A/N: Take 2!! Tumblr just lemme post my depression writing in peace, man. My interpretation of what Toji’s final moments were like when he fought Megumi. Welcome to the depression train, choo choo!
warnings (please read!!): some inaccuracies to fit the storyline, vi*lence, de*th.
Toji lunges at the man before him, body under robotic like control. Weapon angled perfectly to cause a near fatal—if not fatal—blow. His body running on nothing other than killer instinct. Kill! Kill! Kill! echoing in his head like some kind of twisted mantra he can’t shut out. He watches the man’s face twist in fear on his approach.
What he doesn’t expect is to feel his opponent's grip locking onto his sweater as they collide, dull fingers pinching his skin before swinging his arm back to deliver his own blow. Sweat from the man’s face hitting Toji’s as the man focuses on precision.
As Toji looks up, prepared to laugh in the man’s face at his weak attempt to kill him, he freezes. His eyes widening before he launches himself backwards. The man huffs, throwing his weapon down before tightening his fists and taking a stance. A focused scowl covering his features as his chest heaves and sweat hits the concrete below as he prepares himself for Toji’s next move.
Except he’s not a man. Not at all. He’s a kid. A kid who looks a hell of a lot like—but it couldn’t be, right? Toji’s stomach lurches at the thought. He would’ve noticed before now, even in his current state. Surely he’d have recognised..his own flesh and blood.
But there’s no denying who this boy is. Those deep navy eyes. Eyes that currently show he’s witnessed things a kid his age should never have witnessed.
Toji fights with every fibre of humanity that’s left in him to suppress the killer urges currently flowing through his form.
“Hey you. What’s your name?”
The boy's scowl falters, confusion flashing and tension leaving his body for a moment as he responds.
Holy shit. Megumi. It’s Megumi. He’s here and he’s alive. Although that’s of no thanks to his father.
He looks so grown up. Not the skinny little kid with his fathers rancid attitude that Toji remembered him as. He’s well on his way to becoming a man. God, he looks like his mother. And he said Fushiguro. He’s still a Fushiguro.
In his final moments Toji cursed Satoru Gojo in his mind. Cursed him for winning. And yet, he’d still made a hopeful—bordering on desperate—plea on behalf of his son. A plea for Gojo to keep his son safe. Well, as safe as you can in the sorcerer world.
“You mean your name is not Zenin?”
Toji makes a decision in that moment. He knows he can’t control himself in his current form. That without a doubt the killer instincts flowing through him will overpower his mind at any moment and he will end up killing his own child.
He wants to stay and take him in a little longer. He wants to talk to his son. Catch up on everything he’s missed. To apologise. Let him know he didn’t just abandon him. Maybe even give him one of those awkward dad hugs. But he knows he can’t and he will not risk harming his son anymore than he already has.
Toji’s shoulders relax, at peace with his decision as he stares at his son with tear filled eyes, offering him a soft smile before he turns his weapon on himself.
The boy looks at him in horror. The sound of bone crunching, organs being punctured and warm blood flowing freely echoing the air around them.
The world before him spins slightly before going dark once again.
In another cruel twist of fate Toji Fushiguro leaves the world again with the exact same final thought as the time before. His son.
