Chapter Text
As soon as Akaza was sure they were alone he allowed himself to stagger and slump against a wall, his legs were trembling, his head ached, he squinted, blinking a few times as what seemed to be dust motes or something swirled through his vision, Kyojurou started, calling out his name sharply, the loud sound grated on his ears and he winced.
A hand entered the corner of his vision and he bared his teeth for a moment before he recognized it as Kyojurou’s. The blonde hesitated, then reached out fully, grasping onto Akaza’s shoulder to turn the demon towards him, he was frowning deeply, still, he lowered his voice carefully. “Are you okay Akaza?”
The demon mustered up a weak smirk, “Oh course I am Kyo, why wouldn’t I be?” The look the hashira leveled him with made him feel almost sheepish, like a scolded child caught in the middle of a lie. “I’m just hungry.” Kyojurou frowned even deeper, but he nodded his head, “Demons…can’t starve to death, right?” Akaza bit back the urge to snarl at the slayer, he did not like this train of thought.
“...No. But if we go long enough we sometimes become comatose…” The blonde’s face pinched, then he nodded stiffly, “Alright.” Akaza wasn’t sure if he was supposed to understand what that meant, so he just played along, giving a weak nod.
Kyojurou let go of his shoulder and right away he ached for the touch to return, for the warmth, he practically had to tense his entire body just to not throw himself at the slayer, instead, he grit his teeth and held still, waited for the urge to pass.
Kyojurou was digging around in the little pack he had attached to the top of Akaza’s box, then, pulled out a demon slayer uniform. Akaza froze, staring at it in sheer disgust, he sneered, lip curling up, his hashira merely rolled his eye, “Put it on.” “I hate uniforms.” “I don’t care, put. it. on.”
Akaza let out a petulant groan but he peeled himself off the wall and slid the cloak from his shoulders, handing it to Kyojurou who was red again, though he kept his eye on Akaza’s face this time. The demon tied a clean fundoshi around his waist, then tugged up the pants, growling in annoyance at the belt, it was too stiff, and it didn’t fit right, his waist was too small for the belt and when he finally put the needle through the smallest hole the leather still sagged, making it practically useless. The shirt was ignored, and the jacket was long sleeved, those went as soon as he felt them constrict his biceps, Kyojurou crying out when he tore the fabric roughly, the hashira glaring at him, though the look was more annoyed than angry.
He left the front of the jacket open.
He missed his vest and pants.
— — —
There was something wrong with Akaza, ever since he first transformed back and lost the numbering in his eyes he had been acting weird.
First of all was the sleeping.
Akaza had once told him that demons only slept when they were sick or safe, and while the idea of Akaza feeling safe with him made something in his chest warm he doubted it was the truth, then there was the sluggish behavior.
Akaza was a being who was made of endless energy and violence, he was a predator in his prime, all toned muscle, and long limbs, he wasn’t meant to be tired or sick.
He had barely gotten a chance to even investigate the matter when Master’s crow had arrived, answering his letter relating to the demon he had accidentally adopted, and then he and Akaza were there, at the meeting.
He had felt sick to his stomach during the entire walk, only feeling worse when he realized Akaza had passed out and no matter how much he tried to bother him, the demon wouldn’t wake.
So, when he had seen Sanemi pull Akaza out, well, simple to say he had nearly vomited, instead, he had watched in horror as the wind hashira had cut the demon in half. Watched in vague disgust as the demon shifted and regrew, his skin stretching over new muscle and bone, the hair coating his body melting into his skin as if it had never been there.
Watched as Sanemi put him through the ultimate test, shoving his marechi blood right under his nose as Akaza salivated and strained, as if aware that if he attacked he would surely be killed.
Then Master was saying he trusted Rengoku when Kyojurou wasn’t even sure if he trusted himself!
Akaza had turned to the crowd that had gathered to watch him, and it truly hit Kyojurou right then that Akaza was as naked as the day he was born.
Kyojurou hadn’t meant to stare, really!
But there was just something about the demon that had captured his attention, Akaza looked like he was cut from marble, the shape of his abs so sharp they should be impossible, a ridiculously tiny waist with hips that practically burst from his sides that melted into thick, powerful thighs, toned calves and fuck, even nice ankles.
His upper torso? Oh god.
He had a plump, muscled chest, his pecs were big enough that Kyojurou felt like his hand wouldn’t be able to hold the entirety of it, his arms were big, not quite as big as Kyojurou’s own, but big nonetheless, forearms and hands decorated with navy stripes, his nails a lovely red.
It was then, as he was tracing the demon’s figure with his eye that his gaze finally wandered where it never had before, and his first thought was,
‘It has stripes?’
— — —
Convincing Kyojurou to let him go search for his old clothes was stupidly difficult, for some strange reason the slayer was downright determined to make sure Akaza didn’t leave his sight, so in the end the demon managed to convince the slayer just to follow him when he went back for his things.
