Chapter Text
Later, Azami would understand that her choices were the result of exhaustion and the late summer heat that was making her pregnancy nearly unbearable. (Though she still found it very hard to forgive herself.) At the time, she felt like she only had two options – either run to get the police or get Giyuu. In the end it came down to practicality. Giyuu was closer. She was very pregnant and carrying Haru in her arms, who was heavy and wailing, in part due to the heat, but also because Azami was clutching her hard in her fear.
And Azami was afraid. It was an emotion that she was well accustomed to concealing behind a mask of calm in her role as the village physician, usually in order to assuage someone else’s concerns. But now she felt dread and anxiety, and she feared that if she didn’t act quickly enough, someone would get hurt, and damn if her body wasn’t giving her a hell of a time getting to a place where she could get help.
She moved as quickly as she could, barely suppressing a cry of relief when she finally entered the door of the infirmary.
“Giyuu,” she called out breathlessly and in an instant he was there, followed swiftly by Tanjirou, who was visiting for a few days. Azami looked at their faces, which were both drawn in concern. Giyuu’s hand moved to her face and then rested on the back of Haru’s head, his eyes scanning both of them.
“There is a dog,” Azami gasped, straining to be heard over Haru’s cries. “Near the market…it is rabid…there are children.”
Giyuu’s expression changed from concern to something dark in a way Azami had only seen on one other occasion, and it was over three years ago before they were married when they’d been in danger. But at the time, she had no idea how dangerous Giyuu himself could be.
“Giyuu, I can run for the police–” Tanjirou began, but Giyuu cut him off, although he did not look at him when he spoke.
“No guns,” Giyuu stated, his voice toneless. “Wait here.”
Azami understood his reticence relating to guns - he had been shot after all.
Giyuu moved swiftly to the back of the infirmary and returned with the sword that he used to spar with Sanemi. All at once, the reality of what was about to happen crashed down onto Azami, and words started to come from her mouth in a rush. “Giyuu, you must be careful. The disease is in the mouth. If someone were to be bitten…”
“I understand,” he replied quietly.
Azami’s concern crested when she saw the look on his face as he moved past her. His eyes were shuttered, his face a mask of death. She looked at Tanjirou who regarded her gravely.
“It will be alright, Azami-san,” Tanjirou said softly, but there was a note of unease in his voice. “He will be back in a minute or two.”
But Azami felt panic surge through her, not because she thought that something might happen to him, but because she was seized by the idea that something was already happening to him. Without thinking she handed Haru to Tanjirou before she turned to follow her husband.
She’d grown to understand and love his placid nature, even his occasional aloofness, because beneath it existed gentleness and deep humanity. But when he’d passed her, his face was utterly expressionless, eyes cold and empty, shoulders taut and set. Even the way he moved was alien, as though he wasn’t walking at all, but gliding, drifting away on an errand that was eerily familiar only to him.
She followed him at a distance.
“Go back to the infirmary, Azami,” Giyuu said without turning to look at her, his voice hollow.
But she didn’t listen as she followed him to the market.
(What would haunt her later, was that he did not hesitate.)
The dog was terribly ill, that much was clear. Heartbreakingly, it was being trailed by members of its family – a father and his two children. They cried out its name miserably, but kept their distance. It staggered, looking from side to side with eyes that rolled in its head, seemingly unaware of the cries from the children who had likely been its friends during a happier time in its life. Saliva bubbled and foamed in its mouth, pooling at the edges to run down the sides of its face and onto its chest. It’s mouth was moving, making an odd clicking sound as it brought its teeth together again and again unnaturally. There were three other children pressed against the side of a building, one of them crying, while the other two tried to console him, shushing him to keep quiet. The dog shifted its head toward them and stumbled in their direction, but Giyuu stepped between them. The dog looked up at him, letting out something between a growl and a wheeze and made a half-hearted attempt to lunge.
