Work Text:
Before Keisuke had even noticed, the seasons had changed. The sky lost its colour, drained of the blue that gave it life. It turned an icy grey, like a corpse.
Keisuke kept no calendar, paid no mind to the days that passed. But even so, no materialistic object could replace the ticking clock in the back of his mind. Watching the sun, counting how many nights, and watching the seasons. Keisuke needed no man, no object, to tell him that the day came close. The way his skin crawled like spiders and the way his heart slowed in his chest cavity all pointed to one conclusion.
It was nearly time to revisit the grave.
Although he had run like a coward, blatantly ignored all of the landmarks, his vision blurred by tears and mind clouded by grief, panic, disgust, and rage, his consciousness had silently stored every single step of the way in the back of his memory. Making it so that no matter where he was, he always instinctually knew the path to take back home. It was in his blood, in the pulse that coursed his veins.
And soon, he would take a new trail. From the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters to the familiar ground that marked his lifelong home. His family used to move so much, that place in the woods was never meant as a permanent relocation. But, forever it would be. And Keisuke would know no other place as home, for the rest of the miserable years he would undoubtedly live. If one of the Hashira didn't behead him before that. The thought of death was such a distant one back then, but it scared him now. The only outcomes were suicide or to die at the hand of one of the swordsmen or women he had come to know, to work with and live alongside. Not that they would share the sentiment, but that mattered little to the demon.
Keisuke longed for some comraderie between him and the Hashira, though he knew that was not soon to happen. They may have tolerated his presence up until now, but he knew they did not truly like him. Which was fine. So long as their Nichirin blades weren't pointed to his neck and they at the very least pretended to tolerate his presence. That's all he needed to maintain the illusion that everything was alright. His flesh may have lost its warmth and had morphed into a muted brown, but the human urge to maintain relationships never left. He wondered why that was. He wasn't the science type.
Raising from his crouched position in the snow, snowflakes adorning his round shoulders, the snow creaking beneath his weight, he gathered his bags. Snatching up his straw hat, he stuck it over his head. Sunrays wouldn't pass through the thick wintery clouds for a while, now that the snowy season had settled, and he would surely get sideways looks from whatever merchants we would pass by in the forest, but as a demon, he couldn't take any risks. Also, he had grown attached to his stupid hat. What with his obscured vision when he wore it, it gave him that sense of unimportance. Like his mother used to tell him when he was young, "If you can't see them, they can't see you." He was nearing twenty years of age now, so he knew that logic was flawed, but he still clung to it as though it were the undeniable truth. Hence why he loved the hat.
The demon lived near the headquarters. Close enough to the Master's estate to ensure it wasn't easy for him to escape unnoticed, but far enough from said estate so that the Hashira could rest easy knowing that a demon didn't live so close to the beloved Master. Keisuke could understand. He, also, liked the space between them. His demonic life was owed to the Master. Nearly a year ago, when he had stumbled across the grounds by pure chance, wounded and weak, Ubuyashiki Kagaya had been the one to spare his life, to order the Hashira to lower their blades. That night, he had been secretly recruited into the Demon Slayer Corps. He didn't doubt that his respect was on equal grounds with the respect the Hashira felt for him. If not for that man, he would be long gone.
Stalking his way to the gates, Keisuke had no plans in telling anybody where he was headed. For the past few days, he had been reserved and quiet, a stark difference to his boisterous self. For someone secretly affiliated with the Corps, he was rather loud. Some passing Kakushi had noticed him sat in silence at the treeline of the forest, polite and making himself small, slowly being covered in snow. Keisuke was aware that this was some sort of violation of the strict rules that were set in place for him, to not explicitly warn where he was heading in advance. He was only alive because they could keep an eye on him every hour of every day.
"Where are you going?"
His voice was low and rough, a ringing timbre that made up his intimidating look. It was unmistakable.
Keisuke stopped, the thick snow beneath his feet crunching. He moved to look over his shoulder. His eye twitched before he could lay his gaze onto the scarred man.
"Out," Keisuke rasped, his tone flat and heavy. "I'm going out."
Shinazugawa huffed through his nose, the warm breath condensing in the icy air. "You're supposed to tell one of the Hashira or the Master before leaving. Or, at the very least, one of the Kakushi." His heather eyes narrowed into slits, staring the demon down suspiciously. His crossed arms tightened over his chest, the muscles going taut.
