Work Text:
This is how it went:
On the brink of death, an angel came to you, offering an eternity of glory. You, who never did anything remarkable in your mortal life; you who would have no mourners by your grave even if you die; you who might waste this rare chance at a second life—would hold greatness at the cusp of your hand. Or, at the very least and the most likely, would simply be cured of the sickness that very soon would take your life.
And you accepted that offer. Even when you knew the horrors yet to come, you still said yes.
(It wasn’t so much the promise of glory that coaxed you into entering this ageless limbo—it was the angel who held out her hand to you, inviting you to be a part of her world.)
So you braced yourself. You braced yourself for your impending transformation from man to beast. You braced yourself to be stripped away from your humanity, to become an embodiment of hell and nightmare, to a lifetime of sins you’d never be able to atone for.
You braced yourself for darkness.
But instead, what greeted you was a set of kind lavender eyes that emitted more kindness than you had ever seen in your first life, and a fate far gentler than anything you had ever imagined.
You’re alive, you’re alive.
**
Yushiro’s world halted when he felt an icy chill running down his spine.
Tamayo-sama’s in grave danger.
Deafening silence engulfed him. There was only a muted ringing in his ear as his heart bellowed, alerting him that his master’s life was threatened, begging his body to find her, follow her, wherever she may be.
The second wave of chill followed, leaving a sharp pain in its wake.
Tamayo-sama’s dead.
But no. No. That can’t be—he’s still here, still trapped inside this cursed infinity fortress, still alive. There’s still air in his lungs, there’s still warm blood—her blood—running through his veins.
By rights, if Tamayo died, then Yushiro’s heart would wilt along with her.
So no. Tamayo’s not dead. She might have just dealt with a severe injury, which Yushiro will tend to once he locates her, but she’s not dead, no. Not as long as Yushiro’s still alive. Because if she’s dead, then Yushiro’s life force would stop flowing as well. If she were dead, then his legs would stop running, his brain would stop reeling, his heart would stop beating. If she’s dead, then—
Then he felt it.
A bang, like millions of fireflies bursting inside his head, blinding him with their lights, shattering whatever peace of mind he’d tried so hard to maintain. A jolt of excruciating electricity shot up his body, a pain nothing like he’d ever felt before—and he lost control of his limbs and was slammed to the wall. The impact from the collision didn’t hurt as much as the swarming buzz in his brain that crept to his whole body. From his peripheral vision, he saw Tanjiro running towards him, his voice dripping with concern, asking what’s wrong, what happened, are you okay?
Yushiro didn’t have it in him to answer. His senses melted into a blur. All he could feel was the absence of Tamayo’s presence and her scent that rapidly faded, even though just a few moments ago, it still lingered in the air.
Yushiro’s blood ran cold.
She’s dead.
She’s dead.
She’s dead she’s dead she’s dead she’s dead she’s dead—
Why didn’t I die?
Why didn’t I die?
If Yushiro didn’t know better, he’d think Tamayo was talking to him now, whispering the answers to his burning questions.
Because you still have a purpose in this life, she’d say. Because your life is precious, is its own soul, separate from mine. Because I won’t let you die just because I did.
But what am I supposed to do, Yushiro lamented as he watched the dawn break over the hill, signaling the second day of a new world without nightmares. What am I supposed to do, if there’s no you?
Just a day after the big battle ended, the remaining members of the Demon Slayer Corps held a funeral for the fallen heroes. Flowers were scattered, and tears fell like the downpour in July.
From the shadows, Yushiro watched as the survivors of the battle mourned for their comrades, their lovers, their siblings. He watched as they held onto whatever was left of the fallen’s bodies before they were sent to be cremated, he watched as those whose beloved didn’t have a body to be buried clung to pieces of sentimental items that were left behind.
Then Yushiro left as soon as he came. Before the hazy smoke of jealousy misted his brain.
There’s nothing left of Tamayo to be buried, nothing left of her to be held. Yushiro couldn’t even find her kanzashi pin to hold on to.
It’s how it is with demons, Yushiro knew that. But he always thought he’d disintegrate into ash the moment Tamayo’s head was severed. He was never prepared for this anomaly of nature to occur where he’d be left on his own, the last of his kind.
All he had now was a stupid cat and a too-big of a house.
“Yushiro,” Tamayo’s voice rang clear through the hallways.
Yushiro quickly strode to the study, where Tamayo was in. “Yes, Tamayo-sama?”
“The preparations are done.”
“Alright. I’m ready.”
“He’ll die tonight,” Tamayo said, determination glinting in her eyes. “I’ll make sure of that.”
“Of course,” Yushiro nodded. If anyone can put an end to this nightmare, it’s Tamayo. “And I’ll be right beside you, should you need anything—”
“No.”
No.
