Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The smell of blood was a familiar companion.

The sight of a slaughtered family even more.

And the guilt? That’s always been a part of him.

So he does what he usually does - takes survey of the surroundings, tries to ignore the shame and push back the first stirrings of self-incrimination as he buries another handful of human bodies. He thinks of Sabito, of how he would’ve been able to save them had he been the one alive, before adding another tally to his failures.

And then he looks south, tracks the trail of blood and footprints, and then disappears.

—

She’s not as fast as her brother at scaling down the mountain, not as built and athletic as he is. Not as warm and kind as her infinitely good nii-chan.

But the one thing they did share was their thick head and she will make this demon slayer listen if it’s the last thing she does.

“He’s my brother,” She says, gripping the hatchet tight in her hands. She looks for openings, flicks her eyes at the man with the sword to her struggling brother, desperately reaching out for her, “He’s kind and he’s selfless and he almost died trying to protect our family.”

She can’t feel her feet, can’t feel anything outside of the mind numbing fear that she was going to lose the last good thing in her life.

She’d rather die than watch her sun disappear.

“So help me, if you lay your hand on him one more time,”

Taking stance, she bares her teeth into a facsimile of a grin.

“I’m going to break it.”

—

He’s surprised to see a human protecting a demon.

Even more so to see a demon protecting a human.

He’d seen newly turned ones losing themselves to the process, to the insatiable thirst of need and want. Had borne witness to everything in between, from the gradual change to the aftermath. He’d stopped some before they ate their own flesh and blood. He’d been too late more often than not.

But he’s never hesitated, never failed to take their heads off and that was his only consolation.

Until now.

What is he doing, was his first thought, staring at the boy with bleeding shoulders and elongated fangs, an immovable mountain standing between him and his sister.

His eyes glowed bright crimson, slitted and sharp and -

Giyuu feels his world tilt.

A memory flashes across his vision - peach hair and silver eyes, a scar on his cheek. He’d been absolutely ruthless when needed, unforgiving in the all ways that counted. But when he smiled, Sabito had always been -

Warm.

He blinks at the demon, at the creature he’d sworn to kill. Stares at the girl, unconscious and brazen and overprotective of her demon brother, at how alive and whole and uneaten she was.

He locks gazes with the boy, sees pass the veins popping out on his forehead, the unnatural visage of what he’d always classified as a killer and thought -

This demon has really kind eyes. 

—

“Giyuu?”

Urokodaki blinks, once in surprise and twice to  ascertain whether or not he’s imagining his old pupil standing in front of him. 

Giyuu’s eyes soften and very abruptly, Urokodaki's struck by the lack of bitterness and hatred in them.

“It’s been a while,” He says awkwardly, and then tackles on a hasty, "Sensei." He shifts the girl he’d been supporting on his back with one hand while tugging another person from behind. 

A small boy stumbles from his hiding place behind Giyuu’s legs.

Giyuu's lips curl slightly, and it wasn't a smile - that isn't something Giyuu does often and with Urokodaki no less - but it still breaks his heart to see how sad it is.

“I come bearing news.”

Urokodaki rids himself of these thoughts and slides his gaze to his other guest.

He then makes eye contact with the glowing crimson eyes of a demon child.

“What- ”

Giyuu interrupts him before he could finish his sentence, “The girl on my back is Nezuko. This,” The little boy’s eyes droop, almost as if tired, “is Tanjirou,” Giyuu then says, “They need your help.”

Urokodaki takes a deep breath from behind his mask and lets it all out in a quiet hiss, “The boy’s a demon.”

Giyuu nods, “I’m aware,” and, as if to contradict his statement, the little boy yawns, burrows himself closer into Giyuu’s haori and purrs.

Urokodaki can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Giyuu makes a face, “I’m in...a bind.”

Snapping out of his stupor, Urokodaki makes a gesture, “Give the girl to me. Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine, just tired.” Giyuu says, shifting to hand the girl over to him, doing a little graceless tango before he does. They’re not sure where exactly they stood with each other, but that’s to be expected when it’s been years, practically eons, with Urokodaki shouldering a price that he knows, he can never pay Giyuu back.

The boy, the demon that didn’t even reach Giyuu’s hips, stumbles as Giyuu slides Nezuko off his back and into Urokodaki’s arms. Before he could face plant, Giyuu quickly catches him by the armpits and sets him on his hip.

The boy’s eyes crinkles and he lets out a delighted squeal.

“Huh,” Urokodaki murmurs, “What in god’s name?”

Giyuu’s deadpan almost pulled a chuckle out of him. It doesn’t however, not when he'd lost the right to have something as easy as that with Giyuu.

“He’s...” Giyuu starts, frowning contemplatively. The boy - Tanjirou - seemed to have gotten over his initial delight and was now electing to use Giyuu’s shoulders as a pillow, “Different. Incredibly so.” 

“I’d say,” Urokodaki heads off inside with the other following closely behind after a brief second of hesitation. He sets the unconscious girl down on the futon he hadn’t bothered tucking away this morning, “You're still...alive."

He’d always lacked tact - Sabito said so himself -  and he winces when the word carries through the wind like the metal clang of a guillotine.

Something flashes across Giyuu's eyes. Hastily,  Urokodaki diverts the conversation to something a little less traumatic.

"Anyways, how old is he?”

Giyuu stares at him blankly, before accepting his poor attempt at prevarication.

“Thirteen,” He states as a matter of factly. Urokodaki startles at that, “But he can change his size. He’s small, and I’m guessing it’s to expend less energy and therefore require less... sustenance.”

Urokodaki is the first to break eye contact, and he chances a look at the demon again. His eyes had closed shut, face tucked into Giyuu’s neck and little fingers clutching his haori tight. If he didn’t know his old pupil better, he’d say that he’d almost looked fond.

“I injured his shoulder,” Giyuu then adds on, “So he’d need considerably more sustenance to recover.”

They can’t seem stop staring at the little boy in Giyuu’s arms, at evidence that Tanjirou had obviously vetoed the idea of consuming humans in favour of a well-deserved nap.

“And yet, he hasn’t eaten a single person,” Giyuu whispers, wonder and disbelief and something so much more heartbreaking than all of them combined nestled in a single quiet whisper, “Not his family. Not his sister. Not me.” 

He then looks at him, tentatively, and also incredibly imploring.

“His eyes were kind when I first saw them,” Giyuu breathes out, and this is the first time in a very long time that Urokodaki has seen anything other than despair in him.

(The first time in a very long time that he'd really looked at Urokodaki with something else to show other than the void in his eyes.)

“They were not the eyes of a demon.” 

Urokodaki thinks back on the boy’s crimson eyes, the way he’d looked at him with not hunger, not need, but simple curiosity. It wasn’t an entirely human gaze, wasn’t a gaze that was completely lucid - but the novelty of it is that it wasn’t a demon’s gaze either.

Curiosity blooms in his chest with a ferocity he couldn’t control.

Urokodaki sits cross legged on the floor and pats the area next to him. He then closes his eyes, inhales for five and exhales for seven. When he opens them, he says: 

“Tell me everything.”

—

Siblings.

An older brother turned and a younger sister looking to change him back.

A man whose very presence left an aura of death surrounding their home. 

The girl has keen sight and keen determination and an endless affection for her elder brother.

The boy whose kindness and love overcame the hunger of a demon.

“Train her,” Giyuu said, pleaded even - like he didn't expect anything from Urokodaki, didn't expect anything good from him -  as they watched the girl sleep off her exhaustion. Her brother laid next to her in a similar futon, tiny and vulnerable but ever so faithful, “I beg of you. Help her - help them. They deserve so much more than a broken life.”

Urokodaki remembers his children - all fourteen of them, dead and gone. He yearns them, regrets his choices but respected theirs, even if it got them killed in the end.

Somehow, he thinks, that if they were here right now, they’d be saying the same thing as his last remaining child.

He cards his left hand in the girl’s hair and swipes the boy’s cheek with his thumb.

He says, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Oyakata-sama,

My deepest apologies for the sudden correspondence. I write this letter with two intentions in mind, and I am sincerely thankful for the time and consideration you would spare to read this. 

An old pupil of mine, one Tomioka Giyuu, has brought me news of particular interest. During his excursions to protect the Southeast mountains of Saita, he discovered four human cadavers and two survivors, the eldest of which had been turned. However there is one notable peculiarity.

The turned survivor is not entirely demonic. He possesses their features, the veins, the canines, and the sharp claws, and yet, he lacks the very core of what makes them Demons. 

He has no interest in consuming humans.

I have never lied to you, my grace, nor shall I start now. My words are the complete unfiltered truth. Kamado Tanjirou has yet to harm a single human, nor do I think he would lay a single finger on them should he be prompted. At the moment, he’s in a quiet, peaceful slumber, uninterrupted and undisturbed since he had closed his eyes two fortnights ago. And I suspect that he has a reason for it.

Oyakata-sama, the boy - he’s recuperating his energy while bypassing the traditional consumption of human flesh. It’s practically unheard of, an outlier amongst their species. And I cannot help but wonder why he’s so different, what this means for the rest of us, humans and demons alike. 

Because his eyes, inhuman and unnatural as they are, they are kind. 