There was a long pause, the wind howling and hissing between the leafless trees. The branches swayed in the wind.
"Follow me then. I won't let anyone keep me here. I'm going."
The Wind Hashira sneered, uncrossing his arms. "You aren't the one who calls the god damn shots around here, scum."
"If you want to kill me for this unpardonable disgrace, you can do it after the trip," Keisuke muttered. "Just let me do this."
Another gush of wind passed between the two of them, ruffling the Hashira's hair. Keisuke's dark locks danced around him.
"Where are you headed?" Shinazugawa finally said, his voice gruff, clearly translating his displeasure.
The demon's fingers twitched at his sides. "You'll see."
A vein bulged on the alabaster man's scarred forehead.
"The fuck?" he spat. "I'll see? Where the fuck are you going? Don't be fucking cryptic like that. Just fucking tell me."
"It isn't an anotated location. I have nothing to tell you in that regard. So, you'll see."
The vein pulsed. "Could you be any more specific? Possibly?"
"It's a camping ground of sorts. I'll be there for days."
Shutting the conversation down swiftly, Keisuke resumed his steps towards the black steel gate. It was cool under his grasp, heavy. He pushed it out and stepped out, officially exiting Slayer grounds. Walking over to the opening of the forest, the snowfall began again. Small flecks of snow descended from the heavens, quickly building into a small flurry. The wind picked up, making snow fly off the ground in thin, veil-like waves. The wind howled. The sky darkened. Keisuke's long haired whipped across his face.
All the while, the Wind Hashira trekked a safe distance behind the demon, hand on the hilt of his sword. Although it was true that Keisuke had been relatively well-behaved up until now, despite his agitated demeanour, Shinazugawa had not come to trust the beast. He may have retained most of his human behaviour, but it hadn't even been a year yet since they had first met him. He could be playing a role. Disguising himself. Older, stronger demons were able to control themselves. Despite the apparent lack of numerals in Keisuke's ultramarine eyes, it wasn't impossible that he could hide that detail. What if he was only well-behaved because he was old and powerful enough to control his bloodlust? That would explain why he didn't simultaneously combust under sunlight. Shinazugawa could not trust him. He would not trust him. He was a demon, a savage creature he had vowed to annihilate above all else. And seeing him nearly every day was driving him wild. His job was to eradicate and kill all demons. Oh, but not this one. He was special.
Fuck that, he thought bitterly, glaring into the back of Keisuke's head.
Keisuke had been right. Shinazugawa knew these forests well. He had travelled them for years, hunting down demons, he began to know them like the back of his hand. And, just like Keisuke had said, the trail they were taking didn't seem to be leading them anywhere specific. The Hashira was tempted to crane his neck toward the sky. This erratic, seemingly impulsive path Keisuke was leading him on felt like one of the paths he would take when on a mission, following the coarse orders of his Kasugai crow.
It took them six days. Halfway through, Shinazugawa noticed enough to realize that they were headed north. The air got chillier and the snow got thicker. He pulled his haori up. The cold never seemed to bother him, but he was becoming suspiciously aware that they were entering Hokkaido territory. He had never been so far up north. The temperature drop came as a minor shock to his system.
He was also starting to get hungry. Which was a first, as he didn't typically get hungry. Seeing human entrails and demon blood on a near-daily basis was the quick and easy way to permanently downplay his appetite. But he had left the headquarters with an already empty stomach. That empty stomach was beginning to eat at itself.
Unfortunately for him, Keisuke had made no pit stops on their little journey. He never faltered in his path and he clearly had no intention of stopping until he reached the destination. And Shinazugawa knew he couldn't possibly take his eyes off him, even for just a moment. It would be impossible to leave to get something to eat. Keisuke was avidly avoiding all routes that passed through villages and towns, effectively making their trip "the long way."
"We should stop," Shinazugawa voiced, not far off from a small village. "I know you don't need to, but I need to eat."
Keisuke stopped, his fingers twitching. He turned around to face Shinazugawa, scrutinizing him. All he wanted to do was walk nonstop. He didn't want to stop for the other man. More true to his personality, he would have accepted immediately.