The movement of Giyuu’s arm was so swift that Azami barely saw it. She wasn’t sure what she expected, and she had a moment to feel concerned that there would be a mess, that blood would splatter everywhere, possibly get on the children or Giyuu. But the blade passed through the dog’s neck so swiftly and with such power that it seemed to hang there for a moment as if it was still attached, before the legs crumpled and the head slid forward onto the ground, the dog collapsing into a heap, the blood flowing out in spasmodic gush that pooled around its body. It happened so quickly that no one had the time to even so much as gasp.
The family broke into sobs, even the father, and Azami mourned for them, as she knew them, and the dog as well. It had been to the infirmary before for far less significant ailments over the years. People did not often seek care for their pets, especially not at her infirmary, but she made allowances for the family as she understood this dog was special to them. It had gone missing some time during the past month, and that had been hard enough. To have it return like this and then meet such an end…it broke her heart.
Giyuu stood for a few moments with his back turned, the sword held out and to the side as if he’d frozen in place. Then he straightened, the sword returning to a neutral position near his body, and he did not appear to so much as look at the family, a fact that Azami marked.
Stoic, yes, but always compassionate - that was what he was to her patients. Their patients. But now he was detached, and didn’t seem to hear their cries. Azami watched as he turned, hoping to see something of her husband return, but he remained foreign to her, utterly removed, refusing to meet her gaze, even as he passed her on his way back to the infirmary. She looked after him for a few moments, but chose to stay to see to the family and the remains of the dog, as she did not want anyone coming near it until it could be properly contained and the people were safe from harm.
***
When she returned to the infirmary an hour later, she discovered that Giyuu was not there. She was met at the door by her mother who was holding Haru, who stretched out her hands for her mother. Azami took the child into her arms before she faced her mother.
“Where is he?” she asked breathlessly.
“He is at home,” Emika replied softly, caressing the back of Haru’s hair as she spoke. “He seemed…not himself.”
Azami scanned the infirmary looking for Tanjirou.
“Tanjirou-kun went with him. He told me what happened,” Emika stated before Azami could ask. “He also looked unwell.”
Azami frowned. “I imagine this whole episode has stirred up memories for both of them, but Giyuu was….” she trailed off. “I haven’t ever really seen him look quite like that before.”
“War does terrible things to people,” Emika said softly, placing her hand on her daughter’s arm. “Come, let’s go home. He may need us.”
***
Haru fell asleep in Azami’s arms on the short walk home, so she was able to hand her off to her mother as she looked for Giyuu in the house, but he was nowhere to be found. She hurried onto the engawa at the rear of the house where she found Tanjirou sitting and staring out into the garden. He tilted his head up to meet her gaze. Tanjirou always had a smile. Always . But now it was gone, his features awash in concern.
“Tanjirou-kun?” Azami began, faltering, unsure of what to ask, as it was obvious that neither of them was alright.
“...he just needs….” Tanjirou blew out a breath and shook his head. “To be honest…I’m not sure what he needs.”
Azami wanted to ask what happened, but she didn’t want to overstep, and didn't want to dredge up more bad memories. She was angry with herself for not going straight to the police, that she had placed this burden on her husband without thinking of what it might bring up.
What being asked to kill something might do to him.
She sighed, shaking her head. “I’ve come to depend on him so much at the infirmary that I sometimes forget and think of him as a physician, that his detachment is like mine – professional,” she said, more to herself than to Tanjirou. But she knew better – his detachment was evidence of a wound – many wounds – and she feared she'd just inadvertently opened a big one.
Tanjirou stirred, shifting toward her.
“It isn’t your fault, Azami-san,” he said softly, gently, and she silently swore to herself, as she realized that he’d probably smelled her remorse.
Was there no end to the damage she could do in one day?
She gave Tanjirou a look that she hoped was reassuring before stepping down from the engawa to walk to Giyuu. When she reached his side and glanced at his face, she could see that he was staring out into nothing. She reached out a hand and placed it on his arm. He didn’t stir.
A lump formed in her throat, and she struggled, unsure of what to say.
He surprised her when he spoke.
“I never told you about Tanjirou.” he said wearily, before going completely silent and still, and she couldn’t even hear him breathing. She stepped around to face him and noticed that his gaze was no longer empty, instead he looked haunted. Dread bottomed out inside of her. Giyuu had told her many things since they were married, and just when she thought they’d reached the end, just when she thought she’d heard the worst possible thing, there would be more.