For a moment, Yushiro forgot what that word meant. No. To which part of his speech was Tamayo said no? Won’t she be needing anything, or was she forbidding Yushiro to stay by her side?
Yushiro dreaded it was the latter.
“Tamayo-sama…?”
“Remember what we discussed? I’ll infiltrate and inject the poisons into Muzan’s wretched body, but I need to do this alone. You cannot follow me to the Ubuyashiki estate,” Tamayo stated, leaving no room for argument. “You should fight with the others. Find Tanjiro, if necessary. And I’ll…”
I’ll see you again, after it all ends.
The incomplete sentence hung in the air. Yushiro didn’t need Tamayo to reiterate, but still, he wanted the confirmation.
Tamayo shook her head and continued. “If I die—”
“I’ll die with you—”
“Yushiro,” Tamayo said sternly, lightly grabbing Yushiro’s shoulder. Yushiro was rendered speechless under Tamayo’s solemn gaze. “If by daybreak I die and Muzan doesn’t, flee. Flee, and hide this house as soon as possible. This must be the first thing you do at the first sign of defeat, do you hear me? Remember this, Yushiro—you must prioritize preserving my knowledge.”
“... And abandon the slayers?”
If there was any hesitation within her, Tamayo didn’t show it. “Yes. Come back to the battlefield only when you’re absolutely sure that Muzan cannot touch this place. The slayers will rebuild themselves, as they’ve done countless times before, but we can’t afford to lose two hundred years’ worth of information, especially if Muzan escapes,” Tamayo took a breath and smiled. “So I leave everything to you.”
Yushiro couldn’t understand why Tamayo bequeathed the house to him and not to a demon slayer—say, Tanjiro. Or one of the girls under the insect hashira’s tutelage. Surely a dead demon wouldn’t be able to maintain a house, much less a legacy.
But before Yushiro could ask, Tamayo spoke again.
“If I die, and Muzan dies, and you survive—”
“I won’t,” Yushiro replied quickly. “You created me, Tamayo-sama. You die, and I’ll die—and it’ll be my honor.”
“If you survive,” Tamayo repeated, ignoring Yushiro’s words. “I… Well, I suppose there’ll be nothing left of our work to be done. So live a happy life, Yushiro. Don’t mourn me too long. This house is yours. The garden is yours. Your life is yours. Live, for as long as you want to.”
A smile was still etched on Tamayo’s face, but something shifted. Yushiro could sense faraway sadness tinged beneath it. Sadness, and relief.
She still looked beautiful, but the smile scared him a little bit. He didn’t understand what it meant. He couldn’t imagine a world where he exists and she doesn’t. “But I won’t—”
“If,” Tamayo repeated, her eyes turning a warm hue of lilac. “If.”
If.
The sakura petals from the tree in Tamayo’s garden had flown through new decades of skies, yet Yushiro remained unmoving.
If.
Yushiro often wondered if Tamayo knew all along that if she died, she wouldn’t take his soul with her—or if that had been her design when she first created him. He often wondered if Tamayo was ever going to reveal the fact that their souls weren’t intertwined, not the way the demons’ and Muzan’s were, and if one dies, one might have to continue living without the other. He often wondered if that if she spoke of that day was the reason she built a garden all those years ago, with a wisteria tree perching at the pond’s edge.
Don’t sit there for too long, Yushiro, Tamayo used to say. Unless you want to be lulled to death.
If.
What would’ve happened if that if didn’t come true? If Yushiro withered the moment Tamayo perished. If he ceased to exist and the demon race truly went extinct. If he weren’t a ghost stuck in a bygone era, perpetually haunting the memory of places and people that don’t exist anymore.
Would he be reunited with Tamayo then? Or would her soul still be too far for him to reach?
A little over sixty years after the great battle, Yushiro stepped foot in the outside world for the first time. This time, instead of aimlessly wandering through the streets with only Chachamaru in tow like he did the last time he was outside, Yushiro had a destination in mind.
The Kamado household was in mourning. Tanjiro and his once-demon sister had died, and the siblings were apparently still inseparable even in their last moments.
Normally, news of deceased people didn’t affect Yushiro too much. He didn’t know that many people to begin with, and he’d seen enough human deaths in the years he’d been alive that it didn't phase him anymore. But the Kamado siblings’ death meant that there was officially no single living soul left in this world that Yushiro knew from the olden times, and considering they used to fight together, Yushiro felt compelled to attend the funeral.
He never meant to stay longer than he needed to. He didn’t even plan to come out of the shadows he was lurking in. All he intended to do was pay respects to his old comrades and wish them a safe passage across the Sanzu River.
But then someone bumped into him, and Yushiro’s own spirit almost flew out of his body upon seeing the face.
It was Tanjiro.
Except his face was younger, rounder, and there was no scar on his forehead. For a moment, Yushiro was left in a daze, wondering if Tanjiro had turned into a ghost, or if perhaps the last sixty years had been a dream Yushiro had finally been woken up from just now.