So I write this not only for him, but also for his younger sister. She wishes to change him back into a human, and in doing so, I’ve decided to take her as my apprentice. Her determination to attend the Final Selection and complete it has proven to me her unwavering resolve.

They do not require acceptance. They do not ask for help. They only need a chance. And that, as imprudent of me to beg of you, is exactly what this letter is intended for.

I promise that should I be mistaken of Tanjirou’s character, Kamado Nezuko, along with Tomioka Giyuu and myself, Urokodaki Sakonji, will slit our stomachs as compensation.

Yours truly,

Former Hashira,

Urokodaki Sakonji

Kagaya reads the letter one more time before folding it. He then hands it over to Nichika.

She takes it from his trembling hands and places it in his bedside drawer before deftly returning to his side. Hinaki has never once left.

“A demon that doesn’t consume human flesh,” He muses, turning the idea around in his head before addressing his daughters, “What do you think of that, my dears?”

Hinaki tilts her head, face blank but eyes befuddled, “Impossible,” she says. Her sister mirrors her gesture.

“It’s in their blood,” Nichika states, “Just like humans, their biology requires them to eat something. That something only happens to be us.”

Kagaya smiles at them, serene and never once judgemental. He hasn’t told them the contents of the letter, and they know better than to ask for what he doesn’t freely give them. 

He reaches out to squeeze their hands instead, taking comfort from their warmth.

“Understandable.” He says, tone non-committal and face giving nothing away.

He then slides his eyes to look outside, to look towards the sky towering above them. 

Kamado Tanjirou, huh? He thinks, feeling something inside him being strung. Maybe it’s excitement, because after centuries, there’s finally an anomaly. Or maybe it’s a heed of caution, to prevent him from getting his hopes up, to tell him to brace himself because change like this always, always came with a tsunami of consequences. 

For now, he tries not to think about it. He blinks, watching the endless expanse of the horizon, appreciating the breeze lightly caressing his skin. And then he hordes all these feelings of peace and tranquillity to his chest.

(They are kind, Urokodaki had said.)

He breathes.

(He is kind, is what Kagaya hears.) 

I hope this mistake, In the background, the birds titter and the grass sway in harmony, in anticipation.

Kagaya feels his smile grow.

Will cost you your life, Kibutsuji Muzan.

—

“Ah, Tomioka-san. You’ve been gone for quite a while,” Shinobu was the first person that greeted him after coming back from Sagiri mountain. He’d stayed there for a short while, to sate his curiosity or to guard, he doesn’t quite know.

(It was quite an experience, because seeing his sensei after avoiding him for a solid five years, and then spending a week in each other's presence pretending that nothing happened, was uncomfortable in every conceivable way.)

What he does know is that despite not wanting to be within the vicinity of his sensei for any longer than he has to, he wishes that he'd stayed a little longer.

Shinobu might have short legs but the way she walks, deliberately long and fast, irritates the hell out of him, “Why I almost thought you’d been eaten by a demon! I’d be really sad if that was the case.”

He doesn’t necessarily hate her, because Giyuu has that all reserved for Demons. But his personality clashes with hers - because while he’s frank, Shinobu always seemed to hide under a guise.

And he doesn’t really like that. 

“No you won’t.” He says, walking passed her without ever looking in her direction. Shinobu can’t possibly find time to worry when she’s always so angry.

“Maa, it’s not nice to ignore people, Tomioka-san,” Her voice sounds wrong to him, a forced gentleness that grates on his nerves. He tries to walk faster. 

Shinobu keeps up with enviable ease, a plastic grin on her face, “Really, this is why people find it hard to have a conversation with you.”

Giyuu freezes.

Shinobu blinks, as if surprised, “Oh? Did I say something wrong?”

Shinobu may be the only Hashira that wasn’t capable of decapitating a demon’s head but with the way she’d polished her words to be striking, cutting, somehow even worse than a blade in the neck, he could say that it was almost admirable. 

He briefly entertains the idea about dissenting before considering against it. He’s had conversations before and no one complained, therefore Shinobu must simply be wrong. So instead of denying her, he turns to face her with a dead stare instead. 

“I’m busy,” he says, purposely not reacting to the way the corner of her eyes seem to sharpen in annoyance, “Bother someone else.” 

He then quickly speeds walk away before she could do something drastic, like stab him with her Nichirin blade or something. 

Wouldn’t be too out of reach considering it’s her.

—

When Urokodaki first proposed the test, he hadn’t expected the girl to be back by sunrise, if he’d been completely honest.

But then she did - and she’d done it wearing a feral grin.

It seemed so out of place against her almost benign features -  a sharp twist that marred the overall picture of innocence. A subtle but jarring discrepancy. 

And yet she looked all the more stronger for it.

When he told her that she’d bleed and vomit and break every single part of her body during their training, she hadn’t hesitated in shedding the meekness that covered her like a second skin.

It slithered off of her like water flowing down a steep slope and Urokodaki can’t help but think. 

But she hadn’t let him think about it for long.

Because she then asked him something that left him off-kilter for the next three days. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have, because Giyuu had told him exactly what she would’ve done for her brother, told him exactly what she did to protect him.

But when she asked him if it would make her strong, if bleeding and vomiting and breaking would help her brother, Urokodaki had marvelled at the lack of fear in her gentle voice.

So he told her that it would make her the strongest. That bleeding and vomiting and breaking would help people more than her brother.

And Nezuko?

Nezuko bore every broken bone with a smile, welcomed every bruise like it’s family and brandished every wound that she had like it was a trophy.

“How many times will you break yourself for strength, my dear?” He’d asked her, once he’d upped the gravity of her training.

Nezuko smiled at him, eyes like crescents, mouth curved into a serpentine smile.

And then she’d told him, all soft voice and calm lilt, “For my brother?” She corrected, pink eyes glinting underneath the sun, “As many times as needed.”

She had stared at him with fire and brimstone in her soul and Urokodaki had been left breathless.

“Broken pieces can be brought back together,” 

Nezuko had looked serene, calm like the low tide, but equally vengeful as the high.

“I’m going to test how many times I can break until no one,” Nezuko’s eyes hardened into rocks, “Not you, not the demons, not our family’s murderer, can even chip me.”

—

She started keeping a journal of some sorts. 

Their family hadn’t been a rich one, nor had they been particularly poor either. They had just enough money to get by, just enough money to live a well-meaning life and they’d been content with that.

Their parents had been well-educated and they passed on their teachings to their children. Nezuko’s known how to read and write by the time she was five. They had valued education a lot, even if they could never send them out to proper school. Father’s collection of books were more than sufficient, so none of them ever complained.

She’s grateful for them, for everything they’ve done. If they hadn’t taught her literacy, she wouldn’t have been able to write down all the days that her nii-chan have missed, all the weeks they could’ve spent together.

He hasn’t woken up in half a year, chained to the spare futon that Urokodaki-san had laid out in their room. A bamboo mouthguard that Giyuu-san had made, nestled between his lips.

He looks peaceful, safe - everything that Nezuko covets.

Everything that Nezuko would fight, come hell and high water, to keep. 

She still doesn’t know what happened exactly, who turned her nii-chan into a demon, why her nii-chan specifically, but Nezuko pushes them out of her mind for now. 

Because none of them matters in the face of what she needs to do.

Get stronger, she thinks, just as she writes down her day, of how she’d bruised her skin and dislocated her bones, of how she’d twisted every bit of her muscles trying to sear Urokodaki’s teachings into her head, Get stronger.

Her free hand runs through her nii-chan’s curls, relishing in its softness. Underneath her palm, she can feel the heat that her nii-chan was radiating. It grounds her, keeps her tethered towards her goal.

Help nii-chan, she thinks, closing her eyes, just a bit, just a moment of rest, Keep him alive. Turn him back.

Get stronger. Help nii-chan. Keep him alive. Turn him back.

Nezuko has four main priorities.

And she’d break herself for all of them, over and over and over again if she had to.

—

“What do you think of her?”

He stares at the girl from the window, just outside of Urokodaki-san’s little hut. She’s started to lose her baby fat, started to fill out in a lot of spaces. Her hair was upholstered into a messy bun, and she didn’t seem to care about her haggard appearance, too grateful as Urokodaki-san hands her a mochi.

“She seems strong,” He comments, eyes never straying from Urokodaki-san’s new pupil. He’s rarely outside the bedroom, but their Master seemed to have allowed the little boy to be moved for a while, settled comfortably beside his sister’s thigh and still slumbering away.

He continues, “She’s quick to adapt and to learn, but she doesn’t seem to be absorbing his teachings the way she should be,” He tracks the way the girl pats her brother, a habit she’s developed over the passed six months to soothe her own nerves, “But it’s still early. I won’t judge her for that.”

“Do you think she can do it?” He feels his eternal friend settle down beside him, her head making itself comfortable on his shoulders.

“Like I said, it’s too early,” They don’t tear their eyes away from the domestic scene. Urokodaki-san brings out another mochi, this time, with a small candle, “Besides, we shouldn’t be entertaining these kinds of thoughts today.”

Urokodaki-san crawls to the boy’s side, and while it’s hard to see from this angle, Sabito can still see what he mouths.

