Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I lost you once

Nezuko is a younger sister, but the duties of the eldest daughter come first. Born after Tanjirou-nii but before Takeo-chan, Shigeru-chan, Hanako-chan, and Rokuta-chan, Nezuko is not a stranger to responsibility. It sits high on her shoulders, squeezing around her body like a vice that she can never shake away. 

It is something she has become used to; even if she had been the last-born, she would have had to bear the burden of it at some point. After all, they are not a nobleman's children. They were born as charcoal-sellers and hidden away from the rest of the world in their little cottage. The mountains were isolative, unlike the little village nearby sitting in the valley. It made the trips into town exciting. 

Nezuko will never understand Tanjirou-nii's role as the eldest brother. His hands are thick and calloused from hours spent wrapped around the handle of an ax while chopping firewood. His skin is slightly bronzed by the sun and smudged by coal from the countless hours he spends going back and forth between their home and the village. But just as Nezuko is not intimately acquainted with this, she knows that Tanjirou-nii will never fully understand her role as the eldest daughter. Her hands are not thick-skinned and calloused, but they're thin and dry and cracked from countless hours washing clothes in the icy river with their mother. The scent of gohan* and yasai** never leave the sleeves of her kimono. 

She carries Rokuta on her back nearly every day, lulling him to sleep when their mother doesn't have the time. Today is like any other. She takes a short soporific walk around the cottage, rocking the toddler closer and closer to sleep with each step when she hears it:

"I'll only go sell a little charcoal."

Tanjirou-nii's voice rings loud and clear through the mountainside like the brazen roar of the Orochi*** . He vibrates with quiet confidence; it is as if he is aware of his abilities and performs them to the best of his capabilities. Nezuko wonders if she will gain that confidence, too. Tanjirou-nii insists that she sells herself short of her abilities; she could blossom into a strong, capable woman like their mother if only she would allow herself to do so. 

Nezuko is shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of their mother's voice. It is the voice of a tired but happy woman. It has brought each of them comfort over the years when the nights have been too dark. 

Nezuko rounds the bend where the tree-covered path meets the clearing. She finds Tanjirou-nii's face cupped in their mother's hands, held as if he were something precious. Of course, Nezuko already treasures him, but she imagines that a parent's love for their children transcends any other type. Kaa-san looks deep into Tanjirou-nii's eyes as she cleans his face and smiles a gentle smile that makes the peachy purple of her eyes glow. The scene reminds Nezuko of how Kaa-san acted after Oto-san's passing; she used to hold Tanjirou-nii close to her chest when the young children weren't around, whispering the similarities between him and Oto-san. At the time, Nezuko had been too young to understand. But now, wisened as she is without Oto-san to soften the blows of harsh wisdom, Nezuko realizes that Kaa-san has been trying desperately to hold onto the last parts of their father. 

Tanjirou-nii has always taken after Oto-san with his red hair and red eyes. Nezuko spots similarities even in their temperaments, which kindle lowly like a dwindling fire until something ignites it, and concludes that perhaps the only thing Tanjirou-nii inherited from their mother is her magnanimous demeanor. 

"Thank you," Kaa-san murmurs. 

So , Nezuko muses to herself as the children crowd excitedly around Tanjirou-nii, big brother is going into town today. 

The revelation should not make her stomach twist, but it does. She feels as if she has just swallowed a rock that makes her stomach weigh down heavily. Today is a cold day, as is evident from the visible puffs of air that escape her mouth when she exhales, and there is no way to tell if it will become worse. It is dangerous when snow falls. And for that, Nezuko worries. 

Still, Tanjirou-nii's bright smile melts away all her worries. "Onii-chan," she chirps as he passes, stopping momentarily to allow him to run his fingers through Rokuta's downy hair. The toddler hums and shifts closer to Nezuko's back, burying his face in the fabric. Nezuko wonders if she imagines the gentle warmth emanating from where Tanjirou-nii's fingers had touched Rokuta or if her older brother merely warms everything around him with his sunny deposition. Giddily, she chooses to believe in the latter.

"Tanjirou-nii's smile is brighter than the sun," she says softly to herself. A grin tugs at her lips, one that sparkles like the stars. "Surely, it is enough to warm even the iciest heart. I wonder what the villagers say when they see it?"

The day passes uneventfully, just as they all predicted. Thankfully, snow does not begin to flutter down from the sky. Nezuko is relieved; she does not think her heart would be strong enough to handle distressing news regarding Tanjirou-nii. She needs the rest of her family to stay with her. Oto-san might be lonely in tengoku**** , but she reasons he can wait longer if it means that he can watch his family live together. 

The children whine, stifled by the abrasive silence that has settled over them. 

"Why couldn't we have gone into town with Nii-chan?" Hanako whines, tugging feebly on the hem of Nezuko's kimono. On Nezuko's other side, Shigeru does the same. Nezuko sighs, unable to shoo away their little hands with Rokuta lounging in her arms. 

Takeo takes pity on her. He shoos away both children, though it is not without difficulty. There is only so much respect an older sibling can gain from their younger ones when the years between them are slight. "You would have gotten tired too soon!" He yells at them when they continue to complain. "Nii-chan would have had to carry you in the cart, and then you would have slowed him down. Do you want to be a burden? He's doing this for our family!"

Ah, Takeo-chan. 

He is so serious for his age , Nezuko thinks. I hope he can still smile the way he did before Oto-san passed.

Oto-san's passing was difficult for all of them, but it had outwardly affected Takeo the most. He did not smile as he used to and his tone toward their younger siblings became sterner, and he developed an insistent clinginess toward Tanjirou-nii. Perhaps because Tanjirou-nii is the eldest son, and now Takeo only has him to idolize? Nezuko suspects that if Kaa-san had passed instead of Oto-san, Hanako would act similarly. It's only natural for the younger siblings to seek out the older ones, especially without a parental figure. 

Such a realization does not shock Nezuko, but it does make her feel as if she has eaten something particularly bitter. She doesn't understand why; ultimately, providing guidance and care to the younger ones is the primary role of the eldest sibling. When Tanjirou-nii is busy with other responsibilities, their younger siblings look to her for that guidance. Nezuko is forever grateful that Tanjirou-nii can provide it most of the time. It is more daunting than she had prepared for, and it makes her wonder if she is selfish and cowardly for not wanting to partake in it. 

Onee-chan. Onee-chan. Onee-chan.

Will that word morph one day? 

Mother. Mother. Mother.

Nezuko does not want it. She struggles enough with onee-chan as it is right now, thank you very much, and the thought that motherhood could be only a few years away frightens her. 

Day turns to night. The night passes undemandingly. 

Hanako helps her and Kaa-san with dinner this time. She does it with a big smile on her face, eyes alight with pride that not even Shigeru's teasing can douse. 

After the sun fully sets, Kaa-chan rocks Rokuta to sleep. Nezuko shushes her siblings and helps them prepare for bed, reminding them of the consequences should Rokuta awaken. No one wants to deal with one of his tantrums; a toddler's cries can be so troublesome because it never seems to end. And tonight, Nezuko only wants to sleep.

But sleep does not come easily for her. 

The stars travel through the sky like bright spots against a dark canvas, but Nezuko can only worry about Tanjirou-nii. Usually, he arrives back home much earlier than this. Had the villagers needed so much help that they held him back until the sun began to set? It is plausible, but Nezuko knows that the villagers like to see Tanjirou-nii off sooner than that. They like it when he arrives home to his family unharmed. Perhaps he is injured? 

Nezuko nibbles on her lip, biting on the flesh until it stings. Regardless, she assures herself, Saburojii-san would take Tanjirou-nii in for the night. The older man has always been protective over them, remarking once or twice that they made him feel like a grandfather. 

Nezuko rolls over, content now. 

The night passes undemandingly for her. 

She hopes it passes undemandingly for Tanjirou-nii. 

It is all she asks the gods for that night.

The gods, apparently, do not favor Tanjirou. 

He is walking up the mountain that night when it happens. 

"Are you returning to the mountain? You can't; it's dangerous."

"My nose can smell anything. I'll be fine."

His earrings sway when he staggers, clawing at the snowy ground as if it can help him. The path underneath him is stained red with his blood. It makes Tanjirou howl. 

"Enough of that, come here. The oni***** will appear."

He feels foolish when he remembers Saburojii-san's warnings. Oni are particularly dangerous beings known for their malice and trickery, and Tanjirou had fallen right into one's palm. He wishes he had listened. Then, would he be spared this pain? The agony of cruelty?

A dark laugh echoes somewhere above as if it is mocking his thoughts. His blood burns in his veins, coursing through the tunnels of his body like venom. There's an odd feeling in his mouth; it feels like something is poking and prodding at the lines of his gums, eager to rip through the soft tissue. Tanjirou lets out a strangled bellow. The sound is of condemnation, born purely as the mixed creation of grief and terror. 

Tanjirou has never known it before now. 

He remembers so much. Memories of children flash through his mind's eye; a woman with gentle hands; a man with compassionate eyes. 

But there are no names to put on their faces, and soon there are no faces to put on their bodies. Their silhouettes stand still in Tanjirou's mind. 

He remembers nothing at all.

The revelation forces a sob past Tanjirou's lips. Even with the knowledge that he is forgetting, his mind can't stop erasing them from existence. 

"Are you still withering away?" A voice drawls. It sounds bored, observing Tanjirou as if he is nothing more than a fish swimming around a small fishbowl. Slender hands so pale that they are visible against the dark background of the forest reach forward and grip Tanjirou by the throat, pulling him close. Tanjirou moves to lunge away, scratching at the ground with his feet in his terror, but the man only maneuvers them so that Tanjirou lays against the forest floor. "That's not good for me; I thought you'd be more stubborn than this. Do you want to die so badly?"

The hands tilt his face up, unbothered by the way Tanjirou digs his nails into its wrists. A tacky liquid beads against the punctured skin but does not drip. The voice laughs; it is so rich and full of life and genuine happiness that it makes Tanjirou pause, startled. The man takes this moment to move one of his hands up, leaving the other at Tanjirou's neck to keep him in place as the first hand rubs its blood against Tanjirou's skin like a sick claiming. It trails upwards, rubbing a surprisingly large amount of the coppery fluid across his neck, then continues upwards still until it has created a path to his lips. A cut appears on the wrist magically, causing more blood to drip steadily out, making all the previous wounds Tanjirou created beforehand seem tiny. 

Tanjirou whines when his lips part without his consent and blood spills into his mouth, tasting nothing as it should. 

"Make sure to drink a lot of it," the voice tells him. The hand pinning him down by the throat moves to pat his head once the man realizes he isn't going anywhere. "My blood can kill someone lesser, but you'll take it and become strong from it, won't you?"

Against the dark silhouettes of the trees, Tanjirou makes out the man's form. There is no urgency in it; he's at ease with Tanjirou's suffering. 

Tanjirou chokes. Blood pours out of his mouth, dripping down his chin, and the man tuts disapprovingly. "Look at you, wasting food like this. I hope you don't waste my gift too." He prods at Tanjirou's prone body with an expensive shoe. "Shouldn't you thank me? I'm your savior. I'm your god."

No, Tanjirou sobs but does not say. You are my condemner. 

Still, when an insane man holds your life in his hands, there is little else you can do but beg. 

"T-T-T-T-Tuh, tuhhhhh," Tanjirou tries. His mouth forms the syllables, but the words don't come out. "Tuhhhhh, tuhhhhh-ank. Tuhhhhhank. Ouuu." 

There is a beat of silence. Tanjirou worries if the man senses his insincerity. Or, perhaps, he is not impressed by Tanjirou's pitiful attempt at speaking. 

The man chuckles. "Good boy."

He drops something that falls in a broken heap beside Tanjirou's twitching body. Even his insensitive hearing can pick up the sound of multiple things snapping in half. He can't see it well, but through the peripheral of his vision, he can see it twitch thrice before stilling completely. 

And then he smells it. 