As soon as the sun set Akaza was on his feet, he hadn’t shifted since last night, he wasn’t going to become a cat again, at least, not while there was so many slayers nearby, he felt too… weak, when he was a feline.
He still felt like shit, his head was pounding, his throat ached and itched, (Kyojurou had brought him water or tea a few times, but it never helped) his legs felt wobbly and flimsy, he hated the feeling, he felt like a pet someone had dressed up, wearing this slayer’s uniform, weak and vulnerable, relying on Kyojurou to keep the other hashiras from lunging for him.
As soon as he stepped outside he gathered the last of his energy and broke into a run, Kyojurou shouted his name, his spirit flaring for a moment before it dropped back to a soft flickering, the hashira was capable, that was clear, even weakened Akaza was fast, he knew he was, but Kyojurou was keeping up, if barely.
It didn’t last however, by the time a half an hour had passed Kyojurou called out his name, breathless, Akaza growled in frustration but stopped, whirling on his heel to dart towards the red-faced hashira, the flame breather was wheezing, clearly out of breath. Akaza scooped the man up like he weighed nothing, and usually, Akaza would think that he did weigh nothing.
Not today, not with this strange exhaustion slowly eating away at his strength, the hashira was a comfortable weight in his arms, not heavy, but not paper light either, Kyojurou squawked, large, calloused hands finding their way to his shoulder. Akaza took off in a run once more and Kyojurou yelped, thrown against the demon’s chest, his arms wrapping tight around Akaza’s neck, face buried against the collum of his throat.
Golden hair whipped up into Akaza’s face as he ran, but he didn’t really need to see, his hearing, and sense of smell easily made up for the lack of proper eyesight, still, he kept his mouth shut tightly as gossamer locks slapped against his lips and cheeks. Kyojurou was a big man, or at least bigger than Akaza, still, curled up in his arms like this, face buried in Akaza’s throat, clinging to him for dear life…he felt…small.
Akaza tightened his arms as a strange sensation pressed at his lungs, he frowned, maybe he really was deteriorating…
For centuries Akaza had been able to run all night long, to race along at a sprint from dusk to dawn without breaking a sweat, now? Now by the time he was finally thundering towards the town he had first turned in, his forehead was damp, his breaths taking on a wheezing aspect, he was fairly certain his neck was slick too, the back of it was certainly, and he felt a strange warmth press at his cheeks, the slight urge to apologize for potentially getting Kyojurou’s face wet pulling at him.
He didn’t though, Kyojurou chose to put his face there, he could deal with the sweat.
He skidded to a stop in the clearing where this all began, it was night, obviously, and the grassy space looked the same as it had that night, even the moon was nearly the same, and there, in a heap by the base of a tree, was his clothes.
He bent slightly, carefully placing Kyojurou down, the hashira staggered, appearing almost dizzy, his eye flicking around wildly, as if the world was still moving around him, his arms out in the air, fingers splayed as if he could grasp onto it to steady himself. His face was shining slightly in the moonlight, fuck, Akaza had gotten it covered in his sweat, Kyojurou licked his lips, as if cleaning them of the salty substance and it sent a strange curl of heat to his belly.
Akaza turned as soon as he was sure the man wouldn’t fall, his clothes smelled like shit, they didn’t look much better either, his vest and pants were covered in mold and mildew, it had likely rained, and without being moved or cleaned his clothes has suffered the price. Still, his anklets and his belt seemed salvageable, the rope was a tougher material, the tassels too, they would need a good scrub, but…
He bent down, scooping the items up easily, the soft rustle of grass against fabric drew his attention and Akaza looked over his shoulder curiously, it was Kyojurou, his face was pinched in guilt, the look made something in Akaza’s stomach sour and he had the sudden urge to wipe the expression from the slayer’s face.
He frowned, “What?” “Your clothes…” Kyojurou’s voice was weirdly mournful, he came to a stop at Akaza’s side, staring down at the pile of ruined fabrics, Akaza merely shrugged, “It’s just clothes, I can always get more.” Strangely enough, Akaza didn’t feel like he was lying, he had loved those clothes, he had worn them for centuries, had been meticulous in their care, had ignored his own damn near heartbroken emotions rushing through him when he first left them, had shoved down the urges that screamed to go back for them.
But now?
Now as he looked at them he couldn’t find the sadness, the desperation, the rage that he should be feeling, he didn’t feel much at all actually, just a smidge of relief that at least his anklets had survived, so, when he shrugged off the slayer’s concern he found that he was being truthful.
Kyojurou looked at him, frowning, “Are you sure?” Akaza merely nodded, smiling slightly, fingers curling around the few objects he would take with him, “Come on, let's get to that town before the sun starts to rise. (It was still a few hours until dawn.)