He also knew he didn't have a choice. The Hashira may have said it like it was an offer, but Keisuke knew it was a thinly veiled order. Exhaling sharply through his teeth, he nodded. They made their way into the village. It was small and luckily not densely populated. There were a few villagers to pass them here and there, and they mostly kept to themselves, some inclining their head politely.
However, much to Keisuke's satisfaction, Shinazugawa decided not to drag things out by ordering something big at a restaurant or anything of the like. He wouldn't put it below the man. As much as Shinazugawa was mature (ish) and took his job seriously, he was incredibly petty. Keisuke was at least grateful he hadn't decided to be petty today.
Shinazugawa ate the onigiri as they went. He had purchased a small bag, which made a slight irritation bubble in the demon's ribcage.
He stopped me to eat so he could buy a grand total of three onigiri? Does he hate me?
Keisuke shook that last thought off. The answer was obvious.
Three days later, they made it.
Keisuke felt his heart drop into his stomach as he began to recognize the landmarks. The thick roots peeking out from under the snow, hints of a broken wooden swing buried much deeper than beneath the snow, the dip of the earth into a ravine, eventually leading to a river. Keisuke snapped his head away as soon as he noticed it. He didn't want to think about it, much less look at it.
Turning right, weaving through the thick trees, they finally stepped into a clearing. Old, worn tents and tipis decorated the small patch of land, the drapes and blankets flapping in the wind. Keisuke's ears twitched as Shinazugawa shifted quickly.
Behind him, the Hashira grabbed the hilt of his sword, his thumb pushing up the guard and drawing an inch of his blade out of its sheath. Typically, the metallic sound of blades being drawn, especially by a Hashira, would put him on edge. But, this once, it made the demon's shoulders slump as he peeked over his shoulder.
"Put that down," he sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "This place is uninhabited. It has been for years. There isn't a living soul in any of these tents. You don't have to worry."
He dropped his bags, signaling that this was it, the travelling was over and this was the destination. Over crunching snow, the demon entered the small gathering of tents.
Shinazugawa, brows creased, sheathed his sword, palm still resting over the hilt. Following closely after the demon, he shot wary glances at the tipis. Just to make sure what Keisuke said was true, that this place was truly uninhabited. As he analyzed the area, his eye caught one tent in particular. The knot in his brows deepened, and he stepped closer to the flapping entrance. A skin rug and a pink doll peeked through, bits of snow beginning to coat the doll's head.
Putting out an arm, he pushed the entrance open, revealing the interior. Despite what Keisuke had said, this looked rather lived in. Sparing one last glance at the demon’s broad back, Shinazugawa peeked inside. There was a bed in the right corner, undone and messy; a tipped over wooden box overflowing with children's toys; a small and simple, nicely carved wooden rack, two pieces of wood upholding a long branch on either side, opposite the bed. The floor was covered in skin rugs, only the circular middle revealing the earth. Burnt, wet wood that must have been extinguished long ago still sat in the shallow pit.
Dried blood speckled the bed sheets, and the doll's plush feet were soaked in the substance. Had Shinazugawa looked a little closer, he would have noticed the dark crimson on the burnt chunks of wood. It mixed in perfectly with the soot.
He quickly stepped out, staggering slightly as he waved the blankets out of his face. The small pieces he was given of the bigger picture were beginning to slowly fall into place.
Glaring at the demon, who was thankfully still in his field of vision, Shinazugawa jogged back up to him. Keisuke had retreated to the edge of the tiny gathering. Shinazugawa paused, watching the demon lower into a sitting position, head bowed and hands politely draped over his lap.
The ground was raised. Clumsy, long lumps across the horizontal expanse behind the tents, hidden among the trees. A bird fell onto one of the lumps, its small head tilting left and right, its tawny wings flapping.
Keisuke was muttering in a language Shinazugawa didn't know. It made him uneasy. The demon knew blood demon art. Though, Shinazugawa recognized none of the words he said, and he had begun mumbling far too long for it to be any demonic curse. He could rest easy. For now.
Shinazugawa stood at the ready, arms tucked into the sleeves of his haori, watching the demon attentively. As Keisuke kept muttering, the Hashira came to realize it was a prayer. One he certainly didn't recognize, but it made sense. He looked over the demon's head. Which meant the expanse of raised earth was graves. Shinazugawa licked his lips, chapped from the biting cold.