Tanjirou has always had a heightened sense of smell. There is nothing he has not been able to smell; it is a gift he inherited from his father. 

And this.... It is—

Tanjirou's breath hitches. 

Blood.

Human blood.

It beckons him more than the man's had. Where before his body moved automatically to accept a substance that disgusted him, consuming it without his approval, now his limbs twitched, and his stomach rumbled. Tanjirou can't help but feel shameful; usually, blood is an awful smell. It's overwhelmingly rich and tacky, filling his mouth with the scent of rust. It is the scent of terror, of desperation, or tragedy. But this....

Tanjirou wails. 

This scent smells decadent . And so, so delicious. 

It calls to him, and he wants nothing more than to answer it. 

He regains movement past the involuntary shaking of his body, but only enough to thrash his head from side to side. Through the darkness, he gains a glimpse of the man's gift. 

He wishes he hadn't. Bile rushes up to his throat but never makes it out of his mouth. 

Tanjirou whimpers. "Sa-Sa-Sa-Sa," he squeaks. "Sa-bu. Sabuu—"

Saburojii-san. 

"The oni will appear."

Tanjirou screams. His mouth stretches open to accommodate the long, terrifying fangs that tear through his gums at the same time, increasing the severance of his pain. 

The man laughs. 

And Tanjirou knows no more. 

Chapter Text

Then I lost you twice

Tanjirou wakes in a strange room, surrounded by strangers on all sides. He's bowed before a throne colored such a deep red that he is unsure if it is the actual color of the fabric or if it has been died by the blood of an uncountable number of victims. 

A man sits on the throne. His skin is as pale as a rich man's, telling of a life devoid of hard labor, and his hair contrasts richly against it. Though it's obvious he's of an impressive height, the most striking thing about him is the bright red color of his eyes. They follow Tanjirou even when he doesn't move, pinning him in place. 

The man smirks. "Heh," he chuckles, leaning down and grabbing a lock of Tanjirou's hair. He holds it in his hand passively, rubbing the mahogany-colored strands. But it's when Tanjirou feels a tickling sensation on his collarbone and thighs that he realizes the hair coming out of his head has changed; it is longer and shinier, tamed in a way it never was before. With this change come more: his skin is pale instead of tanned and the callouses decorating his palms have disappeared, leaving behind smooth skin. Something cinches his waist tightly; it feels like he's squished in a mold that doesn't quite fit and shaped regardless of the ill form. "What a beautiful wife I have."

Tanjirou groans, low and loud, as pressure builds beneath his fingertips. It's as if his hands are teething, poking and prodding against the thin skin of his fingers. A burning sensation spreads along his body, beginning with his forehead and ending in his forearms. 

"What a holy creature you are," The man purrs, pressing his lips to the now soft silk of Tanjirou's hair. "Resisting your demonhood like this—the process only slows, you know. You'll be in pain much longer if you go about it like this." He drops the lock of red hair, letting it fall to the ground. He sighs. "Ah, your transformation... will be legendary."

Tanjirou screeches. It echoes through the strange room, bouncing off the walls and slamming into Tanjirou's ears. 

"Listen to yourself," The man tsks condescendingly. He stretches his hand out toward Tanjirou, holding it palm up, waiting for Tanjirou to return the gesture. "You'll scare the others if they hear their queen wailing like that. Be brave, Wife."

Tanjirou wants nothing more than to push this man away and take shelter somewhere far. He emits a heavy odor made up of a hundred emotions combined, and it wreaks havoc on Tanjirou's nose. But Tanjirou is standing alone at the edge of a cliff, surrounded by an eternal night, and he can't find the courage in himself to risk jumping. Like a coward, he slips his hand into Kibutsuji's larger one. 

Be brave , a forgotten voice whispers to him. Don't forget who you are, Tanjirou.

Tanjirou meets the man's eyes, declining his head like a demure maiden. Everything happens at once: violence pushes against peace, determination breaks through resolve, and an unknown chord buried deep in Tanjirou's chest snaps into place. The pain from before vanishes so rapidly that it leaves him dizzy, gasping for breath. 

I'm sorry, Tanjirou begs the forgotten voice. I'm so sorry. 

"Wife," the man speaks. He doesn't bother to hush his tone; Tanjirou's newly sensitive ears ring at the volume intensity, and he weeps. "Do you know who I am?"

Tremors wrack Tanjirou's body. He nods.

"Say it."

"Husband," he whispers, utterly ruined. It's the only word that his mouth can form. It's the only word he can say. "Husband, husband, husband."

His so-called husband's face breaks into a depraved leer. 

"Ah," His husband begins. "This must be what heaven is."

Ah , Tanjirou cries to the forgotten voice dormant in his mind. I think I know what condemnation is.

A man shows up the next day. He wears a haori with two different patterns. Kaa-san ushers him into their home when he knocks on the door, pale face red and blotchy from the harsh wind. Nezuko doesn't think she realized who she's directed inside; Tanjirou-nii's disappearance weighs the most heavily on Kaa-san. She's been fretting all day, waiting impatiently for her son—her precious firstborn, the first human she fell incontrovertibly in love with before she even met him—and the sight of a young man some years older must have reminded her of him. 

"Who are you?" Takeo demands. His voice wobbles like Rokuta's first steps, and he tries in vain to wipe the tear tracks from his cheeks. Nezuko is prepared to defend him if the strange man dares to comment on it; he's lost his father and his older brother now. He's allowed to grieve like the rest of them, even if he feels differently. 

"My name is Tomioka Giyuu," Tomioka-san answers. "I'm here to investigate a death."

Nezuko gasps, but the sound of Kaa-san's wails drowns out the sound. Behind her, Takeo makes a strangled noise. 

"My son," Kaa-san sobs lightly. "Are you here to tell me that my son is dead?"

Tomioka-san hesitates. He's confused, having treaded on sensitive information without realizing it, and doesn't know what to do next. "I don't think so," he tells them slowly. "An old man down the mountain died last night under suspicious circumstances... and the cause was likely a demon."

Nezuko blinks.

Time stands still. In her mind's eye, the word flickers like an unstable flame. 

Demon. 

Takeo mouths the word when their eyes meet, face morphed into the funny expression that Oto-san passed down to his sons. Kaa-san makes an odd sound in the back of her throat, disbelieving. 

"I'm from the Demon Slayer Corps," Tomioka-san continues as if that makes it any better. He unsheathes a sword that nobody had noticed beforehand. "... Can you tell me more about this son?"

There's a moment of silence. The three Kamados exchange gazes, silently arguing on Tomioka-san's sanity. But they don't have any other options; the village nearby is too small to have a policeman, and the villagers can only search for so long without professional equipment. Finally, Kaa-san speaks. 

"He descended the mountain yesterday morning," she begins. "He left to sell coal for the upcoming season. He didn't come home last night, but that happens when the villagers keep him longer than usual. He helps them with chores. We all do," she explains when Tomioka-san's face changes. "On those nights, he stays with Saburo-san. He's an older man that lives down the mountain; our family is good friends with him. Usually, he's home by morning. Something is very wrong."

Tomioka-san nods. "I think there's a story you need to hear."

"Story?" Kaa-san squawks. In any other situation, it would have been funny. Kaa-san is such a seasoned parent that it's hard to imagine her composure failing. "What about my son?"

"You don't believe in demons," Tomioka-san responds. "Without this story, you won't believe what I'm going to tell you."

"Fine," Takeo snaps. "Talk, then!"

Tomioka-san obeys. 

He tells them the story of a terrifying man named Kibutsuji Muzan, who has lived for countless millennia. A formidable man who is not a man at all, but rather the Demon Father. He tells them the story of the first demon slayer. Warmth spreads through Nezuko's chest at the retelling, an odd fondness bubbling in her heart. She wonders if the mentioned demon slayer is an ancestor or someone she knew in a past life. By the end of it, the three Kamados stand in contemplative silence. 

"So, you think one of these demons killed Saburojii-san?" Nezuko asks. 

Tomioka-san gives her an indecipherable look. Nezuko can't hold eye contact, unable to cope with the sheer amount of pity she sees. "I don't think it was any demon," Tomioka-san replies softly. "I think it was your older brother."

Chaos erupts, but not from Takeo like Nezuko suspected. Kaa-san spits molten hot lava in her denial and dismissal, upholding Tanjirou-nii's honor with the stubborn endurance only a parent has. "How dare you!" She roars. "My Tanjirou-kun is a gentle, honorable boy. He's been agreeable since I birthed him. He would never harm a person, not intentionally at least, and certainly wouldn't go out of his way to do so! Get out of my house!"

"Kamado-san—"

"Get out!" Kaa-san screeches. Nezuko and Takeo are alarmed to see her break down in blubbering sobs. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

"Kaa-san!" Nezuko shrieks, rushing forward to hold her up when her knees give out. She hands her off to Takeo, instructing him to take her to her room and comfort her. The conversation she is about to have with Tomioka-san is not for younger ears. After a moment of thought, she decides that isn't for Kaa-san's current mental state either.

"I'm sorry," Tomioka-san apologizes quietly.

Nezuko shifts. "You should be, but not for the reasons you think." She thinks about Tanjirou-nii, who is unfamiliar with the notion of genuine evil and kind enough to see the good before the bad. Her older brother capable of killing—much less devouring—someone? The idea is laughable. "I understand why you don't believe us. You've never met Tanjirou-nii. But my brother is the type to sacrifice himself for the world; he hasn't an evil bone in his body."

"Demonhood forces change."

Nezuko shakes her head. "It won't change him."

They sit together in silence for a while, exchanging small snippets of Tanjirou-centered conversation. Kaa-san finally emerges from her room several hours later. Rokuta babbles in her arms. Hanako and Shigeru hide behind her, shy in the face of a stranger. 

"Tomioka-san."

"Yes?"

"What will it take to find my son?"

"We'll do all we can to find him," Tomioka-san promises. 

Kaa-san's face is unchanging, unyielding in the face of sorrow. "That will take too long," She argues. "How do I do what you do?"

"The life of a demon slayer isn't easy. It takes years of training to even go to the Final Selection, and most don't make it through that."

Kaa-san sets her jaw, determination settling in her eyes. "I need to find my son."

Tomioka-san hesitates, but only for a moment. "You can't stay here if you become a demon slayer," he told them. "But I know someone who can help. I'll send him a letter."

And just like that, Nezuko finds herself trying to fit as much as she can into her randoseru*. The pack is old, so she needs to walk carefully to keep the seams from splitting further. It's not like she has much, anyway. 

When they meet outside in the bitter cold, Takeo has an orange cloth. 

"Is that—"

"Onii-san used to keep it," Takeo explains. "He said it helped him when he was hurting. So, it's gotta help him when we find him, right?"

Nezuko smiles. "Right."

They descend the mountain, not like a sleuth of bears but rather like five little tanukis preparing to survive the day. Saburojii-san's tortured body still lies at the mountain's base, blood staining the snow surrounding it red. Kaa-san ushers the younger children away, handing Rokuta off to Shigeru while he and Hanako play nearby. They're close enough to see from a distance (Nii-san's disappearance has revived an old protectiveness in Kaa-san that Nezuko hasn't seen since Takeo was born) but far enough away that the sight of Saburojii-san's fate doesn't scar them. Everyone else works quickly to bury Saburojii-san outside of his newly abandoned home, sending a prayer once the job ends. As they leave, a stray sun ray reflects off the ground nearby. The snowy part gleams oddly, like a gloss. 

Nezuko's blood runs cold when she approaches it. Outlined innocently in the snow, unbroken and unbent, lay Tanjirou-nii's hanafuda earrings. Nezuko takes a shaky breath while scooping them into her hands, brushing away the snow. They leave a slight pattern in the snow, a testimony to Tanjirou's pain. 

"Kaa-san... " 

Kaa-san takes a deep breath when she sees what Nezuko holds. She needs a moment to stand and think; the meaning behind the abandoned earrings—the abandoned heirloom—is not lost to her. 

