suddenly it isn't, because Kakashi's overwhelming energy, even if Gojo is halls away from the room he's in, is so potent it completely ceases existence. Gojo's surprised someone else hasn't detected Kakashi and swiped him for themselves. The kid's unimaginable reach is promising for a child. Likely just as good as his was.

Pocketing his phone after checking the time, he turns towards the receptionist and states his name and reasoning for his visit. The woman behind the glass frame nods and asks him to sign something else—how many damn things is he going to sign?—while she makes a quick call about his arrival.

Gojo puts the pencil down and steps back, tapping his foot impatiently with a quick fix of his black spectacles. He'd chosen his civilian outfit today after the chewing he got from Yaga yesterday. They must've taken the number seriously, considering they inquired about his suspicious getup that isn't suspicious, thank you very much. He's fashionable.

Yaga hadn't been amused.

Not even a minute later after internally snickering at his former mentor's anger, he's redirected into a different room, towards Kakashi.

A man speaks to him on the way about another process he'll need to do but is dismissed from due to the sum of money he turned in that pays for it all, apparently.

Gojo hums, disinterested.

When they arrive at the door and step in, Gojo's former neutral smile broadens into something genuine at the sight of the calm boy dressed in a professional school uniform, clutching some form of dog plushie nearly half his size against his chest. The same medical mask covers the bottom portion of the boy's uninterested face, and the little backpack he wears is enough to make him chuckle lightly. A particular memory of Megumi sprouts. Kids with big backpacks will never not be funny.

He stands in front of three people; two women and a man. The same people as before.

"Hey, little guy!" Gojo greets warmly, sauntering up with a small wave.

Kakashi blinks calmly. "...Hello," He responds, briefly glancing back at the encouraging push the woman in the middle gives. The boy seems to sag and Gojo waits patiently, surprised briefly when Kakashi reaches somewhere behind him and presents a piece of paper.

He gives it wordlessly to him, and Gojo takes it, curiously peeking at the scribbles a child probably shouldn't be able to make.

It's a detailed drawing of his face and body standing by a tree.

"An artist, huh?" Gojo says, very impressed. This kid captured him in all his glory. Though, he's a tad confused by the monstrous creature he knows is a curse standing behind him, hovering with broad arms as if to trap him. One could mistake it for a shadow because of its human-like shape, but Gojo knows better.

Gojo looks down at Kakashi, smile never waning. Is this a threat? "This is good!"

Kakashi makes no outward indication he's being threatening. He merely retreats to his caretakers.

Gojo looks up at one of them. The man, "He draws sometimes," He tells him tersely, crossing his arms. He probably thinks he's some weirdo buying children. Which, fair. "But he prefers not to."

Gojo nods and folds the piece of paper to protectively keep it in his breast pocket. With a pat, he states, "A good skill to have, nonetheless." It'd come in handy at some point, right? Kids like drawing. He'll give Kakashi creative liberty to do what he wants if he wants it.

Poor choice of words, apparently. The man narrows his eyes further.

Gojo regards the Adoption Agent without much care. "So? Is there anything else I need to do or is the kid officially coming home with me?"

The Adoption Agent awkwardly coughs into his hand before walking to his desk. "Ah. One additional signature is required, along with a terms of agreement indicating your understanding of the law. Medical release forms would typically be included; however, the identity of little Kakashi's birth parents remains unknown."

Interesting.

Withholding a sigh, he walks over and sits himself down with one leg over another, waiting for the adoption agent to set up the filing and hand him a pen.

In the meantime, he keeps a careful measure of Kakashi's cursed energy.

There aren't any spikes of aggression, which is good. Gojo wouldn't want the kid to be distressed. Something tells Gojo he should be concerned over the child's lack of reaction to nearly everything that's been going on, but he won't question it if things are as good as they can be. He'll address that issue when it arrives. Kakashi is very well-behaved as far as he's seen. He hasn't obtained a report regarding his previous behavior, probably due to the expedited nature of the adoption process. As a result, he's unaware if Kakashi exhibits similar tendencies to Megumi, who was known for causing chaos and engaging in fights with others. Kid was a riot.

"If you could sign here?"

Gojo perks and leans forward, taking the pen and glancing at the paper where he's being indicated to sign. He does, and hands the pen back, looking up when the adoption agent quickly arranges the few papers and straightens them with a few taps against the desk.

"Well," The adoption agent smiles sugarly, "That's that, it seems. I will prepare several copies of this document and provide you with your folder, ensuring that you and your new child are ready to return home!"

What weird wording.

Gojo stands and gives a sharp smile anyway, ignoring the handshake.

He turns and walks to Kakashi, clapping his hands together. "So—!"

"Wait."

Gojo looks over, narrowing his eyes slightly. What is it now?

He softens his slight irritation to surprise when he realizes just who's talking to him. Three of the working staff are quick to approach him just before he asks Kakashi if he's ready to go, the woman of before in particular—with paint in her fingers. She no longer has paint on her fingers.

In order from right to left, they introduce themselves as Hana, Izumi, and Rin, finally, the main caretakers in charge of the kid.

They plead his case, urging him to be careful with him, and Gojo listens, tilting his head at the wonder of it all that at the very least, this child has people who care about him enough to be with him every step of the way. It makes him feel a teensy bit bad he's taking him home, but it's necessary. With such raw power, who knows if the kid'll blow everything up on accident?

Not that he doesn't doubt the boy's control. To have lasted this long is no easy feat and underestimating a child is the last thing he's done.

He nods his head along as they explain Kakashi's characteristics and necessities: "He eats a lot of fish. Don't overfeed him that, he gets a bad stomach ache," or, "Do not let him near electrical sockets if he has something sharp in his hands. He'll absolutely try to electrocute himself," or, "He has a bad habit of disappearing. Check in on quiet areas or places with a lot of books in them," or, "He loves nature. He will runaway given the chance. Tying a backpack leash to a tree will stop his urges," or, best of all, Gojo's favorite, "He never asks for anything. He'll stare you down until you figure out what exactly he wants, and won't stop looking or following you until he gets it."

Kakashi sounds like a hoot.

"I'll keep that in mind," Gojo acknowledges with a grin.

The three caretakers visibly relax.

Caretaker Hana then looks down at the little boy standing in front of him, face softening. Gojo lets her crouch in front of Kakashi and whisper hushed assurances that the boy seems to be taking well. He doesn't sound like he's crying at all, not even when each caretaker gives him a brief touch of affection: a forehead kiss from Caretaker Hana, a head pat from Caretaker Rin, and a crushing hug from Caretaker Izumi, who, it seems, has begun the waterworks.

Gojo doesn't see the boy's reaction to it all. But the budging reluctance the boy exudes when Gojo tells him it's time to leave is palpable.

Caretaker Hana sniffs, making a very poor attempt to hide her tears. "He doesn't like people telling him what to do," She croaks with a small huff of humor, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

Gojo hums. Sounds like he and this kid will be great friends! "Does he take bribery?"

Caretaker Izumi balks but Caretaker Rin nods sagely. "He prefers miso soup with eggplant. But, on occasion, Jagariko Sticks work too."

"Gotcha." Gojo tilts his head down and meets Kakashi's tired gaze. "Well? Miso soup with eggplant sounds good right about now. You wanna go get some?"

Kakashi turns himself around, staring.

Gojo waits patiently.

Then, "I want three bowls."

Gojo grins.

Chapter Text

[. . .]

"Child of mine, what horrors have you seen?"

[. . .]

Chapter 2

A Bowl of Narutomaki

[. . .]

Kakashi feels he should probably be throwing a tantrum.

A typical toddler doesn't remain quiet when being adopted by an unfamiliar, sketchy individual. Especially without the opportunity to assess their comfort level, as stipulated by the adoption guidelines he reviewed on the day he learned of the impending changes in his life. Maybe a toddler is fond of celebrating being adopted, or maybe Kakashi can pass it off as nerves (or the purported diagnosis of autism, something of which Kakashi had heard he may have, since it appears to be a convenient explanation for much of his behavior, as indicated by the written reports prepared by the staff), but having no reaction at all is concerning.

He has no idea how toddlers work.

For several hours each day, he refrains from asking questions or seeking clarification about the reasons for his relocation or his caretakers' absence.

Kakashi takes this immense change with a grain of salt. He doesn't care, not fully, and worrying about an imminent possible human trafficker is unnecessary when Kakashi knows he can handle himself just fine.

Sure, the lanky man adopting him may keep immeasurable power under lock and key, but what's Kakashi supposed to do? Fight? Run away?

Yeah, probably. He can. If he tries hard enough, he can become completely untraceable. And powerful.

But.

Just because Kakashi can, doesn't mean he wants to.

The sole reason for expanding his prowess through concentrated control was to keep himself from hurting his caretakers. They care about him. Kakashi has the gall to admit that he is very fond of them, too. They're all he has ever known and despite the lingering memories of past names that occasionally trouble him—such as Izumi, who was Itachi's youthful affection; Hana, the daughter of the Inuzuka clan leader; and Rin, whose soul he may never reunite with—he will forever cherish their kindness.

But that's it. He has taken those actions to safeguard the individuals who are unfortunately caught in his orbit. And sure, there have been moments when Kakashi has grown bored enough to stir up a little mischief. After all, who could resist the temptation to have a bit of fun?

But.

He has never done anything to hurt anyone purposely.

And he won't start doing that now.

Someone new entered the field and threw his expected life for a loop, and now the most concerning thing is whether or not he will ever be able to see his caretakers again. Those monsters lurk about, still. Kakashi won't be there to help them if something goes wrong. They've assured him, in their own, naive way of things, that they'll be okay.

Kakashi knows better.

In the three days he's been waitlisted for adoption, he's slaved himself trying to improve his methods. Output control. Visage camouflage. Speed and concentration. Too little too late, maybe, but bringing out Minato's sealing teachings as a last resort went up in flames when he remembered just how little of his chakra he had. This other energy doesn't work the same, and pocket dimensions are at best minimal with the aftermath of chakra he was left with.

He has no idea how to keep this place from hurting. He has no power left to do that.

All his knowledge of Fūinjutsu is obsolete.

Defeated on the fourth day, Kakashi is bathed and dressed in silence. Rin has bought him a new plushie, Izumi has packed his bags, and Hana has styled his hair—or attempted to. It sticks out, and by the time the four of them leave the Children's home and wait inside the adoption agency in charge of completing the transaction, his white locks battled against the hair gel and won.

Kakashi should've tried harder to get better. To figure something out.

But he didn't.

Less than an hour later, the tall man, identified as Gojo Satoru from the documents Kakashi shouldn't have read but did (shadow clones, hello), enters through the room door. Kakashi pauses momentarily to assess him thoroughly. His previous unusual attire has been exchanged for more conventional clothing: a light blue dress shirt paired with black trousers and polished Oxford shoes. On his face, black shades slide slightly down to reveal the shiniest blue eyes he has ever seen.

Paired with a smile so warm that Kakashi has to wonder if he's being tricked, or if this man truly has no bad intentions toward him.

After reluctantly using his voice to return the greeting, the rest of the meet-up goes by in a blur. He hands over the drawing he created (per Caretaker Izumi's encouraging request) with a careless air, figuring that the message in it will instill a sense of danger potent enough for the man to reconsider any potential thoughts of hurting him. A subtle threat that he knows what he is and that Kakashi will do his best to hurt him if he tries anything against his caretakers.

Dying has never been a problem for him. He's lived, grieved, and loved once. Losing the chance to do so a second time won't be such a big deal.

To Gojo's credit, he barely bats an eye. He looks pleased, even, and Kakashi settles against Caretaker Hana's legs in deep thought.

So then, he knows about what lurks in the dark. His powers are a stretch, but if he's like him, then that's likely the main reason why he's being bought. Kakashi doesn't know what to make of that.

It's not long before it's finally time to go.

His caregivers attempt to humiliate him by airing out their pronounced worries, but Kakashi remains unperturbed. He's shameless. Nevertheless, this lack of shame eventually transforms into sorrow, albeit a subdued form of it. The forehead kiss, hug, and head pats nearly do Kakashi in. He's not feeling anything, but there are unmistakable welts of sorrow making his heart bleed dry. There's a push against his melancholy, a depression that threatens to emerge into the surface like an eruption of tears.

Kakashi keeps a measured face and leans into the acts of affection he may never get the chance to experience again.

(Or perhaps he's being dramatic. It's not forever. Fate has a tragic way of reconciling people.)

He's offered his favorite ramen afterward, a barter from the man who's just as shameless as he is. Bribery, really? Kakashi's not that easy to sway. Any reason for accepting is simply for his benefit. It's not going to convince him that none of this involves foul play. Until he makes a full diagnosis of where he's headed, he'll pass judgment.

He won't be bribed for a life of fighting. He's done with that. For good.

As expected, the promise of ramen does little to fill in the empty chassis in his heart, but Kakashi can appreciate an olive branch.

"I want three bowls," He drawls, hoping the squeeze of his plushie against his person isn't obvious. He hasn't eaten today. He's hungry. That's all.

The grin he receives hurts. Kakashi suppresses the static shock trying to emerge from his chest and stamp his face with it.

The universe is taunting me, Kakashi thinks coldly. This is some cruel joke, surely. Surely.

The face, although softer, is structured to mock a visionary he hasn't seen since his first almost-death. There are definite traits that aren't the same at all, but when the smile takes over...

It reminds him of another man, from so long ago.

Kakashi smothers the thought of his father until it's a bloody mess.

[. . .]

Kiyotaka Ijichi thinks Gojo's new ward is tiny.

The boy is appropriately polite when he crawls into the backseat and clips his seatbelt on with little struggle. Ijichi intends to offer him help, but the casual shake of the boy's head before he can ask stops him from doing so at all. He makes no outward indication he's uncomfortable, so Ijichi gives a shy wave and a wobbly smile to acquiesce just before Gojo gets in.

The boy waves back. He looks like an ant back there. This won't do.

"I'll install a baby seat later today," Ijichi comments as he starts up the car, eyeing Gojo from the rearview mirror.

The man lowers his shades in a 'come again?' gesture. "...Huh?"

Ijichi frowns. "A baby seat?" He pivots his gaze to the quiet child still staring right at him, likely in confusion, though he can't readily tell. It's extremely creepy. The scar on his face makes him feel guilty for thinking that. "He's a toddler."

Gojo sits up a bit. "Eh? Do we need a baby seat?" He turns to the boy and asks, "How old are you?"

Ijichi refrains from telling him that regardless of age, he looks like he needs one.

"Ten," The boy responds confidently.

Ijichi furrows his brows. He looks... far too small for a ten-year-old. That's extremely concerning.

"See? He's old enough to sit there," Gojo waves him off.

Ijichi isn't convinced. There's no possible way for him to be ten years old. But he doesn't have the time to argue about it because Gojo is telling him to drop him off at his favored ramen place the next second, and Ijichi complies because a calm Gojo is better than an agitated one. He's honestly surprised he hasn't done anything yet, considering how irritated he'd been earlier for that extra day.

As he pulls out into the street, Ijichi thinks.

Perhaps, to the outside eye, an irritated Gojo doesn't look irritated at all. Maybe calm, at best. But Ijichi knows better. He has known him for a long time, too long, to understand the man's behavior.

But it's kind of funny.

Right now, as he sneaks glances at him through the rearview mirror on the way, he's never seen Gojo look so happy. It's a complete turnaround from this morning.

He leans towards the boy with his phone out, gesturing histrionically at the screen and using the pads of his finger to scroll. He beams when Kakashi points at things, eagerly explaining whenever the boy indulges his speeches. The boy never talks. But Gojo, who might've been bothered by that trait in anyone else, is instead elated. He doesn't remark about it whatsoever.

Ijichi doesn't recall Gojo being so happy when he took in Megumi and Tsumiki. Who, at the very least, talked, just barely.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was still a teenager at the time. Ijichi may be blind, but Geto's defection irreversibly changed Gojo. He'd been sad, at first. Quieter. Angrier.

So, no, maybe Megumi and Tsumiki's presence hadn't brought out everything in Gojo. He'd been much subdued then, still silly, but nevertheless, he'd been eager to teach some kids.

But never like this.

In fact...

Ijichi narrows his eyes.

Gojo and his new ward look... alike. The fluffy white locks are a dead giveaway, possibly linking him to a distant relative. But the boy's eye shape closely resembles that of Gojo's, albeit slightly more droopy. A medical mask obscures the lower portion of the boy's face, yet there is no doubt regarding the eyes. The most apparent distinction lies in their color, which is a deep, lifeless black.