This was bizarre. Keisuke was bizarre. This, Shinazugawa was already aware of. However, now, seeing the demon sat before a grave, praying -- that was an even weirder sight than anything else Keisuke had ever done in the months he'd known him. And he'd seen Keisuke jump off trees for an entire evening.
Keisuke must have risen half a story later. His hair was wet from the snow, snowflakes adorning his ebony locks, already freezing over. His bare back glistened, the cold already beginning to coat over him in a protective shield.
"There's a cabin not far off from here. You can stay in there, since I'll be camping out here for a while," Keisuke murmured, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "I'll make you a fire. It's warm in there."
Casting one final glance at the abandoned site, Shinazugawa followed behind Keisuke, who had already begun to weave his way through the trees again, toward the cabin. It was a five minute walk away. The cabin was pretty big, at least in comparison to the miniscule tipis Shinazugawa had spotted. It was made of a dark spruce and slightly raised off the ground. Keisuke opened the door with ease. Unlocked.
Shinazugawa shot a look over Keisuke's shoulder. The cabin was completely dark inside. Not a hint of a single human. That was good.
Stepping into the cabin, the floor creaked underneath his heavy step, unused to upholding the weight of another person. Shinazugawa came to wonder how long it had been since anybody had ever stepped foot on these grounds. There were no lights. It was less cold inside than outside, miraculously, despite all the wood and ashes in the fireplace having long since burnt away. Despite how uninhabited this place had proven itself to be, it was incredibly well furnished. If this place had been attacked like Shinazugawa was beginning to believe, he thought it was unbelievably lucky that the area hadn't been absolutely ruined, that bits and pieces of the life that used to live here hadn't been entirely wiped out. It was lucky, he thought, that everything seemed to be frozen in time.
Keisuke grabbed a box of matches that by all miracles had not dampened. He began lighting up candles. They had begun to crack in the cold. Once there was some lighting in the room, Shinazugawa let his gaze drift, his lavender eyes running over the decoration. The shelves were covered in thinly knitted blankets with tassels in the four corners, multiple tin boxes and yarns serving as decoration. One silver tin can was open and emanated a sappy pine scent. On the walls hung intricate embroidery made of beads and yarn. There were also sashes strewn about, colourful with different names and words. 'Shih tsoo' with a pictogram resembling the ezo bear next to it, 'geh gii' with a small white rabbit, 'neegadh zrąįį' with a silver fox, and a mouthful of symbols Shinazugawa didn't want to attempt to even pronounce in his head: 'ch'et'agwiiniidhan', with a heart. A poorly carved squirrel sat next to the sashes, with a block of wood beneath it engraved with the word 'dlak'.
There were also framed photographs. It didn't occur to Shinazugawa that whoever lived here had been especially blessed with financial success, given the rather remote placement and the living in tents. Though, he supposed with the amount of tents he saw, it wouldn't be completely unfathomable that somebody had dry plates. They mostly depicted children. The first one he saw was of a young girl no older than six, smiling wide with two missing teeth, hugging a pink doll tightly to her chest. Shinazugawa felt his pulse skip a beat in the depth of his chest. He quickly averted his gaze, looking away and landing on something else to scrutinize.
This one stood out to him more. He forced his gaze to stay fixed on the framed photograph, to not trail over to the demon throwing wood into the furnace.
There were two children in the frame, both young boys. The smaller child, looking a little roughed up from the way his cowlick stuck up toward the sky and the dirt dusting over his nose, stared into the camera with wide auburn eyes. The flash must have taken him by surprise. He held the other boy's hand over his chest. The older boy clung to the little one by the neck, a wide yet shy smile pulling at his lips, his cheeks dimpling. His long, jet black hair tumbled over his shoulders, his bangs beginning to grow too long and covering parts of his sapphire eyes. He was much younger here, only starting to sprout into adolescence, but Shinazugawa was sure it was the demon before him.
His skin was brighter here, more of a healthy, sepia colour. Not the muted brown his corpse had become. Before, Shinazugawa had been sure the sheer blueness of Keisuke's eyes had been enhanced by his demonic transformation, but the clearly human photograph taken of him proved him wrong.
Shinazugawa faltered, staring at the photograph one last time before setting it back down on the shelf he had lifted it from.
