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Genya’s finally coming home.
It takes Aoi nearly four weeks after he wakes up from his coma for her to clear his injuries and allow him to leave the infirmary. He’s not fully recovered yet — far from it — and he’s still in awful condition, but at the very least he’s finally out of the danger zone, and Aoi no longer thinks he’s in need of intensive care and medical treatment.
“I’d really rather keep him here,” Aoi says bluntly during her final exam of the injured boy. She starts the process of getting Genya ready for discharge, beginning to carefully remove the IV’s stuck in his left arm. “He’s still going to need extensive help, but since you’re so insistent on taking him to your home, I don’t see a problem with discharging him.”
Sanemi wants to help with getting his brother ready. He’s feeling antsy, a mixture between anticipation and anxiety making his stomach feel heavy, and the urge to do something with his hands as a distraction is overwhelming. But Aoi is very particular about her routines and he doesn’t feel like being a victim to her sharp tongue today, so instead he stands to the side and lets her do her thing, idly listening to her go on. He’s more focused on Genya— he looks just as antsy and restless as he feels, and Sanemi really isn’t surprised. Poor kid’s been cooped up in this room for four weeks, enduring nonstop needles and exams and pain.
Sanemi can’t wait to bring him home.
“You have to be good about his physical therapy and medications,” Aoi continues as she wraps gauze around the irritated skin on Genya’s elbow. Her hands work meticulously, tucking the bandages in with practiced ease. “If he has any chance of recovering, he’s going to need to do his exercises every day. And I’ve packed enough medication for two weeks, and after that, you’re going to have to bring him back for a check-up. I’ll give you the next dose then.”
“Uh-huh.” Sanemi nods along. His good hand rests on Genya’s shoulder, and he tries not to cringe at how thin it feels underneath his palm.
“Do you remember everything I showed you? What medications to give him, and when, and how often?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And how to change his bandages properly?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And—”
“I remember.” He tries not to sound too sharp when he interrupts her, but he really, really just wants to get Genya out of the infirmary already. “And if I need anything, I’ll send a crow. Okay?”
Aoi looks like she wants to argue, but after a few moments of tense glaring she simply huffs, nodding her head in resignation. “Alright, I trust you. But please, let me know if you need anything.” As she speaks, her gaze shifts to Genya, immediately softening as she focuses on him instead. She becomes more gentle as she pulls out a vial of medicine from her apron and carefully lifts it up to his mouth. “You’re healing well, Genya. I’m glad to see you go home. This is a sedative for the trip, alright?”
Genya’s cheeks flush red at the gentle attention. As he lifts a trembling hand to take the vial and swallow the pinkish liquid, Aoi helps steady him by keeping her hand around his wrist. He still has a long way to go with recovering his strength, and although he's regained the ability to lift his arm and grasp things, supporting weight is still a work in progress. Aoi keeps holding onto his wrist until the vial is empty. “Thank you,” he says bashfully, making a face shortly after from the bitter taste of the medicine.
With a nod of acknowledgement, Aoi steps back. “It’s no problem. Give the sedative about ten minutes to kick in and then you two are ready to leave.”
It only takes half that before Genya starts feeling drowsy. Five minutes in, Sanemi catches the way his good eye starts fluttering, the way his head begins to bob around like he doesn’t have the energy to keep it upright, and he decides it’s time to finally start heading out.
“There has to be a more efficient way to do this,” Aoi says incredulously. She watches with a mystified expression as Sanemi starts maneuvering Genya up and out of bed, pulling the younger brother over his back until he’s holding him piggy-back style. It’s a little awkward— Genya only has one arm to wrap around Sanemi’s neck, and Sanemi only has one good hand to help secure Genya’s legs. But Genya’s lost a lot of muscle and weight in the last month, so even though they’re even in the height field, lifting him is like carrying a sack of rice.
Sanemi pointedly ignores Aoi’s suggestion. “You hanging on alright?”
“Yeah.” Genya’s voice is muffled against his shoulder and slurred together with drowsiness, but Sanemi still picks up on a hint of embarrassment in his tone. And underneath the embarrassment, satisfaction. “‘m ready.”
Nothing’s changed at all. When they were younger, Genya used to get so red when Sanemi carried him like this that he could nearly feel it radiating off of him. But he’d kick his feet happily, clearly pleased with being carried by his big brother despite the embarrassed facade he’d put on.
Time has pushed them apart, and there’s no fixing the damage that’s been done to their relationship. Sanemi knows that, and he knows that there’s still an awkward rift between them formed by years of pushing Genya away and locking him out of his life.
But right now, with Genya’s red face pressed against his shoulder and his feet kicking happily just like all those years ago, Sanemi also knows he's not going to mess up this second chance at things.
Before he leaves the infirmary, he reaches into his pocket and pushes a small package wrapped in cloth into Aoi’s hands. It’s a pack of pretty hairpins he picked up from a local market.