Happy fourteenth birthday, Tanjirou.

The sister’s eyes suddenly gets misty, lips wobbling, and the hand that was playing with her brother’s hair goes up to stifle the upcoming sobs. 

Makomo hums, and Sabito huddles to her a little closer. They both watch the sister breakdown, a quiet agony, a grief that resonated inside of them right down to the marrow of their bones.

Urokodaki-san doesn’t berate her, doesn’t even tell her to stop. He brings a guiding hand on her shoulder, the way he always did when they were upset. Never stifling and just the right amount of comfort.

And when the girl looks at the candle again, a brief glimmer of happiness chases away the pain.

Not all of it, not until she reached her goals. And maybe not even after, because she’d lost too much and she’s desperately fighting not to lose even more. 

But she smiles through the tears and the silent pain and she closes her eyes to wish, to beg and to plead the heavens to listen to her.

She was still crying, even after she blew the candle out.

“It’s a time for celebration,” Makomo says, voice quiet and melancholy, “Yet why is she crying?”

Sabito closes his eyes.

“It’s hard to be happy when the one person you’re celebrating isn’t even there.”

—

Someone was petting him.

Their hand was gentle, calloused but careful, long fingers leaving behind a trail of warmth as they comb through his hair.

He finds that he can’t open his eyes, can’t find the energy to even move. He feels odd - like he’s teetering the edge of being awake and being fast asleep.

And then they speak.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” The voice was soft, loving, and it immediately makes him feel at ease. Like he’s known it all his life, been reared listening to it ever since he was young, “Take your time. Sleep, my dear, because you need it.”

He hears the words they’re saying, but he can’t quite comprehend it, can’t quite translate it into something that he could analyse. Everything around him feels muddy, like he’s in a haze, like time had stopped and along with it, he did too.

“Knock Knock little bunny from the mountain,” A hand slides down from his crown to tuck his hair behind his ear. A jingle comes with the motion, most likely from his earring, “Why are your ears so long? Because when I was small-”

Mama ate the leaves off a tall tree, he absentmindedly thinks, overlapping with the speaker’s voice.

“Knock Knock little bunny, why is your tail so fluffy?” He feels a hand tugging his ponytail, “Because when I was small, mama ate the seedhead of a dandelion.”

He feels himself getting more tired, his tiny grasp on lucidity slipping away from his hands.

“Knock knock little bunny...”

He’s getting lulled more to the side of sleep, feels himself lose a little more of his wakefulness with each head pat, each harmonic syllable that leaves the other’s lips.

He can’t fight it. He doesn’t even want to fight it.

“...why are your eyes so red? Because when I was small, mama ate the fruit of a red tree.”

The last thing he hears before he fully succumbs to darkness is a familiar woman’s voice saying.

“Sweet dreams, my little Tanjirou.”

Chapter Text

The first six months with Urokodaki-sensei had been particularly gruelling, because Urokodaki-sensei had subscribed to the notion that making her taste dirt would be the best way to build up some muscles.

He wasn't exactly wrong, and she suspects that while half of the reason he made her go through his eclectic conditioning was to have a bit of fun (and, regardless or not whether Nezuko suffered a little bit for it) she could still say, with confidence, that he definitely knew what he was doing. She really does owe a lot to him; for teaching her, for honing her exceptional situational awareness despite Urokodaki-sensei and his obsession with multitudinous log traps and sharp objects. Everything.

Learning swordsmanship had been an entirely different matter, however, and for another six months, Urokodaki-sensei had tested her mental and physical state and stretched them to their absolute limits.

"Apply the force straight along the blade," he had reminded her, as she's told to cut 1000 bamboo shoots without rest, everyday until he tells her to stop, "The blade's direction and the direction in which you apply that force must be exactly the same." 

He had also given her tips on Total Concentration Breathing ("Brace your lower body. Relax your upper one. Don't think about the nuances. Just do it and it will work.") poked, prodded and clobbered her until her body memorised all ten forms of Water Breathing. He'd sparred with her, made her fall  again, and again, and again, relentless and unwilling to give her a chance to breathe.

"Get back up," He had said, the first time he'd given her a thorough beating, "No matter how many times you fall, always get back up."

He had towered above her form like an omniscient being, watching but not helping her, as she struggled to fill her lungs with air. 

"This will be the difference between life and death, Nezuko. I don't care how much it hurts, I don't care how much you want to rest,"

She hadn't been able to feel her limbs, hadn't been able get rid of the burning sensation in her chest no matter how many gasping breaths she took. And her sensei hadn't took pity on her. Some part of her had appreciated it then, even if she'd felt like dying.

Urokodaki-sensei had crouched down and whispered firmly, "If your love for your brother is as strong as I know it is, then you will get back up."

And that - that gave her enough strength to grit her teeth, take a mouthful of even breathes, and force herself to stand on two wobbly feet.

Because for her brother? She'd face down the world if she had to.

Urokodaki-sensei had stared at her, red mask giving nothing away, before he had reached out and settled a hand on top of her head. 

And despite what he'd put her through, she had felt proud of herself for earning it.

—

That was six months ago.

Now, 4 seasons and 29 days since he took them in, Urokodaki-sensei brings her to a secluded glaze on top of Sagiri mountain. 

She looks around and catalogues the area, wondering where they were exactly. Because she knows this mountain like the back of her hand, top to bottom, familiar with every corner, every pit she fell into. 

This place was new, a place she's never been to, a place that almost felt sacred. 

His back was facing her as he says,  "I have nothing more to teach you."

Urokodaki-sensei places his hand on the boulder three times his size, "If you can slice this," and the way he caresses it was almost intimate, "Then you may attend the Final Selection."

Nezuko thinks she might've heard wrong and blinks at him in disbelief. 

"That is my only condition," He says, confirming that she definitely did not hear wrong, and lets his hand fall to his side. 

Somehow, it felt like a signal for her to start.

"It's now up to you."

That sounded less assuring than it was probably meant to be.

Besides, she thinks, eyeing the gargantuan stone with poorly concealed apprehension, My sword will break.

She wracks her mind for a solution, tries to scour through every bit of lesson she'd been taught from the beginning; every hint, every little quip Urokodaki-sensei has given her without seeming like he ever did. 

The only thing that remotely sticks out to her is Urokodaki-sensei's soundbite of ‘If you break your sword, I'll break your bones.’

Nezuko hides her wince with a nod.

Urokodaki-sensei, seemingly satisfied with her lack of complaints, gives a hum of approval and disappears without another word, leaving her to silently gape at the boulder he'd told her to slice with a sword. 

She wonders sometimes, if the old man was senile.

—

The first lesson that nii-chan had driven into her was when she was eight.

"I want you to watch carefully, Tanjirou," Their father had said, wearing their traditional garbs. Nezuko had thought it was a bit redundant then, because every year, father had danced in the snow and every year, like a moth drawn to a flame, they had all watched him with bathed breath.

"You're going to learn the steps to this dance," Father had handed her nii-chan a wooden stick as a makeshift sword, "Don't worry about getting the breathing technique yet. That will come in the future. For now, watch my footsteps, my arms - and when you try it after me, I'll correct your positions, all right?"

"Okay!" Nii-chan had nodded enthusiastically, all fire and passion and boundless fervour.

Seeing his determination, she had offered her support, "Good luck, nii-chan! You can do it!"

"Thanks, Nezuko!" He had cheered, sending her one of his brightest grins.

She doesn't quite know what they do during those sessions, but her brother never failed to came back looking wrecked. Nezuko would always pout when nii-chan avoided her questions, resorting to giving her head pats while telling her not to concern herself over it.

Silly nii-chan, she would then think, Just because you tell me not to worry doesn't mean I won't.

This continued for two more seasons. His first issue had been perfecting the forms themselves, something that took him a staggering three months to complete, while the second had the added difficultly of transitioning from one form to another. She knew that her brother was tenacious, that there's very little chance he'd give up, but with every day that had passed, the dejected outcome of his training dampened his demeanour down more and more. 

It wasn’t really a look that belonged on his face, Nezuko had thought. 

And at some point, she asked him why he didn't just thrown in the towel.

Her brother had been feeding Takeo then, unconcerned about his dignity as he made silly faces and cooing noises to entertain him. He had taken the spoon from Takeo’s clumsy hands when he started making a mess, giggling as their baby brother shot him a look of betrayal.

Nii-chan’s eyes had been warm then, so, so warm. Like of all the things that he could be doing in the world at that moment, being with them was the only one that filled him with immeasurable joy.

(Takeo, when older, would describe that warmth like thick blanket on snowy days. Hanako, with her childish innocence, would say it reminded her of their mother’s hugs.

For Nezuko, it had been the sensation of soft lips pressed gently on her head, and a much awaited whisper of welcome home.)

He was always so gentle, so affectionate with Takeo. With them. Nezuko had watched him pepper their littlest brother with smooches on his forehead, watched him blow raspberries on his cheeks and rub their noses together in an eskimo kiss. 

Nii-chan has too much love to contain inside of him, She had thought, feeling herself getting a little emotional at the scene. 

He had snapped her back to reality when he swivelled around to answer her.

”You’re asking me why I don’t just give up?” He had said, tilting his head as Nezuko confirmed his askance with a nod.

