Chapter Text
Nezuko was eighteen years old when Giyuu and Sanemi started dying. She'd completely forgotten about the slayer mark's curse after the first time she'd heard of it, but when Giyuu and Sanemi invited everyone over to explain what they believed was happening to them nearing Sanemi's birthday, she was fearful. She didn't want to believe it at first, simply saying that Sanemi could have been getting sick by normal means, but neither seemed to think of it that way, and it would prevail that they were right.
Sanemi's last days were spent doing as much as he could with the little energy as he had. Giyuu and him were going out to eat every night or having Tengen grab them the best meals he could get, and they even went to Sanemi's childhood home together, but he still ended up laid in a futon in his final moments. Nobody besides Giyuu was actually at the house watching Sanemi die on his final day, as per request. Goodbyes had been said right before and mourning was to be done after, so that meant Giyuu was alone for the rest of the day after seeing Sanemi off to the afterlife. Nezuko didn't know if she liked the idea of that, but it wasn't her say.
Sanemi was more than happy to be buried on Mount Sagiri with Giyuu, which then meant that they all had to take a trip up there to bring his body. Giyuu watched his lover get buried in a grave near the rest of Urokodaki's children, then watched his own grave get dug. Once again, Nezuko had no say in whether or not he should have been there for it all instead of back at her house living the rest of his days worry free. Giyuu's eyes had gone back to a certain shade of blue he hadn't adorned since he was a young, angsty man, but still there was something light in him within the notion of his passing. Nezuko noticed how dark the shade of his clothing had gotten as well. At least he was able to laugh when Tengen told him he looked beautiful in black.
Extra movement would have been unnecessary and ridiculous to do, even if Giyuu did want to go back to his estate. He needed to be with people, with Urokodaki. In the end, for the remaining months, Giyuu and the entire bunch of Kamado-butterfly family stayed cramped into Urokodaki's little cabin, and Tengen, the wives, and their now three children stayed at a hotel nearby. All of them were more than a bit uncomfortable, having to spend months away from their own houses just to be around their dying friend, but no matter how many times Giyuu tried to tell all of them to leave, they wouldn't. This was how it should be. This was the best way it could end for him, which, if you asked him (and Nezuko did), wasn't too bad at all.
If Giyuu was learning to accept death, he needed to accept the rest of his life, whether or not he agreed every time Nezuko would tell him so.
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Nezuko had her head on Giyuu's lap. It was something she'd passed on to every adult that she had a close relationship with. Mitsuri had learned to cuddle like that, and so had the Uzui's, and now Giyuu, because it was what her mother did when Nezuko was little. Giyuu's hand had a cold, frail feeling to it as he ran it through her hair. She didn't like associating those words with someone who was only almost twenty five, but she couldn't deny the slowly worsening state that he'd been in. Of course, he started declining directly after Sanemi's death, far earlier than he should've. She wished the last months of Giyuu's life could have been spent not also mourning his lover, yet Giyuu seemed to accept it. Acceptance was all there was for him after all. Something like this was not outrun or outbeat.
They were close enough to the fire that she could reach out and burn her fingers on the stove if she wanted, but instead, her hands stayed curled near her chest. The Uzui's left on the first day of January, they could only stay at the hotel for a couple months, but she didn't blame them. And they did come up the mountain every week when they were staying, so they did all they could do. They'd all given Giyuu the tightest of hugs before leaving, shedding a few tears to their own degrees. So now it was just Giyuu, the kamados, Inosuke and Zenitsu, and Kanao and Aoi. And Urokodaki, of course. Snow had fallen a few nights ago, half was melted from the sun during the day and the rest hardened into the ground during night. The not-quite-winter and not-quite-spring months were always hard. After this, they'd be even worse. But, acceptance, right?
"Giyuu," Nezuko addressed, "What do you think about your death? You never talk about it."
"Why would I talk about it, it'd only freak you guys out. I don't think you need to know about my thoughts."