"Why don't you hold onto them, Nezuko?" Kaa-san offers. "Tanjirou will be relieved to know they were in good hands while he's away."

Nezuko agrees; the earrings feel heavy on her ears, swaying at every tiny movement. They tangle in her hair. It feels like these inanimate objects refuse her, searching for their rightful owner. But Tanjirou-nii isn't here. 

Nezuko blinks back tears.

Nii-san , she cries, where are you? Come back home, please.

It feels like a prayer. Nezuko hopes it isn't one.

Chapter Text

Everywhere Tanjirou goes, there are eyes on his back. It’s more unnerving than relieving, especially since it makes him feel like prey among predators (the comparison is more precise than he’d like). But in a place where it’s more common to have a knife or two in your back, Tanjirou gladly accepts the stares. 

It’s better to have an eye on your back than a knife in it,  he thinks. 

A young demon—younger than Tanjirou—follows at his heels. The demon’s fanatic behavior would be cute if it wasn’t for his temper. Tanjirou isn’t allowed to do much with this hellion around; the child latches onto him after every mission. His admiration coupled with his temper means that Tanjirou needs to tip-toe around every conversation as if the child is a deeply cracked porcelain vase. 

A hand tugs at the hem of one of Tanjirou’s ridiculously long sleeves. Kibutsuji only provides Tanjirou with a jūnihitoe* every day; each morning he watches Tanjirou struggle into all the layers and each night he watches Tanjirou struggle to keep up with the twelve upper moons. The jūnihitoe is made of expensive fabrics, but even silk on silk requires sizable effort to move. He isn’t allowed to wear anything less; the one time he only dressed in a kimono rather than the jūnihitoe, Kibutsuji punished him ruthlessly. 

“Kōgō-san**,” a child’s voice insists when Tanjirou tries to ignore the hand.

“Ah…” Tanjirou sighs, turning to the child. “Yes, Rui-kun?”

Rui smiles, and for a second, he forgets that Rui is a semi-malicious, abusive demon. It’s bright and giddy, but Rui isn’t a spider demon for nothing. Rui is the type to be a friend in the morning but a foe at night. Considering the time when their kind is most active… well, Tanjirou is glad that Rui is always away on missions at night. He considers himself selfish for his private thoughts. Not only can he smell Rui’s make-believe family’s fear and desperation, but he can easily see it too. 

“Kibutsuji-sama did a good job picking you,” Rui tells him. He knows it’s meant as a compliment, but Rui’s words leave nothing but ash in his mouth. “You’re a wonderful mother to us all. You’ll be even better as you settle into your new life.”

Tanjirou doesn’t reply. 

Rui’s grip finds his wrist and tightens. His smile strains. “You’ll be an even better mother as you settle into your new life, right Kōgō-san?”

“Of course,” Tanjirou nods. He plasters a smile to his face, which feels artificial and heavy on his lips. Still, it manages to pacify Rui. “I’ll do my best.”

“Awww,” coos a woman’s voice. An arm finds itself slung around Tanjirou’s shoulder, claws digging into the layers of his jūnihitoe. “Kōgō-san is determined to be the perfect wife to our lord, isn’t he?”

Rui’s lips thin, resembling a razor’s edge against paper. “Daki-san,” he greets icily. “Don’t you have someone else to bother right now? A mission to prepare for, perhaps?”

Daki humphs and leans closer to Tanjirou until their cheeks squish together. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She drawls. Her makeup is only half-done: though her face is powdered and lips painted red, she has yet to color her eyelids and do her hair. 

“It’s because he wants Kōgō-san all to himself, I bet,” Douma appears. Tanjirou shrinks further away from Douma than he had from Daki; it’s easy to withstand Daki’s teasing but Douma’s leaves him fearful and flustered. “Say, Kōgō-san, I don’t think Rui-chan’s missions are the best for you.”

“What would you recommend then?” Rui hisses.

Douma’s smirk is ill-mannered. “Why, something alongside Daki-chan of course! 

“You-!”

“Don’t be jealous, Rui-chan! You’re not the only one that wants Kōgō-san all to yourself. I personally think he’d make a great Oiran—”

“Douma.”

Time freezes. Kokoushibo towers behind Douma, painting a shadow. 

Kokoushibo is the second most intimidating demon Tanjirou’s met—after Kibutsuji—but he’s probably his favorite. Tanjirou is never mocked and intentionally frightened when he’s around; Kokoushibo stands beside Tanjirou like a silent barrier against the others. He clearly favors Tanjirou for some odd, unknown reason, but Tanjirou isn’t about to complain. 

Douma laughs, though the sound is laced with anxious nerves. “Kokoushibo-san! I didn’t notice you there, heheh….” 

“Go.”

He backs away. Rui disappears with an unsatisfied frown, and even Daki pitter-patters away in the background, wisely keeping her mouth shut in the face of a possible thrashing. Kibutsuji allows Kokoushibo to do everything less than blatant abuse, but where Kibutsuji punishes as a show of strength, Kokoushibo punishes as a reprimanding. Somehow, the wounds from a well-deserved punishment sting worse than wounds from merciless torture. 

Tanjirou turns to Kokoushibo once they leave. “T-T-Thank… yo-ou.”

He doesn’t try to say his name. It would take too long; there’s only one word he can say without trouble, and he’s sure it has a lot to do with how Kibutsuji reprogrammed his mentality after his transformation. 

Kokoushibo nods and walks away, leaving Tanjirou in solitude. 

Tanjirou continues on his way. 

Eyes follow him down the hall. 

It’s better than knives , Tanjirou thinks.  It’s a lot better than knives.

Far away, Kamado Kie stays up late into the night, diligently watching over the five children she has. They’re clumped together like wet rice, children on top of children. The sight is sweet to see, but Kie’s eyes well up when she thinks about how there should be six of them. What happened to her son?

It’s a miserable thought of too many parents; Kie never imagined it would be one of her’s. 

I’ll find him , she reminds herself, raising a doubled sense of determination and confidence in her chest.  I’ll bring him home . 

Chapter Text

Yet still I search, unaware

Two years pass in pothered placidity. They all miss Tanjirou-nii terribly, but they’re able to settle down into dull routines. Rokuta-chan becomes more curious as he grows older, but Nezuko doesn’t bother to sate his interest; speaking about Tanjirou-nii furthers the crack threatening to split her heart in half. She knows her grief should have dimmed by now because it’s been two years, and everyone else can speak about him with happiness in their eyes and hope in their voices. But when Nezuko thinks of her older brother—a boy not much older than her with hands crafted by kindness—and all the memories they share, rage clouds her vision.

She wishes desperately, every dawn and every dusk, for answers. The gods never seem to acknowledge her pain, though. 

“Nee-chan! Nee-chan!”

Nezuko turns away from her packing. Hanako-chan stands so close that her nose nearly brushes Nezuko’s arm. “Yes, Hanako-chan?”

“Can I come with you and Takeo-nii?” She chirps. Her eyes, resembling a purple-pink sunrise, shimmer sweetly. “I’ve always wanted to go to the city!”

“I’m sorry, Hanako-chan. Our missions are too dangerous.”

Hanako pouts. She’s ten years old now, on the cusp of puberty, reaching a hand out to receive the joys of adolescence. She’s anxious to follow in Nezuko and Takeo-chan’s footsteps… anxious to see her oldest brother again… anxious to make her family proud. She’s concerned about so many things. Nezuko looks at her sister and sees only ambition personified. She wonders what she can do with all of that enthusiasm. 

Great things, probably. 

Nezuko thinks she could do great things, too. Maybe. Tanjirou-nii always said she could. 

Tanjirou-nii used to say a lot of things.

“Why can’t I begin training yet, then? Takeo-nii was as old as me when he started!”

“I’m sorry, Hanako-chan,” Nezuko repeats. “The circumstances were different back then, though,” she thinks back to the hanafuda earrings she found in the snow that fateful day, then back to the orange and black checkered cloth Takeo brought with him during their move. Remorse fills her heart steadily at the past memories. Takeo seems to have grown twenty years in only two. “If this is really something you want to do, you need to have a serious talk with Kaa-san. You’ll need to understand everything that happens in this type of job.”

Hanako calms at her explanation, but her voice is still reedy. “Yes, Nee-chan. I’ll talk to Kaa-san first, I promise.”

“Thank you, Hanako-chan. You’re such a good girl.”

Hanako beams. 

Nezuko and Takeo head out the next morning. Asakusa is a long way away for them; it takes many days and nights before they reach the city, but Nezuko is hesitantly excited. She’s never been to the city. 

When they arrive in the city, the chaos stuns them. The lights are blinding against the dark night; the people move as one, creating a blur of faces and clothing. 

“Wow,” Takeo breathes. When Nezuko looks over at him, she sees the lights reflect off of his eyes. It makes his eyes look bigger and peppier like they’d been before Tanjirou-nii’s disappearance. “There’s so many colors.”

Nezuko nods. “We shouldn’t get distracted yet, Takeo-chan,” she reminds him, stepping into the flowing crowd. “We still have those demons to find.”

But as soon as she begins to walk, she stops.

Takeo-chan stumbles into her, spluttering. “What are you doing, Nee-chan?”

“Do… Do you feel that, Takeo-chan?”

“Feel what?”

Nezuko shudders; the air suddenly slams on her like a  genno *, crushing her lungs into slivers. “That energy,” she mumbles. “It reminds me of that day.”

“What do you mean, Nee-chan?” Takeo asks her quietly. The city folk grumble as they move around the pair of siblings, walking faster than Nezuko has ever seen non-combat civilians walk. “You’ve never… mentioned… anything like that.”

Nezuko shrugs. “I never said anything because it seemed so redundant at the time. Tanjirou-nii was already gone, and Saburojii-san was already dead, and we already knew why.” She moves again, following the crushing weight of the air until it becomes unbearable. It coats her skin like dirty water, burning her like a freshly boiled stew. “But now it’s here, so what could it mean—”

And that’s when Nezuko sees him. 

He’s a wealthy man; there’s no doubt about it. He’s pale like a lord, with a slim figure suggesting years of healthy eating. He’s clearly been able to afford bulks upon bulks of healthy foods, and Nezuko’s gut twinges. Kaa-san used to dream about that kind of diet. She probably still does. 

“You.”

He glances at her like she’s a rat scurrying along the back alleyways. Then, he turns away from her. 

Nezuko could breathe fire at this point, really.  The audacity of this man , she spews silently,  to destroy my family and not even know our faces!

She opens her mouth, ready to grab this man by the throat and kick him where the sun doesn’t shine when someone slides into the empty space beside the wealthy man like an accessory hanging off of his arm. 

“Tsukihiko-san? Is everything alright?”

The person hanging off of the wealthy man’s arm is gorgeous. She must be from a background as privileged as his, judging from her soft features, but that isn’t what Nezuko sees first. The first thing she sees is the wisp of Tanjirou-nii reflected in the woman’s eyes, and it hits her like a kick to the neck. 

Nezuko makes a strangled sound when the woman focuses on her. 

“Everything is fine,” Tsukihiko-san tells her. A smile spreads across his face, but it is not kind. “Don’t you dare worry; it’s all a misunderstanding. Isn’t that right, girl?”

Despite herself—her anger, her fear, her sorrow—Nezuko nods feebly. Tsukihiko-san’s gaze pins her to the dirt like a worm, burying her underneath a choking power. “Yes,” she squeaks, hating the high pitch of her voice. What was once filled with righteous anger is now beaten down into nothing more than submissive fear, cowed by the sheer weight of the man’s stare. “I must have you confused—”

Nezuko doesn’t say much more than that, though. The woman interrupts her when she falls to her knees, clutching her head. Tears drag her eyes down, not unlike how winter rain tends to break the weight of the sky down with it. 

“Sachiko-san?” Tsukihiko-san murmurs, leaning down to capture her form within his own embrace. She looks suddenly small beside him, frail and sickly in his grasp. 