He hummed, and then told her, “Well, to be honest, it just never crossed my mind!" before deftly plopping a spoonful of baby mush into Takeo's mouth when their little brother makes a delighted giggle. 

“I don't like thinking that I can't do something just because it's hard,” Takeo had made grabby hands towards nii-chan when he shifted his full attention to her, “That's what learning is for! And besides,”

The corner of his lips had almost touched his ears at how big and breathtaking his smile was.

Nezuko hadn't been able to stop thinking at how her niichan, bright and passionate and teeming with life, had resembled the Sun so much back then.

“With us, it's never about if we can do it,"

His voice had echoed in her consciousness and embedded themselves into her entire being. 

"Just when we do."

—

So, standing in the face of the harrowing condition Urokodaki-sensei had thrown onto her, Nezuko doesn't even think about whether or not she could do it. 

She doesn't ask herself if the boulder that Urokodaki-sensei told her to slice would even give underneath her blade.

She doesn't even give these more than a fleeting thought.

Because she already knows the answer.

And it will always be a yes.

—

She's resilient and more determined than anyone he's ever seen. 

There's a fire in her that clashes with the water that their sensei has taught her. But instead of one overpowering another, they seem to work in tandem.

The fire, scorching and blazing, fuels her, let's her forget about the exhaustion, let's her push pass the limitations of her own body while burning the aches in her bones.

The water, gentler, more calming, heals her, soothers her buzzed up nerves, keeps her afloat when the fire in her starts to flicker, starts to dim a little bit.

(The one thing it never did, however, was dwindle out.) 

She's a dichotomy in every way, tranquil but incandescent. 

And he hopes that this will be enough to keep her alive.

—

She didn't except the boulder to crack on her first try. Or her second, third, fifth - on her three thousandth try.

But she keeps up at it, goes through her training again, redoes every bit of exercise that was beaten into her when she realises that it still wasn't enough.

Day and night, wash and repeat.

It's repetitive and mind-achingly boring, but she bears with it, because she needs this. She needs to keep going, keep bleeding, keep breaking, for her to become the strongest.

And when the first stirrings of frustration gets to her, she chants herself a lullaby.

"Get stronger," she whispers in between the pants and the gasps and the screaming muscles and aching bones.

"Help nii-chan. Keep him alive. Turn him back." 

She chants it again and again, until her fraying nerves tauten, until she can feel her heart slip back into its normal rhythm.

And then she picks up the blade with her trembling hands and swings her arms again.

—

Urokodaki wipes the sweat off Tanjirou's forehead with a wash cloth. There's a basin next to him filled with lukewarm water and he tries not to frown.

This boy should not be alive, he thinks, grabbing the bowl with careful hands. He pushes himself upright, ignoring the creak in his knees, and silently walks outside his kids' bedroom to fetch a cleaner batch.

Tanjirou was running a fever and it's a particularly lethal one. 

And if he were human, he would already be dead. 

Urokodaki sighs.

When Giyuu appeared on his property a year ago, an unconscious girl on his back, and a demon boy clutching his haori like a safety blanket, he'd known that they were going to be trouble.

And that was - it wasn't fine. 

Because all of his children had been trouble, every single one of them, and Urokodaki had loved them for it.

And then he'd mourned them because they were gone. 

(Always got into too much trouble. Always suffered because they were trouble.)

He'd vowed never to take another apprentice after Sabito and Makomo, because their deaths were a hard blow. He didn't love them more than he did the rest, but Urokodaki back then could've drowned himself in his grief the way he would've wanted to if it weren't for Giyuu.

He wasn't the only one that had lost them, and somehow that knowledge had made their deaths infinitely worse.

Because Urokodaki hadn't just failed himself, hadn't just failed Sabito and Makomo, but he'd also failed their brother who was still alive.

Their brother who blames himself for being alive when they weren't.

And he couldn't go through that again - couldn't let Giyuu experience that excruciating loss again so he'd said enough. He won't take anyone, he refuses to take anyone. If he finds a kid dying out on the road, he'll do his best to get them to the nearest clinic and he'll goddamn stay away.

But Giyuu himself had brought him two kids and Urokodaki - 

Urokodaki could never refuse his last remaining child.

Not when there's finally light in the raging storm of agony that's been Giyuu's eyes for the past six years. 

"My boy," He says to himself, feeling all sorts of exhausted and concern for someone he'd only properly met for thirty seconds.

He shoots a brief glance to where Tanjirou was currently resting away, a small opening of the shoji screen showcasing the furrow in his eyebrows and the flush on his pale cheeks.

Urokodaki feels his heart twist at the sight.

"I wonder, are you fighting a battle of your own right now?"

—

March 21, 1912

The weather's starting to get warmer now, nii-chan. Yesterday, there was a tiny drizzle and Urokodaki-sensei complained about the smell of wetness, but it was really sunny after that.  We saw a rainbow and I think Urokodaki-sensei might've even liked it. He makes this weird sound sometimes, like a cross between a grunt and a hum, and when he makes that, he's usually really really happy. I got it a lot when I kept slamming into trees last year.

Today had been sunny too, and as always, we're up before the sun could greet us. I wasn't able to cut the boulder again, nii-chan, even if I stayed a little longer than usual. But I think with more practice, I'll be able to do it soon.

I don't know what I'd do if I don't - 

Because it's what you taught me when I was little. When you wake up, I'll tell you that story. So you better wake up soon - You taught me a lot of things, things that old man Saburo had said weren't appropriate because I'm a girl. But you never really thought of stuff like that, did you, nii-chan? I think that a lot of them can see that. 

I think a lot of them saw you as a good person so they always seem to have a change of heart.

Oh - I also had miso soup for breakfast. Urokodaki-sensei went to the nearest village so he can buy some food, and he even made some gyoza for lunch! It's really delicious, and it definitely gave me enough energy to try and complete the task he gave me.

It tastes like mama's gyoza, nii-chan, so much like hers. I don't even think it's the same recipe but it just - it just tastes like home and I miss them and I miss you so please, wake up, wake up, wake up don't leave me alone - 

And - I don't know if I'm going crazy or not, but sometimes, I see something in the corner of my eye. Whenever I try to look at whatever it is, it just - disappears.

The place I'm training in feels strange though, like it's spiritual. I wonder if there are spirits roaming around. If they are, then I hope they aren't malignant. They don't seem to be though. I might not have your sense of smell, nii-chan, I might be less then half the person you already are - but I'm really, really good at detecting things. And whoever they are, they feel curious, expectant.

Like they're waiting for the moment the boulder finally splits in half underneath my sword. And I know, it shouldn't sound as comforting as I make it out to be, but it really is. Comforting that is.

It's - It's nice to feel like I'm not the only person in the world sometimes. 

I'm not alone, I know that. I have Urokodaki-sensei and I have you.

But nii-chan, you're not really here and that-

What am I talking about, this journal isn’t meant for stuff like this, Nezuko, stop it-

but i miss you, i miss you, i miss you -

i'm scared i'm so so scared, please come back, please tell me what to do - 

i just want you back, nii-chan, why did you leave me, nii-chan, why won’t you come back to me, please come back -

Anyways, Urokodaki-sensei just finished making some stew. He's calling me now, so I'm going to end this entry here. 

I really hope this is the last one-

please be the last one -

I love you, nii-chan. I'll be waiting for you.

With love,

Nezuko

—

The girl wasn't making any progress, and he feels his own frustration mount with every day that passed by without success. 

"I think we should go help her now," Makomo says, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder.

Sabito takes a few even breaths in.

He then brings down his mask and nods.

—

It's a dreary day today.

It's been a dreary six months if she was honest. Sometimes, she wonders if it's going to take her years to even put a dent in that stone.

(Sometimes, she wonders if it's going to take years for her brother to wake up.)

She went out a little later than she usually did, after the sunrise instead of before. Urokodaki-sensei hadn't questioned it, because he's surprisingly thoughtful sometimes, surprisingly parental. 

(It doesn't hurt as much as it used too when she thinks of him like that. )

The walk to the apex doesn't take her long, not after the crippling training she's been put through. And especially not after her militant routine either. But being lost in her head, in a sea of turbulent emotions, all negative, all encompassing, makes it feel like like a lifetime and a half.

She knows it's futile to tell herself not to think about it. But that's all she's ever really been thinking about after coming home to see the red stains on their snowy front yard. She doesn't have good days, so much as she has days that feel less like there's a scythe poised to her brother's neck.

(Days where it feels less like the one string holding her together was about to snap.)

All Nezuko could do, really, was to brave them all, one step at a time.

And if she wanted to keep going, then she needs to get to that Final Selection.

She has too. 

When she's ten feet away from the small, enclosed glaze where the boulder waited for her, she pauses mid-step. 

The clearing felt...different, charged for a reason she can’t seem to pinpoint. There wasn’t a single sound to be heard, not the muted rustling of grass, not the twittering of birds - not even the slightest whisper of wind. In this state of locked tranquility, the world kept moving while everything in this one place had paused.

And, sitting on top of her boulder, was a boy wearing a fox mask, a white haori draped over his patterned kimono. 