Ijichi might need a new pair of glasses for his analysis, but the boy and Gojo can be mistaken for father and son, by blood.

He nearly misses the change of the green light when he discovers this.

As he turns towards the restaurant's front, Gojo finally speaks to him.

"Hey. Take these and organize them, yeah?" Something paper-like makes a wobbling sound.

Ijichi takes the folder given to him curiously, keeping his eyes on the road. "Ah. Documents about the adoption?" He sets them on the passenger seat and slows the car to a stop in front of the door. He gives an inquisitive eye around, making sure nothing is out of place. Gojo and Kakashi should be safe.

"Yeah. Likely Kakashi's records and whatnot, too," Gojo replies airily, putting away his phone. He opens the car door with a quick fix of his hair and steps out.

Ijichi waits, taking in the information. So the boy's name is Kakashi. That's odd but fitting. The boy has an eerie stare about him much like a scarecrow. Lying still in a field with his 100-yard stare. He's only moved his arms this entire ride. Ijichi isn't even sure he blinked.

The boy unbuckles with a light struggle. He doesn't look at him when he gets out of the car himself after experimentally pulling at the handle of the car, though he does slam the door harder than he should have. The tips of his tuft of hair he can see from the window (and this is from standing on the tall sidewalk) making no move to walk with Gojo hints to Ijichi that the door slam was not intentional. Ijichi huffs an amused breath.

He looks up when the passenger door's window is tapped on. Ijichi rolls it down, fixing his glasses at Gojo's budding appearance.

"I'll call you for a pickup," Gojo tells him as if Ijichi isn't familiar with that already. The strongest sorcerer leans forward with a shake of his phone, nearly shoving it in his face. "Oh. Buy Kakashi one of these," Ijichi blinks at the command and the picture of a dog backpack harness created for children blaring brightly on the screen, "He liked this one the best."

Ijichi doesn't ask. He merely nods uncertainly, satisfying Gojo enough to pull away.

Through the window, as he inches forward to peek at the duo shamelessly, he marvels at Gojo's encouraging hand on Kakashi's backpack. He's bent down, walking at an uncomfortable angle just to speak to the little boy, but he gestures around excitedly. Kakashi takes this all in calmly, not a twitch in his expression. It makes Ijichi wonder just what the child has gone through to be able to manage such a stoic face.

Which reminds him.

He needs to send word and report about the Children's Home. As per Gojo's assigned task, the things Ijichi has found are terrible. He has no idea how any child can deal with so much, let alone the staff members' abysmal pay. There's more he needs to do and reading Kakashi's form may give further insight.

Ijichi can't help himself a look at the documents as he pulls into the store's parking lot half an hour later. He sits in the driver's seat, turning the car off, reaching for the contents inside with a calculative edge. He likely won't find anything incriminating—Kakashi's been adopted, after all, and nothing implicating about the Orphanage will come with him if they can't help it.

But Ijichi isn't stupid. There are reports about Kakashi's behavior, and based on the coming months, he can compare deductions and stories. He'll have to record several of the staff, especially that of Kakashi's main caregivers. It's going to take a while for him to do this due to his stacking tasks laid on him, but he has confidence he'll figure this out sooner than expected.

He has to question why one child needed three when the numbers of workers are depleted.

As he reads through, upon his fourth page, he gets to Kakashi's basic information.

His eyes skim and pause immediately, narrowing at the age.

You're kidding.

He's three.

Ijichi scowls and rubs a frustrated hand down his face.

He's buying that damn baby seat.

[. . .]

Kakashi's never seen an establishment as busy as this.

So many people are going out and about, sitting in lines of obscure singular stool booths engaged without a disturbance. He quite likes those, and he'll even admit that the sparkling lights advertising their products are nice to look at, so long as they stop blinking so furiously in front of his face. His left eye is starting to get irritated by the flummoxing of them.

He likes the spice and broth he can taste in the air, and though the clinking sounds are frequent enough to be annoying, he can't help but think it's a fond reminiscence of Ichiraku.

Although the memory is burdensome, the differences far exceed the similarities, so Kakashi can manage. That's fine.

What he does not like is waiting in line. The body he inhabits, for all his foreknowledge, is still that of a toddler. He's three. He can't afford to stand for long periods of time. If he had cared about it at all, he might've thought it humiliating that a former formidable Shinobi such as himself developed a weakness in standing on stubby legs. Alas, he is but a lost soul, hoping to wander enough to go back home.

If there even is a home to go back to.

Never mind that.

Fortunately, the queue seems to be progressing swiftly. Kakashi is uncertain how this establishment manages such efficiency, but he commends their efforts. He anticipates that his wait will not exceed forty minutes. The downside of his situation, overall, is the amount of people, similar to his home world, who have a habit of not minding their damn business. Nonetheless, Gojo's cellular display of various items provides some distraction, allowing Kakashi to overlook the piercing gazes directed at them nearly.

"See this?" Gojo points to a picture of a litter of puppies. Kakashi focuses immediately, leaning forward. "These are golden retrievers." I know, Kakashi wants to say. I've read about them. Extensively. The only good thing in the children's section of the library, really. "I've noticed you like doggie stuff, and I'm thinking about what to decorate your room with. Whatcha think?"

Kakashi nods in approval. He wonders where he'll live now and whether Gojo realizes he has not, in fact, been strictly living in seclusion against his will.

Gojo uses his finger to swipe at the box (it's called a phone—various other names include: cellular device, telephone, cellphone, and mobile phone, derived from the encyclopedias lying about—Kakashi, however, finds it difficult to comprehend the purpose of these terms, although he recognizes that they are utilized for communication and, by extension, the exchange of information), generating another image. It's the picture of the same litter of golden retriever puppies, except they're on a shirt modeled by a smiling child. Kakashi perks.

Gojo must notice because he encouragingly asks, "Do you want this one too? I'm ordering it!"

Kakashi watches him press various buttons he secretly memorizes for future use. He shouldn't be excited, as he's still in unfamiliar territory engaging with an unknown, but it's hard not to. Acquiring a comprehensive collection of information and objects regarding dogs has long been his aspiration, though it may be considered somewhat lackadaisical now since everything is so different and has the potential to be. The phone itself is intriguing as well; it holds a significant amount of knowledge despite its diminutive size. The computers at the Children's Home had information too, but he could never be on them for long.

"You know, my student can summon dogs," Gojo comments casually, and Kakashi blinks at him as he straightens from his crouched position. The three-year-old looks away when he sees the knowing smile again. Kakashi's tired of seeing his father's ghost. "Two of them. They're very cute!"

Kakashi wonders if said student is willing to share them. But the word 'summon' grabs his attention more. Does that mean there are contracts in this world too? Is it conceivable that a contract specifically for dogs exists? It gives Kakashi hope, as apprehensive as he feels about it. It's highly unlikely he'll summon his previous pack again because Kakashi died and with him, they remain in the Dog Sanctuary in one single dimension (he's asked about his father's wolf-dog and came back empty and more alone than before), but if he does somehow connect with them by some otherworldly miracle, he won't know what to say. He'll probably ugly cry. But he thinks it's better to have his old pack back than a new one.

That's not to say that he won't love them. A new pack, he means. But it won't be the same. If he's being honest with himself, the realistic outcome of his new home and power enunciate the confirmation that, without chakra, summoning any dog at all is out of the question. His sorrow has intensified to an overwhelming degree, and confronting it has led to the emergence of his new strength, so at least he has that knowledge going for him. At the cost of having to force himself to hide, but who's going to stop him?

"Do they have names?" Kakashi dares ask, unable to quell his curiosity. Two dogs. What do they look like? Are they the same breed, or do they come in different pairs? Does this boy happen to have a dog-summoning contract? Is he willing to hand it over? Kakashi sure hopes so.

Gojo taps his chin. "No, I don't think so." He brightens, "Wanna name 'em?"

Kakashi likes the idea. But it wouldn't feel right, considering he's not the owner. "They don't belong to me," Kakashi points out.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind," Gojo waves off, tapping away at his little device again. Kakashi can only assume he must be contacting this student of his.

"I'm going to need to see them to name them," Kakashi drawls. He's been told he's very terrible at naming things but that won't stop him. Maybe he'll name them Thing One and Thing Two, like in those Americanized Dr. Suess books he found very intriguing.

Gojo looks at him impressively. "For a three-year-old, you speak well. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Not really. He hid himself for most of his time here. His caretakers had been an exception, but only once or twice. "You have," The toddler responds vaguely.

"Right! You're so advanced!" Kakashi does not preen at that. Gojo shoves his phone away into the breast pocket of his shirt. "Anyway. Tell me about your life, Kashi-kun. I'm curious. What's a toddler like you doing in a Children's Home?"

"I'm an orphan," Kakashi deadpans.

Gojo pauses, as if sheepish. But he doesn't look sheepish. Kakashi wonders if he's nervous, somehow. "Okay. Wrong icebreaker. Let me rephrase my question: you and I are both aware you have something special about you. Do you have any memory at all that indicates when you started seeing the you-know-whats?"

"That's not at all similar," Kakashi notes casually. "And what things?"

"Ah," Gojo leads them both further as the line moves, "Curses."

Kakashi has no idea what that is. He suspects he's indicating the monstrosities he's seen lurking nearly everywhere, but Kakashi won't bother clarifying himself. He'll watch his guardian struggle a bit more. "I see. You must be schizophrenic?"

Gojo quirks a brow. "And you know what that means?"

"I'm not hearing a 'no'."

"I'm not hearing a 'yes' either."

"Maa," Kakashi squeezes his plushie closer, "Who wants to know?"

"Me, of course," Gojo grins at him. "As your new papa, that means—"

Kakashi sighs. Audibly. Gojo stops.

"...I'm guessing you don't want to answer that."

Kakashi side-eyes him. "Who would've guessed?"

"I just did!"

Kakashi says nothing.

"Okay. New topic, then! So, curses."

"That's the same topic."

"So, curses," Gojo repeats and Kakashi sniffs at him, "Since you obviously don't know what that is and you're super embarrassed about it, I'll tell you all about them!"

"Mortified, even," Kakashi adds mockingly, and Gojo nods.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, of course! You're three."

"Ten," Kakashi corrects, you know, like a liar.

Gojo ignores his correction and points at a dark corner, "First things first: I'm not sure if you've noticed, but there are a lot of spooky-looking creatures lurking about. Dark shadows, eldritch entities, all that junk. If you can't see anything, don't worry about it. I'll get you a special pair of glasses to help! And guess what?"

Kakashi blinks lazily at him.

"You'll get to customize them!" Gojo waves his hands theatrically with enthusiasm.

Kakashi hums. "I get to wear doggy glasses?"

"Sure, why not!"

Kakashi approves of this. "Then I can't see," He lies, pretending to rub his eyes.

Gojo pauses, staring at him blankly. "I appreciate the effort, but I know you're lying."

Kakashi disapproves of that. So that means Gojo must've noticed him when he caught the Smelly Fly. "Maa, you just called a three-year-old a liar. You might want to rethink your life choices that have led up to this."

"I do that already so there's no need for that! Anyway. Here's your first lesson Kashi-kun:" Gojo lifts a finger, "Toddlers lie all the time. I'd know."

Kakashi rubs his chin. "Are you implicating yourself as a lying toddler? For shame. Personal experience does not beget the permission of projection, Gojo-san."

Gojo makes a face and Kakashi smiles internally. "Ew? Don't call me Gojo-san. It makes me sound old. I'll take Gojo-sensei."

"Now you sound double old," Kakashi comments airily.

"That's rude, Toddler-chan!" Gojo waves his finger in front of him as if admonishing him for his words. Kakashi takes quiet delight in this. Gojo seems like a fun person to bother. Clearly, the man isn't annoyed at all, likely worse than he is or used to it from some other party, but the build-up is something Kakashi's looking forward to. The day he gets Gojo to lose his mind will be a moment in history he'll relish for the rest of his life.

"Fine."

Kakashi hears him let out a dramatic sigh.

"We'll talk about this another time. Why don't we eat, first, hm?"

Kakashi tilts his head forward obviously. "The line is long," He reminds him, though they are significantly closer than they were just a few minutes ago.

Gojo nods in agreement. "That it is. Do you want to go to a different ramen restaurant instead of waiting here?"

Kakashi shrugs. It doesn't matter to him. If he gets his ramen, hurray. If he doesn't, he'll just starve or something. And then hopefully he can be put back in the foster system with his caretakers again. A less than ideal scenario considering the immense downsides, but Kakashi has a terrible attachment habit. It's all he's known in this world and adaptability is hard to come by.

It's not like he doesn't like Gojo. The guy's alright, but it's only been a few hours since he's been with him. He doesn't know what he's like, and reading him is a bit difficult.

The most he's gotten is that he doesn't quite know what he's doing, but his confidence in the matter is strong enough not to worry him. Like a great pillar of strength expected to be relied on. He wants Kakashi's trust and expects it with every little niche he says. He's bossy, he's observant, and maybe he realizes it or maybe he doesn't, but Gojo is also very sad.

In a way.

Well. Kakashi thinks so. He smells sad. It hides beneath expensive scents and an underlying loneliness that may rival Kakashi's with its potency. It's draped over his mannerisms and such. But his enthusiasm isn't a facade, in Kakashi's expert opinion. He knows veneers. He's had one on for nearly his entire previous life.

Kakashi has some thoughts about that. Thoughts that he'll untangle later when he's alone and has time to think.

For now, he'll indulge in Gojo's sincere theatrics to get him to like him.

"Great!" The man says, and before Kakashi is aware of it, he's in the air, held up by the scruff of his polished shirt.

Kakashi curls into himself, clutching his plushie, deeply unamused. It's been a long while since he's been held like this. Definitely something he'll not miss when he finally grows. (If he ever stays here that long, that is.)

Gojo smiles at him again.

It's nothing soft, like his father's was. But it's a close thing, with a warm invitation too good to be true.

"I know another place. It's kind of far though, so you'll have to ride on the Gojo Express!"

Kakashi looks away. "Body Flicker?" He guesses despondently. His father was good at that. Body-flickered his way out of his life, even.

Shut up.

Gojo blinks at him. "...If you mean teleportation, then sure. In a way?"

Kakashi says and does nothing. Discussing powers sounds like a good time, but he's hungry. His stupid toddler needs are taking over and making him too uncomfortable to work right.

He's suddenly lowered. Kakashi looks over.

Gojo looks pensive. "Maybe teleporting isn't a good idea. You'll get sick."

Kakashi shrugs. He has a funny feeling that this consideration is nothing sort of a miracle, but he can't confirm it. "Used to it."

Gojo looks down at him, intrigued. "That so? You a teleporter too, ne?"

What the hell, "Sure."

Gojo walks out, Kakashi in hand. He then picks him back up when he walks into an obscure alley, better this time, with an arm under him and another secured firmly on his shoulder. He doesn't try to snuggle, which Kakashi appreciates, but the boy does savor the heat he gives off. There also seems to be something wrapping him in his circle, and Kakashi looks to check but finds nothing but emptiness. Huh. It feels like a barrier, kind of.

He'll ask about that later.

"Ready?" He asks.

Kakashi blinks one eye at a time in response.

Gojo doesn't look concerned at all. "Off we go!"

The ensuing darkness is not what he expects.

[. . .]

There's something vulnerable about watching a tiny toddler just shy of a day under his care laboring to fit into the chair across from him.

Kakashi's large, droopy eyes, akin to those of a forlorn puppy, barely rise above the table. The boy struggles to sit up enough so that his head is visible at least to see, and Gojo feels... off, about the prospect. Like the boy is too small to be here. Too small to have no parents and to deal with everything on his own thus far.

Except he's in my care now.

Gojo sits up straighter.

Gojo thinks Kakashi is the cutest child he has ever laid eyes on. Although the boy lacks politeness and tends to be rather straightforward, which may detract from his charming appearance in the eyes of others, Gojo finds him to be quite endearing. The boy has this fascination with dogs reminiscent of Megumi, and the dim spark in his eyes that lights up every time he shows him something else about them makes Gojo's heart twist in a familial way. Or melt. One of the two. Maybe even both.

Gojo has refrained himself from squishing Kakashi in a hug multiple times already. His urge to coddle and pinch the boy's face is unnatural, at least for him, because he's not too fond of children. Students, yes. He knows what to do with students. Teaching is a comfort of his.