“Is she alright?” Takeo gasps, rushing forward. He nearly takes her in his arms, but the man stares him down until he backs away. “Erm—”

“I assure you, she’s fine,” Tsukihiko-san tells them. “She just needs to rest. Please, don’t worry yourselves over her condition. She’ll be better come morning.”

They get to their feet slowly. His wife clutches onto his shoulder, rising up on shaky legs like an infant learning to walk. They begin to walk away from the siblings, staggering into the moving crowd like a dam blocking a current. 

“Wait! You can’t just go!” Takeo shouts. He draws attention to them, and suddenly there are hundreds of eyes tracking the wealthy couple’s movement. “She’s seriously hurt. She needs medical attention.”

A murmur breaks out among the city folk that has stopped to watch the spectacle. Tsukihiko-san clicks his tongue, annoyed, and frowns, pushing his wife’s face deeper into his chest, turning her away from wandering eyes. When a man walks closer, claiming to be a doctor, he lets him brush against his shoulder. 

But that’s as far as he gets. 

Within the next second, the doctor has turned into a ravenous beast. Sharp teeth rip through his gum line and his still-closed lips, splattering blood down his chest. Nezuko and Takeo restrain him as best as they can, shouting for the crowd to continue moving, but it’s for naught. Most modernists don’t know about  oni ; demons are nothing more than childish tales for those with secure, rooted lives. 

“You don’t understand,” Nezuko insists. “This man needs help, but he’s also very dangerous to other people right now! If I let go, something bad will happen!”

“Calm down,” the first officer tells her. “And go home—young ladies like yourself shouldn’t have to see this.”

He pulls them off of the man and his partner moves quickly to secure the freshly turned demon. It’s not enough. Nezuko and Takeo can only watch the oncoming slaughter with wide eyes, forcibly resigned to the tight tethers of inability. 

Nezuko blinks, and there’s a gaping hole where their throats should be. She blinks again, and several bystanders are screaming, clutching at spaces where their legs or arms should have been. Dozens are dead.

“Nee-chan!”

At first, Nezuko doesn’t understand Takeo’s apprehension, but it only takes a minute before she finally registers the gentle heaviness on her shoulder. 

“Calm down,” says a woman’s voice. “I don’t mean to startle you, but I noticed you called that man a ‘man’, even though he is, in fact, a demon. You even tried to save him. If it’s alright, I’d like to help.”

Nezuko feels something akin to relief flush her body. “Oh, thank you—”

“Nee-chan!” Takeo snaps. His anxiety makes Nezuko anxious in turn, but when she begins to scold him for his rude behavior, she finds that she can’t bring herself to. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings,” he turns to the woman. “I know what you are. My nose might not be the best out there, but I can smell what you are.”

The woman grimaces. The boy beside her scowls so fiercely that Nezuko is taken aback by it. “I know you can.”

“What?”

“I am a demon,” the woman explains. “But I’m also a doctor. I want to help. I want Kibutsuji destroyed as much as you do.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Takeo demands. 

Nezuko bristles at his impudence. “Takeo-chan!”

“Let’s worry about that later,” the woman interrupts. She smiles softly, in a way that reminds Nezuko of her family. She gestures toward the crowd of injured people, lying weakly amongst the dead. “For now, we need to treat these people. I’ll take them to my clinic. Will you come with us?”

“Of course,” Nezuko agrees before Takeo can deny the invitation. He squawks at her easy acquiescence, but she shushes him. 

The woman nods. “Yushiro-chan,” she turns to the boy beside her. “Please show them the way when they’re ready.”

“M-Me!” Yushiro cries. “But… But I want to be close to you, Tamayo-san!”

Tamayo-san clicks her tongue as if he is a small child in the midst of a tantrum. “Yushiro-chan… Please, do as I say.”

Yushiro grumbles but doesn’t protest. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Tamayo-san promises. In a blur of colorful flowers, she disappears with the injured men.

The night is still young and dark, but Asakusa’s lights stamp illumination into Nezuko’s eyes until she can only see the neon advertisements. She takes a deep breath, thinks about Tsukihiko-san’s wife and the newly turned demon, closes her eyes, and promptly collapses. 

“Nee-chan!”

“You cause me so much trouble,” Kibutsuji-sama hisses when they return to the Infinity Mansion. Tanjirou, removed of all makeup, cowers at his feet. His skin, decorated with red scorching marks like flames, blooms patterns of black and blue. Thick blood dribbles down his chin, oozing slowly from the small cuts woven into his skin. The worst of the damage is concentrated on his lips; Kibutsuji loves to tear apart the delicate skin and let it scab over until his regeneration powers make it whole and undamaged again. “Why did you have to go and remember such useless things? We could have avoided all of this if you were a good demon.”

He slits the skin along his palm easily, without even a wince of unspoken complaint, and holds it out to Tanjirou. The smell is eerily similar to human blood, which Tanjirou has yet to taste, and he knows from experience that it satisfies Tanjirou in nearly every way. “Come here,” Kibutsuji orders. “You did good during your punishment today, Tanjirou. Drink. Heal yourself.”

“Eh,” Tanjirou groans, clutching his head. It still spins from the shock it received earlier today, after the unexpected meeting with the girl and her brother. He remembers pink eyes softened with noble intentions… spiky black hair darker than his own reddened locks. A sister’s gentle love… A brother’s constant dedication. He remembers what love—loyal and benevolent, non-greedy and non-yearning for something in return—felt like. He looks at Kibutsuji-sama’s extended hand thinks of everything he’s been forced to give up in the few years he’s been forced to stay beside him and turns his nose up at the offering. “N… No.”

Kibutsuji stills at his refusal. His eyes gain a dangerous gleam that makes Tanjirou’s breath stutter. 

“‘No’?” He repeats. There’s a moment of calm before there’s suddenly a hand in Tanjirou's hair, pulling him forward and smashing his face into the ground. Tanjirou cries out, slapping Kibutsuji’s hands away, but the act is done in vain. It only makes Kibutsuji angrier, and he slams Tanjirou’s head down again and again until half of his face is caved in and blood gushes from his skull. “What an insolent wife! Is this what you’re teaching my demons? I was prepared to let you go without much punishment, but I don’t think you deserve my leniency anymore. You need to be reminded of your place, don’t you, wife?”

Tanjirou growls pitifully, the sound mixing into the air until it fades into nothing. Kibutsuji chuckles. It’s not a happy sound. 

“I’m sending you on a mission,” Kibutsuji continues nonchalantly as if Tanjirou is not slowly bleeding to death beneath him. “This will be your first one, so I can’t send you alone. Especially not when you’re like this. You’ll go with Douma.”

At Tanjirou’s dejected whine, he hums. “Don’t be like that,” he chides, gliding a hand through Tanjirou’s blood-soaked hair. His hand comes back red. “If I could trust you, you wouldn’t have to put up with Douma. Do you know what I want you to do, Tanjirou?”

Tanjirou doesn’t. He’s been beaten into submission, coaxed by the friendly lull of death into a lax state. 

Kibutsuji leans down to whisper in his ear: “I want you to find your family,” he continues. “And kill them all.”

Tanjirou flails at the command, fighting the blood tying orders into his being. His lord only pets him twice and goes on his way, leaving Tanjirou alone in the room. 

For the rest of the night, tears mix with blood, creating a nauseating blend of salty, gloopy liquid. 

Chapter Text

that I shall lose you thrice

“Ahah! So this is where Tamayo-san’s been hiding!”

Douma’s voice is oddly triumphant for a demon that did no work in finding the doctor’s hideout, Tanjirou thinks. He doesn’t bother to say anything in return; there is no lost love between them on his part. The sooner he finishes this mission, the sooner he can go back to avoiding the other demon. 

“Well,” Douma begins. “What are we waiting for? I can’t wait to join in the fun!”

Tanjirou grumbles. A couple hundred feet away, the walls of the building crack and crumble as the mari ball continues to crash against them. The action vaguely reminds him of weakened animals collapsing before the hunter. With sickening clarity, he realizes that the scene unfolding before him is not so different. 

Douma hums. “I guess you’re right,” he sighs. “We should wait until the main event to reveal ourselves! Then Tamayo-san will know she’s doomed! Good idea, Kōgō-san…”

His smile turns sadistic. “... Or should I say Sachiko-chan?”

If Tanjirou wasn’t concerned with a few things—the first being Muzan’s orders, the second being his inability to properly speak, and the third being his general apprehensiveness about anything and everything that Douma is involved in—he would have given Douma a good thrashing right there and then. Steadily, Douma has been unsettling Tanjirou’s already shot nerves since the start of their mission. He’s been taking delight not only in Tanjirou’s demure demeanor but also in his disguise. There’s something about Sachiko-chan that amuses Douma even more than Tanjirou… but at this point, Tanjirou assumes he just enjoys holding something over Tanjirou’s head. 

Unable to do anything, he can only glare. Douma takes the look in stride, blissfully ignoring Tanjirou’s leashed fury, and pats Tanjirou’s head like he’s some kind of child. Then again, considering not only the age he had been turned at and how long Douma’s been serving Muzan (as his second ranking demon, at that!) over his own pitiful timeline, Tanjirou begrudgingly admits to himself that there’s no use whining over it. 

They creep closer to the opening together, watching the slayers and demons fight. Tanjirou doesn’t recognize the attackers, but he knows they’re determined to enter the higher ranks. Muzan’s influence is grand. Every demon wants to be close to him, yearning for not only his approval but also his touch. Even Tanjirou, in his most private moments, is ashamed to admit he has sought nothing but Muzan’s authority. It’s scary how involuntary it is. 

“Oh dear,” Douma mumbles, sounding slightly concerned. The sentiment is odd to hear; usually, Douma’s concern is fake at best and mocking at worst. “The tables have certainly turned…” 

Indeed, they have. The slayers have realized how the two demons work together and changed their plan of attack accordingly, but they’re still too weak. Even with the talisman attached to their foreheads, they can barely land an effective hit. The boy tries to distract the Arrow Demon while the girl tries to get rid of the Temari Demon. It’s not going well. 

“We should help,” Douma simpers. “Don’t you agree, Kōgō-san? This is the perfect opportunity to show off your strength for our lord! I’ll even let you kill the girl. Go on, I’ll follow you.”

Tanjirou swallows down his hesitance and steps forward, into the pale moonlight. If he dreams hard enough, it feels almost like the sunlight he used to revel in. The sunlight hours had always been his favorite time of day; he thought the light was beautiful, with its twisting rays and warm energy. He adored it even from his confinement in the Infinity Castle, but his love for light left a bitter taste in his lord’s mouth. It built and built until Muzan ordered him away from the windows. 

Tanjirou isn’t allowed to be who he used to be. 

Muzan hated his demureness. He hated Tanjirou’s humane love, his human-born empathy, his humanity… So much about Tanjirou indeed changed along with his transformation, but it’s also true that so much refused to morph with his body. 

But in the lightest moments of the night, when the moon is on the verge of rest, Muzan worships Tanjirou’s human tendencies with a fervor that Tanjirou has never emulated. It leaves him dizzy and disoriented, the way Muzan loathes him and laurels him. 

“What are you waiting for?” Douma growls behind him. It makes Tanjirou startle, unused to Douma’s bad tempers. “Go.”

Tanjirou does. 

The moment he steps into view, the slayers—though ‘children’ is a more accurate description, now that he sees their faces clearly—stumble. Their legs wobble like freshly made  mochi* , feet twisting around each other in sharp contrast to the semi-graceful steps they took earlier. But the other two demons, the ones without ranks, don’t wait for them to recover from their shock. Demons are cruel like that, all human-like features with human-like emotions and inhuman brutality. 

The girl is slammed through the leg with a temari ball, the force leaving her with a sickening bruise. Tanjirou doesn’t have the best hearing, but he’s sure he heard an odd sound, like something snapping in half, as the ball made contact with her skin. The boy calls out to her, but before he can he’s hoisted into the air by an invisible force, guiding him up until it lets him fall. 

Tanjirou winces, but death from such a height will be quick. The boy will only feel pain for a second upon impact before he succumbs to gravity’s pulling hands. 