Azami waited but he didn’t go on. She glanced at Tanjirou, who hadn’t moved but who had turned his head away. She returned to Giyuu’s side, taking his hand and placing her head on his shoulder, deciding not to push.
***
Dinner that evening was quiet, despite Emika’s efforts to inspire conversation.
“Tanjirou-kun, how is your sweet sister doing? I hear that the new baby is just lovely.”
“She is well, Emika-san. I will tell her you asked about her,” Tanjirou replied softly, before lapsing into silence.
“Azami, darling, how is your little bet going with Hoshi-chan? Which one of you will give birth first, I wonder?”
Azami gave her mother a wan smile, raising her brows. “I’m working on it, Okaa-san. But this little one doesn’t seem to want to come out to meet the family.”
“Well, we will be very happy to meet him when he finally decides to grace us with his presence,” Emika stated heartily, winking at Azami. Azami watched Giyuu for any reaction to her mother’s statement, as he and Sanemi had their own bets going as to whether their unborn children would be boys or girls. But he didn’t so much as blink, he just stared out into a middle distance at something none of them could see.
They ate quietly after that.
***
Emika took Haru into her room with her for the evening in order to allow Azami time alone with Giyuu. When Tanjirou went to take a bath, Azami stopped Giyuu in the hallway leading to their room.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
His eyes drifted to her face.
“I didn’t think about what it might mean to ask you to take care of that dog. I was frightened and I didn’t think it through.”
His brow furrowed before he spoke. “You did nothing wrong. It needed to be done.”
Azami waited, wanting him to elaborate, to tell her something about what was going on in his head, but his gaze slipped away to the floor. He began to move away toward their room but she pressed closer to him, trying again.
“It seems like it upset you…and I want to know if I can help,” she said in a pleading tone, feeling about as help less as she’d ever been. “You said something about Tanjirou–”
He flinched, even though he’d only said the words to her that evening, and she stopped speaking.
What had she done? What terrible, dark thing had she summoned in his mind?
“I’m not sure if I can,” he said, still avoiding her gaze. “Sometimes it still feels like this life is borrowed…like I don’t quite fit in this body. I don’t know what to do with my hands…my hand…without a sword in it. I spent so long in the dark, it’s hard to see in the light.” The words were spoken in a detached tone, as though he was giving a report, or speaking about someone else. His eyes seemed unfocused and remained turned down to the ground.
“Have you not spoken about the end of it with Azami-san, Giyuu?” Tanjirou’s voice came softly from down the hall. Azami hadn’t heard him emerge from the bath. He walked calmly toward them, his brows raised in question.
Giyuu just looked at Tanjirou and didn’t respond, so after several moments Tanjirou turned to Azami and fixed her with a compassionate gaze.
“Years ago, when I told you about the Demon Slayer Corps, we didn’t get into details. Has Giyuu told you about the final battle…about me…in particular?”
Azami wracked her brain, trying to remember what Giyuu had shared over the years.
“I don’t know if it was ever a single unbroken tale, Tanjirou-kun. I’ve kind of gotten it in bits and pieces over time…” she trailed off, and looked at her husband before continuing. “Mostly he answered my questions when some bit of information or a story came up and I thought to ask more about whatever it was.”
Tanjirou smiled at that, turning his gaze to Giyuu with the same compassion in his eyes and nodded his head.
“That sounds about right. You’re not much for elaborating, are you Giyuu?”
Giyuu didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink, and Azami’s heart fell.
“I do remember him telling me that you saved him!” Azami said suddenly in a subdued, but triumphant voice, glad to have been able to wrest some bit of information out of the morass her brain had become during the course of the day. “You saved him from a demon who had broken his sword with a punch.”
Tanjirou looked down and chuckled to himself before he lifted his gaze to Giyuu, and Azami could swear she saw silver rim his eyes. “You would choose to focus on that one part of the story, my friend,” Tanjirou said softly. “While I’m glad that I did it of course, your life being rather dear to me, many things transpired on that terrible day. It’s hard to say that saving your life wasn’t the most significant…but I think most people, including you, would agree that it was not.”