But toddlers? He never imagined himself with one. Hell, Megumi was a tough shot but he cares for him with all of his heart. And even then, Megumi had been, what? Six years old?

Kakashi is three.

Three, and yet carrying an eloquence with words he's admittedly somewhat concerned about. For a toddler, his sentence structure is remarkable and his pronunciation is significantly advanced. It gives Gojo feelings of uncanny valley to hear a baby talk in words he shouldn't know, but his fascination with it far outweighs it. Despite its unprecedented nature, Gojo takes delight in it, as it seems Kakashi is unaware of the humorous quality of his voice, characterized by its high pitch and a subtle lisp when pronouncing his S's.

Not that he'll tell him that.

Kakashi is intelligent. His evasive answers to his questions are obvious, but the fact that he knows how to do that at all is something to think about. Mentioning anything he's noticed about Kakashi may make the boy think Gojo's been watching him too, thus bringing the possibility of Kakashi hiding himself more. He doesn't want to scare the boy away on his first day in.

Gojo should hide himself instead and be sincere in his approach to getting to know him.

Though, from the look in Kakashi's eye, the boy may already be aware of his tactic.

Gojo experiences a sense of sadness regarding that matter. Because he too was the same, searching for motives from others. He could never just trust anyone. (Except... Geto. Geto had been a dream at the end of all his lies and truths.) He was either sought out to be killed or used. Kids might've been sincere, but he'd always been too smart for them, if he saw them at all. And he'd never thought being around those weaker than him would bring anything meaningful. He's the best, and as the best, he thought everyone inferior to him was just a waste of his time.

But he'd been lonely.

(He still is, after all these years.)

He recalls when he'd seen Kakashi for the first time. Alone, with a book.

Granted he may be looking too much into it, but he can't help but picture Kakashi in his place. It's possible that he chose to isolate himself, perhaps due to a lifetime of being told he was superior to others. Such misguided principles are so draining. Furthermore, given that Kakashi's power significantly surpasses typical benchmarks, Gojo suspects that Kakashi might also perceive himself as superior, feeling unworthy of engaging in communal activities.

Or maybe not. The boy was raised differently, after all. Gojo hadn't missed the fondness he held for his three caretakers.

Gojo may be overthinking it, for once. A tiny part of him blames Kakashi for looking so alike to him. His hair is mocking.

A much larger part of him empathizes.

A child too smart, too powerful, is bound to be used. Kakashi looking out for himself is a good thing, but the fact that he has to at all is disheartening.

He'll just have to prove to Kakashi that he isn't like those other adults. That he hadn't just taken in Kakashi for his sorcery, but for the fact that maybe, possibly, indubitably, a squirming part of Gojo's inner child wanted to take him in and teach him that he's human. To care for him, even if he lacks the time.

That he doesn't need to hide or be afraid.

Because Gojo's the strongest.

(Kakashi doesn't need to be the strongest. Not when he's there. Kakashi will never be used. Because he's there.)

Because Gojo understands, to some degree, to be who he is.

Suddenly, asking about curses and curse energy sounds stupid. He intended to gauge Kakashi's strength to better improve it for him throughout their little outing, but maybe not right now. He'll let Kakashi eat and enjoy his meal. He'll let Kakashi enjoy himself, and then take him home, and let the boy decide what he wants to do next.

(Forcing Kakashi to train makes Gojo feel sick, now.)

Clearing his throat, Gojo takes out his phone and slides it across the table toward Kakashi.

Kakashi turns his little tuft of hair in the direction of the object. He tries to look up more to see what it is with squinting eyes.

Gojo smiles warmly. "Hey. You want to look at doggie stuff while we wait for our order?"

The twinkle in Kakashi's eye in response is worth his entire existence and more.

Chapter Text

[. . .]

"I've seen you before, but where?"

[. . .]

Chapter 3

Potato Sticks

[. . .]

Perched with several bags of goodies in hand and holding onto the sleek black handle of Ijichi's car door, Gojo patiently rests against the metal, curiously eyeing the child staring up at him.

Kakashi stands just in front of the open door of Ijichi's ride, refusing to go inside and blinking up at Gojo with a passive expression. Ijichi sits in the driver's seat, looking defeated after multiple failed attempts to coax the toddler into his car. Gojo normally would've poked fun at him for his failure on something so simple, but he finds himself occupied with the child enigma, who is currently going through what Gojo suspects is his first rebellion against an authoritative figure.

Gojo wonders if he did something wrong. He doesn't recall, but the perception children take of what betrayed them is vastly different from that of an adult. For all the powerful sorcerer knows, he might've cursed little Kakashi's ancestors by chewing wrong or something.

However!

There isn't a hint of malice he can see on the little boy's face. Neither is there any swirling anger tainting his cursed energy. Just a simple steady thrum of something.

It clicks suddenly. Gojo knows Kakashi wants something. The caretaker's sagacious remarks resonate in his mind, imparting indistinct guidance to his receptive ears. When Kakashi is prone to stare, it's the boy's silent insistence on an object or action. Unfortunately, Gojo has no idea what he's being asked for. To figure out what that something is, he'll need to use his critical thinking skills, starting with assessing what exactly has led them to this stalemate.

The restaurant.

Eating with Kakashi had been great. Gojo refused to ask him questions about the Jujutsu World after that particularly tragic epiphany that got to him more than he expected, opting to ask Kakashi about himself instead, like he had always wanted as a kid and never realized. The boy gave very vague answers or sometimes outright none, but Gojo is not a man to be deterred. He was determined. Unfortunately, Kakashi is worse.

It went a little like this:

"What's your favorite color?"

Kakashi's expression remained blank while Gojo gently swirled his chopsticks in the air, a habit of being unable to sit still. "Maa... a little of this, a little of that... maybe something in Earth..."

Figuring the child just didn't want to share that or perhaps didn't know and was playing it off, Gojo quickly moved on, keeping his easygoing smile. "Fantastic! Favorite food?"

"...Hm, good food, yes."

Okay.

"What about a favorite animal?" Gojo paused, seemingly realizing his mistake, "Other than a dog, obviously!"

It took Kakashi a solid, pondering minute of staring up at nothing before he answered. "...A wolf."

Gojo couldn't even argue that what he technically chose could still be categorized as a canine companion. He instead continued asking simple icebreakers, hoping that at least one would result in an answer he could go off of, rather than being stuck asking endless questions forever. ...Not that he could run out, mind you. He had enough questions at his disposal to last quite a while. If common questions didn't make sense, outrageous ones would do.

It never truly got to that point, though. Because at some point Kakashi answered just enough to direct the conversation into an easier, more mundane subject. Gojo wasn't a fan of boring conversations, but.

Gojo had no true problems with that. Sure, it had been a little frustrating at the time being unable to achieve some way to know Kakashi, but the boy seemed in good spirits. That, if anything, made Gojo's efforts worth it.

He aimed to make Kakashi feel at ease in his presence.

Then came the food.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Except.

Kakashi hadn't touched his bowl for a couple of minutes. Gojo considered whether it was because Kakashi suddenly became a picky eater, or if there was something specific on the bowl that he didn't like. When Gojo first picked up Megumi, he had an awful habit of throwing plates off to the side if they had something he didn't like. Tsumiki had been a sweetheart and cleaned his messes, at least, until Gojo figured out what to do about the rude gesture Megumi was fond of. More often than not, Megumi's reasons for being a little brat were because the food was too hot.

So Gojo went off on that. He offered to blow on Kakashi's meal, and the boy gave a close-eyed smile and pushed it toward him, before immediately taking it back and declaring that maybe he wouldn't want his spit germs on it. Which. Rude. But Gojo wanted Kakashi comfortable, so he let the boy do his own thing and ate his portion.

Part of Gojo hoped the kid wouldn't make a mess. The other part of him wouldn't mind it if he did. Kids acted out all the time and sometimes letting off some steam was their healthy way of coping.

And then from one moment to the next, Kakashi's entire bowl was gone.

Gojo stared.

"How?"

Kakashi's answer? "Magic."

So. That was that.

Greatly concerned but fascinated all at once, Gojo vehemently stopped himself from launching into a tangent of questions that bordered between worry and wonder. He wanted to know. His curiosity demanded it. But he refrained from asking more than two questions because, ultimately, Kakashi never gave him a proper answer.

Then came the bill. Gojo paid and got up to leave. Kakashi wiggled his way out of the funny highchair and followed him around.

They left the restaurant.

Then, while Gojo was on his phone texting Ijichi to pick them up, Kakashi disappeared. Gone. Poof. No trace of Cursed Energy to be found, not even with his Six Eyes looking about. Gojo didn't exactly panic—the strongest sorcerer never panics—but he did almost level an entire prefecture trying to look for him. Just to find him, lo and behold, inside a convenience store not too far off the restaurant, examining the treats on display.

The boy hadn't even batten an eye when Gojo quickly scooped him up. He merely stared at him for a long while, looking both meek and smug at the same time, until Gojo realized the boy was clutching several snacks in hand, obviously wanting him to pay.

So he paid. Evidently.

Gojo playfully chastised the boy for running away but praised him for his smarts in finding his way around. Kakashi said nothing, and mysteriously every time Gojo looked, the snacks would be gone. One by one. Gojo decided to buy some of his own and take some extras for Kakashi since he preferred them, before calling Ijichi and letting him know they were finally ready to go home.

So they waited for Ijichi, and Kakashi wandered off again, but at least it wasn't without him. Gojo followed, and several passersby, most of them women, praised him for his guard, to which Gojo replied with a simple cordial smile. It was something of a novel to be praised for something other than his prowess.

Eventually, Kakashi stopped at a toy store. Somehow. He grabbed every plushie that looked like a dog, and Gojo paid without issue. He was happy that Kakashi seemed to trust him enough to ask for stuff.

Then Ijichi came. Gojo approached the door to assist Kakashi in entering after shoving all the stuff they bought into the vehicle, as Ijichi had messaged him—moreso berated him—indicating that Kakashi required a child seat and needed assistance with being secured, given that he is a toddler. Which. This was news to him. Since when did toddlers need baby seats?

This leads him to now, where Kakashi stays, looking up at him imploringly.

"What's wrong, buddy?" Gojo asks, crouching to take his bags. His big eyes are dangerous. Gojo feels like he's being manipulated. "Are these too heavy? You can't crawl in?"

Kakashi shakes his head. He looks at the baby seat with much disdain.

Gojo thinks. "...You don't like the baby seat?"

"No," Kakashi deadpans.

Gojo turns to Ijichi, ice-cold. "Get rid of it."

"Uh, no?" Ijichi defies with his suddenly ballsy attitude, looking incredulous. "It's for his safety, and it's a law!"

Right. Laws. Gojo never did quite like those.

Gojo scowls in deep thought. Ijichi shrinks.

He softens with a grin when he turns to Kakashi upon the stupidly brilliant idea in his power. "How about a ride on the Gojo Express instead!?"

To any normal passerby, Kakashi may look unimpressed.

But Gojo Satoru has the inescapable six eyes.

And the light twinkle in the boy's eyes is enough of an answer.

[. . .]

Kakashi firmly positions his feet on the smooth tiles as his guardian carefully lowers him.

The boy steadies himself by clutching the lanky man's pantleg, blinking past the mild sensation of dizziness while he squints at the bioluminescent lights humming above him. He blinks a few more times, turning his head until his eyes catch the tired gaze of a woman with long, brown hair holding onto a bloody scalpel staring right at him.

Immediately, Kakashi narrows his eyes and turns to look up at Gojo. "Are you here to experiment on me?"

"No," Gojo replies jovially.

Kakashi reflects on his response, taking into account the effort Gojo exerted in locating him, the success he achieved in the subtle challenge Kakashi had inadvertently posed, the generosity shown in providing him with what he desired, and the possibility that there is more to Gojo than merely his impressive abilities and motives. He then shifts his gaze back to the woman. Her scent is off—antiseptic, rubber, grapefruit, and the stench of corpses all mingle about her frame.

The dead hang off her shoulders. His guardian has the same dead scent, but it's much less. A lot less.

She shifts her legs and leans on a hip, breaking eye contact with him to regard his guardian lethargically. "You were serious."

Her voice is raspy with either disuse or sleep. Kakashi is betting on the latter, evident by the heavy eyebags pronounced on her face.

"What?" His guardian begins to walk, and Kakashi is quick to keep his grip on his pant leg with his tripping toddler feet, feeling somewhat stupid for sticking to the man when he too is an unknown. But his efforts in trying to get Kakashi to break out of his well-built shell were kind, so Kakashi is making the risky move of giving him the benefit of the doubt.

It's only natural for an innocent toddler such as himself (not) to prefer the man who has bought him everything he wanted so far to the creepy woman staring dead-eyed at them both while holding onto a bloody weapon.

The woman lets out a sigh and turns back to the body on her operation table dismissively. Kakashi sniffs contemptuously at the odd smell coming off of it, looking behind him to see if his new guardian has any sort of reaction to this eerie scene. All he sees is the man setting down the perfectly uncontaminated goodies on another operating table. He hopes it's been cleaned.

The woman speaks again, drawing his attention back to her. "Whatever. You gave birth. Congratulations."

His guardian reaches to pick him up, and Kakashi goes without question, clutching his wolf plushie. "It was a hard labor of seventy-two hours," Gojo laments, and then, like a lunatic, approaches the woman.

Kakashi remains perfectly still.

She looks over. "So. Did you name it yet?"

It? Kakashi blinks tiredly at her. Fair. Children give off 'it' vibes.

"He came with his own! His name is Kakashi," Gojo says giddily, reaching for his tiny arm to wave while he bounces him lightly in his arms. Kakashi lets him do it, only because he's been sedated with treats. Although he harbors the mind of a thirty-something-year-old man, his new body's toddler instincts contradict his thoughts, often leading him astray into humiliating situations. He's prone to reacting more, which is why the toddler part of his brain had insisted upon buying every toy he liked and why said toddler mind is currently idle because it vaguely recognizes Gojo as a person of comfort. Which. Honestly. So embarrassing.

But being carried is nice.

She hums, eyes gliding over the bits of his face she can see. Kakashi makes sure to keep his gaze on her, studying her for any move she may attempt on him. "Huh. Looks just like you."

"You think?" Gojo hums.

The woman points at him with her bloody scalpel, "Have you done his bloodwork?"

"Ijichi sent it to you, remember?"

She tilts her head. "For real?" She parts from the corpse and places the scalpel on a clean sheet of medical paper. Subsequently, she approaches the trashcan near the door, takes off her rubber gloves, and discards them inside. Gojo and Kakashi remain silent, watching as she swiftly cleans her hands in the sink across from the trashcan and dries them on a blue towel hanging off the hinges of a cabinet before retrieving her phone from her back pocket.

Her eyes linger on the bright screen. "Oh. Yeah, you're right. Whoops."

"Did you not check until now?"

"I've been busy." She waves off.

"Shoko!"

Shoko, Kakashi thinks, eyeing her tarnished doctor coat. So her name is Shoko.

"It's been like, four hours since he texted," She deadpans.

"That's forever ago," Gojo argues pathetically.

She rolls her eyes and puts her phone away. "Well. I'm free now, I guess. We can do his bloodwork now."

Kakashi stiffens. So he indeed needs to get his blood drawn out after all? This world is horrible. Every year he has to head to get his vaccines in order. He never had to do this in his previous life.

Gojo notices Kakashi's discomfort. "Ah. Well. Maybe we can do it some other day, yeah? The little guy is tired!"

Kakashi doesn't know whether to feel embarrassed or thankful for Gojo's intervention.

She stares at him.

The two of them stare back.

She throws her hands up with a sigh. "Fine, then. But don't come whining to me if he has some secret disease and dies."

Kakashi thinks he doesn't like her sense of humor. He'd thought he escaped doctoral environments, but now he finds himself face-to-face with a doctor in a morgue, a situation he will inevitably have to confront in the near future. He's not looking forward to the day.

"So, is that it?" She prompts, twirling a strand of her hair. She offers Kakashi a little smile that he has no idea what to make of. She is terribly calm. "I'm busy. Get out."

"Yeesh! Fine!" Gojo grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, briskly gathering the bags of goodies with Kakashi in his arms. Kakashi watches like an almighty king from his high position, pointing with his ridiculously tiny finger toward the potato sticks sticking out of the bag. Gojo gives it to him wordlessly, and Kakashi mingles with the bag, the toddler side of his mind severely excited for some reason.