"It's still important to me whether you think I need to know or not."
Giyuu let out a sigh. Aoi and Tanjiro looked over in interest from their places at the small table in the middle of the room. Giyuu and Nezuko didn't face them, but Giyuu spoke just loud enough for them to hear. "I'm waiting for it. I wouldn't necessarily say it's something I would want if I were to still be in good health, but there doesn't seem to be an option of living and thriving for me now. I'd rather welcome in death than live at the expense of myself, especially now that... I've lost Sanemi. What scares me is... well, I don't know, I think it's just human nature to feel scared of death even if logically you're ready for it. What I regret is a lot, but nothing that weighs me down enough to make me want to live. And what I'm excited for is release, or whatever may come after. Is that enough for you?"
Nezuko thought over every word he said before she could answer. I accept it's coming, I'm scared of all of it, I regret a lot, I'm excited for the end. "I understand," she said.
"I do wish I could stay around longer for you. I know this isn't ideal, I know I'd want to live if life would look like how it did a year ago. But it's just not how that goes, and that's okay... I guess it's okay at least. I was happy. And you can continue to be happy, and to live, without me. The Uzui's still have room for you all. You aren't completely alone."
"I know that."
"I'll miss holding babies and cuddling you and waking up every morning with Sanemi. But Maybe I'll get to do that again. I just need a little transition between this life and the next, that's all."
Not even Inosuke said something after the quiet conversation. Nezuko didn't even know if he was hearing anything that was said, or if anyone besides her was really that into knowing exactly what Giyuu was thinking. But they both appreciated the silence. Tanjiro ended up scooting behind Giyuu after a few minutes and leaning his head forward to Giyuu's back. Giyuu removed his hand from Nezuko's hair to Tanjiro's hand and squeezed.
Urokodaki came inside a few minutes after, holding new wood for the fire and coming over to scoot Nezuko and Giyuu out of the way. He'd been quiet. He was a stoic man in many ways, and was ever since Nezuko and Tanjiro first came to him, but now it was even moreso a part of him. Pre-grief was an odd thing that did odd things to people. Yet, through all his quiet, unnerving thoughtfulness and silence, Urokodaki was also probably the most attentive to Giyuu's needs as far as sickness and fragility went. While Nezuko treated Giyuu like a parent or a giant teddy bear because she needed to for her own comfort, Urokodaki treated him like a little boy, a dearest son. He'd go over to Giyuu's futon every night before he went to bed and basically tuck him in. He'd even give him extra food and soup out of his own bowls and off his own plates.
This, and every little relationship Giyuu had in the confines of the small cabin and wide forest around them, was what he deserved. Nezuko wasn't happy about his death, but she was happy about his remaining love.
"Alright," Urokodaki said, "Let's eat dinner."
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February. The eighth of February. Nezuko had woken up before everyone else. She watched Giyuu sleep, face calm but pouty as he laid completely tucked under the blankets of his futon. Giyuu was still such a young man, a very nice looking one at that. Nezuko loved how beautiful of a person he was, inside and out. She put her hand through his hair until his eyelashes started fluttering and he opened his eyes, but he only spared her a glance before going back to sleep.
Giyuu woke up fully at noon. He could barely sit up until an hour later, where he all but hobbled to the little bowl of rice left for him on the counter and started eating.
"Do you want Salmon Daikon?" Urokodaki asked.
"No. I've had enough these last few days, I think I'm finally ready to eat something else," Giyuu chuckled.
The air was more stiff and cold than comfortable. No matter how much any of them had prepared for his passing, or tried to figure out how to make it all feel safe and relieving or warm and loving, it was cold.
Giyuu ate at the table with everyone lurking behind and beside him. They couldn't say anything about it. It felt like it was breaking a law. But they were waiting. Maybe they were waiting for Giyuu to simply announce, "well, I'm dying!" or perhaps they thought he'd fall over and collapse. Nothing of the sort came, and yet they couldn't help but wait and wait.