Azami was more than a little taken aback by this statement, as saving Giyuu’s life was of the utmost importance to her, but she remained silent.
“The full tale is too long, and quite honestly, much of it is not my story to tell,” Tanjirou said carefully. “But with your permission, Giyuu, I’d like to tell Azami-san the part that may make today’s events a little easier to understand.”
Giyuu took a breath and held Tanjirou’s gaze for many moments. Azami was surprised to see that his eyes were also a bit watery, but then he said softly, “It is your story to tell.”
They moved back to the engawa as evening had turned to night, and although summer was coming to an end, the air was still warm. The trees swayed gently in the breeze.
Tanjirou sat on one side, and Azami sat as close to Giyuu as she felt she could without crowding him. She already felt like she’d violated him in some way that day. He was at her back, and she placed a hand on the surface of the wood between them, extending as much as she could toward him.
“I don’t know if we’ve ever really talked about what happened that day…not with one another anyway,” Tanjirou began, looking at Giyuu when he spoke. “I’ll spare Azami from the details of the battle – I don’t think they are really the crux of what’s important.”
Azami didn’t look back to see if Giyuu nodded, but either he consented or Tanjirou chose to go on of his own accord.
“Almost all of what I’m about to tell you I found out from others, from Zenitsu and Inosuke, mostly, but also Nezuko and Kanao. The battle was won and the demon king, Muzan, was dead. And I…was dead.”
Azami gasped, her hand going to her mouth. “What?”
“I’d been killed in the battle. Many things had happened to me…I’d been maimed, my arm cleaved from my body.” He looked down and gestured to his withered arm. “I was broken in dozens of ways, and I’d also been infected with the demon king’s poison, we all had, but perhaps me most of all. I’m not sure. All I know is that the Kakushi checked me, and I had no pulse and I wasn’t breathing.
Azami was breathless, and she couldn’t help it when her gaze drifted to Tanjirou’s arm. She’d often wondered what had happened to make such an unusual injury occur, and now she felt puzzlement, but also foreboding.
If it had been cut off…how…
“I was gone long enough for people to begin to mourn,” Tanjirou said, choking softly on the last word, and a tear slipped down his cheek. “They said Giyuu came to me, even though he too was grievously injured, and took my remaining hand in his.”
Tanjirou was silent then, and he stared off. Azami was horrified, and she hazarded a look over her shoulder. Giyuu’s expression was heartbreaking – he looked pained, but like he was trying to keep it small – contained – and she felt helpless and guilty that she’d caused this story to come up and hurt him.
“Then, and again, I know this only because other people told me - I awoke and I was a demon. I was healed, in a manner of speaking. I have no memory of it at all, but I hear it was terrible to behold. Because of things that I vaguely remember from later, I believe that I was possessed by some part of Muzan, that he had designs to live on in me. But due to the courage and loyalty of my friends and my sister–”
“Loyalty?” Giyuu hissed bitterly, and the sound was so foreign on his lips that Azami turned slowly, afraid of what she might behold, that perhaps her sweet husband had turned into something awful as a result of the telling of this tale. But she found his face contorted into something she’d never seen – terrible sadness and anger. He continued.
“I tried to kill you. I was ready to put you down…immediately. It was duty…to–to those that were…to the ones who were left,” Giyuu said miserably. Azami had never heard him stutter. Pause to find a word, yes, but never stumble over his words.
Tanjirou smiled then, and he was gentle when he spoke. “Yes, I believe that is true, Giyuu. But I also think there is more to the story, and if Nezuko were here she would say the same. That you acted to save others is indisputable, of course. But I believe that you also acted to save me, to stop me from becoming a thing that I would hate, a thing that I’d fought against from the moment I’d learned of their existence.”
Tanjirou was silent, perhaps in order to allow the information to settle in. When he spoke again, his voice held such gratitude and affection, that Azami felt tears come to her own eyes.