(In a melancholic sense, this scenario evokes a faint recollection from his past, when he was of the same age.

His father lifts him onto his shoulders, and he mimics the gesture, reaching for one of the potato chips his father is savoring during their stroll. With a warm laugh, his father hands him one, creating a moment woven with nostalgia.

And little Kakashi nibbles, never to know the horrors to come.

It is simply a child with their parent, living in a moment of familial bliss.)

"Hey, hey!"

Kakashi snaps out of his brief grief at the sound of his new guardian's voice. His eyes cross together when they focus on a plump, pink treat held out in front of him. "You want some?" Gojo asks, and his voice reverberates through the hallway as he holds the treat between his fingers, playfully wiggling it to entice.

Kakashi looks around, sniffing to familiarize himself. So they moved, then.

"No?" Gojo probes and even pokes his cheek with it.

Kakashi pushes it away. It hardly budges. "No," He tells him. It comes out awfully petulant. He wrinkles the potato stick bag obnoxiously, just to emphasize his decision.

Gojo shrugs. "More for me, then." He shoves it into his mouth like a behemoth and chews. "Weady to meet Megumi!?" He asks in between mastications.

Kakashi has no idea who that is.

He nods anyway.

[. . .]

Meeting Megumi gets postponed. As they make their way to the dormitories, they encounter a tall, muscular man who possesses a stoic expression and an air of seriousness. His name is Yaga Masamichi, or as Gojo refers to him, Yaga-sensei. He serves as the principal of Jujutsu Tech, the high school where they are all currently located at. Kakashi takes careful note of this and the unfamiliar term he has seldom heard from the older children at the orphanage.

"What is this, Satoru."

Kakashi stares at the glare that catches on the man's dark lenses, wondering what secrets he holds within for a man to smell so much of cotton and thread. "Why is there a child on school grounds?" The man gruffly demands, crossing his arms and glaring tersely at his smiling guardian.

"I think you answered your question there," Gojo replies with a snicker.

Yaga's expression hardens.

Gojo relents. "Well. If you're asking about Kakashi-kun here... I was expecting and boom!" Kakashi is suddenly held out like a cat. "A kid!"

Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose in profound exasperation. "Is this the reason why I got a random call from a Child Dependent Agency days ago? Return him, wherever you got him from. I am done with your pranks—"

"Uh, no can do. I adopted him, see?" Gojo wiggles him like an object before cuddling him to his chest again, brandishing no evidence promised except for the exaggerated snuggles against his fluffy hair. Kakashi sneaks in a potato stick when nobody is looking, chewing quietly as he takes in the silent scent of shock emanating from the man.

"You're joking."

"Nah," Gojo peers down at him delightfully. There's an air of something irrevocably happy. Like he can't quite believe he exists. Kakashi glues his eyes at the ceiling, avoiding his smile.

"I won't ask again—"

"And I'm not kidding," Gojo retorts, pouting.

Yaga looks intense. "Did you kidnap him?" Kakashi should probably be concerned about that. It must be really bad for this man to think that a child wouldn’t willingly follow after his guardian. Or that his guardian went through legal processing at all.

"Kidnap—? Wh—no! I adopted him fair and square, honest. He's just here for a little visit, to meet the in-laws!"

Yaga makes a face. "You are not married, nor would it be possible for us to be in-laws because we are not related to your imaginary partner." He pauses, inching his head slightly to look at Kakashi. "...Is he yours?"

"Huh? Yeah, can't you see the family resemblance?" Gojo shakes Kakashi again. The boy has half a mind to throw up on him on purpose.

Yaga's eyebrows rise to his hairline. "Who's the mother?"

"Me," Gojo replies unhelpfully.

Yaga scowls. "Satoru. This is serious."

Gojo lets out a drawn-out, dramatic sigh. He repositions Kakashi so that his head is tucked on his shoulder, back facing the conversation the two abnormally tall men are having about him. "Fine. I have no idea. The kid's an orphan."

Kakashi sneaks in another potato stick after wiggling an arm free, listening with slight curiosity as the burly man slowly pieces things together. When he does, Kakashi secretly amuses himself at the sputter of pure befuddlement he lets out. "What? He's not yours, then?"

"Biologically? No. But that doesn't matter. I've taken him in!" He reaches to poke Kakashi's cheek, and Kakashi swipes his hand away.

Yaga runs a hand down his face. "When?"

"Today!"

"And the legal proceedings? Did you adopt him, or did you go out to find him on a whim, as you had with Megumi?" He sounds very displeased. Or scared. Kakashi can't tell.

Megumi, though. The name of the person he's supposed to meet. So Kakashi isn't the only person stuck under the care of the feather duster. If his assumptions based on Yaga's response are correct, then that means there's another child. This makes him feel slightly better about his adoption. If there's another child in his care, then surely Gojo isn't the creepy asshole Kakashi initially thought he was. Besides. Kakashi can pepper this Megumi person with questions to estimate just how safe he's going to be.

Gojo laughs a little. It sounds like Sakumo, almost, if Kakashi strains his ears. Which he will not do. "Ah. A little bit of both, you see."

"Elaborate," Yaga's gruff voice demands.

"Remember the mission I was sent on a few days back? Clearing up a couple of Grade 1's that had mysteriously bunched together on one of the main roads of Kyoto?"

Mission. His guardian works in a sketchy business, that much he knows, and Kakashi wonders if it's similar to the sophistication of Konoha.

Yaga stays silent. Kakashi eats another potato stick.

"Well," Continues Gojo, "Funny thing about that, right, is that I realized a lot of the curses were running away from the next building over and coming together to form a huge curse. One I was also supposed to technically investigate on a previous mission, but didn't because someone else was sent in my place." Curses again. Those ghastly beings. It's his job, then, to clear them out?

Kakashi's brain clicks two and two together.

No wonder he was asking me about them, Kakashi thinks. He's against them. Not with them.

Evidently.

"The Children's Home," Yaga guesses.

Kakashi blinks.

"Bingo!" Gojo cheers. It jostles him, almost making Kakashi drop the other potato stick making its way into his mouth. "Guess where I found this little guy?"

"...I see," Yaga says, and he sounds so tired all of a sudden. "They'd assumed recruitment, but nothing came about that. The rumors of a higher energy were founded false."

Recruitment, Higher Ups. So much information, given so freely. Perhaps they think he's too young to understand.

"Except there wasn't nothing," Gojo asserts, finally passing Kakashi to his other arm so that the boy is looking at both of them.

Kakashi suspiciously wipes several crumbs off his mask.

Gojo smiles knowingly. "It was this little guy all along!"

"He has no cursed energy," Yaga points out, brows furrowed. "How?"

"Ah. He does that, you know? He's good at hiding."

Very good, Kakashi wants to say, but doesn't. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing that. It's something he subconsciously did with his chakra, in his previous life. Honed skills from his ten years in ANBU, he knows.

"Not from me, though."

Kakashi begs to differ. Earlier results are proof enough.

Yaga looks impressed. "That's impossible. He's a toddler."

"Ten-year-old," Kakashi corrects. He goes ignored.

"Nuh-uh. Kakashi may be technically three, but he's a little prodigy! I know less formidable sorcerers who can hide their energy. It takes a true master to do that. He has a lot more cursed energy than that of an adult sorcerer, too. Like, a lot," Gojo explains. Kakashi tongues at a particular food crumb stuck between one of his front teeth, keeping a bland listening ear. His other ear catches the sounds of footsteps approaching from the direction they entered, splitting his attention toward the subdued, quiet energy making its way toward them.

"And that's where the confusion amidst a potential sorcerer came about," Yaga mutters to himself, holding his head in deep exasperation.

Gojo shrugs. "I'm glad they didn't find him."

Yaga looks like he agrees.

Whatever that means.

The approaching energy is just on the precipice of finding them. Kakashi hasn't stopped keeping track, so much so that he goes still on purpose to alert his guardian of them.

"Found who?"

The three of them turn around.

It happens instantly.

One moment, the energy is welcome.

The next, Kakashi feels like his chest is being torn open by a vindictive, spasming hand scorching his organs into pure failure.

Karma.

And Kakashi is suddenly confronted by the visage of the boy he failed a lifetime ago.

"Sasuke," Kakashi breathes, unable to quell the horrible shake that erupts from his chest and expands to the rest of his body. Nausua is quick to set in, and Kakashi hates that he abruptly regrets eating so many potato sticks. Gojo quickly grounds him, making a noise of confusion that causes the ghost of the boy he once saw in the mirror to stare at them in utter disbelief.

The room goes quiet.

And Kakashi pukes.

[. . .]

"Hey Ijichi?"

Shoko taps her fingers against the counter she leans on, phone pressed against her ear. Ijichi, on the other line, stumbles, and Shoko waits patiently for the man to return her greeting.

"Ah—yes! Hello, Ieiri-san!" He returns once composed. It sounds like he's still driving.

"Did I call you at a bad time?" She asks politely.

More stumbles. And the suspicious sound of a tire skidding against asphalt. "N-no, not at all! Do you need something?"

Shoko hums. "You know those documents you sent me?"

"...Yes? About Kakashi-kun, yes?"

"That'd be right," She grunts. "I'm missing one. Er, several, actually."

She can picture Ijichi's brow furrowing. "Missing? That's not possible. They are a direct email from the printed documents I currently have in hand."

"That's funny," She drawls. "I was looking for Kakashi's bloodwork in his primary medical file to check if he has any diseases since Satoru decided to be an overprotective mother and keep me away from Kakashi's precious blood supply."

"Ieiri-san?"

"And it's not here."

Silence. Shoko quiets, listening in as Ijichi quickly parks his car and begins to ruffle through what sounds like warpy papers.

Eventually, the crackle of his voice sounds through the phone. "...You're right. They... they're not here."

"Did you check them at first?" Shoko asks, trying to test something.

"Of course!" Ijichi replies, sounding frantic. "I checked them thoroughly!"

"It's fine," Shoko scratches behind her ear. She believes him. Ijichi isn't one to miss things. He's good like that. "I'll just make a new one or something. I'm going to have to force Gojo to bring Kakashi in later since we need to figure out his womb gremlin's state of health before he accidentally kills him."

"Yes," Ijichi sounds determined. Shoko quite likes this. "In the meantime, I'll return to the agency and inquire about the missing documents myself. A mistake of this caliber is simply unprecedented!"

"A very deliberate mistake. You don't just forget the bloodwork. That's the crucial aspect of medical information." Shoko sighs. "Meh. Whatever. Thanks for clearing the confusion up for me, Ijichi. Send a text once you get the documents."

"Yes, of course, Ieiri-san. I uh—!"

"Have a good afternoon," She chirps before pulling the phone away from her ear and hanging up. She thumbs downward toward the rest of her contacts, searching for Gojo. When she finds him, she clicks the image of him open and hits the call button.

Pressing the phone to ear again, she waits.

On the third ring, he picks up. "Yo! Shoko-chan!"

Shoko very pointedly ignores the grumbling of who she can only guess is Megumi in the background. "Hey. So. Bad news, I need the kid's blood, now."

"Eh? For real?"

"Yeah, for real. Come by later. In an hour, preferably. "

"...Sure!" Gojo sounds off. "Uh. You sure it can't wait or something? You know, Kashi-kun's tired and all—"

"Nah. Now."

There's a heavy silence punctuated with what sounds like Yaga's distant scolding. Gojo doesn't say anything for a while, at least not toward her—she barely catches what he says in between louder noises. "...Fine. We'll be there!" Comes his muffled response.

The line cuts.

Shoko lowers her arm and looks at her phone, tired.

"Well," She mumbles, shoving it into her back pocket and turning back around toward the corpse she'd been told to investigate, hoping to finish up her report on the odd residue clinging onto it. "There goes my afternoon nap."

If she would have turned around sooner, she would've seen a little girl with short brown hair peering inside the open chest cavity, poking at it with a clawed finger.

Alas, the only whiff Shoko got of an unknown energy was the strange sensation of being watched.

Go away, ghost, she thinks blandly and with no bite. Because it's been like this for a year, now. With the odd chills in the air and the random growling she very much pretends not to hear.

Ever since...

She shakes her head.

Stupid Suguru.

She pauses.

Stupid Satoru, too. Making babies and shit.

Chapter Text

[. . .]

"I think I knew you."

[. . .]

Chapter 4

Fetus On the Run

[. . .]

How embarrassing.

The current mortified three-year-old Hatake Kakashi, drenched in his own vomit, condemns his awful toddler reflexes as his new guardian holds him at arm's length in slight shock, splashed by the sudden heave. Fighting the expressive instincts of a toddler to cry, he swallows down the bitter taste of bile, even as the lingering burn of spicy food scorches his throat and nostrils with half-digested bits. He turns his face away from the cause of his abrupt stomach revolt, eyes watering from the aftershock.

"Uh—?" The Gojo man makes a visible face of disgust, and Kakashi can't blame him.

He is covered in toddler vomit. He, too, would not be inclined to deal with the mess.

"What the hell?" The Sasuke Twin blurts, and Kakashi dares to take another glance at the teen because, apparently, he loves hurting himself. But this second look isn't bad. At all, really. Kakashi feels himself involuntarily relax at the disturbed expression on the teenager's face, molded into something akin to Sasuke, but not quite.

For one, Sasuke's eyes are not Sakura's green. Nor is his hair so damn spiky.

The angles are wrong. Softer in places, harsher in others. The dark-haired teenager's eyes, so like Sakura's, aren't lit with the same old fire, yet the weight in them is heavy, too familiar to his old student. Kakashi's chest tightens before he can stop it, with the ghost of a boy he once failed clawing at his thoughts. He almost expects the kid to sneer or spit venom the way Sasuke had when words became weapons sharper than his father's shattered tantō.

But instead, there's only confusion and concern.

The same kind that Kakashi knows well in children forced to grow up too fast.

Kakashi drags his gaze away—his pulse steadies with practiced discipline, trying to compartmentalize the disappearing image of the last Uchiha.

This isn't Sasuke. The resemblance is close enough that the ache in his heart is very, very real. And it's still painful, yes, because there are many similar characteristics of other people that he continues to cherish, even in death, etched onto the face of this newcomer. But because there are so many distinct likenesses, the Sasuke Cousin is an entirely new person, just a mere whisp of smoke of the boy he once knew.

He's ashamed to admit that he needs a moment to recollect himself before he can say or do anything.

It doesn't disregard his hearing, though.

"What is that."

"Ah, Megumi!" Kakashi feels himself being passed to sturdier hands, and only briefly does he take a fleeting glance at who it is. The man—Yaga—supports him easily, already striding down a corridor toward what Kakashi assumes is a dining hall. The scent of food lingers faintly in the air, though it's hard to tell with bile still burning in his nostrils. Behind them, Gojo's voice carries, echoing in the hall as he continues speaking with the person Kakashi dimly realizes they'd been meant to meet first.

Megumi. Gojo's student.

Kakashi can't summon the energy to care. He just... needs a moment to breathe, to piece himself back together.

Yaga, at least, doesn't wear his disgust so plainly. A slight crinkle of the nose betrays him, but it's gone as quickly as it comes. He sets Kakashi on a wooden counter with brisk efficiency, then turns toward the kitchen—no doubt searching for something to clean him up with.

As quick as he leaves, he returns, and Kakashi endures the gentle manhandling of the man's sausage fingers, wiping Kakashi's face and clothes clean. He begins by delicately removing the mask, and Kakashi keeps his expression blank as the edge of a wet cloth collects the bits of food residue stuck to his cheeks and mouth. He tries to breathe through his nose, only to choke and force out another wet snort of vomit.

Yaga sighs.

"Tch. That damn fool... what was he thinking?" The man grumbles, folding a new, dry napkin to finish the cleanup of his barren face. Kakashi listens in very carefully. "Taking in a child... It's like he's determined to lose his mind twice over." He shakes his head before pulling away, fixing his shades with a melancholic air as he peers down at his soiled attire. "I'm afraid you'll need new clothes, Kakashi-kun."

Kakashi doesn't reply. He goes to squeeze the wolf plushie, and then realizes he doesn't have it with him. He must've dropped it when he puked. Great. A new tic to acknowledge and get rid of.

"Here."

Kakashi is suddenly handed a stitched dog plush.

It's... sturdier. And brown.

Like Pakkun.

What.