She takes a few hesitant steps forward, hand reaching out for the sword tied to her waist, "Hello," she starts, muscles purposely relaxing, "Can I help you?"

The boy's stance, much like the surroundings, was almost unnervingly still.

And then he slides down in one fluid motion, his feet never making a sound as they make contact with the soil.

She couldn't help but feel a little bit impressed.

He approaches her with deliberate steps, catlike. But his words lacked the gracious, predatorily stretch in his gait.

"What the hell have you even been doing in the past six months?" He says.

Nezuko unintentionally blanches. She takes a step back, and in turn, he takes two steps forward, "E-Excuse me -?"

"You're not only wasting your time," His hand reaches to grip the hilt of his wooden sword, "But you're also wasting Urokodaki-sensei's. So I'm going to ask you again,"

Suddenly, he disappears.

Nezuko barely had enough time to block the powerful downward arc of his sword.

"What the hell have you been doing this entire time?"

Rage wasn't something that came to her very often. It wasn't something that she needed to feel, surrounded by love and goodness her entire life.

And for all the rowdiness and playful banter her siblings had been regularly prone to dissolve into, anger was an emotion that they rarely felt too. For a family of coal makers with a history and tradition closely linked to fire, they'd been pacifists and gentle people at heart.

(But that's the thing about coal really.

They only needed someone to light the match. 

And then they'd be set ablaze.)

It doesn't even register to her that she has a weapon in her hand, a lethal one, something that could kill the wrong person anytime she desires to.

Because there's a lump pressing insistently against her throat, a small itch, a suggestion of something more.

And then she hears a clatter, a small fizzling of fire echoing in the back of her mind before flames, a churning mass of heat, roar, writhing and clamouring inside of her chest.

(It's juxtaposed by the heavy, cold feeling of fear in her gut. Because some part of her recognises that the boy in the fox mask had said nothing but the complete truth.)

She sees red in her vision and red on the floor and a flash of her kin's bodies scattered around them.

And Nezuko's fury rises up from its slumber, hiding underneath the veneer of her gaping despair.

"You know nothing," is what spills from her mouth, a sentence encapsulated in fire, fire, fire.

There was a pause in his reply, almost like he's thrown a little off his thought, but the boy manages to press on, "I know enough." 

And he was gone again.

He reappears behind her with a flicker, reflexes unlike anything she’s ever seen before.

She's pushed back by the force of his second swing, her entire body flown backwards. 

She uses this momentum to roll back into her feet, and then she shoots herself forward, no finesse in her movements, no plan concocted. Just raw, unprecedented wrath guiding her into battle.

"I know that it's been half a year since you started," He swerves right to avoid her full frontal attack and then knees her swiftly in her stomach.

She doubles over in pain, mouth opening in a silent scream.

The boy retracts his knee and then brings down the hilt of his sword, hitting the centre of her back with bone shattering precision.

"And I know that you still haven't sliced that boulder,"

Nezuko's vision flashes white as her body slams onto the ground. She curls over, hacking up coughs after coughs after coughs.

And the boy never stops chipping into her.

"I know," Nezuko gasps as the other's foot makes contact with her already bruised stomach, sending her flying a couple steps back, "That you're not even close to attending the Final Selection. And I am certain,"

His voice rings loudly in the clearing, despite the static in her ears.

"That you're nowhere strong enough to help your brother."

And Nezuko?

Nezuko feels the fury and anger and unremitting wrath that was holding her together collapse underneath the weight of her failures.

Chapter Text

Nezuko used to think that her Kaa-san was the smartest woman she'd ever known. 

She hadn't gone to school like most Kamado women, yet much like the rest of them, experience had been her teacher and she had bloomed under its tutelage like a flower.

Kaa-san learned a lot about treating wounds and other injuries from the old medicine journals their grandfather had left their family, but she'd also went into the village and volunteered in the clinics that accepted a woman for cheap labour. 

In some way, she's their designated doctor, because in between father's deteriorating condition and her five children (along with their combined energy levels which often lead to a lot of incidents), she has incontestable experience in nursing them back to health.

Nezuko used to think that her Kaa-san was the smartest woman she'd ever known, and she goes on to prove it at every opportunity she has.

"There we go." 

Kaa-san gives their brother a smile as she ties the bandages around his ankle and sets it down gently on a pillow. Nii-chan winces lightly, before giving her a thankful smile.

"You're a life saver, kaa-san." He says, pulling a dainty giggle from their mother.

"And don't you forget it," She teasingly pats nii-chan's thickly bandaged ankle to remind him of that, “But do try not to agitate it, okay? That means no moving until absolutely necessary. Bed rest is a must, young man, and if I see you even crawling, I will retaliate."

Nii-chan laughs nervously, hand reaching out to sheepishly scratch the back of his head.

On his lap, Shigeru, the poor thing, has yet to cease crying, face flushed and snot dribbling down his nose. Nezuko's heart aches for him, because it wasn't his fault and they all know that. But when nii-chan gets hurt protecting one of them, then all that reassurance flies out the window faster than either of them could say I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry, nii-chan!" Shigeru sniffles, hiccuping in between his sobs, "I didn't mean to! Please don't be mad!"

Nii-chan's face looked just as heartbroken as Nezuko's, but he's less efficient than her at masking his emotions. 

Patting Shigeru on the head, his eyes soften, holding nothing except profound forgiveness, "Of course I'm not mad. I'm just glad you're okay, Shigeru."

Surrounding him on his futon were their siblings, all in varying states of distress. Hanako's tears had always been the silent kind, because according to her, Kaa-san is beautiful even when she cries so I'm going to be beautiful when I cry too! Takeo didn't have the same reservations however - appearance wise anyways, because he's all ruddy-faced and scrunched up nose in concern. Meanwhile Rokuta, cradled in Nezuko's arms, adds in his own two cents by making a wounded noise behind his throat. 

"Don't play near the log piles again, okay?" Their mother says, a little chastising but no less tolerant, "I told you that we haven't tied them up yet."

That only serves to make Shigeru look even more guilty. 

Hanako pats his arm in sympathy, "It's okay, Shigeru, you didn't mean it." and Takeo frantically nods to convey his agreement.

”It's no one's fault, okay? Don't beat yourself up over it!"

"They’re right, Shigeru. It was an honest accident and none of us could have predicted it," Nii-chan assures, although his face bellied his real concern, "I'm sorry though. I won't be able to sell all the coal before New Years."

Nezuko shakes her head in disbelief. Her brother was too selfless for his own good.

"Don't worry about it, nii-chan - seriously," She gently rocks Rokuta when he starts fussing a little bit, before turning to her mother, "Kaa-san, is it alright if I make a trip down town? Setsuna-san should be making her rounds today to sell some herbs, and if I catch her, then I might be able to get some for nii-chan!"

"That is not necessary," Nii-chan immediately intervenes, "Really - I'm fine. It's meant to snow heavy today so it'll be too dangerous to go down the mountain and besides, it's past noon already!"

"I'll be extra careful," She insists, not listening to her brother's protests. Nii-chan tries to get her to stop talking by uselessly tugging on her kimono, "And it would be nice to see Setsuna-san and the townspeople again. It's been a while."

The rest of their siblings turn towards their mother, all sporting similar expressions; starry eyed and pleading, something that nii-chan wouldn't have been able to resist if it had been directed at him.

"Can we come?"

"I wanna go!"

"Me too!"

She sends equally earnest looks to her mother, "Please?" She asks, "Just this once? For nii-chan?"

Hanako, Takeo, and Shigeru parrots back, "For nii-chan!" while Nii-chan flushes a brilliant red, squeaking out, "Oh my god, no -"

Kaa-san tilts her head, looking thoughtful, and then seems to have come to a conclusion when she nods.

"All right," She says, and when the smaller children cheer, she amends, "But, only Nezuko-chan can go."

Takeo and Hanako and Shigeru gasps, scandalised.

"Why!?"

Rokuta follows a second later, announcing his displeasure by kicking out in retaliation, a shrill cry escaping his tiny chest.

"Because," Their mother starts, sighing, sounding both fond and immensely exasperated at the same time, "I can't take care of your nii-chan all by myself now can I?"

Nezuko stifles her giggles when her siblings quickly shifts their priorities from 'leaving nii-chan' to 'planting themselves like a tree by his side'.

Nii-chan shoots their mother a betrayed glance. 

"Look what you've done now kaa-san, they're - oh my god Takeo, please calm down - "

The kids attempt to scramble up their nii-chan's shoulders with reassurances of helping him get better faster because hugs and kisses make everyone feel better, nii-chan! while nii-chan continues to send long-suffering looks in both her and their mother's direction. 

 Kaa-san snorts in amusement.

"Honestly, they're so easily distracted," She says, and then motions for Nezuko to hand her Rokuta. He leaves her arms furiously kicking all the way, "Now dear - I want you to be very careful. Wear thick cloth around your legs and make sure they're not so loose as to fall off. Don't buy too much things either or else it'll be hard to carry them up the mountain later on."

"I won't," She nods, smiling to convey her thanks, "Is there anything you'd like me to bring back?"

Kaa-san shakes her head, "Just you, darling. Make sure you come back home to us, okay?"