“Nezuko recalls that when it was clear that I was fighting it, you were the first to come to her side, to try to draw me back, to use your voice to summon me from the edge of a fate worse than death. You changed course so quickly - it is hard to imagine - to go from knowing you had to kill me, to trusting me and daring to hope, and then trying to save me. I cannot imagine what that must have done to your heart.”
Azami turned back to Giyuu and watched him war with this new narrative, for that is what she believed she was seeing, a man who had lived with a version of a story about himself that he hated. And yet here was a different one that cast his actions in a totally different light.
“I don’t know, Tanjirou,” he began, but then quieted, staring down at his hand.
“I do,” was Tanjirou’s simple response. He took a deep breath and then sighed. “With the dog today – you had to make a choice – to take a life, one that had been corrupted, but that was also beloved. And I doubt you hesitated to do what had to be done.”
Things came together in Azami’s mind in a way that was somehow both terrible and beautiful, and she wondered about her husband, at the things that perhaps she still did not know. She turned to him again, and this time she reached for his hand - for comfort - but also to reassure him. He finally looked at her, and something of the man that she knew was back. He shifted his hand to run his thumb across the top of hers.
She turned back to Tanjirou.
“Thank you, for telling that story Tanjirou. I can imagine that it was not easy for you.”
Tanjirou smiled, and it warmed Azami’s heart as it always did. “It is a simple thing to do to help a friend, especially one who has apparently been suffering in silence for more than four years with a burden he doesn’t deserve.” Tanjirou stood up and Azami saw a look pass between him and Giyuu. It only lasted a moment or two, but it seemed as though something was settled between them. Or if not that, at least set aside. Maybe that was just what she hoped. He said his farewells for the night and walked back into the house.
Azami said nothing more, but soon stood and drew Giyuu into their room. She elected not to try to get him to talk, choosing action instead. She pulled him into her futon for the night, and he acquiesced to her wishes for comfort and connection without too much persuasion. Perhaps he required it as much as she did. Afterward they remained in a tangle, clinging to one another, and Azami waited for Giyuu to finally succumb to exhaustion before she was able to fall asleep.
***
Sometime near dawn, Azami awoke to a sensation of pain that was both foreign and faintly familiar, and when she reached beneath the coverlet and pressed her hand to the futon, she felt the telltale damp against her skin.
“Giyuu,” she said quietly, trying to hide the mounting panic and excitement from her voice.
He was awake instantly, leaning up on an elbow to look at her face, almost as if he knew.
“I hope Hoshi-san is ready to lose that bet,” Azami said with more than a little swagger in her tone.
Giyuu sat up quickly and stood, a small smile on his lips, and Azami was relieved to see that his eyes were clear and back to normal as he scanned the room to try to track down clothing to put on. Even though he remained outwardly calm, when he settled for a flimsy, silk kimono that Azami usually wore on her way to the bath, she knew that he was distracted by his own nerves.
He stepped into the hall and slid the door closed to protect her privacy as he called for Tanjirou.
A few moments later:
“Whoa…Giyuu, that’s an interesting choice—“
“The midwife - please run to fetch the midwife,” Giyuu said with urgency, but Azami detected a note of excitement and it made her heart sing. She knew better than anyone, Giyuu was happiest in his role as a father.
He would be alright.
“The baby? It’s coming?”
“Yes, it is time,” Giyuu replied.
“I’m leaving…tell Azami-san I’ll be back shortly,” Tanjirou called as he moved quickly down the hall. “You should probably change before the midwife gets here!” he called from somewhere near the front door, and there was laughter in his voice.
Giyuu returned to the room and started looking around on the floor, probably trying to figure out what discarded clothing to put on. His hair was sticking up in all angles, and his face…his face! Even with his calm gaze, he still glowed with excitement.
“I think the kimono looks good on you,” Azami teased from the futon. “And I am in need of some clothing as well, husband.”
Giyuu stilled and looked at her, and she could practically see him starting to panic. It didn’t happen often and it made her smile. He started shifting through her clothing that had been left on the floor urgently, trying to help her first.
It was always his way to help others first.
As another minor contraction clenched her womb, Azami hoped Giyuu was still wearing her fluttery kimono when the midwife arrived.