He clears his throat awkwardly. Vulnerability isn’t really his strong suit. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for Genya,” he says. “And for everyone else. Kocho would be really proud if she could see you.”
He doesn’t wait to see her reaction— mostly because he’s not really sure how he’d respond to it. Instead, he briefly reaches out to rest a hand on top of her head in a rare show of affection, before he readjusts his hold on Genya and heads out of the infirmary without looking back.
Genya’s bedroom isn’t very fancy yet.
When Sanemi was first getting everything ready to move his brother in, he realized that he didn’t really know Genya well enough to prepare a bedroom for him. There was a gap between the Genya he knew — the short, chubby-cheeked child with eyes still full of innocence — and the Genya now — somehow unrecognizable yet still the same, scarred and hardened from battles he should’ve never been fighting. How was he supposed to prepare a room for the brother he both knew everything about, yet felt like a stranger?
He tried anyway. Nothing screams I’m trying my best to be a good big brother for you less than coming home to a cold, empty guest room in a sprawling estate. The room is simple, too generic to be personal, yet enough to at least show an effort. The walls are lined with half-filled bookshelves and paintings and a few vases to add some warmth. There’s a desk pushed into the corner stocked with writing supplies (does Genya write? Sanemi sure as hell doesn’t), and next to it stands a cozy-looking western style bed.
It’s not perfect, but Sanemi’s trying.
By the time they finally finish the journey from the Butterfly Mansion to his estate, Genya’s knocked out and snoring into his ear. Sanemi isn’t sure how strong the sedative Aoi gave him was, but he assumes his brother won’t be waking up for a while. He carries him down the hallway and into the second room on the right — straight across from his own room — then carefully maneuvers him off his back and into the bed.
And then he sits there.
It feels almost unreal to see Genya like this, comfortably tucked in bed in the safety of his estate. Alive. Together, they exist in a world free of demons. Sanemi doesn’t even realize his hand has moved until he feels Genya’s cheek resting beneath his palm, his fingers gently pressing against the side of his brother’s face — the same side that had crumbled away into ash just two months ago. As his thumb absentmindedly traces soothing circles on the skin, Sanemi’s chest tightens with a mix of emotions he has trouble recognizing.
Having Genya here almost feels wrong. There's a part of him that he can’t silence, a voice in his mind urging him to push Genya away, to distance him as much as possible. It’s the only way he knows to protect his younger brother. With no real understanding of how to guide them both through the long road of healing, his mind clings to the one familiar impulse it can trust. The words I don’t have a brother still linger heavily on his tongue, a refrain he’s repeated for years, convincing himself it was for the best, that it was the only way to avoid failing Genya the way he felt he’d failed everyone else.
But he looks down at Genya’s face. Split down the middle with an angry raised scar, thin and gaunt and halfway unrecognizable. He hadn’t protected him for shit. He’d died in his arms.
And though his instincts are screaming at him that he needs to keep pushing him away, there’s one thing he knows for sure. Genya needs him.
And he needs Genya, too.
He loses track of time as he sits there, brushing his good hand through Genya’s hair, watching over his little brother.
The next few days of taking care of Genya prove to be some of the hardest Sanemi has ever faced.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to help. He does, more than anything, and he’s beyond grateful to have this second chance. The instincts of being a big brother — the drive to protect and take care of his family, to provide — kick in almost instantly after laying dormant for so long, and he feels more like himself than he ever has as he spends his time taking care of Genya at home.
But with that responsibility comes a front row seat to just how much pain Genya is in. And witnessing it all makes him feel like the biggest failure of a big brother.
The nightmares are relentless. They’re every single night. It’s not a new occurrence, but at least in the infirmary he’d been sedated enough to sleep off the fear shortly after jolting awake. Without the relief and rescue of sedatives at home, Genya wakes up screaming, plagued with memories and phantom pain of his body being split in half and whatever other hell he’d experienced in that final fight. Sanemi is always right there to shush him and wipe his tears and hold him, but he doesn’t fall back asleep until the sun has already risen, and by then it’s almost time to shake him back awake for his first round of medicine.
Neither of them get much sleep.
Genya is starving. His stomach is fucked up from a cruel mixture of being bisected and the lingering effects from consuming the flesh of demons. Keeping down normal food is nearly impossible and it shows in the way Genya’s clothes seem to hang off his body. Sanemi’s been trying to find ways to gradually increase his tolerance to solid food— he can keep broth and soups down, so he tries incorporating small chunks of rice and steamed vegetables. So far nothing stays for very long. It’s not fun watching his little brother lose the ability to eat, but he knows they have to keep trying until something works.
The discovery that Genya’s able to stomach small squares of tofu feels more victorious than winning a fight against an Upper Moon, and Genya makes fun of his wide smile as Sanemi watches him finish his first complete meal in forever.