Nezuko's eyes crinkles, love blooming from her sternum and spreading towards the rest of her body, a ball of comforting heat that's always been with her since the day she was born.

"She's right," Nii-chan pipes up, wrangling their littler siblings with little to no effort despite his injury. He gives her a soft grin, warm, warm, warm, and says, "Come back to us, okay?"

Hanako and Shigeru and Takeo all simultaneously beam up at her, burgundy eyes sparkling, "Come back! Come back!" They also say.

Nezuko laughs and laughs and lets herself indulge in the feeling of absolute euphoria.

"Of course I will!" She tells them, because she always will. They're her home and her world, and it's only right for her to return where she belonged.

"That's a promise!"

—

But like nii-chan had said, no one could have predicted it would happen.

Old man Saburo stops her from going up the mountain that evening, telling her cautionary tales of demons that gorge themselves on human flesh.

And Nezuko remembers one of her grandmother's old tattered books, with fantasies about powerful people, brave people who chose to leave behind their normal life and adorn themselves with a blade, people who made pacts with something more cosmically greater than the stars.

(When she's a little older, she'd realised that no, it wasn't a book, wasn't something as trivial as fiction but rather a diary; a biography of her and her husband detailing the beginning of their civilian life as coal sellers, stopping on a page that was half ripped, on a story that was unfinished because she knows that the grandparents that she'd never met but was fiercely loved by their father all the same, had been slaughtered in a fight.) 

So she humours old man Saburo's fears, goes to sleep in his hut none the wiser and sends a brief mental apology to everyone else.

And then she came back a day later -

(She came back late.)

- to vermillion stained white and an eerie silence surrounding their home.

(Their home that's always been teeming with light and love and so much of everything that made her who she is.)

She came back to see her entire world torn apart and Nezuko -

Nezuko realises with a heart wrenching cry that she had failed them.

—

Pain throbs in her torso.

Her lungs burn with hellfire.

She can feel herself, her resolve, everything, on the brink of shattering.

She used to listen to ice cracking when the winter months froze the lake half a kilometre from where they lived. Nii-chan had worried constantly that the kids might fall through it whenever they skidded across the frozen surface, but Nezuko had watched them all with a serene look, enjoying the sharp, soft sound of ice crackling underneath her finger tips.

It sounds a lot like a premonition, looking back on it now.

(Because she can feel herself cracking, inch by inch, slowly but surely.)

There's ringing in her ears and anguish in her veins, a poisonous concoction of it hurts, it hurts, it hurts burning her from the inside out, eating at her with the ferocity of something voraciously desperate to do nothing but consume.

And there's a wound in her chest that wasn't caused by a sword, but still meticulously carved there by a man who had taken everything from her.

(It's a gaping chasm that will never be repaired and the only thing she can do is to not to let it grow bigger.)

She's holding onto a tether that's one stitch away from falling apart and she doesn't know what to do.

"Get back up,"

Suddenly, Urokodaki-sensei's faint figure flashes across her teary eyes.

His voice was distant, a fugacious echo in the farthest recesses of her mind, and yet, still - it was nothing but loud and glaring amongst the thump thump thump of her heart.

So Nezuko reaches out for her sensei's words and takes and takes and takes so she doesn't break - 

"I don't care how much it hurts, I don't care how much you want to rest,"

So she doesn't fall through the cracks -

"If your love for your brother is as strong as I know it is,"

She grasps onto his words and doesn't let go, because it's probably the one thing that wouldn't topple underneath the weight pressing down on shoulders.

Purposely, and with much effort, Nezuko straightens her body out until she's flat on her back. Her teeth gnash and grind against each other, and she forces herself to breathe, to get the oxygen back to her lungs. 

She ignores her screaming muscles, ignores the prickling pain in her heart, ignores everything but the thought of getting back up.

"If your love for your brother is as strong as I know it is," Urokodaki-sensei repeats, his translucent like mirage slowly vanishing, slowly being replaced by the towering form of the boy with the fox mask.

Nezuko bares her teeth in a grin.

"You will get back up." They both say.

—

She manages to swipe a feet underneath him and make him hit the ground.

The satisfying thud of a body against the soil has never sounded so good.

—

Sabito sees the movement from a mile away. 

Of course he does - it's clumsy and frantic, and her economy of motion needs so much more work. 

But he gives it to her, just this once.

Because if there was one thing he could admire - 

It was the flame in her eyes that refused to die out.

—

Nezuko rolls over to her stomach again, planting both her hands firmly on the ground.

"You're right," she hisses out, crawling onto her knees and then climbing onto her feet, "I am not strong enough,"

She almost buckled before catching herself, breathing harshly through her teeth, "And I haven't sliced the boulder yet,"

The boy doesn't move for a beat or two, before graciously pulling himself up.

"And it has been six months - no, it's been more than a year."

Nezuko grips the sword that hasn’t left her hand even tighter.

"But I already knew that."

She can't feel her lungs, she can't feel anything much of her body anymore, but she got up.

And she'll continue to get up even if he keeps pushing her back down.

She maintains the grin on her face, no matter how shaky it felt, "Because that's the only thing I've been thinking about ever since my family was murdered."

Nezuko feels feels something wet dribbling down her cheeks and she doesn't care because tears mean nothing to her at this point. 

"And if you think you can break me by reminding me of that, make me give up just because you think I can't do it, can't do anything - then you're mistaken."

She straightens her back out and declares, "I am a Kamado."

She looks directly in his eyes, silver orbs hiding behind the shadows of the slits carved onto his mask.

And she tells him -

"It's never about if I can do it,"

Like a prophecy, like it's written in the stars and tattooed behind her tongue -

She smiles, serrated and serene at the same time.

"Just when."

—

The boy doesn't say anything.

He doesn't move, he doesn't make a sound.

He just stands there, looking at the sight of her battered figure without any lingering emotions.

And then he bends down and picks up his sword.

"I did you a dishonour by using a wooden katana," He tells her, voice much more warmer than his previous tone. It wasn't anyway near kind, but there was something there - a potential, a peek of what was behind a subterfuge of glaciers even she couldn't melt, "When we meet again,"

He inclines his head in respect, "I'll treat you like the hunter you will be. Metal will clash with metal."

Nezuko, a little nonplussed, blinks. And then her smile becomes a little more genuine.

"I’m looking forward to it then."

The boy nods, and then sheathes his blade.

"Never forget who you're doing this for, Nezuko," He says, before turning around, "Makomo - it's your turn."

"With pleasure." Nezuko startles when a girl steps out from behind the boulder.

"Hello, Nezuko-chan," She starts, her voice echoing like a wind chime. 

The world shifts on its axis, and Fate's gears begin to turn.

"My name is Makomo. And I'm here to help you."

—

When their father had died, their brother had stepped into his role without having needed to be told. 

He sold the coal, he cut the wood and he taught them all how to swing the hatchet the right way. He let them tag along to the village with him in the summer and he bought them treats using his own pocket money even if he knows they have their own.

They depended on him, looked to him for directions and guidance, and that always seemed to amused their mother.

"It's like you imprinted on him," She would say, pouting playfully at them, "Even though I'm the one that gave birth to you all. It's always about nii-chan this and nii-chan that - I feel like I should be offended, you know!"

She'd say variations of it in a teasing manner, but there was no denying that what she said was true. Because Takeo and Shigeru and Hanako hadn't ever left his side unless they wanted to play and Rokuta had always been prone to throwing tantrums if he leaves his sight for more than two minutes.

Which was unfortunately quite common. Because her brother - her kind and selfless and infinitely good Nii-chan - didn't just do the heavy lifting. Occasionally, he took it upon himself to help around the house, because having a big family meant that sometimes, Nezuko and their mother weren't enough. 

He swiped the floors and he cooked their breakfast and when their mother's hands ached with pain, he would take the clothes she was sewing and finish the job for her with a smile. Her favourite kimono was sown by her mother and brother, in fact, a beautiful thing with star patterns threaded patiently against the pink fabric. He'd always insisted on buying her one, but Nezuko always told him that she didn't need it. That their family needed the money more.

So he made one for her instead and Nezuko would've worn it forever if possible, (because her brother made it, spent months toiling in the village for cash so he could get the best fabric, spent so many sleepless nights painstakingly making it for her) but Nii-chan had laughed, and patted her head like he always does and told her that that would be unreasonable, Nezuko.

It's hard not to see him as a third parent sometimes, because nii-chan has always been dependable, always been loving and affectionate and so, so kind.

So when she went home that day and realised that her family was dead, that she'd almost lost her nii-chan, lost this person who she values more than her own life -

Nezuko had felt like someone had ripped her entire chest out and advertised it for the entire world to see.

She doesn't want to lose him, she refuses to lose him. Nezuko would turn the world upside down if it meant that her nii-chan would be safe.

It's a harrowing thought and it's one that sends her spiralling down into a void of heart-gripping terror. Sometimes, she thinks she's still losing him, that with every day that passed by without him waking up, it was another step closer to goodbye.

Nezuko doesn't think she could ever live through that kind of pain.

(She hopes that the world was kind enough not to make her go through it again.) 

An owl hoots outside, effectively bringing her out of her own thoughts. She flinches, body screaming in consequence, a reminder of Sabito and Makomo's poignant lesson this morning.