Giyuu ate silently, not acknowledging the overwhelming amount of eyes on him. Nezuko wanted to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, to apologize for pestering him so much when he was simply trying to eat, staring like he was already a corpse. But, like the whole day, she was frozen. Everyone was frozen.
"I'm going to go outside," Giyuu said after he was done eating, silverware clattering on the dense wood of the table. "I don't want any of you to come out for two hours."
Nezuko felt her face fall instantly. She stayed back behind Tanjiro, looking over his shoulder as Giyuu put on his old haori (which he hadn't worn for months) and opened the door. She couldn't say anything to him, and she didn't even run up and give him a hug. She watched him leave with her limbs filled with cement and her heartbeat as strong as a dam breaking, standing with her five friends and Urokodaki.
They all stayed, doing absolutely nothing for two hours, just as Giyuu requested. There was cleaning or cooking or sewing or games that could have been done, but nobody did anything. Nezuko stayed sat on Giyuu's futon near the furnace and watched the flames fluctuate between ranging hands when the wind blew outside and small sparks when they hadn't gotten attention. Kanao and Aoi would occasionally whisper things to one another, and Inosuke would talk with Tanjiro, but beyond that there was hardly life among everyone in the cabin, until the time passed.
"Nezuko, come out with me," Urokodaki said.
Everyone stood up. Nezuko was actually the last out of the door, funny enough. She was expecting the sound of gasps that came when they'd all stepped out.
Giyuu hadn't walked far at all. Everyone besides her, Urokodaki, and Tanjiro stayed right where they were, as the three of them walked to the slumped figure on the other side of the giant pine tree.
Giyuu, last night, had changed out of his black clothing and into the familiar blue yukata he wore a lot when Sanemi was alive. In the lightly frosted woods, the colors made him look like an angel, even if it was covered with the bright, contrasting colors of his beautiful haori. He had sat down to die, knees up to his body and arm huddled inside the opening of the yukata, bundled like a newborn in a way, a good way to be introduced to death and a new life. He wasn't frozen or traumatizingly cold to the eyes, just a little chilly, lips pale and tiny veins above the eyes easy to see.
They stood over him for a good minute before Urokodaki bent down, groaned like the old man he was, and picked Giyuu up.
"As hard as it'll be burying him when it's this cold, we can't just leave him to rot. We must bury him today," Urokodaki said.
"I'll do it with you," Tanjiro mumbled.
"You don't need to."
"We do need to. It's Giyuu."
Urokodaki had Tanjiro and Nezuko get the shovels and the dirt in a wagon he had saved from the cold. The others started trailing behind like ducklings, all solemn but motivated enough to climb to the burial grounds at least.
Nezuko felt the time around her slow. As the rest of the world outside of the mountain went on, as the Uzui's enjoyed a chilly feburary day, as lives were made and taken, Nezuko was stuck in her head, in a place that-- in the moment-- was a screaming mess. This was Giyuu, being held in the arms of his trainer and father figure like a drunken prince and carried to where head be covered by dirt, never to be admired or held or touched again. This was Giyuu, the only adult besides Urokodaki himself she really had. Giyuu told her the Uzui's were still there, and they were still there, but they weren't what she wanted or needed anymore. The one man who was, was Giyuu.
Urokodaki had to hand Giyuu to Tanjiro so he could politely lower him into the spot. His hand lingered on the back of Giyuu's neck. Nezuko could only tell Tanjiro had begun to cry when she saw his shoulders start to shake. He nearly fell into the grave like a lunatic before Urokodaki managed to pull his leaning form back.
Giyuu had given Nezuko a lot. He'd saved her from becoming like how she had after her father died, shut-in and lonely, and he'd taught her simple lessons in life she might not have figured out alone. But like every mentor, like every parent or sibling or guardian, he had to say goodbye and move on to something new, or maybe nothing at all, maybe just rest.
After everything he'd done for her, she wished him a good sleep, and she silently thanked him for saving her that day in the woods all those years ago.