As if Genya isn’t suffering enough already, the cells in his body are actively revolting against him, and it means that he keeps getting bouts of intense, agonizing pain. It’s like he’s feeling the phantom effects of his body being split in half all over again, his healing scar suddenly a fresh cut slicing through him like a hot knife. The pain comes and goes, and when it comes Sanemi has to hurry with the vial of medicine Aoi packed specifically for this and try to get him to swallow it. After that, he can’t do much but squeeze his hand, wipe his contorted face with a wet rag, and comfort him until the medicine kicks in and he can finally breathe again.
It’s a lot. Genya needs help with everything, and Sanemi feels useless not being able to do more to take away his pain. He knows it’s just a part of the healing process, that eventually Genya will heal and thrive and recover his independence, but it still doesn’t make it any easier to witness the sleepless nights, the bouts of nausea, the episodes of recurring pain.
Still. Sanemi doesn’t let it affect his care or keep him from being there. He knows that even if this goes on forever, even if Genya never recovers, he’ll be by his side regardless.
That’s just what big brothers do.
“You can take me back to Aoi if you want. I won’t hate you for it.”
Sanemi’s hand stops mid-stir. The quiet clink of chopsticks against the side of the pot pauses, leaving the kitchen in a stretch of silence.
“Now why in the hell would I do that?” Sanemi eventually says, frowning. He looks away from the pot of soup he’s preparing and instead looks over his shoulder. Genya sits in his wheelchair at the table, watching him with an intensity that makes him feel like he’s being scrutinized. “You know how long I waited to get you here?”
Genya shrugs, and when their gazes meet, he immediately drops his eye down to his lap instead. “This is a lot. I know it’s a lot of work taking care of me like this. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to do it anymore.”
Sanemi’s jaw clenches. Genya’s not wrong— it is a lot of work taking care of his brother. It’s been exactly a week since he brought him home from the infirmary, and it’s been nothing but long, sleepless nights and rough days of pain. But taking him back to the Butterfly Mansion? Hell no. Genya’s his baby brother, and Sanemi doesn’t give a fuck if he has to take care of him like this for all the few years he has left.
“That’s some bullshit,” he mutters.
There’s a quiet insistence in Genya’s voice as he speaks again. “I’m serious. I won’t blame you. You can just visit me. It’s really okay.”
His grip on the chopsticks tightens. Sanemi’s not sure where the anger he feels bubbling up in his chest is coming from — whether it’s from Genya’s self-worthlessness or his own nagging sense of inadequacy in taking care of his brother — but the words feel like a slap in the face. He turns his attention back to the pot of soup, focusing on swirling the broth as if it can keep him from saying anything he might regret.
There’s a long silence that follows. The kind that makes Sanemi feel uneasy. They’re both waiting for something. But what? A reassurance? An apology?
Sanemi swirls the soup around until he feels calm enough to speak up again. He clears his throat, his voice quiet, awkward. “Look. I knew what I was signing up for, okay? I don’t need you deciding shit for me, so don’t even try to put that crap on me.” It’s a level of vulnerability that Sanemi isn’t really comfortable with. He doesn’t know how to do this. How to talk about his emotions so openly, especially not with the brother he’d spent years estranging. But he can’t not try. “And— it’s nice, y’know. Having you here. It reminds me of before. When we were kids. I want you to stay here.”
When he turns back to look at Genya again, he swears he almost breaks into two. His brother’s expression is so innocent, his good eye wide with surprise. It’s like he’s looking at the brother from all those years ago, the chubby-cheeked, short young boy unburdened from the brutality of demons and death. For a moment, the kitchen is still, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it isn’t filled with unspoken tension or old wounds. It’s just them. They’re two brothers trying to find their way back to each other.
Heat rises in Sanemi’s cheeks, and he suddenly looks away, focusing back on the pot to hide the blush spreading across his face. “Soup’s almost ready,” he mutters. “We’re trying rice again. Better keep it down this time.”
“Okay,” Genya says after a few moments. His voice is wobbling, and Sanemi doesn’t need to look at him to know the kid is crying. But he sounds— happy? Relieved? Something opposite of the last week of pain and misery, so he doesn’t worry about turning around to comfort him. “Thank you, ‘Nemi.”
“Mhm.”
He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to. There’s still a lot of unpacking to do, hard conversations to bridge the gap between them, but right now, the space doesn’t feel quite as wide.
For now, it’s enough to just be here.
(“You look nuts right now,” Genya snorts with amusement. His face is scrunched slightly in misery, clearly fighting off a wave of nausea as he swallows down the last of the rice, but nothing happens. It stays down, and Sanemi sets the bowl of empty soup down on the counter.
He knows he looks insane. His expression is almost always intense no matter what he’s feeling. The gleeful smile probably looks bloodthirsty or homicidal. “Shut your mouth,” he snaps, but the joy in his voice betrays him as he officially adds rice to the list of things Genya can finally keep down.)