("What are you doing, Nezuko?" "Why have you been wasting your time?")

She doesn't care though. Nezuko struggles past the aching muscles, hands instantly reaching out for her brother.

She finds it, just underneath his blanket. He'd always ran warm, always felt like the ribbons of sunlight dancing across her skin.

Right now, he felt like a furnace, and it's just one more reminder that she could have lost him.

Nezuko burries her face in the pillow, willing herself not to cry. Because she knows it's useless, that it won't do anything, that it won't bring her family back and yet -

She finds herself grasping his hand like a lifeline, running her thumb on her nii-chan's knuckles, bringing the appendage close to her face until it almost felt like he was about to cup her cheek and ask her why she's sad.

("Nii-chan's here," She could already hear him say, a soft breath against the crown of her head, a soothing hand rubbing circles on her back, "Nii-chan's not leaving, okay?")

She squeezes her eyes shut, lips trembling as she presses closer to brother. 

(Nezuko desperately tries not to think about how much smaller his hand was in her own, not to think about exactly why it was so much smaller.)

Even now, she still depended on him like a little girl.

"Nii-chan," she starts, swallowing back the lump in her throat, frantically blinking back the tears that she wants to let go, "I'm going to become strong. I promise."

Because at the moment, what her brother needed was support. He needed her to become strong, needed her to piece their life back together.

That was the very least of what she could do for him.

(Her breath hitches when she thinks of what her nii-chan would do in her position.

Because it wasn't a question of what he would've done.

Only that he would've done so much more.)

—

Makomo took over her training from then on.

She's much more approachable than Sabito, more willing to make small talk, but she's just as clever as him at dodging the questions she doesn't want to answer. 

It's an art form that they've perfected, Makomo's subdued smiles and her longwinded stories carrying Nezuko on a dizzying crusade until she forgets what she'd even asked in the first place while Sabito, whose personality was a wildfire of blizzards and avalanches and cracking glaciers, shuts down any sliver of opportunity before she's even begun.

Nezuko doesn't understand why they're so reticent. Why, for all of Makomo's genuine personality and encouragement, she knows nothing about her other than the fact that she's terrifying with a sword in her hand.

She doesn't understand why she trusts both of them so much either, but that's neither here nor there. It says something, about how much she craves for human companions, for people more than Urokodaki-sensei, that she's already attached to two complete strangers.

(But Nezuko was never made to endure isolation, because like Tanjirou, she thrives and prospers best when she's surrounded by people, by her family.)

"Will you ever tell me anything about yourselves?" Nezuko had asked once, sitting cross-legged on the ground and leaning back on the boulder for a quick break.

Sabito was nowhere to be seen, as usual, though she suspects he's lurking around the area. Makomo, settled comfortably beside her, fiddles with the fox mask on her lap. It's her own one, not Sabito's, and Nezuko wonders about that particular motif in the privacy of her own mind.

Makomo keeps her eyes trained on her mask as she answers, cryptically, "That's no longer our story to tell." 

Nezuko tilts her head at that, because that makes entirely no sense in any possible context, whatsoever, "I don't understand."

Makomo lifts her gaze up to her and Nezuko had been struck by the way her eyes had been filled with nothing but regret.

"You will," Makomo states, heavy and serious, the way she can periodically get during the past few weeks. Her voice was high-pitched, and there's no mistaking her to be anything but a child, but there's always been an undertone of something more ancient - of someone so much more wiser than their age.

The usual levity reclaims its place a quick second later, and the winter in her eyes melts into something more warmer.

 "Like you said, you're a Kamado," She places the fox mask back to her head with the grace and tenderness of handling a treasure, "Your only battle is with time. So you'll understand, not now, but you definitely will."

Nezuko can recognise a dead end when she sees one, so instead of prying into that particular topic and amounting to less than nothing if she did, she shrugs, stretches her upper body as she stands up, and picks up her sword to try again. 

Her training for the next two months follows that typical routine - with her attempting to get Makomo to open up by asking her questions, making sure that she doesn’t veer into something more personal on the off chance Makomo clams up again. Occasionally, although it's not very often, Sabito pops by. She knows he does it to gauge her progress, to suss our whether or not she's ready yet, and she knows that it's definitely not to check up on her wellbeing. Nezuko appreciates the extra company nonetheless.

She's extra nervous whenever he is around however. There's something about him that makes her want to live up to his expectations; desperation, perhaps. All she can really say is that it doesn't feel like she's alone in this fight anymore.

Because Urokodaki-sensei was like a living contradiction; someone who'd trained her to break past her own limitations, adamant that she get back up even if she'd rather die. He'd pushed her to succeed, pushed her to keep going, to keep fighting, but when it came to this, to the last hurdle Nezuko needed to surpass, he almost seemed reluctant.

Like he abhorred the idea of her getting into the Final Selection.

No, she thinks, because that wasn't the right word. Urokodaki-sensei can't be forced into doing what he doesn't already want to. He was the last person on earth to subject himself to that.

No, the word that she's looking for was dread.

Urokodaki-sensei dreads the day that he does send her off to the Final Selection.

And Nezuko bets all her hedges that it has nothing to do with her abilities.

But everything to do with Makomo and Sabito's past.

—

There's something soothing about hearing the scraping of chisel against wood.

Before he'd taken up the sword, Urokodaki was born to a family of Noh makers and stage actors. They'd worked for the Ubayashiki's for generations, as entertainers and as craftsmen, and Urokodaki hadn’t been all that different from the rest of his relatives.

His mother had been a stage actress, while his father had carved out her masks for her. It's how they met in the first place, how they fell in love and given birth to four children, with him being the youngest.

The first time he'd sculpted a mask was when he was twelve. It was actually a decent attempt, because Urokodaki had taken all the small wooden chuncks that his father hadn't used in his workshop, and made tiny figurines of animals to pass the time. When his father had noticed his little hobby, he'd handed him one of the bigger blocks and taught him the process, patiently and meticulously.

("When you need power to carve," He can remember his father telling him, "Then you're carving in the wrong direction.")

Understanding the artistry of making a human face from a hinoki was something that Urokodaki, small and different from the rest of the kids his age, had loved fiercely, and he'd been proud of it - proud of their family, proud of everything that they stood for.

And then they'd been ripped away from him with nothing to show for it besides the crimson painted against their walls and the cold feeling of loss seeping into Urokodaki's chest.

Demons, Ubuyashiki Kyoyko-san had told him, her smile just as gentle as the matriarch of her family. She was his age then, but he'd toyed with the idea that much like her predecessors, there was someone much more older living inside of her. She'd wiped the blood from his cheeks with a damp cloth in careful motions, gestures that reminded him of his own mother, even as Kyoko-san regaled him tales about monsters and demons that he'd only ever seen as wooden masks.

They're man-eating, She explains, uncaring about his lack of verbal and non-verbal response, And they feast on humans, on us during the evening. The only way to stop them is to decapitate their head with a Nichirin sword.

He hadn't hesitated on picking up a blade after that, desperate to get rid of every single one of them, to take back what they took from him.

(I will have your head, Urokodaki had told the first demon he'd killed, As compensation for my family's - for all the lives you've taken.)

As he reached his twenties, he'd mellowed down considerably, and his mentality had shifted from kill them all to drag as many of them to hell as possible before you die. On the surface, his priorities didn't appear to have changed much, but at the very least, Urokodaki hadn't been running himself demented chasing every tail end rumour of a demon appearing at every nook and cranny in Japan.

He was twenty eight when he first met Nobuhiko - a mischievous boy with a fondness for dango and kitsune folklore. Other than the clothes on his back, he had no other company - no parents, no siblings, and sadly, no friends either. 

He'd been on the brink of passing out from hunger, and Urokodaki had taken pity on him, treating the kid with udon noodles until eventually, he found himself nursing the boy back to proper health.

Before long, Nobuhiko had taken interest in the blade, and Urokodaki, seeing no harm, had began to teach him the Breath of Water. Maybe he'd be the next Water Pillar, he had mused, as he threw Nobuhiko off a waterfall, cackling at the kid's inhumane screeching, He definitely has the potential for it.

Nine months before he sent Nobuhiko off to the Final Selection, he bought a wooden block that came from a cypress and took out his father's old chisels. He had shoved down a wave of nostalgia that crashed into him as he stared at the tools (tokens of his childhood, objects that contain the memories of his past and the feelings of unbridled joy before they were viciously devoured in front of him). He then started carving Nobuhiko a fox mask.

"For good luck," he said, placing it on Nobuhiko's wild tuff of black hair nine months later. He runs his hand through it, a brief moment of indulgence that he wasn't willing to admit to, "Do your best out there. Come back to me once you're finished, okay?"

Nobuhiko had given him tight hug, and Urokodaki had been offered a brief moment to reminisce then, reminded of his little cousin's affectionate touches and twinkling laughter.

"You bet your ass I will!" Nobuhiko had said, obsidian eyes glistening with saline. Urokodaki was grateful for the obscurity his older brother's tengu mask had brought him, because crying was a lot easier when no one else can see your face.

"I'll be waiting." He told him, standing tall even as he felt a prick of unease watching Nobuhiko's figure disappear into the distance.