He blinks at the toy given to him conveniently after searching for the original. Its stitched face stares back with dull, black eyes. His fingers close around the fur on instinct, testing the weight and the sturdiness. Brown, floppy ears are short, just a tad shorter than the square muzzle. It's almost mocking in its presentation, though perhaps Kakashi is thankful that there isn't a navy blue vest with the Henohenomoheji seal to make it worse.

The familiarity stings, twisting sharply in his chest until he has to look away.

Kakashi looks up at Yaga suspiciously, searching his expression for any reason as to why the man handed him this object reminiscent of Pakkun.

The same, stony blankness stares back. Kakashi isn't convinced.

He checks for chakra—sorry, Cursed Energy—to read him further. The man's is surprisingly steady. Bound, almost, tamed like a horse that's bucked one too many times and been bribed with treats. It chuffs curiously, rhythmically.

When the energy doesn't give him information, Kakashi goes for the sniff test. Old habits die hard.

What comes back is a sharp wall of cologne. Expensive, evidently, and offensive to his senses. It's like the smell is trying to cover flaws while simultaneously trying to make a statement in a room. Too strong, metallic, like steel shavings ground into alcohol. Kakashi wrinkles his nose. Whoever thought that was appealing had no nose worth trusting. (It's not as soft as Gojo's.)

But beneath the artifice, subtler notes filter through. Truths that the cologne can't drown out. There's a restless undercurrent of curiosity and a sour bite of irritation, potent enough to sting the back of his throat. And strangest of all, an overwhelming wash of fondness. Warm, steady, and unshakeable.

Kakashi blinks. He sniffs again, just to be sure.

That... is unexpected.

"I will call for Gojo," Yaga mutters when their stare-off has gone on long enough. His tone is rough, but his hands are steady as he straightens Kakashi's collar with surprising care. Then he steps back, arms crossed over his chest, watching as if to make sure he doesn't unravel in his care before swiftly turning his back to him and heading towards the entrance.

But just before he does, the door slides open, and the sound of measured footsteps enters the room. Kakashi looks, and his gaze lands on the same boy with dark hair, with eyes sharp and expression unreadable. Megumi. He halts, studies Kakashi in silence, and then shifts his gaze to Gojo, who swaggers toward Kakashi with his missing plushie and new clothes in hand, mercifully vomit-free. He's back to wearing the odd dark attire and a blindfold over his eyes.

"Did you steal this one, too?" Megumi asks flatly.

Kakashi tilts his head, watching the older man plop the items beside him, before dramatically turning around and letting out a gasp. "Steal? Megumi, you wound me! I'll have you know this time I bought him, fair and square." As if that's any better.

Kakashi has to wonder who else this Gojo man 'stole'. Is it a known habit, based on Yaga's previous grievances and Megumi's current annoyance? Kakashi doesn't know how to feel about that.

Megumi's glare doesn't waver.

Yaga sighs. Hard.

"Now," He rumbles, "Would you mind explaining Kakashi properly, Gojo?"

Gojo grins.

[. . .]

"You have a new baby brother!"

Megumi's absolute lack of cheer and joy at Gojo's announcement (following the explanation of how Gojo found him and his quick change of clothes after the whole vomit disaster) is something the strongest sorcerer expected. What he hadn't expected, however, was the immediate adverse reaction from the very same new baby brother he had brought in hopes of introducing to everyone as the new Gojo star.

(And unofficially, as a pending Jujutsu Sorcerer project. A project he doesn't intend to ever engage or finish, unless the boy wants to.)

Said baby brother, his new little ward, is currently engaged in the moving cursed dog corpse Yaga is controlling in theatrical dances, while the boy presses his gigantic wolf plushie closely against his face, blocking the view of Megumi and Gojo completely. He's been redressed and is due for a bath later, though Gojo has no idea how he'll go about that. He's stacked with missions tonight, thanks to pushing back an entire day's worth of them.

"Why?" Megumi demands, furrowing his brow and sneaking bewildered glances around Gojo's very tall shoulder, just for a glance at Kakashi.

Gojo moves in his way at every attempt. "Ah? Why not?! I heard you were lonely—" Megumi's eyes flash with something caught between hurt and anger, and Gojo winces inwardly, realizing he's struck too close to Megumi's rawest wound—his sister, still lying comatose in a hospital miles away. "So I brought a new buddy!" He finishes lamely, waving jazz hands. He feels disturbingly shitty.

Megumi says nothing, though. He scowls at him and shoves himself toward Kakashi, and Gojo can't help but panic a little because, clearly, Kakashi's fluctuating and very gigantic store of cursed energy hasn't calmed in the slightest.

Gojo isn't blind. He noticed immediately that Megumi had been the cause, and the whispered name of 'Sasuke' coming out of his newest ward's mouth had only confirmed the working theory in his head.

Somehow, someway, Kakashi had known someone who must've looked like Megumi. And then lost them. Or something worse, tied to abuse and other factors that pisses Gojo off.

Gojo steps into Megumi's way, "Well, Kakashi's a bit busy as you can see, so I need to—" He cuts himself off when his phone begins to ring in his pocket. Everyone turns to look, and, thankfully, Megumi is included as well, stopping just short of reaching Kakashi, who seems to be doing his very best in looking at everywhere else but the teen.

Mentally preparing himself for the reminder of the loathesome workload waiting for him, Gojo begrudgingly takes out his phone and is pleasantly surprised to see Shoko behind the Caller ID.

He picks up immediately. "Yo! Shoko-chan!" He glances back when he feels Megumi's energy moving, and blanches slightly when the teen is just by Kakashi, peering down. Ah. Shit. His first instinct is to step in, to throw himself between them before Megumi says something sharp that may or may not make Kakashi's energy worse—but his feet stay rooted, one hand tightening imperceptibly at his side.

Maybe Gojo should've postponed meeting everyone and made Kakashi more comfortable...

It's fine. If shit hits the fan, Gojo will fix it. Maybe his initial assessment is incorrect? It's certainly unfair to Megumi, that much he knows.

"Hey," She starts, and Gojo half-listens, one ear trained attentively on Megumi, who is already talking shit about him. Uh oh. He purses his lips, a knot of unease coiling in his stomach that shouldn't be there. He needs to show Kakashi just how trustworthy he can be!

"So. Bad news, I need the kid's blood, now."

Gojo stops short. "Eh? For real?" Had she not said she didn't need it? Did something happen?

"Yeah, for real. Come by later. In an hour, preferably." She doesn't sound worried. Nor tense. Maybe she just changed her mind. But that's not very like Shoko...

Gojo catches Kakashi's energy spike. He sweats. "...Sure!" He looks back again and finds Yaga looking incredibly disturbed, and Megumi suddenly eerily silent. He can't see Kakashi behind the two bodies ten times the boy's size, but his energy remains in the same place he left him. It's slightly erratic. "Uh. You sure it can't wait or something? You know, Kashi-kun's tired and all—"

His stupid excuse is shot down instantly. "Nah. Now."

Something shatters. Yaga is yelling. Megumi is still silent.

Gojo whirls around.

Megumi stares, shocked and gaping, while Yaga curses, both of them scrambling towards the wall—no. To the broken window.

With Kakashi nowhere in sight.

Gojo blinks, then clicks his tongue "...Fine. We'll be there!" He hangs up without ceremony, already striding toward the wreckage. "What happened?" He demands, staring intensely at the scene of the crime. Only Kakashi's residue is seen: wisps of electricity and something tinged with dirt.

Gojo is very careful not to jump to conclusions.

Megumi winces. "I... scared him."

"What?" Gojo blurts, eyes wide behind the blindfold. "How?"

Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose. "He had told the boy you had recruited him to become a future Sorcerer. Kakashi-kun had not... taken it well."

Gojo regards Megumi, irritation threaded through the coolness of his tone. "What? Why?" He'd known this would happen, but he figured he could correct it for Megumi before... Before what, exactly? Before Gojo realized he hadn't planned on integrating Kakashi into the world of Jujutsu, after all? Before he up and changed his mind because the boy looked too much like himself?

Gojo feels suddenly very, very tired.

Megumi crosses his arms. "Should you really be asking me that when your new kid is out running by himself to who knows where?" He grits, gesturing impatiently to the broken window with a kid-shaped hole in it. Kakashi's backpack is caught, somehow not torn. A sharp shard of glass, darting up from the bottom lining of the wood, holds it in place from the strap, still dangling from the movement.

Gojo shakes his head.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. Megumi's right. "Right, right," He lets out a breath, feeling a headache come on. He's not panicking. Or worried. This is fine. Kids run away all the time! He used to do that shit too! He'll look for him and bring him back to... fix it. He was warned about this too, even. Prone to running, but Gojo hadn't expected it to be this early in.

He knows just where to look, really. Quiet places, or somewhere in nature, maybe the trees. Yeah. Yeah, things are fine!

"It's fine. I'll find him," He promises.

It helps Megumi and Yaga relax only slightly, though Gojo has a funny feeling they already knew he'd handle it.

Gojo doesn't know what to make of that.

So instead, he teleports.

[. . .]

As soon as Gojo departs, Yaga turns to Megumi.

"Send your dogs," he instructs, jaw taut with tension. "That boy is unstable."

It's a rough assessment—half-instinct, half grim deduction—but Yaga doesn't think Kakashi is inclined to see Gojo right now. Not after the bomb Megumi dropped. The kid had vanished in a blind panic after Megumi's monotone promise of letting the kid escape if he didn't want to be around Gojo—who had only brought him in on the assumption of making him a sorcerer—and panic breeds danger.

Who knows if the boy will lash out, collapse, or detonate if Gojo's previous warning has any say.

But Yaga has some semblance of hope in placating the boy. He'd seen the flicker of interest in Kakashi's eyes earlier, a faint, fond attention when he'd handed the boy the cursed corpse when he'd caught that little hand of his instinctively bunching against the space where his missing toy should be.

If anything can track him without setting him off, it's Megumi's Dog Shinigami. And Yaga will find him—by any means necessary.

Megumi already has his hands in formation. "Yeah," He mumbles as twin dogs, black and white, manifest at his feet. "I got it."

The three of them run out while Yaga reaches for the pug plushie, tapping it lightly against the sewn button nose carrying Kakashi's energy he had unknowingly provided. The pug twitches grotesquely to life for a moment before blinking and then hopping off the counter swiftly, already scrambling out the exit in search of its new master.

Yaga sighs for the third time today.

He prays his cursed corpse finds the boy first.

Kakashi may have looked calm, but the brief energy output he'd felt told him otherwise.

Gojo and Megumi won't be helping right now.

[. . .]

He can't find him.

Gojo Satoru—the Strongest Sorcerer of modern times, maybe all of history, the so-called Honored One—can't manage to track down a three-year-old toddler.

It's been an hour now since he ran off into the cold hands of Jujutsu Tech. And Gojo, through his Six Eyes, can't catch a damn hint of his energy.

As impressed as he is, he's also incredibly disturbed. Because. How?

How is that possible? How is it possible for a toddler to hide amidst the grandiose power of the Six Eyes?

Gojo sighs and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. His other hand clenches the blindfold tightly, raising it to put it on again. The strain of having his eyes open becomes unbearable when the 72-hour period of no sleep hits. Not... that he hasn't slept. An hour or two of naps counts just fine, and he can usually manage with less. He doesn't understand, nor does he want to know why finding a toddler is suddenly bearing his limit.

He exhales slowly, forcing his pulse back under control. The kid couldn't have just vanished. There has to be a reason.

Maybe Kakashi's cursed energy is so indecipherable that it slips beneath the radar? Or maybe it's the opposite: a natural concealment technique, something akin to Heavenly Restriction, masking his presence entirely. Though that's a far stretch, really. Gojo considers that and feels an unpleasant twist in his gut. A three-year-old with that kind of trait? Doesn't seem plausible.

But then again, I exist.

Gojo frowns, leveling the blindfold over his eyes. Maybe the boy's energy isn't gone at all, but shifting, flickering out of sync with his perception? Kind of like a chameleon or something, blending into its surroundings, adapting instinctively, without conscious control.

It bothers him more than he wants to admit. The Six Eyes shouldn't fail him. Not here, or with something as simple as a toddler. With immense energy reserves. He'd been able to detect him before, so what the hell?

There has to be something else interfering. There's always something else skulking about, he thinks, but as soon as he catches a slip of it, frustrating familiarity coils with it—Shoko's Energy, Yaga's, Megumi's, the other students. It's never Kakashi.

Every time he reaches out, scanning, there's nothing. The most he's gotten is a trail leading up into the canopy of the tall trees, like he suspected, but when he checks, there's nothing. Other hints of Kakashi lead to dead ends, or something skidding at the edge of his vision that looks like Kakashi, and then isn't. Because there's nothing there. No resonance. No boy. Just cold stone, walls, drafty corridors, and the faint echo of his own cursed energy bouncing back at him.

He chuckles under his breath, though it's humorless. "This is ridiculous."

If Kakashi can disappear from him, then who else could he disappear from? And more importantly... who else could take him, unseen?

Ugh. Gojo hates thinking about the worst.

He keeps walking down the row of trees he's already looked in about ten times, biting the inside of his cheek in annoyance. He needs to think. Kakashi is known for running away, so this behavior isn't out of the norm for him. But Gojo's already circled in the most likely areas—unless there's some secret spot he must've missed. But Gojo knows the structure and map of this institute like the back of his hand. There's nowhere else he could be.

Gojo may need to abandon his pursuits here and search outside the school for the boy. It's likely by now he's escaped into the damn wilderness. Gojo doesn't like the sound of that.

Deciding that it's worth a thorough inspection, he intends to teleport, until a rustle makes him stop. Gojo perks, head turning on the hope that it's Kakashi and that the boy has finally stopped his early teenage rebellion and returned to him safe and sound.

It's not Kakashi.

In fact. He can't see shit.

He lifts his blindfold, thinking maybe it's an animal—then blinks.

A little boy peers out from behind a tree. He's tiny, with black hair spiking in all directions, eyes enormous and inky. Jagged lines scar the right side of his face. His expression is blank in a way that makes Gojo's ribs tighten.

Gojo stares.

Am I hallucinating?

"This is new," Gojo mumbles, rubbing at his eye and blinking it open again to make sure he's actually staring at... technically nothing. Because there's a boy there, staring at him like a creepy doll, with no cursed energy. Or energy whatsoever.

The dissonance scrapes at Gojo's nerves, but he goes for a smile anyway, choosing charm over unease, and hopes he's not losing his marbles. And doing a very good job of pushing away the fact that this boy can't be a curse or civilian of any caliber. Because his Six Eyes insist the space is barren.

"Hey! Nice goggles!" He points at the orange tints of plastic over the boy's head, sincere in his approach as he scopes out anything amiss. Because they do look kind of cute on the little guy. But Gojo is trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with his vision.

The boy doesn't say anything.

Okay then.

Gojo opens his mouth for attempt number two, but is cut short by his phone's ringtone. He looks down and grabs his phone, seeing that it's Shoko again. Probably to ask him what the hell's taking him so long. Gojo refrains from answering to attend to something a bit more interesting, looking back toward where the boy had been.

Except he's gone.

There's nothing behind that tree.

No energy.

No boy.

What the fuck.

Gojo numbly swipes the screen and answers the call, placing the phone to his ear. "Yo!" His steps carry him closer through the grove, scanning the dirt, the bark, every hollow shadow for a clue, a footprint, any sign at all. There's nothing. Just the faint rustle of leaves, and the growing weight of his own frustration.

"Are you missing anything?" Shoko's drawl is sarcastic, and most importantly, confident.

Gojo shoves the knowledge of a ghost boy on campus to the back of his head as soon as immediate relief floods his erratic mind. "Yes, how did you know?!" He gasps, smiling.

Shoko sighs. "Because your fully-developed fetus is here."

Just the words Gojo wanted to hear!

"I'll be there!" he says without hesitation, and in the next instant, he teleports directly to Shoko's morgue, leaving behind only the stir of unsettled branches.

[. . .]

Just as Shoko says, Gojo finds little Kakashi in Shoko's morgue.

Tied up and wrapped into a burrito. Like a kitten trapped inside a sock.

His head lolls faintly to one side, hair sticking out in disheveled tufts, with his eyes calm and heavy-lidded with exhaustion. Despite the odd situation, he looks... almost adorable, like that. His cheeks are soft, and though his expression is flat, it makes him appear more like a drowsy pet who got caught red-handed rather than a child.

They blink at each other.