Then ‘Tanjiro’ smiled, and Yushiro understood who he was. Or rather, who he wasn’t.
The kid had the same deep maroon eyes, with the same glittering kindness and warmth radiating from them. He even had the same smile… But without the recognition.
“Thank you for coming to jiji’s funeral,” the kid said.
Yushiro nodded. The kid stayed, probably expecting him to say something in return, so Yushiro spoke. “I’m… Sorry for your loss. Both of them were…” Were what? It’s not like they were friends, not really. “Were great people.”
The kid tilted his head. “Both of them?”
“Kamado Tanjiro and Kamado Nezuko. They’re… This is their funeral, isn’t it?”
“This is jiji’s funeral—Tanjiro-jiisan. Nezuko-san passed away a long time ago.”
“Ah…” Yushiro trailed. Then why was her picture still displayed in every room of the house?
“To remember her by,” the kid answered. Yushiro only realized then that he’d said his last sentence out loud. “Baba knew how much jiji loved his sister, and she figured he’d want her to be present for his funeral. I’ve never actually met her myself, but I heard of her adventures with jiji and the others when they were young. Zenitsu-san—Nezuko-san’s husband and jiji’s best friend—even wrote a book about their old adventures. Sometimes I go to Yoshida-kun’s house to read it with him!”
To remember her by.
A portrait, a book, to remember her by. Even when this kid had never met Nezuko, he still knew of her story, of the life she led.
To remember her by.
Why didn’t Yushiro ever think of that before?
Yushiro had developed a new hobby.
Even Chachamaru was surprised. The cat went from ignoring him most of the time except for the time he was supposed to be fed, to sitting right next to him, watching intently as Yushiro struggled to capture Tamayo’s face. Or maybe Chachamaru missed Tamayo just as much as he was pleasantly surprised to see his old master reappear again, albeit only on canvas.
It wasn’t hard for Yushiro to picture Tamayo’s face, even when he hadn’t seen her in decades. What was hard was getting his hand to work and getting her features right. Individually he could paint each of Tamayo’s facial features—her eyes, her nose, her lips. But somehow, when it’s being put together, it doesn’t even look like Tamayo. How is that even possible? How do people paint such lifelike scenery? Was there any secret technique he was supposed to be using?
It was then that Yushiro also developed a great respect for artists.
Most days, when he was not painting, he’d rest underneath the wisteria tree, just to feel the poison slowly seeping into his body. The moment where he was the closest to death was exactly when his life came back to him the clearest, in flashes of a kaleidoscope.
To be lulled to death, Tamayo had called it. What a peaceful way to die.
But Yushiro never let himself die, not really. Right before the poison reached his heart, he’d get up and leave and stop his blood circulation, dissolving the poison.
It was no time to die, not yet. Not when he still sucked at painting and all his portraits of Tamayo still looked like a regular girl from the grocery store instead of the goddess she was. There was no way he could die leaving Tamayo’s portrait a mess. Plus, he had an eternity to live, and he might have an idea of what to do with all that abundance of time now.
If he died, every trace of Tamayo’s legacy would truly be erased from the world. If he died, the house he lived in, the very same house that Tamayo took such great care of, would crumble to dust—if not from the sudden disappearance of the demon presence that kept it standing all these years, then surely from abandonment. And what will become of Chachamaru? There’s no way that cat could survive on its own after decades of being spoiled rotten.
So no, Yushiro’s not ready to let go of the life Tamayo gave him. Not now, not if it meant the memory of Tamayo would die with him. Not yet, not when he’d just found a way to eternalize her.
To remember her by.
So,
This is how it goes:
You dip your brush in the paint, and you streak the canvas with colors that remind you of her. Once upon a time, this process frustrated you to no end, but years of training had turned it into second nature.
You let your emotions, your insurmountable grief, your unwavering devotion, bleed into the white blank canvas in front of you. You let your memories unravel, let it tell a story of different parts of her life in each painting.
Then you watch as your paintings gain fame over the years. You watch as it catches the attention of not only the art enthusiasts, but also the general masses. You watch as they fawn over her, as they raise silent praise at you for having painted such masterpieces. You watch as people theorize who the woman in your painting really was, or if such beauty even exists at all. You watch as the descendants of people you once knew shed an inexplicable tear in front of her face, unaware that she was a big part of the reason why they’re safe from nightmares.
Then you go back to your studio that was once filled with her research and equipment, now filled with endless art supplies. You sit in front of another blank canvas with a cat in your lap, and you raise your brush again. You flip through her memories, picking which light you’ll paint her under, and you start painting.
And as you momentarily live in your past with her in front of you, basking in a golden glow of reminiscence, you think to yourself,
What died didn’t stay dead.
She’s alive, so alive.