He turned on the rotting pile, and didn’t look back.
—
By the time they were able to walk to the village, there was only an hour or two until sunrise, at least, that's what Akaza guessed from the position of the moon, he’d never actually had to look at the moon to gauge the time before, it was a little strange and he decided that as soon as whatever it was that was making him feel like this ended, he would be far more appreciative of all of his abilities.
The sweat had dried, still, he felt weaker than ever, and the slight peace that had encompassed him after finding his clothes had departed, leaving him spent and crabby.
Kyojurou seemed to sense this because he didn’t speak, the two just walked side by side in the dim light of the lanterns lit by villagers, staying on the edge of town would only help so much, soon, someone was bound to bump into them and see Akaza, and currently, the demon didn’t have the strength nor will to change his appearance.
His hashira finally paused and Akaza followed suit, turning slightly to look at him head-on, the slayer held out his hand and the demon wordlessly placed his anklets and belt in the open palm, Kyojurou’s fingers carefully curling around the items.“I’ll find an inn for us to stay out, just… stay put.” Akaza frowned at the order, tempted to complain, maybe act a little ornery for the simple sake of getting a rise out of the blonde, but he was too tired to bother, so he merely nodded and walked over to the back of a building, leaning against it.
Kyojurou sighed, then gave him a stiff nod and turned down the road towards the center of town, no doubt looking for the inn they shared their very first night after meeting one another with Akaza transformed.
As soon as the slayer was gone the silence expanded to a near suffocating degree, before, when he had been walking with the slayer the silence had been a little tense sure, but not choking, not like now, now it felt like sawdust coating the inside of his throat, clogging his eyes and nose, slowly blinding his senses with its sheer oppressive force.
It grows so bad he nearly starts humming in an attempt to disperse it when a sound cuts through the gloom, it’s a sharp sound, faint from distance, but sharp.
It’s a yelp.
At first Akaza chose to ignore the sound, but his keen ears capture the sound of flesh against brick and then a whimpering plea, something along the lines of ‘please don’t!’ and Akaza’s curiosity gets the better of him.
The demon was no stranger to human on human violence, in fact, it was quite prevalent, there was no town that wasn’t tainted by its presence, and sometimes Akaza found himself perching on roofs to watch in mild interest.
The scent of blood fills his nose and he picks up the pace, once again he finds himself drawn in like a shark circling an injured seal, injured prey awaking the instinct to feed.
He turns down an alleyway, crosses a street, and through another set of alleys before he finally turns on the scene, it’s a woman and a man.
The man is dressed in a suit, a watch on his wrist glints gold in the moonlight, the man absolutely drips wealth.
The woman is smaller, much smaller, her hair is dark and is half falling out of some sort of carefully crafted marumage, blood streaks down her pale face in thin crimson rivers, the man’s hand is fisted in her hair, she is wearing a soft pink kimono.
She tries to sob out something but it’s indecipherable, and the man slams her head against the alley wall once again.
Akaza sees red.
— — —
When Kyojurou returns to the spot he left Akaza he finds it abandoned, right away a sense of wrongness pinches his chest, the demon had seemed so, so tired today, what if something happened to him?
Kyojurou calls out the demon’s name but only the night’s crickets answer him, within moments he finds himself wandering around aimlessly, calling out Akaza’s name again and again in growing desperation, his limbs turning to ice as no matter how loud he screams he is given nothing in response.
Finally, as he turns into a corner the scent of blood hits him, it was somewhat faint but it was there, the first thought that greets him is an image of Akaza laying in a pool of his own blood, slowly starting to disintegrate, he’s not sure why that thought makes him so panicked, just that he breaks into a run, a scream on the tip of his tongue when he whips around a corner and freezes.
The scent of blood is so strong that he nearly vomits, his frail human sense of smell completely overwhelmed by the stink of iron and agony, his hand falls to the hilt of his sword, trembling as he takes in the horrific scene before him.
“...Akaza…”
— — —
“...Akaza…”
The demon blinks, and it’s as if his soul has just been stuffed back into his body, he’s warm, the front of him is drenched and the persistent aches and pains plaguing his body are gone, the comfortable warmth in his stomach telling him why.
Gore is splattered over the walls, blood drenches the pavement, his skin, his brand new clothes heavy with it, his face smeared in it.
His eyes dart to the source of the voice, it’s Kyojurou, of course it is.
The slayer is frozen, his face twisted up in an expression of horror and disgust, his hand sits on the hilt of his sword, trembling, as if unsure, his big molten magma eye wide, almost… devastated…
Akaza licks his lips, the blood is sweet on his tongue, almost mouth-wateringly good, he is already full, yet he feels the need to lick the crimson from his fingers, his arms, to suck it from his clothing, to savor it.