Gojo feels only the faintest wisp of cursed energy from him—thin as a thread and tightly clamped down, as if Kakashi were squeezing every drop out of sight.

His lips twitch. That has to be it. Gojo's first theory, now confirmed. The boy's energy is so minuscule that it's no wonder the Six Eyes couldn't track him properly. It's still weird, don't get him wrong. His Six Eyes should be able to detect any form of energy. But Kakashi's, locked away like this, feels uncomfortably like his own, now that he's taking a closer look at it.

"Is he in baby jail?" Gojo asks, too relieved to care. Yaga's stitched corpse curse is seated beside the bound Kakashi, who is staring blandly at no wall in particular. The two of them look creepily like one another.

Shoko scribbles something down on freshly printed paper. "Wouldn't sit still," She provides lamely.

"For?" Gojo inquires, approaching Kakashi. Kakashi doesn't even acknowledge him. He continues staring into nothing, sluggishly blinking one eye at a time. Gojo hums. "Why's he look drugged?"

"Blood work," Shoko grunts, replying to both questions because she doesn't provide much else than that. But she doesn't need to, as Gojo's eye catches several fresh tubes of blood resting in a rack on the counter, neatly labeled and lined up beside her. "His papers were missing." She lifts her tired gaze and settles it on him. She raises an eyebrow. "You know anything about that?"

"Ijichi said they were all in there, ne?" Gojo asks, throwing the man under the bus. He reaches to poke Kakashi's cheek. The boy does nothing.

"Apparently not," Shoko mumbles.

Gojo turns away from Kakashi with a furrowed brow. "What? So I was duped?"

"Probably. I don't pretend to know how orphanages handle records," Shoko replies, tone flat as she flips through the paperwork. "But most of his medical history is missing. Either it was never documented, or it was deliberately removed." She pauses, tapping one page with her pen. "The only entry I have is from when he sustained that scar." She gestures loosely toward Kakashi's left eye. "Hospital notes say he was brought in as an infant after being struck by a rock—accidental trauma. Two hikers found him and carried him in for treatment."

"Huh." Gojo hadn't known that. He regards Kakashi again, checking him over. "How is he, in general, then?"

"In general? He's stable. His heart rate is within normal range, and his lungs are clear. I'm not a pediatrician, and I haven't gone through his bloodwork yet, but he's sitting at a healthy weight for his age." Shoko clicks her pen and steps away from the papers, fixing her rubber gloves as she turns to regard Gojo fully. "Only abnormalities so far are hypersensitivity to light and sound—likely extends to other stimuli too. Oh, and his height. He's below average for a three-year-old."

Gojo nods. "Where'd you even find him, anyway?"

"Oh. Yaga's little buddy," Shoko points. Gojo nods. Makes sense. "And. I tend not to ask, but I'm going to assume it was that weird energy that spends its time here that did it."

"Huh?" Gojo tilts his head at her, sprawling half across the counter like a bored cat. "Weird energy? What weird energy?"

Shoko glances up from the clipboard she's been scrawling on, eyebrows lifting slightly in tired surprise. The faint hum of the centrifuge fills the silence between them, and she clicks her pen absently. "You mean you can't sense it?"

Gojo straightens, tugging his blindfold up just enough to sweep the room. The harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead, bouncing off sterile white walls. The only thing he notices is a faint aftertaste of energy trailing in Shoko's wake, clinging to her like damp water. Beyond that, there's nothing.

He pouts at her, shoulders slumping. "Are you messing with me?"

Shoko issues him an unimpressed look, setting the clipboard aside. "You really can't sense it?"

"No!"

She exhales, shaking her head. "Forget it, then."

"Wha—tell me! Now you've got me curious!"

"No. Get out. I have work to do." She gestures vaguely at the tray of vials lined neatly by the centrifuge, still whirring. Gojo mentally pats himself in the back for remembering what that stupid thing is called.

"Ugh." Gojo scowls slightly, sulking more than anything. What the hell is with him today? First, he can't find a toddler, then that weird schizophrenia kid, and now this? "It better not be that creepy ass kid," He grumbles.

Shoko pauses, deadpan. "What the hell are you talking about."

"Nothing! Nothing you need to worry about, anyway," He waves her off quickly, leaning back against the counter. "I'm fine."

"Sounds like you're losing it."

"Whatever. Is it done now? Can I take him home?" He's going to have to call Nanami to babysit. Meet-up day is officially canceled. He'll introduce the second-years some other day.

Shoko nods. "Sure, whatever. Take him. I got all I needed."

Gojo grins and eagerly scoops Kakashi into his arms. The boy is still bound snugly in Shoko's makeshift wrap, bundled so tightly that Gojo idly wonders how the hell Shoko managed this feat. But Kakashi isn't so averse to touch, he thinks, because every instance the boy has let himself be whisked away. No survival instincts, this one.

Kakashi's eyes are closed now, lashes brushing his cheeks as though he's given up resisting and decided to snooze instead.

The sight nearly makes Gojo laugh—Kakashi looks absurdly cute, a pint-sized creature burrito!

Before Gojo can leave, he activates his infinity (why the fuck was it down) when he sees the cursed corpse jump down from the counter. He circles Gojo once, twice, and then stops, wiggling his butt as Gojo watches on in confusion.

Wait.

He's gone before the pug can jump on his head.

[. . .]

Shoko shakes Kakashi's blood within the tube, whistling. She side-eyes the DNA sequencer.

To do or not to do.

She hums.

She walks over.

To do.

(In the corner, a little boy and girl watch on with wide eyes and newfound hope in their hearts.)

[. . .]

"Nanamin!"

Nanami Kento exudes his best efforts not to groan out loud at the familiar, obnoxious voice of his inescapable coworker. His charging phone, which has since stopped ringing incessantly for the past forty minutes, sits mercifully silent on the coffee table in front of him, mocking him. Today is supposed to be a day off.

"What." The ex-salaryman grits, flipping to the next page of his romance book. It was just getting good, and this fool decides to get the jump on him. What did he do to deserve this?

"Hey, hey. Guess what?"

Nanami doesn't reply.

Instead, his book is rudely knocked over and replaced with—

"Is this a baby??"

Nanami jerks back, staring at the bundle shoved directly into his face. A child. A sleeping, very real child.

"No time for answers! I'm on maternity leave and you're the baby daddy, quick!"

Nanami fumbles, utterly incredulous, as Gojo just lets go of the child, as though he's merely handing off groceries. Panic claws through him, and he scrambles, barely catching the bundle before it plummets. His heart spikes, and his eyes cut to Gojo in shock. Wide, furious, his mouth opens, ready to demand just what the hell he thinks he's doing and to inform him that that's not what Maternity Leave means—

"Thanks, Nanamin!" Gojo grins and salutes, just before disappearing.

Nanami stares.

What the hell.

Chapter Text

[. . .]

"The first step is often shaky."

[. . .]

Chapter 5

Nanny Call!

[. . .]

Kakashi wakes up from his dreamless sleep in prison.

Or.

Well.

It looks that way initially. Through crusted, blurred vision, he mistakes the lined walls for a cell. But as he stares up into the looming white ceiling, he very quickly catalogues the strange, pillar-like wooden entrapment that surrounds him. At his height, the bars tower over him. It takes him a solid minute to properly gauge where he is, largely because he isn't as alarmed as he should be for thinking he's in jail.

The ceiling is open; he can climb out.

Ergo, not trapped.

After being properly acquainted with a yawn and a stretch (that is wholly unsatisfactory, as his limbs seem bound together, toasted against the perfect warmth), he realizes he's in a crib.

And that there's a man he doesn't know looking over it, at him, holding a yellow, dog-shaped sippy bottle. The man appears weary and aged, gaunt with lack of sleep and serious to boot. His hair is a shiny blonde, and he is wearing a blue dress shirt with an unusual, black and yellow tie.

His energy feels lacking, but not entirely—filled in on certain spots, and cut in others.

He is, evidently, not his white-haired freak of a guardian.

Kakashi blinks once, slowly, reaching with his own energy to make sure. And yep, not him in disguise, either.

Okay then.

So he's been kidnapped. How unfortunate.

Kakashi calmly stares back at the man who eyes him warily. Without his mask, his face feels bare, and his sinuses are overwhelmed by the multitude of new smells. Clean water leaves a faint mineral trace; the bite of a floral soap comes with it, mixed oddly with coffee (specifically an expensive, somehow Konohan brand—or maybe similar?) and the dry scent of new paper and freshly laundered linen. Beneath it all rests the tang of lemon from polished surfaces. (And the barest traces of vomit, but that's from earlier. Yesterday? Who knows.)

One thing comes to mind.

At the very least, he's been kidnapped by a rich man. The stranger wears a similar cologne to Gojo's, except it's much less overpowering on the nose. Kind of like a soft coconut, now that he puts his finger on it...

The smells aren't so bad. They'll be... tolerable, once he gets used to them.

Seeing as he's sure he's not moving any time soon.

Not that Kakashi wants to. He's kind of content just lazing around in a crib. He feels oddly tired, still, and he's going to consider this a nice, hands-off escape from his guardian.

That reminds him.

Rather unpleasantly, Kakashi isn't sure whether this kidnapping is a blessing in disguise or not.

The last thing he remembers is falling asleep after the evil doctor woman had drawn out his blood for testing (she'd managed to unfold the perfect spot to prick him, demon woman), just after thinking he'd managed to run into a foolproof hiding spot (inside a vent where a flummox of wonky, scarily familiar cursed energy resided). At first, he had remained inside the metal tunnel because something called him to it, a wisp of a memory urging him to climb inside and harbor there. He'd been a tad hysterical to listen to it, but Kakashi was so bored, and too curious for his own good, determined to discover the taste of strawberries tainting the air that nagged at him too painfully.

He never got to figure it out.

While trying to trudge through his odd fog of memories and picking out bits of glass from his clothes, he'd been so very rudely snatched by the arm and instantly snuggled into a plush chest that smelled like hospital and corpse. There was a prick on his upper arm where his ANBU tattoo would've been following his surprise grab.

"Gotcha."

By the time the surge of surprise abated, Kakashi was trapped.

In a burrito towel, staring into the tired, but slightly fond eyes of Doctor Stupid—Shoko, he means. He'd furiously fought her as she tucked him under her arm, careful to control the sparks of power building up in his hand, just for seconds later, when he'd been placed over a cot, for the Pakkun-stitched animal to burst through the door and run for him—quickly proceeding to shove his somehow wet nose into his face for several unnecessary sniffs.

The sensation was so painfully familiar that a swell of sorrow wrapped around his heart unprompted.

That was the only reason he hadn't fought the wave of drowsiness any further (because he was sure the throb in his arm was Shoko drugging him). It reminded him of his previous life, when he'd been living on his own after his father's death, and puppy Pakkun had a bad habit of scenting around his face and licking the tears away from his nose and cheeks.

He misses him.

"Good call," Shoko muttered to the empty air.

Kakashi didn't dignify that with a response. Whoever she's talking to, Kakashi had already felt them leave. Somehow. It distracted him a tad, making him far too curious about the discovery that there had been someone who helped him after all.

Well. They hadn't helped. They landed him in the jaws of another lunatic.

But back to the kidnapping.

He doesn't know if Kakashi being away from Gojo is a good thing or not.

On the one hand, the supposed 'plan' his original Guardian was to have subjected him to has now become obsolete. Probably. Based on Kakashi's findings of cursed energy from the blonde man, Kakashi is well aware he's no match for the well of power that is Gojo. He seems like a pebble compared to him. There's no chance the white-haired man won't seek this man out and kill him in less than a second. But this change of pace is nice. If this stranger succeeds in keeping him away, then Kakashi won't have to work in this life, too. He already hates the fact that he has to live in the first place. Working for it? No thanks.

On the other hand, Kakashi is back to square one.

He doesn't trust this man.

He doesn't know his motives for bringing him here, nor anything about him. He resides in unfamiliar territory, bound at the mercy of a stranger who seems to now be reaching for the slip keeping him bound. Kakashi wiggles a bit in anticipation.

With a careful tug, the man sets the sippy cup off to the side and leans forward to properly untie the knot.

A rush of cold air seeps through Kakashi's middle as his fabric prison comes free, dropping to his sides. He immediately takes advantage of this—by properly stretching his entire body, lifting his arms above his head and straightening his feet into tippy points, yawning and scrunching his eyes without a damn care.

When he's done, he smacks his lips and continues staring up at the man, who quickly turns to retrieve the sippy cup. When he has it in hand again, the man awkwardly stops short, hesitating while shifting his eyes from the drink to Kakashi.

Kakashi says nothing.

He wonders, though.

Does this man intend to use him the way Gojo intends to? Does the man even know who Kakashi is? Has he been targeted due to foreign, complicated matters, or personal ones?

And.

Is this even a kidnapping in the first place?

What if Shoko lost him while transporting him somewhere else for further evil scientific experiments, and this guy happened to find him? Because his energy doesn't feel evil. It just feels... nervous. And a tad sad? Had Shoko saved him instead? Had she known what Gojo was going to do and packaged him in a box before sending him off somewhere nice and safe?

Kakashi takes a moment to properly think.

Nah.

She's too evil.

"...Hello."

Kakashi tilts his head but doesn't reply.

"I was told to babysit you," the man explains, dumping all of Kakashi's ideas into the trash. So he hasn't been kidnapped or taken for nefarious purposes. The toddler checks whether the man smells or feels like he's lying, but finds nothing amiss to suggest he is. Kakashi internally droops in defeat. So much for having escaped, then.

Oh, well then. There's nothing he can do.

Technically.

Theoretically, he can wait until the blonde man is distracted, then climb out of the crib and through the window next to him. Kakashi can't tell what height he's at, but he sees a taller building right outside. He assumes he's in a similar building, just on a lower floor. Who knows. Kakashi is small, and his gauge of sizes is all tremendous to him.

It's cool being a toddler, though. Nobody expects anything from him. He can act as stupid as he'd like.

Kakashi shifts his attention to the window again.

It's open just wide enough for the curtain to stir, letting in a ribbon of cold air that smells like motor exhaust and wet concrete. The glass reflects the room behind him, and Kakashi takes a careful glance at the orderly sparseness of it, eyeing the lack of toys and bright colors. There are seldom shelves but an abundance of sofas. It's very clear that the man is not fit to care for a toddler. There are far too many sharp corners to be safe. That coffee table is one of them.

Maybe Kakashi should run into one and get the guy in trouble. Entertainment and whatnot.

Kakashi pauses.

Ouch.

No. That would mean getting hurt. He's too tired to deal with hospital procedures.

The man clears his throat.

Kakashi finds his gaze on him again.

"Are you hungry?" The man asks politely, glancing behind him to check for something before looking back down.

Kakashi thinks about it.

Is he hungry?

Hm. No, he doesn't find himself a tad peckish at the moment. Or. Maybe, actually. Because right on cue, his stomach growls. Kakashi looks down at it, unimpressed with his limitations, before blinking blandly up at the man expectantly.

"I was given... instructions," The man continues awkwardly, sounding out each word. Kakashi questions his methods; is it appropriate to talk to a toddler in this manner? He's not an expert with children, so he wouldn't know. Kakashi appreciates it nonetheless—despite the comical thought of a grown man speaking to a toddler in a business-like fashion, there is some merit in being treated properly. In a way. After all, nobody knows just how old he truly is, and the front of a toddler can only hold for so long.

"I'm your babysitter, a..." The man works his jaw, eyes narrowing. "Friend of... your father."

Father, huh.

"I know you may not understand, but I would like to make clear that you are safe here." The man declares each word with chosen care, eyes peering down at him with a mellowed firmness that Kakashi recognizes as truth. His nose catches the mingled scents of wariness and determination all in one, wafting from the man who looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here. "It's a strange new place, but nothing will harm you. Of that, I assure you."

Kakashi blinks slowly.

How kind.

"I don't have much experience with children," The man admits.

I know, Kakashi doesn't say. Terribly obvious, this one. Though Kakashi will cut him some slack. He's doing marginally better than anything he would have attempted. If he were to have been given Naruto as a teenager, that student of his would have surely died in some way, shape, or form. Kakashi was not fit to care for children whatsoever, as he could barely take care of himself at the time.

The thought curdles and leaves wisps of regret in its wake.

The man's mouth tightens with visible discomfort at the lack of response. "If you're... able to communicate in any way, it would be helpful."

Kakashi considers his request.