Keisuke had a family. Their bodies were buried only a five-minute walk away. And he remembered them. They had lived, and close enough in time whereas their belongings, creations and homes were still relatively intact.
The fire crackled and rose in height, engulfing the small furnace. Keisuke shut the small hinge as soon as the fire began to hiss and was sufficient on its own. He rose, his sapphire eyes dropping onto Shinazugawa. His eyes flickered between the pale man and the framed photo. He staggered backward, slowly lowering himself into a nearby chair.
"It was five years ago," Keisuke succumbed, scratching the side of his hair, a raven strand twirling around a long, clawed finger. "I saw you peeking at the photo. That was my little brother."
Playing with his hair, turning and twisting it between his hands, combing his talons through the ebony strands, he distracted himself, buying himself time as he mulled over his words. He didn't know why he was saying this anyway. Shinazugawa had been very vocal about his distrust and displeasure towards him. Only the Serpent Hashira hated Keisuke more than Shinazugawa. Keisuke could smell the disgust radiating off Obanai when he was near.
"I never saw his body after I woke up," Keiuke admitted, shamefully looking away. "I didn't stay long. But... no one I could see was recognizable anyway."
Shinazugawa stood there stiffly, mauve eyes flitting from the two framed photographs to the slouched demon figure before him. This was odd. He wasn't one to stick around and listen to other slayers narrate their sob stories. Or rather, he tried to tune the annoyances out, but couldn't help but remember and be irritated in the future by it. Either way, not many slayers had the guts to trauma-dump on the fierce Wind Hashira. It was mainly the mentally shaken civilians he held in his arms whilst saving them. That was less annoying.
But never a demon. Sure, they went on barmy rants most of the time recounting their demonic history and, if they remembered, how they were wronged in their past life, in the throes of battle. However, being in a cozy and warm cabin with a sad, grieving demon was very different from everything else he had lived through and was not something he had explicit experience with. It was in this strange moment that Shinazugawa realized he did not know how Keisuke had come to be a demon. He had never cared to ever learn. That was excruciatingly obvious. Why the hell would he even want to know? All he wanted in regards to Keisuke was for the demon to just disappear and burn in the sun, since he was forbidden from slicing his head.
Then why did his nose tickle to know more than the few cryptic words the demon entrusted him with? The man told himself it wasn't so much to learn more about Keisuke than it was to know what had happened to those who lived here and died. The little girl he kept seeing behind the glass in the corner of his vision tugged at his strained heartstrings.
Yes. That was the only reason he was curious in the slightest.
"How do you remember all of this?" Shinazugawa asked gruffly. He waved the room with his hand. "You're a demon. And young. I thought demons didn't remember their human life."
Keisuke shrugged, the shadows dancing over his face. "Maybe sleeping for four months and waking up next to home had something to do with it. I don't know. Just because I was made this way doesn't mean I know how it works. I was decent in science. As far as I know, I don't actually exist. A body with no heartbeat is a corpse, and corpses don't live."
"I came here to tend to their graves. No matter how hard I try, I can't let this place be," Keisuke murmured, a soft tone to his melancholic voice. "Sometimes I wish I had forgotten."
Shinazugawa clicked his tongue, scowling. "Don't say that shit."
Keisuke lifted his head, his ocean eyes scrutinizing the Hashira with an odd lack of clear emotion. He squinted slightly.
Rising from the measly, groaning chair, Keisuke passed by Shinazugawa, grabbing the ice-cold knob.
"I’m going to make sure the graves are taken care of."
With a brisk slam of the wood, Keisuke left Shinazugawa alone, the door shutting loudly behind him, a crisp breeze flowing into the cabin. Shinazugawa stared at the door. It was old and worn, visibly damaged from years of abandonment and neglect. Cracks ran down the dark wood, chipped near the edges.
He huffed, curling his lip. His breath didn’t condensate in here. Keisuke was right, it was warm inside the cabin. Despite going unused for years, it was surprisingly still in good condition. The Wind Hashira found himself running his calloused fingers over the draped shelf, feeling the intricately knitted threads.
For the first time, and Shinazugawa told himself for the only time, he didn’t shoot right through that door and trudge after him. He let Keisuke walk back to his family's gathering place alone.