His gaze drops to the body before him, if it could even be called that, it’s been hallowed out from throat to pelvis, everything inbetween those two points devoured, the slick, red gleam of a spinal collum telling Akaza he truly had been thorough in his feasting.
The corpse’s arm his broken, torn clean from his body raggedly, hunks of flesh missing from the limb as if they had been chewed into holes.
The man’s shoulder had been picked down to stained bone, gleaming vermillion with cooling blood.
“...Akaza…what did you do?”
That's a stupid question, he thinks, he’s clearly killed and eaten a man, the question is why.
The memories of his rage-induced carnage take a moment to come to him, but then they do, and they are colorful.
He had torn the man off of the woman, had taken him by his hair and broken his arm with a clench of his fingers, interrupted his scream by bashing his face into the wall, broke his leg with a vicious stomp, smashed his face into the pavement, and then just kept going until the shrieking stopped, the man’s face mangled beyond recognition.
Hunger had gotten the better of him then, hunger, and the strange instinct to make sure the man wouldn’t hurt the woman again.
He wasn’t sure why he cared, just that he did.
Echoes of a muffled giggle filling his ears as he gutted the man, bent over him, and buried his face in his chest as he feasted, the sounds of his own gluttonous eating drowning out the soft sobs escaping the girl curled up against the wall, face buried in her hands as she tried to muffle the sounds of her terror.
The girl.
His head snapped over to her, and she jumped, sniffling, he stood, stepped over the carcass and reached out for her, blood-coated fingers outstretched for her.
In a blaze of golden fire his arm was gone and he jerks back, blinking in surprise, “Run!” Kyojurou barked harshly and the girl in the lovely pink kimono took off on unsteady feet, racing down the alleyway.
Akaza took a step to follow, to catch her, to-
Kyojurou was in front of him again, sword aimed for his neck, he blocked it with an arm, leaping back, he snarled, teeth bared, “Move!” He barked, he needed to get to her! She wasn’t safe yet! They were going to get her!
“No.” Kyojurou growled, feet sliding into another stance as he threw himself forward, sword a brilliant blaze of red gold flame that Akaza didn’t take the time to appreciate, the girl was leaving, he could hear her footsteps getting further and further away, he might not be able to find her again!
“Kyojurou move! I need to get to her!” “No you don’t! I won’t allow you to hurt her!” Hurt her? Akaza didn’t want to hurt her, no, he needed to save her , something terrible was coming, and he needed to get to her! “You don’t understand!” He shrieked, growing frantic as he blocked another attack and attempted to throw himself past Kyojurou but the blonde caught him once again, slicing off one of his legs and sending him stumbling for a moment.
“I won’t let you, Akaza!” “ NO!” He needed to get to her!
Frenzied, he tried again, leaping over the slayer to throw himself down the alley and after the girl, after Koy-
A sword sunk two inches into his neck, he wrenched himself around, hands finding their way to the sword, about to snap it when a calloused hand grabbed his own, “You won’t hurt her, Akaza!” “They’ll kill her!” He howled, straining as he tried to pry Kyojurou’s hand off his own, Kyojurou’s brows pinched, “Who will Akaza?” The demon thrashed, a scream on his lips, “They’ll poison her! I have to get to her!”
“Akaza!” Kyojurou barked, nearly a snarl, and Akaza slumped, fight draining from him as a sob escaped his throat, tears spilling down his cheeks, hot, nearly burning, his chest feeling as if it was being crushed under the weight of the heavens.
“...They’ll kill her Kyojurou… you have to let me get to her, I have to save her… I can’t lose her, not again… I can’t lose her again…” He sniffled, gasping around the white-hot press of nichirin on his throat, Kyojurou’s expression only twisted further, some weird mix of concern and dread coating his face.
“Akaza… You’ve never spoken to that girl before…” No, no that couldn’t be right, she was important, he needed to save her, she was in danger and it was his job to keep her safe, he shook his head as best he could around the sword and Kyojurou pressed closer. “Akaza, who is she?”
Akaza frowned, what? Who was she? She was- was-
Her name- what was her name?
Koy- Koy something?
“I-I don’t know-” He sobbed, still, the desperation didn’t abate, he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore, she was gone, like a ghost, leaving no trace she had ever even been here besides his memory of her.
“Akaza. You don’t know her.” “No- no I do- she’s-she’s not safe!” He wailed, a fresh round of tears streaking down his cheeks, turning pink as they mixed with the copious amount of blood coating his skin.
Kyojurou shook his head, “ No Akaza, you don’t. She’s just a random girl, just someone who looks like someone you knew.” But that couldn’t be true, right?
The hashira’s face melted into something soft, pity. “Whoever you think she is, she’s not.”
Akaza’s voice was weak, wet and wobbly with grief, pathetic as he made his juvenile request.
“...promise?”
Kyojurou’s voice was shaky, breathless, and, for some reason, pained.
“I promise.”