He considers babbling. Crying, perhaps. Possibly reaching for the cup and drinking bits to abate the ache in his stomach and the aridness of his throat.

And then he considers not doing any of that.

Instead, he slowly lifts one arm and points—very deliberately—toward the open window.

The man follows his gaze.

There's a pause.

Then, with a quiet exhale that sounds suspiciously like resignation, the man circles the crib and closes it, securing the latch with a firm finality that kills Kakashi's hopes and dreams. He draws the curtain shut after, blocking the view of the buildings outside entirely and leaving them in a perpetual darkness that Kakashi isn't much fond of. The walls are brown. Do the math.

"...I suspected as much," The man mutters.

Ah, well.

That's too bad.

So much for that plan, Kakashi thinks unceremoniously, yawning again.

He blinks tears out of his eyes as the man turns back to him, carrying a carefully neutral expression. Something tired flickers behind it. "Let's establish some boundaries," He says, as if Kakashi is a coworker rather than a very suspicious toddler. "You will not attempt to escape."

Now, see, that's too much, there.

"You will behave," He narrows his eyes.

Kakashi will not behave, he thinks. He is a one-man animal. Er. One-child animal.

"And in turn, I will not—" He pauses, searching for the word, "—I will not revoke your right to wander and explore, within reason, of course."

Kakashi doesn't respond. He questions whether he really should run into a sharp corner to teach this man a lesson about children, but that idea dies when the man says what comes next.

"I'll need to stop by the market," The man mutters as a way of explaining his demands, rubbing his temple once before lowering his hand. "I'm not equipped for toddler-appropriate meals, and my refrigerator is nearly empty. You'll come with me."

Kakashi perks up at that.

The man must have noticed, because he pauses slightly before pulling back with a resigned sigh. "Gojo has warned me ahead of time of your knack for disappearing, so you'll be attached to a leash backpack, just in case."

What happened to letting him walk around with free rein? The nerve of some people, honestly.

That's fine, anyway. Kakashi chose the backpack himself, after all, and it would do him some good to use it. Nevermind that these adults genuinely think he won't unsnap the harness with a simple trick using his dexterous fingers, but that's a consequence to be contemplated and then revealed at a later time, should Kakashi's needs not be met. Kakashi will give this man a chance. Why not, right? Kakashi has nothing better to do other than run away as far as possible and either starve/die of hypothermia. Fun times, indeed.

The man raises a brow. "If you find that suitable?"

Kakashi pretends to think about it, rolling on his back, before sitting up and reaching for his sippy cup.

He gives a lenient nod as he shoves the beverage to his mouth and gets to drinking, ignoring the surprise that flashes across the man's features. This tastes suspiciously like bland apple juice. Is it watered down?

The man clears his throat, pulling at his collar. "...I suppose your father wasn't lying about... your intelligence," He mutters, casting a wary glance that quickly becomes resolute. "In that case, my name is Nanami Kento."

That name sounds terribly long.

Kakashi stops chugging the insubstantial amounts of liquid to say, "Nanamin."

Nanamin stares at him.

[. . .]

There are many eggplants inside the small red carrier perched on Nanami's arm, courtesy of the young Gojo toddler.

Kakashi, who happens to be Gojo's newest ward, currently keeps a relatively sedentary pace beside Nanami as they shop very late in the afternoon.

Clenched in his off hand is a long leash padded with azure coloring, connected to the small dog backpack harness strapped on the boy's back. It's been pulled at on seldom occasions when the boy ventured too far, though never hard or abrupt enough to cause a stumble or ruckus. The boy behaves himself, to the surprise of Nanami. Kakashi isn't the wild toddler he'd initially expected—merely quiet, and prone to shoving things under his nose, sniffing too close at things he shouldn't.

It's a miracle he hasn't put anything in his mouth yet. He hopes he doesn't jinx it by thinking it so.

Nanami has no idea what to think.

About the situation, the boy. Merely the fact that his existence is mind-boggling in itself—Nanami doesn't know what occurred to Gojo, making him think that taking in a toddler and integrating him into the tragic world of sorcery wouldn't cause consequences, then leaving him in the care of a man who has no idea what he's doing.

On the one hand, he's stressed.

Nanami has never dealt with a toddler before.

Countless complications come with caring for toddlers—for one, their unpredictability, and second, because they're frail little things who need constant supervision. He's incredibly pissed at Gojo at the moment for shoving him into the position of unexpected nanny, and for dismissing the incessant calls he'd made using nonsubstantial texts that told him very little about the boy; Kakashi, three years old, possibly a Cursed Energy nuclear hazard because Gojo deemed it fit to inform Nanami at the last minute that the little boy no larger than his knee is prone to blowing up at any moment.

Which. Fantastic.

As if Nanami has any idea of what that means.

He'd since decided that, for the good of his health, he's not going to think too hard about that.

On the other hand of this mess, Nanami is... reluctantly fond.

It's been less than a day, and he's already attached. Nanami shouldn't be, as he understands it's extremely illogical for him to attach himself to a boy he may never see again. There are consequences to caring for the boy, which come in forms that imitate the cruelty that was Haibara's death, to every child's death, ever.

It's not wise. Sooner or later, this boy, too, will succumb to the tragedy of those a part of the Jujutsu World.

But Nanami supposes that's why he ends up pulled out of that depressive funk via a hazardous, creepy child. The boy isn't ordinary, it seems. And he may or may not have a better fighting chance—not that Nanami is particularly inclined to test that.

He is... bitter. Little Kakashi deserves a chance to be a kid.

But in a world like this?

That's not the point.

Gojo—and several others he'd hysterically called in his initial delirium, including an equally as irritated Principal Yaga—had made sure to inform him of Kakashi's abnormal level of intelligence. For a toddler, his motor skills are extremely adept, and though he has yet to hear him properly speak (his one-word nuisance notwithstanding), Nanami doesn't doubt that the boy speaks in full, unfragmented, and eloquently phrased sentences that a boy his age shouldn't be capable of.

He doesn't know how he knows that. He just... does. The boy's eyes are large and unassuming, glinting with something other.

Off the bat, he'd known he wasn't normal.

Despite the uncanniness, Nanami can't help but find the boy a little cute. Kakashi's eyes are unusually large—far too big for a toddler his age—which makes him look almost adorable, at least when he isn't staring at Nanami with that unsettling expectation that tells the man that the kid knows far more than he lets on. Or maybe it's the proportions from where Nanami's looking—regardless, Kakashi has been nothing but good, attentively listening and heeding Nanami's every command despite being in an unknown place with a stranger, and that alone has made Nanami question and admire the resolve of the boy. Any normal toddler would cry in his place.

Survival methods, he thinks. Then mourns, because a child shouldn't have to survive at all.

Such is life.

There have been a suspicious number of glances toward exits or windows, though. Kakashi hides craftiness well. If it weren't his own training with Haibara's terrible habit of scurrying off where he shouldn't, he wouldn't have been able to tell.

But... Kakashi has behaved himself.

If anything, Nanami thinks that the boy is bored. He sure looks like it.

He doesn't quite know what to do about that. Nanami has tried to take Kakashi through aisles of brighter colors, where small, harmless kitchen or living room trinkets reside, but the boy hasn't taken the bait. He looks, yes, but that's about it. The most he's done is pick at grains or smell various amounts of meat and agriculture. It's so very strange for a toddler not to run around and babble about, but what does he know? He's just doing a job.

A job he never asked for, but never mind that.

As Nanami stops in front of the baby aisle, he picks up a nutritional box and studies the information on the back. He ignores the brief tug on the leash, followed by the sudden slack, assuming that Kakashi has grown curious about something across the aisle—perhaps the brightly colored cups meant for children his age, depicting various animals, including his favorite, dogs—and sat down to play with it.

Nanami is willing to let the boy meddle while he gathers his thoughts.

The wildest thing about this whole fiasco is Gojo. But, then again, when isn't he the issue at hand?

Why anyone thought to give Gojo a child to care for is beyond him. Personally, Nanami would have never trusted Gojo with raising a kid, not even with the oldest ward, Megumi. Megumi had been a miracle in itself. He's met the lad a few times, calm and logical compared to his guardian. He's starting to see a pattern when it comes to the children Gojo manages to snatch up.

He'd asked about that as well, of course. The origins of little Kakashi.

There wasn't much he was told. Merely that Kakashi had been legally adopted from the orphanage in an extremely short amount of time, who had later ran away because of something Megumi had said about Gojo—and isn't that suspicious?

He should... ask about that.

Later.

When he reads that the contents are intended for children five and older, Nanami returns the box to the shelf with a disinterested look and turns around.

His shoes screech against the tile as he stops short.

The leash hangs loose in his hand.

Empty.

His heart drops at the sight of the unbuckled straps lying unceremoniously on the ground.

Shit.

Instinct immediately brings Nanami to seek out the boy's cursed energy using his own, narrowing his eyes instantly at the odd void somewhere past the current aisle he's in, where they keep all the frozen items in store. Nanami frantically assumes that's Kakashi—civilians always have just the tiniest traces of cursed energy to tell them apart from a normal sorcerer, and he was informed by Yaga that Kakashi, despite his calamitous amount, hides himself very well to the point of disappearance. He doesn't know how a toddler could possess the skill to suppress their energy, but it hardly matters.

He needs to find Kakashi and fast.

Or else I'll never hear the end of it, he internally grouses, knowing that if he were to call Gojo and interrupt his work, the man will surely make fun of him and never trust him to babysit again. Not that Nanami is particularly inclined to do so, but the boy—it's not the boy's fault.

Nanami is the adult. Kakashi is his responsibility right now.

Just find him.

The blonde secures the basket with his arm close to his side and scurries off, holding his breath and hoping against all odds that Kakashi isn't intelligent enough to find the front automatic doors and venture out toward the packed city, where he can be killed—

But what if he is?

Nanami's blood goes cold.

Denial seeps in quickly.

No, no, surely. Surely this toddler he's taking care of is more toddler than freak of nature.

The fact that he's not locating him anywhere does not help matters.

All of Nanami's hopes die when he finds a boy who is distinctly not Kakashi in the void of energy. A little taller, with spiky black hair and very faint scarring along the left side of his face, the child stands by the freezers, idly picking at the plastic wrapping of a package of frozen meat. He stares down at it with a strange sort of despondence, creating a tragic image a boy his age should never wear.

His eyes are inky black. Over them are orange-rimmed goggles of an unconventional size, which match the interior of a navy-blue jacket that swamps his tiny body. That's not what has Nanami staring at him strangely, though.

He remains fixed on the package for a moment before lifting unnaturally to meet Nanami's own.

The boy has no cursed energy.

"Obito!"

Startled, Nanami tears his gaze away from the eerie boy to the two girls approaching behind him, both wearing equally irritated expressions. They look familiar now that he studies them properly—like twins. One has hair a lighter shade of brown, bordering on blonde, and wears a beige button-up that covers most of a black skirt. She appears to be the more irritated of the two, waving around her phone along with a jutted finger in front of the boy's face in reproach.

The other, clutching a doll close to her chest, looks more tired than anything else. She's dressed in a dark school uniform, neatly tied with a white ribbon.

Nanami can't put his finger on where he'd seen them before. But...

His jaw works.

They're not civilians. He knows, for sure.

Compared to the boy, their cursed energy is substantial. Too much.

Unregistered sorcerers? He thinks, before his mind clicks and he freezes. A year ago...

Gojo grins a dim thing, "He has two girls."

Nanami's eyes widen.

No, wait, they're—

"What have we told you about wandering off!?" the girl with the phone cries, reaching for the boy and tugging him closer. She accompanies her roughness by running a gentle hand down his head in some form of comfort. "You're too young! You could get kidnapped—or worse!" she hisses, already dragging him away. The boy stumbles along without protest.

"Yeah, Obito," the other twin adds in a softer, almost bored drawl. She reaches over and grabs his cheek, pulling it until the boy smacks her hand away. "You can't keep walking off like that. You'll get lost, and then we'll have to look for you."

The boy, Obito, is his name, doesn't dignify that with much of a response. He merely stares onward with a terrifyingly blank expression.

She pauses, scowling deeper. "You—you know that he wouldn't want you—"

"Shut up, Mimiko," her sister snaps, which promptly silences her. She glances down at Obito again. "She's right, though. Stop running off. It's getting annoying."

The boy doesn't respond. From where Nanami stands, he can't even see the child's face as the three of them disappear down the aisle.

Nanami doesn't have time to dwell on it. Later, he can think about what he should've done, but for now...

He has a missing toddler to find.

Circling back, away from them, he begins his search.

He searches with his cursed energy, sweeping it up and down the grocery store. He even extends it toward the adjacent section—a coin-joined appliance store on the opposite side—scanning again and again.

Nearly thirty minutes pass before Nanami reluctantly begins asking others if they've seen a little boy matching Kakashi's description. Each answer of no wears his patience thinner, his mood growing steadily more despondent.

Just as he becomes desperate enough to ask the staff to announce the missing child over the store speakers, Nanami's downturned luck shifts. He catches a trace of Gojo's cursed energy somewhere just beyond him. At first, it confuses him. For a moment, he thinks his coworker has somehow arrived, but no, it isn't him.

It comes from the missing toddler.

Outside.

Crouched unnassumingly by a dumpster, looking down at something brown and twitching.

Nanami's blood pressure spikes with alarm at just what the meddling boy might be doing.

What the hell.

Quickly, Nanami drops the groceries off in a corner somewhere someone won't notice and runs out before Kakashi can move. Luckily for him, the boy remains there even as he jogs closer and blurts a manic, "Kakashi."

The boy blinks once and lifts his head to fix Nanami with a flat look.

Nanami's body sags with exhaustion immediately at the sign that Kakashi is okay. There are no cuts, bruises, or changes in his attire that indicate he's been messing around somewhere dangerous—though that doesn't negate him from being somewhere he shouldn't be. Nanami pinches the base of his nose hard and crouches next to him, intending to lift him into his arms and keep him there before he gets the funny idea to disappear again. "Just what exactly are you—"

There's the sound of a muffled, gravelly, high-pitched bark in front of Kakashi.

He stops talking to look down at one of Yaga's creations.

A brown, small dog.

What? He furrows his brows. Why is one of—?

"He's hurt," The boy drawls, and Nanami jerks his head in his direction with surprise. The boy blinks once, idle, before pointing just past the dumpster, deeper into the alleyway, where Nanami's hair completely stands on end upon catching sight of the dissipating essence of a larger-than-average curse.

What?

"He killed it," Kakashi informs him, looking down at the pug-like plushie twitching with a missing leg. Nanami doesn't miss how he addressed the plushie with a pronoun. "But he's hurt," He repeats.

Nanami's lips set in a grim line. Of course it is.

He studies the alley again, eyes narrowing slightly as the last traces of the curse's energy thin into nothing. The residual pressure lingers faintly in the air, the aftertaste sour, completely negative, and wrong, much like any other curse he's come across. But this curse had been... strange. Or it seems strange, because something isn't clicking.

This must have been a curse large enough to destroy one of Yaga's constructs. The issue with that is that Nanami would've been sure to sense it earlier—but why hadn't he? Unless...

Nanami drags his gaze back to an idle Kakashi petting the plushie.

Unless Kakashi followed it outside and exorcised it while I was losing my mind over him.

Nanami exhales slowly through his nose. "Did it see you?" He asks.

Kakashi tilts his head, considering the question. It's so eerie that he nearly misses the "Maybe" that comes out of his mouth.

That is not a reassuring answer. Nanami presses two fingers to his temple again. "...I see."

The small brown dog gives another weak, gravelly bark, its plush body twitching pitifully against the pavement. Up close, Nanami can see the torn seams where the leg had been ripped off, with stuffing peeking through the fabric in an imitation of exposed bone. Regardless of ironic censorship, this is not something a child should see. Nanami doesn't know why it's even making noise, still. Most of Yaga's creations, that he knows, collapse in silence as soon as they're damaged.

Kakashi watches it with intense focus.

"He's dying," The boy remarks matter-of-factly.

Nanami resists the urge to sigh. "Yes. I gathered that." He reaches down carefully and lifts the damaged construct into his hands. It weighs almost nothing, being made of light fabric and a small core of cursed energy that barely flickers inside.

The dog's tail gives one last weak wag before it goes slack.

Kakashi leans closer, his large eyes tracking the movement. "...Can you fix him?" He asks.

Nanami pauses. "I'm not its—his creator."

The boy continues staring.