“Nii-chan!” The girl screams. For a second, Tanjirou thinks that she’s talking to the boy until he looks towards her and realizes she’s staring at him. “Nii-chan, help him! By God, catch him!”

There isn’t much Tanjirou remembers.

He remembers his family, sure, but not their faces. He doesn’t remember their voices. 

But he does remember their smell.

The woman in his dreams who he assumes is his mother—he can’t be sure, because there’s no face to match her love and no voice to match her warmth—has a smell that reminds him of comfort. It’s made up of comfort at its base, with fluttering notes of tenderness and reassurance. In his earliest days at the Infinity Mansion, he used to press the sleeves of his luxurious jūnihitoe, trying to find the smallest trace of that smell. But it had faded with his memories like an old perfume, mocking his cracked heart. 

This girl—this girl with her black hair falling out of the pink ribbons holding it, with her pink eyes shedding fat tears—smells so sweetly similar to his assumed mother. Her scent is only a keynote off, fiercely protective where the faceless woman reassures him and loyal where the other scent is tender. The scents are so comparable that it hits Tanjirou’s nose twice; the first time in surprise and the second in shock. 

“Tanjirou-nii!” She screams again when the boy nears the ground. He’s struggling to pull his nichirin sword in front of him to perform an attack; the wind pushes against him too fast. Gravity’s hands pull him but the wind only pushes him away, it seems. 

Tanjirou looks the girl in her eyes, letting his ruby-red eyes crash against her peony pink ones. It births a connection between them, one that could have possibly already existed between them before, and just like that…

Just like that, a little girl’s face blooms in Tanjirou’s mind. It’s not as gentle as he describes; in fact, it hurts a lot. The silhouette’s missing features slam into place like a permanent puzzle. Like a key opens a lock, so do eyes open the soul. Faces flash before him like bolts of lightning, disappearing momentarily with darkened thunder and reappearing with an intense shock. 

He moves before he registers it. 

When everything passes, he opens his eyes to a sideways view. He’s on the ground, face-up, with a young boy in his arms. The child sobs, collapsing against his chest as if he could sink into it and never come up. But there’s a ball in the air, controlled by invisible strings that aren’t really strings, and it heads towards the girl.

Takeo-chan is so big now ,  a voice speaks softly to him. He imagines the caress of a hand on his cheek, but then notices the boy—Takeo-chan—lean into an invisible hand. Perhaps, he muses, that imagined touch is not so imagined.  Don’t cry, Tanjirou. It isn’t your fault you forgot his name. 

He didn’t know he’d been crying, too.

Go help Nezuko-chan ,  the voice orders him.  Be brave, Tanjirou. You’ll find yourself again soon. For now… protect your family.

Protect your family, he repeats distantly as he watches the ball soar towards Nezuko-chan’s face. She’s limping badly. 

Kill your family, he remembers. Muzan’s will is branded into the blood in his veins. Takeo-chan sobs his older sister’s name. 

Protect them,  prays the voice.  What is love but a strength?

Kill them,  commands Muzan.  What is love but a weakness?

Against the two sides, Tanjirou struggles. Like a pinned worm, he can do nothing but squirm relentlessly, trapped. 

Strength… he believes. 

Something argues back,  or weakness?

Weakness… he thinks.

Or strength?

It takes him only a second to choose. Only a second to act. 

It takes him only a second to stand between Nezuko-chan and that mari ball, battling it away like a cat whacks a mouse. It bruises his hands, but there’s not much else he can do with Takeo-chan in his arms. 

“Kōgō-san!” Douma materializes, scandalized. “How dare you; are you so vexatious that you’ve forgotten our lord’s kindness? Kill them! Kill them now! I’ll still let you kill the girl if you remember yourself properly. Don’t disobey, Kōgō-san.”

Tanjirou huffs. Douma isn’t stupid, but he’s awfully assumptive. Tanjirou remembers himself just fine (well, most of himself, at least); Douma is only mad that he isn’t remembering Muzan’s memories. Tanjirou remembers his memories instead of Muzan’s, and the feeling can only be described as a lifted weight, like metal chains unwrapping from his body. 

The non-ranked demons shriek at him, but Tanjirou only holds up a hand. The gesture stuns them into a type of revered silence reserved for Muzan, and Tanjirou basks in their awe. He’s never been regarded like this before. He’s been treated like the child that was stolen from him, mocked and chided, punished and damned. He hasn’t even resorted to violence, a tactic which Muzan favors, and yet they wait for his commands. 

“G-Go…” he rasps with a tender voice. “I… w-wo… w-won’t h… arm. Harm… you. U-U-Unless you-u… t-t-t-tou-u… touch-h. The-These… child-ren.”

When they don’t move, heat builds beneath the skin of his hand. Out from it bursts a flame, like a blinding light, whiter than the sun and cleaner than the cleanest river. It washes over him like a blessed rain, taking it with it all his pain and his sorrow, his sins, and his hurts. The children he protects sigh softly; the bruises on Nezuko’s legs fade until they are blue instead of purple and the cuts on Takeo seam together until they are only scars. 

The demons, however, scramble away from the flame. The fire that heals Tanjirou’s younger siblings is the same fire that burns Muzan’s demons. 

“The sun…!” The girl cries. “Ah, it burns!”

Douma growls. Ice leaps from the ground, sharp shards pointing at the space where Tanjirou’s neck connects to his shoulders. The temperature drops drastically, invoking pained quivers down his spine. “You had only one job,” Douma spits. His voice is low. It’s serious and dangerous. “You needed only to please our lord; needed only to repay his kindness with your submission… and this is how you show your gratitude? What an insolent wife! Wives like you need to learn their place—why can’t you do as you’re told?”

Tanjirou growls back. The disobedience stuns Douma long enough that Tanjirou can place Takeo-chan on the ground and shoo him and Nezuko-chan away. They take shelter in the ruined house, where the doctor and her demon boy hide.

It happens fast.

Towers of ice, like peaked hills, loom over him with their blade-like edges inching towards his chest. They strike like agitated snakes, scraping his skin. His skin turns raw and weepy at the contact, leaking blood like a fault pipe well. 

Douma enters his space faster than his snake-like ice structures. He spreads his feet apart, balls his hands into fists with his thumbs tucked under his fingers, and raises his arms in front of his chest. He throws a punch, quick like sudden rain, but Tanjirou captures it just as fast. With his burning hands, he holds Douma’s wrist in one and bends his arm down at the elbow with the other. It forces Douma into an odd stance, resembling the upper line of an acute angle, and Tanjirou takes the opportunity to leap backward. 

He left burn marks on Douma’s skin, and he thinks it’s rather fitting. He can hurt them as they’ve hurt him. 

Douma runs forward, and like a fool, Tanjirou uses his hand to grab Douma by the shoulder. Douma smirks and grabs Tanjirou’s arm with his own, blistering it with scorching ice, and slams his knee into Tanjirou’s stomach.

Tanjirou cries at the attack and bends over, falling to the ground. Douma’s hands tangle themselves within his hair but his foot rests itself atop Tanjirou’s back, heavily light. Tanjirou could sob, really, at the turn of the game. 

I was so close,  he mourns privately.  I was so, so close to leaving. I was almost home.

“Poor Kōgō-san. You tried so hard,” Douma sniggers. “It’s time to go home now, though. You’ll take your punishment maturely, right? Then again, I wouldn’t mind listening to your screams. They’re quite lovely.”

Tanjirou doesn’t answer, so Douma continues on. 

“Our lord thinks it’s a shame you’re like this, but I don’t mind, personally. That fire in your soul excites me a lot. Mhmm, Kōgō-san, we compliment each other so well: fire and ice; wellness and pain. You only just manifested your blood art, but it’s already so powerful,” he sighs like a love-sick teenager. “If only our lord didn’t want you so bad, I would have taken you. Maybe one day, a few hundred years from now, he’ll get tired of you and throw you aside. Then I can take you. You’d like that, right?”

Tanjirou snarls like an injured animal, and in response, Douma only shushes him. Vaguely, there’s a sense of humiliation flowering in his gut, knowing that his newly-remembered siblings and the doctor and her demon are watching this, but it feels like nothing against Douma’s wishes. 

“The sun is coming up,” Douma tells him. “We should go—”

Unexpectedly, Douma’s head lurches to the side as something comes in contact with it. Tanjirou watches, stunned, as Muzan’s second-ranking demon stumbles to the side. 

Nezuko stands before Tanjirou with her arms and legs spread wide in an ‘X’ formation, covering Tanjirou as best as she can. 

The sun crests over the horizon. The light burns Tanjirou’s skin, reminding him of his perdition. Before the burn intensifies, something is draped over his fallen form like a gracious blessing he doesn’t deserve. He looks up, finding an orange and black checkered cloth covering his skin. Takeo stands alongside Nezuko, determination draped over his face. 

Tanjirou swears his heart skips a beat. He feels like he is looking into the light of  tengoku **, gazing upon saint-born greatness. Like a wrongdoer washed of his wrongs, a boy reborn. 

Douma has no such protection, though. “Haha! I should have expected this of your family, Kōgō-san! That fierceness must run in your blood. But don’t be so cocky now that you’ve got your little family with you; you’re still too weak to protect them.”

He lets himself burn in the sun a little longer, laughing maniacally. “I’ll come back for you soon,” he tells him. “So don’t go far, okay? Maybe if I’m the one to bring you back, our lord will grant me part of your time as a reward. I look forward to it!”

When he disappears, his laugh echoes. 

When he disappears, Tanjirou realizes what he has done—or, more accurately, who he has defied. 

Chapter Text

Tanjirou has always held a special place in Kie’s heart. There’s something about a child that invokes such all-encompassing love and adoration in a parent. For Kie, who doubted her strengths as a mother before she even adorned the title, Tanjirou’s mere existence conceived such a fierce love that it startled her. She loved her newborn son more than she loved her husband, in the sense that she could continue living for him should her husband die (which, he did, unfortunately) and would not rest until he was safe and sound in the arms of his family. 

And with each new addition into the family, that fierce love embedded in Kie’s chest grew larger and larger, expanding over all of her children like a scrupulous shield. Sometimes, it’s difficult to think about how Tanjirou inspired that sentiment in her. Other times, it isn’t. It makes sense that the first child usually introduces parents to that devotion since there would be no other way a parent would know it. 

Back then,  Kie remembers fondly.  Tanjirou wore a blue scarf around his head. 

She doesn’t know what happened to it. She left a lot behind when she started this new life. Or, maybe he took it with him when he went to the village, and it got lost with him. 

Would he like another?  She questions herself.  I could make one. Would he still want blue? Or maybe green to match his haori? I could make it red, like his hair and his eyes, or orange, like his father’s haori. 

In the end, she thinks she settles on blue. 

“Kamado-san?”

She turns toward the voice calling her name, mildly surprised it is not her children vying for her attention. Tomioka-san stands a few feet away, giving her space. 

“Yes, Tomioka-san? Are my children causing trouble?” She wouldn’t be surprised if they were. Shigeru-chan is particularly prone to goading Hanako-chan and Rokuta-chan into trouble. His energy is only diverted by the training he’s recently begun with Urokodaki-sensei to begin his journey as a slayer. 

“Not at all,” Tomioka replies. “I only came to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“It’s… personal.”

Kie shrugs. “There’s not exactly such a thing as personal for us, anymore. Not since my son disappeared.”

Tomioka fidgets. Kie resists the urge to smile. Tomioka-san, for all of his stoic demeanor, is a kind young man that her children looked towards for guidance, and she’s starting to view him as another child. Sometimes, Kie wishes her childrens’ strengths aligned with Tomioka’s, so that she could calm her heart knowing how deeply the bond between mentor and protegee ran. Alas, Nezuko just doesn’t excel as a water breather as she does as a flame breather. 

Shigeru’s future breathing style is still up to fate to decide, though. He’s only just started his training, and not a moment too soon! Her son vibrates with unleashed energy, consumed by a hidden potential readying itself to show.