But he never came back, not after a week, not after two, and not after three.

And Urokodaki hadn't needed his crow's message to know that Nobuhiko hadn't survived.

He thought that he'd failed him, in some way. Maybe he hadn't trained him enough, maybe he didn't give him enough time to grow. He kept thinking this, even as he met his second ward, another child with eyes like Urokodaki, eyes that screamed I've not only seen hell, but also lived through it.

So he was harsher when Ayane asked him to teach her, spent longer with training her and invested even more time into simply being with her. He remembered everything she told him - how she disliked pickled beetroot, how her younger brother told people that their dad worked as a dentist because every time he had a lose tooth, he'd tie a string around it and pull - Urokodaki had treasured everything about her because it may have been a year since Nobuhiko left, but Urokodaki had still been grieving. 

He made her a kitsune mask too, and begged the heavens every night to keep her alive as he went on to carve it for almost three seasons.

But she hadn't returned either.

None of his kids ever did.

He carved fifteen masks, warded thirteen of them with every defensive spell he could find, and yet, none of that seemed enough.

Nothing he did seemed enough.

He could spend a year with them, spend two years, spend as many time as he could being a teacher and even more as a parent, and they'd still end up dead.

(The only one that made it out alive doesn't even want to see him unless its to ask Urokodaki to help someone else other than him.)

And he just - he doesn't want Nezuko to suffer the same fate as them.

He doesn't want Tanjirou waking up to the news that Urokodaki had essentially killed his sister.

(He hopes it's different, this time. Hopes that just like her brother, Nezuko would fight against the odds and come back.)

Sighing, Urokodaki places the chisel back into his father's leather pouch. Nezuko's mask was almost finished, a few more weeks and he'd be able to paint over it before warding the thing to hell and back.

He refuses to see the futility in doing it. Small things can butterfly out into large differences, and even if Urokodaki had stopped believing in change a long time ago, he'll never stop believing in his children.

(Hope was the one thing that helped him with living these days.)

He starts to clean the area, getting rid of the wooden shavings first, and then hiding the mask and his tools. The sun was slowly setting, red and oranges falling into darker hues. Nezuko should be returning for dinner soon, and he could smell her scent becoming stronger as she begins to trek down the summit and back to their little hut.

Half an hour later, he had just finished with the hayashi rice when the doors slide open with a creak and Nezuko, sounding exhausted, calls out a soft "I'm home, Urokodaki-sensei."

"Welcome back," He greets her. She places her sword near the entrance and kicks her sandals off before she drags herself to sit down in front of him and the pot of beef stew, "How are you?"

He makes a point to ask about her and not her training. Urokodaki cares more for her than what she can achieve.

She sheds her haori off and neatly folds it, "Tired, I suppose." She sets it down by her lap and gratefully accepts the plate of hashed beef rice he handed her.

"Eat, and then clean yourself up so you can rest." He tells her. 

She hums, choosing not to reply, and they fall into comfortable silence, only interrupted by the clicking of their utensils and her short compliments of, "This is delicious."

Domesticity like this is all he ever wishes for.

Unfortunately life isn't kind like that.

Like hasn't been kind to any of them.

After she's finished with her first bowl and asked for seconds, Nezuko then says, "Do you know who Makomo and Sabito is?"

Urokodaki freezes.

(Flashes of a spiky haired boy's agony echoing throughout the forest, a green and yellow patterned haori clutched wretchedly against his chest, and a girl's fox mask cracked at the right corner threatens to unravel his composure.)

"Where did you learn those names from?"

Nezuko, oblivious to his stiffness, chews on her food absentmindedly. She swallows, and replies, "Sabito attacked me two months ago," 

Urokodaki stays silent, heart beating erratically behind his chest.

"I think it's his roundabout way of trying to help, but he'd reminded me of some things that were personal so it got a little heated," She laughs a little at this, before continuing, "He told me that I was wasting your time, that I was wasting my time because I still haven't managed to cut the boulder, and then he'd asked me what I was even doing. And I -" She flushes slightly here, "I was just so angry at him that I fought back. He didn't seem to hate that, in fact, I think he even respected me a little for it, and he'd told me that he'd come back once I was ready to fight him again. Makomo took over from there."

She fiddles a little bit, places her half-finished bowl on the floor and plays with the haori on her lap, "I ask questions about them sometimes, but they don't answer it. Makomo told me that it's no longer their story to tell."

Her eyes flashed a little inquisitively at that.

"Do you know what that means?"

Urokodaki wasn't superstitious enough to believe in ghosts and spirits or the like.

But if demons exists then was it that difficult to comprehend that his children's souls never really moved on?

They must have died a horrible death, Urokodaki thinks, another shadow of a nightmare to follow him for the rest of his life, If the first thing they thought of after dying was to come back here.

(They must've died painfully if the first thing they wanted was a place of comfort even in death.)

They really were just children.

Nezuko's eyes were innocent and unknowing, and Urokodaki wishes he had the privilege to be like that, but he doesn't deserve that. He doesn't.

(He remembers Nobuhiko and the way he used to talk about the stray cat he'd every so often meet when he went dumpster diving, his normally boisterous voice becoming an achingly gentle lull. He remembers Ayane and the melancholy lilt to her voice when she tells him that the only family she'd ever had was a forsaken geisha.

He remembers Daiki and his fitful sleep talking, asking for his nii-san to come back as he cries and cries until the sun began to appear in the horizon. Remembers Yuki and Ken and Fuyumi and every one of his children telling him about the memories of their own family.

He remembers Giyuu crying for his sister and Sabito taking on the role of an older brother to both Giyuu and Makomo because he used to have two younger siblings that he would've sworn his life to protect had they not died before he could even try.

He remembers all of this, how, even if it pained them, even if it felt like spreading salt on a bleeding gash, they talked and babbled and rambled to him about their dead loved ones.

Just so they could keep the memory of them alive.)

They were truly marvellous kids, and even when they were gone, he was still learning a thing or two from all them.

Urokodaki takes a deep breath and recites something that his mother had told him when he was young.

"Memories of dead can only be passed on by the living,"

Nezuko tilts her head, before her eyes widen.

"It's the only way of keeping their remnants alive,"

Urokodaki swallows around the blades in his throat and begins to open the gulf in his chest that's never really closed.

He begins to talk about his children.

"Sabito and Makomo have been dead for six years, my dear."

—

Dead.

She stops breathing.

All fourteen of them.

Nezuko tries to imagine the absolute torment of losing her family fourteen times over.

She finds that she can't.

Because losing them once already felt like hell.

And if she lost them a second time, she thinks that she would've just killed herself to make the pain stop.

Nezuko's heart hurts for Urokodaki-sensei, but at the same time, she's never met a person so wilfully strong to have dragged himself back from his own personal purgatory.  

Fourteen times over.

She understands now, why he seemed so reluctant to see her go.

Tears begin to clump at the corner of her eyes, but she doesn't care.

"I wont die," She tells him, tells her sensei, her other parent, declares it to the heavens and the stars to hear.

She pushes every bit of her resolve, her fire - everything that's been fuelling her from the very start and challenges them to take it, to put it out.

Nezuko dares them to even try.

 "I have too much to lose."

Urokodaki-sensei smiles tightly although she doesn’t see it. Nezuko seamlessly begins to rearrange her primary concerns.

Get stronger. Help nii-chan. Keep him alive. Turn him back.

Don't die.

"I hope you don't," Urokodaki-sensei says, sounding like a lament of a thousand souls.

"Because I've already lost too much."

—

Sabito was waiting in front of the boulder for her mid-october, a metal sword in his hand.

That's when Nezuko knows she's ready.

They don't say anything to break the mutual silence, instead they both take their respective stances.

Makomo dithered at the sides, gauging them, assessing them. Her face was one of serenity, anticipation.

The atmosphere was almost like it was four months ago - charged, tension ridden.

They hear a pin drop. And then they both move.

It was over in a flash.

Nezuko sees a white string and slashes downwards before Sabito could get slice her arm off.

There was a sharp shwing sound, and the mask that's always been on Sabito's face slices in half.

It falls onto the ground with a clang but all Nezuko could do was stare at his face.

Sabito was smiling.

And Nezuko doesn't know why, but she felt her heart shattering to pieces.

(Later on, she’d find an answer to her question.

Sabito’s smile had been so warm.)

—

When his daughter comes back before sunset, Urokodaki knows that she's done it.

He closes his eyes and tries not to cry.

The next day he grabs the fox mask that's been sitting in his room finished since last week. He then gives it to her, and ignores the way her already red eyes welled up at the familiar sight of the kitsune mask.

"Come back to us." Urokodaki tells her, the words like a physical manifestation of serrated knives clawing out his throat.

He hears Nezuko's breath hitch and smells the way her grief - not only hers now, but an accumulation of everyone’s; her brother's, Urokodaki, Giyuu and Sabito and Makomo, and the other twelve siblings she never got to meet - sharpens at this.

"This time," she starts, breath shaky, hoarse, and pink eyes shiny, "I swear to the heavens, I will."

—

In the hut, just as Nezuko had left, a set of eyelids start to flutter open.

Red shines behind the curtain of his eyelashes.

And the sun began to wake up.