Nanami feels that stare like a weight. "However," He adds after a moment, "Yaga might."

Kakashi seems satisfied with this answer. Nanami, on the other hand, feels a headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes.

The blonde man glances once more toward the alley where the curse had vanished. A stronger one than expected, most likely, too close to a grocery store just after he almost ran into two young curse-users who he believes may have once been under the tutelage of Geto Suguru. Too many coincidences in one, and Nanami is simply over it. The fact that a toddler managed to find it before him is dwindling what little is left of his sanity.

Nanami closes his eyes briefly.

Today was supposed to be a simple errand.

He opens them again and looks at Kakashi.

"We are leaving," he says firmly. "Immediately."

Kakashi pointedly faces the grocery store.

Nanami falters. Right. He forgot. "...After we finish shopping," He acquiesces.

Kakashi nods.

Then, as if remembering something unimportant, he adds, "He tried to bite me."

Nanami freezes. "What?"

Kakashi responds by grabbing onto the plushie and holding it close to his chest. Nanami lets him take it, growing silent as the boy's hands glow a strange white. Kakashi looks down at it, wiggling a finger under its nose, but it doesn't move. It stays deathly still, like a corpse. "Can I keep him?"

Nanami has no idea what to say.

So he settles with, "Take that up with your guardian."

Kakashi doesn't deign to respond.

[. . .]

When Gojo returns late into the evening to pick up his newest ward after several hours of delegating with the Higher Ups to postpone several of his missions for a personal matter and ultimately failing, he stops short at the sight that greets him.

Teleporting directly into Nanami's apartment without warning—or any regard for the man in question—Gojo finds his coworker face-down on the couch, his head buried in his folded arms, possibly asleep. Perched squarely on Nanami's back sits a bored Kakashi, nibbling on a steaming piece of eggplant while staring straight at the low-volume television.

When he makes his appearance, the boy's eyes immediately land on him.

Gojo blinks before correcting his surprise with a jovial smile. "Yo!" He whispers, walking closer. He half expects Kakashi to jump off and run to a nearby exit. But... he doesn't do any of that, surprisingly.

Kakashi doesn't say anything. He continues chewing, eyeing him with a bored intensity.

Gojo glances down at Nanamin, checking on him. He doesn't find anything out of the ordinary—no bruises or lack of cursed energy that would indicate a battle of some sort.

Huh.

So his buddy survived the ordeal, after all? Or had Kakashi behaved?

The thought makes Gojo strangely put out.

He turns to Kakashi, smile becoming larger. "Did you have fun with Nanamin today?" He asks, careful not to raise his voice. He may be a jackass, but he's not a monster. Nanami deserves some rest after what he unexpectedly shoved in his hands. Or maybe that's Gojo's guilt eating at him, of which he will not address nor care for later. Haha. Look at him, feeling bad about his friends because of his terrible actions.

Kakashi finishes chewing before he answers.

"Yes."

Gojo brightens immediately. He's... talking to him! "That's great!" He feels Nanami's cursed energy spike, followed by a shallower inhale. He's awake, now. "See, Nanamin?" Gojo starts, welcome to the opportunity, while he feels the irritated barbs of Nanamin's energy grow higher at his regard. "Babysitting builds character."

Nanami doesn't move.

Gojo tilts his head slightly, peering down at him again. His coworker is breathing evenly, but the rigid tension in his shoulders suggests something closer to an unconscious collapse than a peaceful sleep.

Yikes.

"...He didn't move like this earlier, did he?" Gojo murmurs and then pauses. Is it strange to have a conversation with a toddler?

Kakashi shrugs.

Nah.

Gojo straightens, hands sliding into his pockets. "So what did you two do all day?" He asks lightly. Call him curious. Evidently, Kakashi hadn't behaved himself as Gojo initially thought. If that were the case, Nanami wouldn't look like the dead. Or maybe he's not talking to him because he's still mad at Gojo. Which, fair. He kind of did dump a baby on him.

(The picture of Kakashi-burrito has now become the background on his phone's home screen.)

Kakashi looks to be considering the question, shoving several more pieces of the wretched purple vegetable into his mouth. Gojo bites his lip from cooing at the chubbiness on his cheeks. "We went to a grocery store," Kakashi responds eventually, after chewing.

Well, okay.

"Responsible," Gojo nods approvingly. Personally, he would've taken Kakashi to Disneyland, or something.

"I escaped."

Huh?

Gojo pauses. "...You what?"

"I escaped," Kakashi repeats calmly, taking another bite of eggplant. "The leash got itchy."

No way.

Gojo presses a fist to his mouth, muffling the strangled sound that escapes him.

Nanami's shoulders twitch faintly beneath the boy, turning his head to level a narrowed, sleep-deprived eye at him.

Gojo clears his throat loudly, forcing his expression back into something resembling composure. "Ah, well. Must've been terrible. I'll get you a new one," He mock-sighs, shaking his head while imagining Kakashi scurrying off like a rat somewhere and leaving behind a frazzled Nanami. It's so hilarious that it tickles his insides terribly.

"There was a curse," Kakashi continues, completely unfazed.

Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore.

Gojo freezes again.

Nanami exhales into the couch with the sound of a man reliving the worst day of his life. He looks like he wants to say something, before thinking better of it and merely slumping into the couch again. It must not be that serious, then, because he wasn't told or called. But the thought is extremely unpleasant, and for once, Gojo pouts down at Nanami in disappointment.

Gojo lowers his hand slowly. "...There was what?"

"In the alley behind the store," Kakashi explains very terribly. "It killed a dog."

Gojo blinks.

"A dog," He repeats flatly.

"One of Yaga's," Kakashi clarifies helpfully.

Gojo's smile grows dangerously wide. "Oh." Behind the blindfold, his eyes sharpen. What the hell is that old fool planning? "And where," He asks gently, "Is the dog now?"

Kakashi points toward the kitchen without looking away from the television.

Gojo glances over. Just as he says, on the counter sits a small brown plush dog, missing a leg and stitched together with what looks suspiciously like grocery store sewing thread. Gojo stares at it.

Then he looks back at Nanami.

Nanami has the courtesy to lift his head and rub his eyes.

"...Nanamin," Gojo says slowly, "did you perform emergency surgery on one of Yaga's cursed corpses with supermarket supplies?"

Nanami's voice emerges from the couch, muffled and utterly dead inside. "It was the only thing that would make him stop asking questions." And Yaga was busy today, Gojo assumes. He hadn't heard hide of the man all day.

Gojo bursts into silent laughter without meaning to. His shoulders shake, unbearably curious over what Kakashi could've done to have Nanami in such a state. His normally composed friend has gone slack with exhaustion—the scenarios Gojo imagines in his head make him laugh a little more, thinking of Kakashi running circles around him, jumpscaring him, even, like he had Shoko, of which she won't admit.

Kakashi continues eating his eggplant, gaze fixed on the television.

Nanami remains exactly where he is.

Gojo wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "Wow. You two really bonded."

Nanami finally lifts one hand weakly and points toward the door.

"Leave," he says hoarsely. "...We'll talk tomorrow." There's promise in that, and he can't help wondering just what he's going to be scolded for this time that he hasn't already been.

Gojo sobers.

"His leash is on the counter," Nanami grumbles before sighing softly and closing his eyes.

Gojo doesn't need to be told twice.

He gathers Kakashi in his arms with a yoink, settling the boy in one arm. Surprisingly, he doesn't fight it as he'd thought. He merely continues finishing the last of his smelly eggplant before looking at Gojo expectantly, and then at the empty plate.

Gojo immediately gets it.

He walks over to the kitchen and lowers just enough for Kakashi to place the dirty plate properly in the sink. Then he straightens, snatching the doggy backpack, intending to teleport away—

"Wait. The dog," Kakashi speaks up, clenching and very obviously wiping his fingers on his jacket.

Gojo stares down at the stains of white for a good minute.

"Tell me you didn't."

Kakashi responds by pointing incessantly at the dog plushie.

This kid.

Raising an unimpressed brow at the boy who blinks at him with no remorse in his eyes, he clicks his tongue and walks over to the crib he'd teleported earlier into Nanami's place. "That's dirty, Kakashi-kun. You can't do that."

Kakashi responds by wiping more of his hands on a separate spot.

What the hell.

Eye twitching, Gojo lowers him into the mattress and then grabs the leash tucked under his arm to set off to the side. "Gah, you. Where did you learn this behavior, hm?" He mock-scolds, unable to hide the smile that comes to his face at seeing Kakashi seated in the middle of the crib, peering up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He looks so small. So cute!

"I bet it was Shoko." He tsks, shaking his head.

Kakashi doesn't react.

"No? Maybe it was Nanamin!" He pretends to gasp, looking back at Nanami.

The man is somehow sound asleep.

Damn.

"You."

Gojo jerks his head to Kakashi, blinking. "Me?" He points at himself.

Kakashi nods sagely.

Gojo finds the gesture so comical that he lets out a wheeze. "Lies!" He lets out, because obviously Kakashi is lying. Gojo doesn't go around wiping his dirty stubby fingers on people. Funny of Kakashi to say, though. Shaking his head good-naturedly, he walks back to the kitchen and snatches up Yaga's surveillance dog. He would've left the thing there to suffer for messing around where it shouldn't, but Kakashi wants to bring it, and well. Yaga had intended the little thing to be a gift.

Besides, Yaga won't find out any more than Kakashi already knows. Gojo is choosing to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Once in his hands, Gojo frowns down at it.

Strange.

It feels like it's... alive.

Must be the core, Gojo thinks, but he knows better. There's obviously something wrong with this one. It's not exactly Yaga's cursed energy, either, but... It doesn't feel harmful. If anything, it reminds him a lot of Panda.

Shrugging, Gojo briskly puts it beside Kakashi, who yawns up at him.

The sound of the running TV is soothing to his ears. "Sleepy, huh?" Gojo coos, grasping at the crib and peering down.

Kakashi responds by blinking once and then lying down very quickly on his side.

It's weird but funny, and Gojo pretends to think Kakashi is sleeping just because his eyes are closed.

He teleports them back to his apartment.

[. . .]

After dropping the weird plushie off at Yaga's office without preamble, Gojo comes back to check on Kakashi one last time before he, too, gets some sleep.

He spies the clock perched on the dresser of Kakashi's barren room, reading the blaring red of 1 AM.

Gojo stops short. Was he really out that long?

Is it really this late?

It must've slipped his mind...

Running a hand through his hair, he steps close to the crib—that's more of a toddler bed at this point, but who cares?—gaze landing on the slumbering form of Kakashi.

Eventually, Kakashi's stubborn pretending gives out on him, and he slips into the calm sleep Gojo finds himself quietly grateful for. He wouldn't have known how to help the boy fall asleep otherwise.

Still, Kakashi sleeping this late probably isn't ideal. Nanami must've simply forgotten.

The thought irritates Gojo a little. Nanami should know better than that—but he reins the feeling in. It doesn't make sense for Nanami to know. He probably hasn't dealt with children either, like Gojo himself. Or maybe Kakashi had taken a nap earlier and only woke up when Nanami was finally getting around to sleeping himself, and Gojo is making a big deal, for some reason.

That, and Kakashi is supposed to be a light sleeper.

Gojo remembers reading that much.

Most of the documents had been summarized for him by Ijichi, condensed into something manageable between missions and meetings. Kakashi suffers from a sort of insomnia, apparently. Something, something, that makes it difficult for him to fall into deep sleep on his own. According to the notes, he tends to rest better when someone else is nearby.

Remembering that makes Gojo's chest feel unexpectedly heavy.

Because as he watches Kakashi now, the sight is strangely familiar.

The boy looks nothing like Megumi, and he certainly doesn't act like him. Neither that of Tsumiki. But there's another resemblance that nags quietly at the back of Gojo's restless mind.

With his eyes closed and the scarred side of his face turned away, Kakashi's pale lashes rest against his cheeks, and with white hair that sticks out in soft, uneven tufts against the pillow, for a moment, he looks a little like the man he sees in the mirror every day.

Like Satoru himself.

That thought pulls something loose in Gojo's memory. Stupid, really.

He remembers a photograph from a very long time ago. Suguru had taken it without permission, a picture of Gojo asleep with his head resting in Suguru's lap, his glasses crooked on his face, and his expression softer than he would ever allow anyone to see. He hadn't known it was taken until a few days after that, and at the time, Gojo had demanded Suguru delete it immediately, or else.

Suguru had laughed that same soft laugh he always did, and never deleted it.

Gojo still has that picture somewhere.

Strange that he remembers it now, of all times.

Maybe it's just nostalgia, an old and quiet memory resurfacing when he isn't paying attention. Or maybe it's simply the sight of a small boy sleeping peacefully nearby, completely unaware of the thoughts drifting through Gojo's head.

Unaware of the ghosts sitting beside him.

Suguru would've liked you, Gojo thinks dismally.

But funny, when doesn't Gojo think about his one and only? In nearly every aspect of his life, it's always could've, would've, should've with Suguru. Never when, never a promise that he will be there, because the truth of the matter is that he hasn't been, for over a decade now. Tonight, with the child who had run away, who Gojo had denied feeling scared for, who he thought that the boy wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore—it's not any different.

It's just.

The same, lonely feeling.

Gojo doesn't know what to think when it comes to Kakashi.

He's a boy who he sees himself in, and he buries it so deeply to think otherwise, because the thought of there being a boy so similar to him at all makes him want to puke. Weak of him to think, but he can't deny it anymore. It's true.

The truth comes in these quiet moments, when he has the time to think for himself and nobody else can see him. Whether or not Gojo likes it, there is merit in thinking Kakashi is a reflection of himself, in some way, shape, or form.

There's a promise when it comes to Kakashi. Something that Gojo didn't have, but he is now in control of, and won't abuse.

Megumi had already corrected his misinformation and had apologized to him for scaring Kakashi away. Gojo didn't really blame the kid—both of them. Gojo has a terrible mouth, and if he were in Kakashi's place, he would've run away too, if he had known better.

This child is three years old, carrying a cursed energy so dense that any normal sorcerer would feel sick with him around. Of course, he'll feel threatened, thinking he has to become something he most likely doesn't want to be. He is three, and Gojo doesn't care that he can see curses, can fight them, somehow.

Kakashi gets to choose what he wants.

Gojo will make sure of it.

With one last glance, he bids Kakashi a silent goodnight and steps out of the room, rubbing his face.

He's so tired.

So, so tired.

His hand twitches when a faint vibration comes from his left pocket. His fingers immediately dip into the space and pull out his phone, fumbling to turn the screen over, eyes checking over the caller I.D with a vacant expression.

It's Shoko.

He wonders why she's calling so late in the night.

Gojo answers the call with an instinctual, convivial smile on his face. "Yo! Shoko! What's up?" He makes sure to keep his voice down. Kakashi should get to sleep.

There's a crack of static on the other line before she says, "...I've got a very important question. And don't lie."

Her drawl is bored and not of unusual tone, so Gojo doesn't think anything of it when he replies with, "Shoot."

A beat of silence follows. Then, "Have you had unprotected sex anytime in the past three or four years?"

What the hell. "Ooo, are we having our first girl-talk~?" Gojo chirps, hiding the utter bafflement he feels at Shoko's unexpected question with his usual nonsense. Unprotected sex? Gojo isn't a loser by any means, but any form of intimacy, regardless of gender, has never been initiated in any way, shape, or form. Gojo's not so much paranoid as he is more repulsed by casual touch—even thinking about engaging in that sort of thing with anyone is... extremely unrealistic.

So what's with this, then? Gojo is completely lost.

"Be serious," Shoko grunts. "Have you?"

"Does being eye-fucked count?" He can't count how many times he's been lusted after by the everyday individual. Gojo doesn't mind it—nobody can touch him, anyway—he's flattered, but that's probably because he knows nobody has the balls to approach him so casually. Nobody has ever tried.

"Gojo."

Gojo groans. "Fine, fine, yeesh. No," He answers with a hum, checking his nails. "Why?"

"Are you sure?" Shoko presses. There's a faint trace of bewilderment in her tone. She hadn't even made fun of him. That's strange.

Gojo's brow furrows. "...I'm sure." He shifts in place, glancing back at the crib he left Kakashi in. He continues to be sound asleep, grabbing at his thick blanket. "What's going on?"

Shoko sighs heavily.

"I'm going to need you to come to the morgue and have you see for yourself."

He doesn't know why his heart drops at that.