“It’s about your son.”

“Oh?” 

“I’ve heard a lot about him,” Tomioka-san tells her. “From Takeo-kun, mostly. Nezuko-chan… she doesn’t like to talk about him, but when she does, she defends him fiercely.”

Kie doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t know what to say. Nezuko’s change in attitude is an unforeseen scar of that day, and Kie wishes that she had put more of her attention on comforting Nezuko. It was Kie’s mistake to think that Nezuko had taken Tanjirou’s disappearance with the same grieving style as Kie had; Nezuko is a young girl, and she was even younger back then, and Kie wishes that she hadn’t been so caught up in her grief to miss Nezuko’s. 

Nezuko and Tanjirou were close. Closest in age, only a year apart, with the closest bond. They ruled that little clearing on the mountain when they were toddlers, causing all sorts of mischief even after Takeo was born. 

Everything was so sweet, once.  Kie muses to herself.  What I wouldn’t give to be back there, with my husband and my children, blissfully ignorant to what will come. 

“I was hoping you could tell me about him.”

Kie mulls it over. “Why me? I’m sure you’ve heard a lot from my children already.”

Tomioka-san stares at her for a while. “You told me, once, that your son is a gentle, honorable boy. You said he’s an agreeable person, and causing harm isn’t in his nature.”

Kie nods. She remembers that day. She remembers her grief at its worst.

"Nezuko-chan told me that he’s the sacrificing type. She said he doesn’t have an evil bone in his body.”

“That sounds like something Nezuko-chan would say,” Kie murmurs. “And she’s right. I still stand by everything I said, and I stand by what my oldest daughter told you, too. Tanjirou-kun takes after his father in many ways; I suspect he inherited more of my late husband’s patience and conciliatory personality than he did mine, but there’s still many things I gave to him when he was born. He has my forehead, you know. All my sons do.”

“... Your forehead?”

Kie hums, tapping the top of her head lightly. “It’s harder than rock!” She tells him. “Once, Tanjirou-kun ran headfirst into a tree and splintered the bark. He was only three. But, I think you’re here to learn more about my son than his forehead, right?”

Tomioka nods. 

“He’s my only child born in the summer. The rest of mine were born in the winter, except Hanako-chan. She was born in spring. He was always so responsible, and he became more so after his father died. His younger siblings look up to him, even in his absence. I don’t think he’s ever been able to say no to them either; they almost convinced him to take them to the village that day, and if it wasn’t for me they would’ve gone. At the time, I felt too stern but now…”

Now, she feels like she is never stern enough. 

Tomioka-san does not say anything, letting the silence drag on. Other people would be unnerved, but Kie is grateful. She’s lost in memories right now, filled with both regret and relief. 

“My Tanjirou-kun is as beautiful on the outside as he is on the inside. When he looks at you, he only does so with infinite kindness. He smiles as strongly as the sun itself. Do you remember how I said he got most of his personality from his father?”

Tomioka nods. 

Kie smiles. “He inherited his father’s looks as well. He’s the only one out of my little herd to receive Tanjuro’s red hair and eyes.” She leans close to Tomioka as if she is indulging him in a secret. “Tanjuro used to say that Tanjirou-kun took after him in every way; he was very proud. But, between you and me, I think Tanjirou-kun took more of  my  face.”

Tomioka hums. He thinks about all of Kamado-san’s children—all the ones he’s met, at least. To him, and probably to most other demon slayers, they share the same face. He says so, and Kamado-san beams. 

“That’s my face, mostly,” she tells him. 

They continue discussing Tanjirou-kun late into the day until the sun barely begins to touch the horizon. Hanako-chan and Rokuta-chan interrupt Kie’s talk of her first son, and Tomioka-san quickly excuses himself. 

“You’ve been gone almost all day!” Hanako chirps. “What were you doing?”

Kie smooths down her hair as she settles into her mother’s side, leaning into her. “Tomioka-san asked me about Tanjirou-kun.”

Hanako gasps, and just as quickly as she settled down, she’s up again. Rokuta, who has just settled on Kie’s other side, stares at her. It breaks Kie’s heart that he knows his oldest brother as nothing more than a whispered name. He was barely out of toddlerhood when Kie and her oldest two remaining children began their training, and now he has nothing more than snippets of memories surrounding Tanjuro and Tanjirou. Kie knows the emotions surrounding them are mostly gone, aged and withered away. 

“What did you tell him?” Hanako-chan asks. 

“I told him about how kind your oldest brother is,” Kie responds, wrapping loose arms around Rokuta. Hanako is jumping back and forth now, excited but confined to her space. “I told him all about what Tanjirou-kun used to do for you: all those trips into town, and the extra food and gifts he gave you all….”

“Did you tell him about the trips to Saburojii-san’s house? The ones in the cart?”

“Cart?” Rokuta parrots. 

“You used to love it, Rokuta-chan!” Hanako tells him. “Tanjirou-nii used to pull me, and you, and even Shigeru-nii in a wooden cart. All day long!”

Rokuta hums. Kie runs her fingers through his hair; he’s a calm boy, with a cordial disposition. He’s probably her most tranquil child. The rest have their father’s insatiable need to move, flickering from place to place like a restless flame. 

Hanako’s mood drops suddenly. “Did you tell him that Tanjirou-nii will come home soon?” She asks. Her voice is no more than a whisper, a dramatic reduction of the little girl that was so enthusiastic a second ago.

“Of course,” Kie lies. She hadn’t thought about that, more focused on installing good memories of Tanjirou into Tomioka-san’s brain, and now she feels ashen, wondering if that’s the real reason why he asked her. Did he want her to think about the best moments of her son’s life, distracting her from the possibility that he would never make it home? Or was he genuinely curious? “I’ll bring him home myself if he can’t find us.”

Even if I die doing it , she thinks, bringing Hanako into her lap. Her little girl and her little boy snuggle into her chest, letting the beat of her heart lull them to sleep.  I’ll get my son back.

Chapter Text

Kaa-san ,  the letter reads.  Takeo-chan and I have important news for you.

Kie hums as she reads, curious but not overly so. She wonders if they found a lead to Kibutsuji; any weakness of the Demon Father is welcome, considering that Kie doesn’t plan to let him leave this life without her say-so. The man who took her son will not die without her making at least one swing for all the damage he’s done. 

Rokuta tugs at her kimono, little repetitions of “kaa-san, kaa-san” leaving his mouth. Kie shushes him gently and continues to read.

Please sit down before you continue reading this,  Nezuko’s letter says.  I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.

“Ah, Nezuko-chan,” Kie laughs softly. “You’re such a thoughtful girl. But, I think I’ll be fine.”

The other day, I met a doctor named Tamayo. Tamayo-san has a ward, Yushiro-kun. They’ve dedicated their lives to defeating Kibutsuji. And they’re demons.

Kie blinks. “Demons? I suppose it’s possible… Kibutsuji has ruined many lives through the centuries.”

“Demon?” Rokuta chirps. 

“Shhh,” Kie shushes him. “Don’t let Shinazugawa-san hear you say that.”

Shinazugawa-san is one of the most aggressive slayers that Kie has met. In the beginning, he had intimidated her a little. His black and white views on demons and humans shook her to her core, making her wonder if her lost son would be truly safe if he had indeed been turned. And it hadn't been only Kie who worried; none of her children took a liking to Shinazugawa-san, and Shinazugawa-san returned the sentiment. 

But they aren’t the only demons we met on our mission. Takeo-chan and I were ambushed by two of Kibutsuji’s demons; they controlled a temari ball and could manipulate its speed and force. They weren’t a part of Kibutsuji’s upper moons, but they were powerful. 

Kaa-san,  Nezuko’s letter continues. Kie’s blood runs cold at her next words.  I thought I was going to die. I thought…  something is scratched out, covered with so much ink that the paper nearly rips under the weight.  I thought Takeo-chan was going to die. I was so sure that I failed my duty as an older sister. 

Kie disagrees. If anything, surely it would be Kie who’d fail her duties as a mother if she sent her children to fight without preparing them enough. 

But then, the heavens sent us a miracle! Oh, Kaa-san, I wept when I saw him. His hair is longer now and his skin is paler. He has strange markings all over his body, and they look like flames. The pupils of his eyes are shaped like slits, but when I look into them I feel no fear. 

We found Tanjirou-nii,  Nezuko’s letter declares. The sides of the letter crinkle under the force of Kie’s thumbs, and some of the ink blurs against the tears that fall on the letter.  We’re bringing him home. 

In that room, with a letter clutched close to her chest and a son at her hip, Kie crumbles to the ground. She lands on her knees, bending forward as if she is praying to an invisible deity somewhere. Rokuta crouches beside her, chanting her name like a shibboleth, ignorant to her joy. 

“Rokuta-chan, Rokuta-chan,” she gasps to her son, looking at him through tears. “They found your brother.”

“Nii-san?”

Kie nods frantically. “Tanjirou-kun,” she tells him, hoping that he remembers Tanjirou’s name. “Tanjirou-nii is coming home.”

Rokuta hums. “Home! Home!” He cheeps like a songbird, hopping around his mother. And although Kie knows that Rokuta doesn’t truly remember Tanjirou, being only a toddler when Tanjirou disappeared, the words that bounce out of his mouth send her sprawling into another fit of joyful sobbing. “Tanji-nii’s coming home.”

And Kie, weary and heartbroken as she is, holding five treasures close to her chest while she searches for the sixth, can only hold that piece of her paper by her bosom, pretending that it’s the embrace she desperately seeks. 

Tanjirou can’t talk. 

It’s troubling. And it makes it harder to reconnect with him, now that he can’t say anything back. Nezuko feels like she’s a babbling baby being humored by an adult, saying things without actually saying them. In between the pauses of her sentences, Takeo jumps in to regale Tanjirou with tales of training and missions. 

There's a lull in the conversation now, hanging around them in a way that's awkward but not. Nezuko fidgets with her hair, wrapping a lock of the now shortened strands around her finger before letting go and repeating the process.

“Nii-chan,” Nezuko begins hesitantly. “Do you really remember us?”

It feels taboo to ask. They've just been reunited! Who knows what her brother faced during his absence from them? What trauma he endured?

But the question floats around Nezuko's mind like a persistent bug. This is something she's thought of for the past two years. She needs to know.

Tanjirou cocks his head to the side. His hair, now long and luxurious, falls with the action. “Not… Not yo-ur f…face,” he answers honestly. 

“Not our faces?” Nezuko repeats. Her heart sinks, leaving her feeling heavy and numb. “If nii-chan doesn’t remember our faces, then what does he remember?”

“Smell.”

“That makes sense,” Takeo-chan comments. “Nii-san has the best nose in the family. And when one sense goes away, the others strengthen.”

“But nii-chan hasn’t lost his other senses,” Nezuko points out. She thinks about what she's heard about Kibutsuji and turns to Tanjirou hesitantly. “Has he?”

Tanjirou shakes his head. Muzan-sama hasn’t taken his senses, either in the past or now. In fact, Tanjirou’s five senses heightened considerably after his transformation. The only thing Muzan-sama has repeatedly stripped him of is his dignity and independence. 

Takeo shrugs. “Maybe memories are made up of senses. Maybe nii-san lost his senses only in his memory.”

It’s plausible. Tanjirou did say that he remembered them by their smell, not their faces. Surely, remembering someone’s face falls firmly in the sight sense category? Nezuko is glad that Tanjirou-nii remembers them at least a little, but the revelation that he cannot recall her face, and possibly her voice, leaves her upset. 

The knowledge that you are only vaguely memorable to someone who means a lot to you is not happy knowledge. Ignorance is bliss, and Nezuko thinks she would have preferred believing that nii-chan wouldn’t forget their family—and by extension, her—in any form. 

Alas, a demon slayer cannot afford ignorance. The price is too high to pay.

“It’s ok if nii-san can’t remember much,” Takeo announces. His voice is calm and mature, like an ancient struggle within his gut has finally quelled. Nezuko is astounded by the sudden change, but she really shouldn’t be. Tanjirou is like a balm on Takeo's open wounds, soothing and encouraging him. “Nee-san and I can tell stories to nii-san!”

Tanjirou makes a high-note hum. 

“I have a story for nii-chan,” Nezuko says when Takeo takes too long to think of one. “It takes place when we were still young-”

Takeo snorts. “You’re still young, nee-san,” he tells her as if he has heard her say it many times before. “You’re fourteen.”

“- Ehem, it takes place when we were still young,” Nezuko continues blithely as if Takeo had not spoken at all. “Back when Takeo-chan was still only a baby.”

Tanjirou and Takeo make near-identical noises. One of curiosity, the other of apprehension.

After all, Nezuko has already told every embarrassing tale of Takeo's infancy. He can't trust her to tell one that isn't mortifying.

“One day,” Nezuko begins, ignoring Takeo's reservations. “Takeo-chan was being a colicky baby. Otō-san went to the village that morning to sell coal, so Kaa-san was left on her own to watch over Takeo-chan. She was so stressed! Takeo-chan was her first colicky baby, so she didn’t know what to do.”

Takeo crosses his arms and pouts at the story. When Tanjirou notices, he reaches out a hand—paler than Nezuko’s ever seen, with flame-like patterns and nails shaped like beastly claws—to pat Takeo on the head. It’s amazing that he still has his empathetic senses; although his understanding of many things has reduced to childish comprehension, he at least retains the knowledge of it. That’s much more than most demons remember.

“Nii-chan thought Takeo-chan was upset because we finished eating all the peaches that morning and didn’t save any for him, so he suggested we find Takeo-chan the biggest peach. I agreed. Remember, we were very small back then; we didn’t understand baby diets!” Nezuko continues. “So, when Kaa-san wasn’t looking, Nii-chan and I snuck out!

We went almost all the way down the mountain until we finally found a tree. But then we had a bigger problem: we couldn’t reach the fruit.” Nezuko and Tanjirou had been little more than toddlers back then, not even as tall as their father’s kneecaps. The idea that two youngsters like them could have reached even the lowest peach is laughable. “I tried to stand on Nii-chan’s shoulders to reach it, but it was too high.”

As she talks, Nezuko wonders if Tanjirou is able to recall this memory, or if he’s truly imagining it like a story. It dampens her mood a little, but she continues on as if she hasn’t thought about it. 

“In the end, we stayed there until sun-down. I tried to kick it down, and nii-chan tried to knock it down with his head but nothing worked. Otō-san found us when he was returning from the village, and he carried us back home with both his arms. Kaa-san was furious! She had been searching for us all day, even when Takeo-chan was crying. Sadly for us, she punished us by not allowing us to go with otō-san during his next trip to the village. We did all that and had no fruit to show for our efforts!”

Tanjirou laughs with them, but even that sound is different from what she remembers. His laugh was loud and unapologetic once. Now, it’s dimmed. It’s quiet and breathier, and he sounds like he’s trying to breathe more than he’s laughing. It's as if he can't settle on who he once was or who he is now, leaving behind a shell of the brother she once had. 

It's a revelation for her. She always imagined that Tanjirou would come back to them the same as when he left. How many demons have been reduced to husks of themselves for Kibutsuji’s whims? How many vaguely remembered a family they no longer had or cried for a gentle hand?

Nezuko’s stomach churns at the reminder that it isn’t only Tanjirou who has faced these horrors. Most demons are nothing more than moving shells motivated by a painful, unending hunger. They’re little more than beasts… just wild animals that don’t understand morals anymore. Can Nezuko blame them for that? Or does she only pity them? It must be scary, trying to survive and being hunted for it without understanding the consequences of what you’ve done. 

They continue in silence. 

Eventually, many hours later, Takeo gasps, “Look, nii-san: there are the headquarters. C’mon, you can finally meet everyone again! We waited so long for you.”

Indeed, around the bend a large mansion sits, gleaming in the moon’s fading light. There’s nobody else around, except for four distant figures waiting at the doors for them. Three of them are already crying.

“Tanjirou—!” Kaa-san cries, running forward to embrace her lost son. It’s been two years since she’s seen his face and he’s forgotten her’s, but there’s no love lost. Shigeru and Hanako crowd around the embraced pair, searching for an opening to slip through like a couple of tanukis. 

Caught in the middle of a pile of limbs upon limbs, Tanjirou stares ahead blankly. Tears slip down his face like small rivers, collecting at his chin before continuing on their way, and Nezuko is suddenly reminded that this must be very overwhelming for him. He stares at the same empty space for so long that she worries a little, but then his mouth bends into a wobbly smile and he says something that could have sounded like a ‘thank you’ if he could talk correctly. 

Dawn comes too soon; Tanjirou shies away from the sun—a drastic change from the boy he used to be. Kaa-san settles him in her room, in a corner away from the curtain-covered windows, and makes her way toward Ubuyashiki-sama. 

Nezuko knows that she’s prepared to beg for her son’s life. She hopes she doesn't have to.

Chapter Text

"That poor soul... I pity her for being born at all..."

"We're here for the woman's trial—"

"There’s no need for a trial!”

A lot can happen in the span of a few hours. 

Just a short while ago, Kie finally reunited with her eldest—for the first time in two years, she felt the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. In a different situation, she would have felt the rapid fluttering of his heartbeat, but in this one… Well, Kie is just happy she’s seeing him again.

And now it’s barely past dawn, and Kie is kneeling before nine hashira. She’s lucky not to have been tied or beaten; Demon Slayers don’t take kindly to demons no matter the circumstances, and they know too little about Tanjirou. It’s been two years since his disappearance; two grueling, heartbreaking years without his family, stuck in the company of none other than the Demon King and his twelve kizuki. Who can vouch for his innocence? 

“Please,” Kie begs. She’s speaking in a language only a mother can understand, which puts her at a disadvantage. “He wouldn’t—My Tanjirou-kun would never harm another living being! It happened so suddenly—”

“Spare us your absurd ravings,”  Iguro-san interrupts her.  “If he’s family, no wonder you’re defending him.”

Kie speaks over him. “While he was away one day, a demon attacked him. He never made it home. Nothing… Nothing was supposed to happen to him; he went to the village so often, he knew all those people on such a personal level that he looked after them and they did the same for him. It was supposed to be safe, it was never supposed to happen. I was never meant to lose him!”

The hashira are silent. Kie doesn’t know if it’s her hysteria or credence keeping their judgments at bay, but she doesn’t care. “I became a swordsman so that I could find my son again, and so that I could cure him. I allowed my children—all five of which remained, mind you!—to become swordsmen so that they could find their brother again, and so that they could cure him too.”

“Don’t just give us lip service,”  Uzui-san demands. A part of Kie wants to tear his spine out through the hollow junctions of his throat for the sole crime of not listening to her. It’s a cruel and unnecessary thought that won’t do her situation any good, but Kie is a mother before she is a demon slayer. She has already experienced the pain of losing a child. She’s not ready to experience it again. Come hell or high water, Kie is walking away from this with six children.  “Prove it to us with max flamboyance.”

“Flamboyance?” Kie parrots, incredulous. She’s already on her knees, hiding the shaking of her legs in the dirt underneath her and pressing her hands together to hide the nervous twitching that takes over her fingers now and again. Her voice barely wavers on the tipping point of sobs, shaking slightly from the effort it takes to swallow down every ugly wail that bubbles in her throat. She’s approaching them not as a fellow slayer but rather as a victim, attempting to keep her wits and confidence so that they find her capable of controlling her son, and they want to talk about dramatics. Hmph—spare her the insults!

“Excuse me… Is it okay to deal with her without his permission?” Kanroji-san asks, glancing at her fellow hashira. She’s more flexible toward Kie’s case than the others, willing to forsake protocol in favor of her emotions. 

Kie grovels before the love hashira, pinning everything on this. “My children, my Nezuko-chan and my Takeo-chan can vouch for their brother. He saved them from two demons just the other day. Please, please, please! He can—”

“Is this the moron slayer who has a demon with her?”

Kie’s blood runs cold. 

Shinazugawa-san is such a rash young man, so temperamental and unyielding. Truly, his pillar suits him! He’s an unstoppable force, moving so swiftly and suddenly that it’s difficult to keep up with him. When he interacts with Kie, he does so in a way that cuts through her. Like the wind erodes the bank of a river, so does Shinazugawa-san chip away at Kie’s nature. And at this moment, he does just that. Because in his arms… In his arms…!

It’s a box. It’s made of wood and is barely the size of her torso. Kie has never seen it before. 

But she knows! 

She knows!

Everything happens too slowly, but also too fast. Kie’s frazzled mind tries so desperately to deny the scene before her, to find some rationality in the inevitable, that it stutters as it processes the situation. In the back of her mind, she’s aware of Nezuko’s screams. Her daughter is somewhere on the grounds, being held back by a servant or two as she yells at Shinazugawa-san. She shrieks even as she sinks to the ground, dirtying her legs against the mud and sand of the estate grounds, held up only by the servant's grip on her arms.

“This won’t do, Master Shinazugawa,”  one of them gasps.  “Please, would you mind putting down that box?”

Kocho-san agrees.  “Shinazugawa,”  she begins,  “Please don’t act out of line.”

But Shinazugawa-san doesn’t listen. Instead, he takes out his sword and stabs the box. There’s the briefest sound of a gasp and a choke, and then the sword pokes through the other side of the box. It’s dripping with blood.

“Tanjirou!”

At that moment, there is nothing Kie wants more than to bash Shinazugawa-san’s head into the ground. A small part of her wants to inflict the same damage on herself. She should have known better than to assume he would approach the situation with the same delicacy and grace as his fellow pillars. He hadn’t hesitated to try and save his own family when they had been turned, after all. If it was his younger brother in the same situation as Tanjirou-kun, he would have captured and killed him himself rather than suffer through the humiliation of begging for his life. 

So, what else is there for Kie to do than toss herself forward? She lets her head slam into him, taking a sickening pleasure in the blood that spurts out of his nose from the force. 

Shinazugawa-san is less than pleased,  “I’ll destroy you!”

But he doesn’t get the chance to act on his words. Kie senses him before she sees him, picking up on the subtle shift in the air and the barely-there tapping of footsteps. Oyakata-sama enters the scene as if there is no need to rush, and perhaps this is true; everyone pauses when they spot him, even the brash wind pillar. 

“So good of you to come, my beloved children,”  he comments idly. He even makes an observation of the nice weather as if he has not just walked into a brawl. Then again, there’s a strange wound covering the upper half of his face. It’s purple and rotting, eating away at the delicate flesh of his eyes slowly. Kie doubts he can see anything at all, much less the fight that’s taking place before him.  “It pleases me that we’ve made it to our semiannual Hashira Meeting with no personal changes.”

So, this is the master of the Demon Slayer Corps. Kie finds herself in awe; even with the odd decaying of his face, the master is an impressive-looking man. He commands attention and respect easily, wielding both values with such grace even a  samurai*  would be envious of. 

Kie startles at the feeling of a hand winding through her hair, gripping it tightly as her head is forced to the ground. More than a few strands pluck away under that unyielding grip. At the very least, the hashira move to bow before the master as well. The courtyard is suddenly so still. There’s no trace of the frantic movements lingering around anywhere.

Surprisingly, Shinazugawa-san is the first to speak. He returns the master’s greetings in a reverent tone that Kie has never heard from him before, wishing him good health and fortune. He continues:  “If I may, Master… would you mind enlightening us about this swordsman, Kamado Kie, keeping a demon?”

Hmph! Not a drop of intellect or rationality in him beforehand, but now before he speaks so formally. Where was this gentleman when he was wounding her son?!

“Right…”  Oyakata-sama murmurs.  “I apologize for surprising you all.  Kamado Kie and her son, Tanjirou… they’re a special case. One that I sanctioned. I ask everyone to accept it.”

Relief floods Kie’s heart. She thinks of what this means for her and her children and barely keeps from weeping at the thought. The image of her late husband comes to mind.  Tanjuro, I’ve done it! Our son will be okay; you can rest easy now.

Not all hashira are content with it, however. More than half oppose the request. When the disapproval fades into a tense silence, Oyakata-sama motions for one of the two identical women beside him, and she pulls out a letter.  “This is from a former hashira, Urokodaki Sakonji,”  she announces. 

“‘Please allow the Kamado family to be accompanied by their eldest son and brother, Kamado Tanjirou. Three of six members of the Kamado family, as well as Tomioka-san, have vouched for the integrity, mental resistance, and soft-heartedness of Kamado Tanjirou, and have given no reason not to be believed. If Kamado Tanjirou is anything like his family, this will hold. 

If not… then Kamado Kie, alongside Kamado Nezuko, Kamado Takeo, Urokodaki Sakonji, and Tomioka Giyuu, will atone by slicing open our stomachs.’”

Kie’s breath catches. 

No one other than Kie and her children has met Tanjirou; for everyone else, Kie’s eldest child is nothing more than a shade in their memories. There’s nothing to Tanjirou’s name other than the good memories of him they share. To have two people believe so strongly in his humanity—! Kie finds herself torn between delirium and relief. A mix of the two swirls in her gut.

“What does that guarantee, huh? Nothing!” Shinazugawa-san spits. Some of it lands on her face. Rengoku-san and Uzui-san rush to voice their agreement. 

“That is certainly a point of contention,” Oyakata-sama muses. Kie’s heart drops low in her stomach. “ We can’t prove it. That said… We also can’t prove that she will attack humans. 

The fact is that Tanjirou-kun has been missing for more than two years, and also that five people are staking their lives on him. There is as much evidence that he gave into his demonic urges as there is that he hasn’t… and just recently, two of the Kamado children have recounted his protection for them,” he continues.

“To deny that… those who reject it must offer an even more convincing argument. Do you all intend to do so?”

Nobody speaks. 

Until Shinazugawa-san.

“If it were a human, I would be okay with letting it live. But not a demon! After so many people have lost their lives, it’s unacceptable!”  In a move Kie could have never predicted, Shinazugawa-san slices his skin upon his sword. Blood trickles from the wound, soiling the garden grounds.  “I’ll prove it myself,”  he declares.

Terror like none other takes hold of Kie’s heart. The steady pulse of it jack-rabbits up her throat and through her veins, squeezing around her as if it is trying to ward off the venom of a  Mamushi* *. 

What is he doing?  Her mind screams.  What is he doing!

With a foot planted on the box holding Tanjirou, Shinazugawa-san holds out his bleeding wrist until his blood splatters against the door, dirtying the dark, gleaming wood.  “Hey demon… Sink your teeth into this!”

The blood drips…

… And it drips…

… And it drips.

It drips so much that Kie can see it sink through the wooden planks even from where she is held against the ground, soaking into the box the way a towel captures water. A strange groan arises from the inside of it, accompanied by a scratching sound. That, Kie realizes, must be Tanjirou’s claws. 

Shinazugawa-san delights at the sounds of Tanjirou’s suffering. He goads him with a crazed smile and even crazier eyes. Kie can do nothing but watch, jaw clenched in anticipation. Nezuko huddles beside her, fingers tightening around the neck of Kie’s uniform.

When Iguro-san speaks, Kie nearly cries:  “It’s no good doing it in sunlight. Put it in the shade, or it won’t show it’s face.”

“Master, please forgive this discourtesy,”  Shinazugawa-san says, before he rushes to do just that.

If Kie could afford to scream, she would. What of her forgiveness? How cruel can a man be, to beg forgiveness not from the party most affected? It is not Oyakata-sama who may or may not lose a child; not Oyakata-sama who has put his life on the line.

“Tanjirou-kun!”

Iguro-san’s elbow digs into Kie’s back like a knife. Nezuko howls as the same treatment is provided to her. Kie gasps, trying desperately to breathe through the tightness wrapping around her chest and back. 

Shinazugawa-san’s sword pierces through the small hole in the lock. In one motion, it opens the door. 

Nezuko squeaks and then coughs as Iguro-san places more pressure on her back.

Slowly, a figure moves out of the box. Despite the situation, Kie finds herself admiring her son’s appearance. He’s certainly not human anymore, in looks or species, but there’s a human-like quality in the silkiness of his long burgundy-colored hair. There’s even a human-like quality in the drool that drips from his mouth. Sure, it’s more animalistic, but it’s enough to invoke a sense of pity in the onlookers. Kie has gone hungry more often than not, but not even she can imagine the level of starvation Tanjirou has endured.

Tanjirou spares Shinazugawa-san an awful look, one that Kie has never seen on his face. It’s not cruel, but it’s savage in its rage. His brilliant red eyes are wide and dark, and his pupils are slit like a snake’s. 

“Please ease up a little, ” Kocho-san tells Iguro-san when he puts more pressure into the grip he has on the Kamado women. Then, she acknowledges the two Kamados,  “If you use any breathing techniques while your lungs are being squeezed, your veins will burst.”

Kie cannot hear her, nor can she hear Uzui-san calling for the bursting of her veins either. Every ounce of attention she can spare is focused solely on Tanjirou… On the bulging of his veins and eyes… On the sharpness of his claws. 

She tries once more to lift herself but has no luck in doing so. Iguro-san’s hold on her is too tight. She’s not as trained as he is, nor is she any stronger. If only she was, maybe she wouldn’t be stuck here watching her child’s execution play out before her…

“Stop!” Nezuko howls. The pillars gasp as she throws Iguro-san off of her, and even Kie is struck complacent by the scene. On unsteady feet, Nezuko rushes over, gripping the wood flooring. “That’s my brother; he’s my older brother, and he wouldn’t. He would never! Do you hear me? He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. Tanjirou-nii! Tanjirou-nii! Nii-san, please, can’t you hear me?”

The hashira shuffle awkwardly. It’s heartbreaking to watch a young girl beg for her brother. It’s even more heartbreaking when one of them can’t be saved.

Sweat collects on Tanjirou’s forehead. “Woouuuuldn’t…” He chokes like it’s difficult to form the words. Kie stills at the sound of his voice; it’s broken and half-there, husky in a way that would make one assume him sick if they didn’t know the truth of his predicament. “Wooulld noooot… huuuuurt,” He gulps around the drool in his mouth, and turns away.

Oyakata-sama smiles when one of the women recounts the events for him. “Ah, it’s been proven,” he says. “That settles it; Tanjirou-kun won’t attack humans. Kamado Kie, Kamado Nezuko… you must prove that he can fight alongside you, not as a demon, but as a slayer. If young Kamado Tanjirou can defeat one of the twelve kizuki, he’ll be accepted by all as useful and trustworthy.”

As soon as Iguro-san’s arm leaves her back, Kie scrambles to properly bow before Oyakata-sama. She cannot stop the low sob that wretches its way forth, but she thanks him regardless. Nezuko-chan follows suit. 

Whatever happens next passes in a blur for Kie. It feels simultaneously like seconds and hours before she arrives at the Butterfly Mansion with two children in tow… One of which is stuck in a box. 

“Is this the place called Butterfly Mansion?” Nezuko-chan murmurs. “It’s huge! What will Shigeru-chan and Hanako-chan think of it?”

They’re directed to the medical suites. Zenitsu-kun is already causing a racket, but he calms a little when he spots Nezuko-chan. He barely garbles out the details of his injuries before he latches onto her—snot, tears, and all. 

“Waaaah, Nezuko-chan, you’re an angel! Just the sight of you has healed me, marry me please!”

Nezuko-chan snorts, but she doesn’t push him away as harshly as she used to. 

While the two children banter back and forth, Kie takes the moment to look around the medical suite. It’s large but bare, consisting of two lines of beds against the walls. There’s not much room between the furniture, only enough for one person to squeeze into. And on the next occupied bed…

“Inosuke-kun!” Kie gasps, rushing over. 

Sure, the boy’s a brash one. But he’s sweet, in a way. He gets along so well with Nezuko-chan and Takeo-chan, and sometimes he even entertains Kie’s younger children when the three of them are too busy to do so. 

“Oh, yeah,” Zenitsu-kun says. “I guess his throat was crushed during one of our missions. It’s a shame you weren’t there, Nezuko-chan. We probably would have made it out with a lot less injuries…”

“Is that so?” Kie asks. She places a hand on the boy’s pig mask. “Say, are you alright, Inosuke-kun?”

Inosuke-kun takes so long to respond that Kie thinks maybe the boy’s sleeping, but then she hears a low rumbling:  “I’m sorry… for being so weak.”

“Ah, Inosuke-kun, it’s not like you to be so depressed about something,” Nezuko-chan responds. “Cheer up, will you?”

Now that Nezuko-chan has said something, Zenitsu-kun rushes to do the same, offering words of comfort and praise before proceeding to worry about his medication. Kie nods along.

“We’re all happy that you’re alive, Inosuke-kun,” Kie tells him. She doesn’t think she can handle the thought of failing another child. Technically, Inosuke-kun isn’t under her care. He goes about as he pleases, and Kie doesn’t keep an eye on him as she does with her children, but the boy’s always been a sweet one under that hard-headed exterior. She’s taken a liking to him. 

Inosuke-kun doesn’t respond.

Kie tries not to dwell on it.

Later that evening, Kie has the privilege of wishing not only just one children goodnight, but two.

The curtains are pulled shut, basking the little room Nezuko-chan has been provided with in a gentle, dark glow. When Tanjirou-kun crawls out of his box, he does so slowly, taking the time to examine his surroundings. 

"Say, Nezuko-chan," Kie wonders. "Where did this box come from?"

"Oh, that old thing?" Nezuko-chan replies. "Nii-san didn't like the light, even though we put him in the shade. So Hanako-chan went out to find something suitable for him, like a blanket, but she stumbled across that instead. Originally, I wasn't going to present it to nii-san, but he saw it and got so attached that I couldn't bare to take it away... Then Shinazaugawa-san burst in from nowhere and snatched nii-san up right when he finally got comfortable! Honestly, I don't know how that guy even caught wind of nii-san's condition..."

Then she turns to her brother, "There's no need to be nervous, nii-san. They said you can use this room, too!"

Kie smiles softly at the sight before her; there's a tangible difference in Nezuko-chan's demeanor now. She's more relaxed than before. It's been years since Kie last saw her this at ease, and she finds that she's missed seeing it more than she thought. Silently, so as to not disturb the two siblings, Kie slips away and goes to find her other four children. Knowing them, they've probably gotten into some shenanigans. Really, those children of her's....

When Kie leaves, Nezuko plops down on her bed. The softness of the mattress seems to bring out the most sore areas of her body, aggravating injuries as they finally rest. "That encounter was brutal, but I guess I should have expected it." Tanjirou-nii tilts his head, moving closer. Nezuko smiles, "I'm really happy you're here, Nii-san. I missed you a lot. I'm glad they didn't do anything to you; I'm really not sure what I would have done otherwise. To think not only Kaa-san would protect us, but also Urokodaki-san and Tomioka-san... Nii-san, you have a lot of people who want to see you succeed."

If Tanjirou-nii was capable of speaking, the conversation would certainly continue until the early morning. Instead, Nezuko takes the moment to reflect on the earlier meeting. The silence feels deafening, providing enough of an echo to make her stress over the memories of what happened earlier.

"I need to get stronger," she sighs. "But... I won't focus on that right now. Instead, I'll introduce you to everyone. I've made a couple of friends now, y'know, I bet you'll be so happy to meet them. You always lamented that I didn't have the time to make friends with the girls in the village... What do you say, Nii-san? Nii-san?"

Alas, curled up half-inside, half-outside his little box, Tanjirou-nii has already fallen asleep. Nezuko chuckles at the sight, and lays down in her own. 

"I wonder what tomorrow will bring," she muses to herself. 

Outside, the moon rises.