Chapter Text
Green steel slices through Tanjiro's skin as if it's paper, not flesh and bone. The demon boy—and fuck, isn't that weird to think—turns, head dangling, held on by a stretch of muscle and sinew, baring his teeth at Sanemi. A bony appendage grows from his back, tears through the word 'kill' embezzled on his jacket, and forces its way through Sanemi's stomach, hitting every vital organ along the way.
He crashes into the wall behind him, forced to by the sheer strength of the blow, and Nezuko screams. It's Kanao who finishes the job, it's Kanao who cuts through that final piece of flesh. For one long, horrifying moment, the head doesn't fall. Just sits on the bloody stump of Tanjiro's neck, staring. And Sanemi thinks it's like Kokushibo and Muzan all over again, that they're not going to be able to kill him through a mere beheading. But what, if not that, can kill him? The sun isn't so much as singing him, and there's not enough hashira to hold him off. It's just Sanemi and—
And—
It's just Sanemi. Tomioka, cold, aloof Tomioka who never fit in, who only ever gave a damn about the Kamado siblings, who used to finish Shinobu's meals when she couldn't without so much of a word of complaint, who saved Sanemi's ass not even five minutes ago, is lifeless and still on the ground. His throat a mangled mess, esophagus drawn out of him, twisted around his head like he was strangled with it. One arm is missing, but the remaining one clutches his blade even in death. That ugly, mismatched haori is in shreds, so bloody and ruined Sanemi can't even see the green.
He thought—he thought that when he tore Tanjiro off of him, that Tomioka was still—alive. He'd been fighting, he'd been talking. Issuing orders and raising his blade against Tanjiro first, when no one else had the strength to. Not even Sanemi. And that's—that's so fucked. It's so fucked. He was the only hashira in a fight against upper three, and he killed and survived it. He was one of two hashira to survive the battle with Muzan, and was the only one who stood to fight off Tanjiro. And now he's—this is how he dies? At the hand of the boy he put his life on the line to protect? It's wrong, it's so wrong.
All of this is wrong. This can't be it, can it?
It takes Sanemi a second to realise the fighting has stopped. To realise that despite Tanjiro's head remaining on top, he isn't attacking. He's staring, staring at Tomioka's corpse, and he's—crying. A single, lone tear from his busted eye, sliding through the blood and filth.
He unravels. Literally, unravels. Like a puppet with the strings cut, Tanjiro collapses, head toppling, extra limbs falling. Nezuko, his now human little sister, catches him, clutches his head and screams. A great, heaving sob tears itself from her lungs, and she cradles the demon corpse, begs him to come back, begs him because she still needs him, still needs her older brother to look after her, because she's lost everybody else. She looks around, like she's looking for help, like she wants someone to come and fix this, but nobody does. She's, what, fourteen? That's younger then Genya—
Genya.
A hand presses itself to Sanemi's abdomen, and it takes him far too long to realise it's his own. That he's holding in the damaged parts of his own body, that there's a literal hole where his stomach should be. A bloody cough fights it's way out of him, and the realisation hits. This is it. This is the end. Of the demons, of the hashira. No one is surviving, not even him. And it's a relief, honestly. He doesn't want to survive this, doesn't want to live with the grief, the regret.
Genya, he thinks, ragged. Genya, he's so fucking sorry. You deserved so much better then Sanemi.
Staggering a step forward, away from Nezuko, away from the little girl who's just lost everything, who is being quickly surrounded by her brothers friends, by Kanae's little sister, by the last of corps, Sanemi heads towards Tomioka's corpse. Someone's covered up Obanai and Mitsuri, and there's a kakushi still clinging to Himejima. Sanemi can't—Sanemi can't see any other bodies. Shinobu and Tokito are forever trapped in the unending demon castle, just like Genya. Nobody's gotten to Tomioka yet, which is just as well, because Sanemi's knees give out the second he reaches him, and he drops, hard, on the gravel beside him.
...His eyes are blue. Objectively, Sanemi knew this, but it's the first time he's actively thought it. Tomioka's eyes are blue, and they're open, wide. Still. Glassy. Sanemi is used to seeing them narrowed, used to seeing them staring off into the distance, or watching someone as they uselessly try to strike up a conversation. They seemed duller, then. Only in death do they seem... more pigmented, more rich. Or maybe Sanemi is just imagining things, maybe this is just the first time he's really looked.
The only person who might've known how Tomioka wanted to be buried is dead, and Nezuko seems too lost in her own grief to change that. Fuck, Sanemi doesn't even know how he wants to be buried. Dead is dead. But, Tomioka seems—seemed—like the kind of person who would care. That old crow of his that he used to nurse during meetings and refused to get rid of no matter how late it would make him, how confused it would get, is hunkered down between his head and shoulder. It must know he's dead, kasugai crows are extremely intelligent, but it doesn't leave him. Doesn't cry. Maybe it already has and Sanemi just didn't hear, or maybe it's too much like the man it served, and refuses to show weakness.
He should get up. He should go to Obanai, he should pry the bodies apart so Mitsuri's family doesn't have to, but Sanemi can't. He can't. He doesn't have the heart. He heard their confession, broken and too late that it was, at least they said it. Breaking them up, is... it's too much. Too much.
Blood seeps from Sanemi's stomach to Tomioka's corpse, staining the ragged sleeve of his uniform. He'll end up dead on top of him if he doesn't move, but the strength to do that has long left him. It's almost funny in a bitter, self deprecating way, if he does. Out of all the hashira, they got along the least, and to be the ones who died last, who died together... it's hard not to see the humour.
Tomioka wasn't all that bad. He really wasn't, he was more pleasant then Sanemi most of the time. He was just... too honest. Too much for Sanemi. He owes him an apology, he thinks. Maybe a card that says 'you were right' in glitter. Because he was, right, that is. Right about the Kamados, right about himself. He really wasn't anything like the rest of them, he was better. A damn pretty boy who fought an upper moon and actually protected his little brother from it, unlike Sanemi. He saw the good in a demon when Sanemi couldn't even see the good in his own brother. If he'd just been half as smart as Tomioka, then—maybe Genya would still be alive.
At least this time when he dies, Sanemi will be the one to punch his father, not the other way around. He'll apologise to Genya, he'll look after him, even if he has to go to hell to do it. Nothing will stop Sanemi from correcting that wrong, nothing.
The freshly risen sun casts warmth on his back, and Sanemi welcomes death with open arms, hands ready to be held.
*
It is not death who takes them.
*
At some point, Sanemi blacks out. He must have. He's not dead, there's too much pain for that, too much strain on his heaving lungs. Exhaustion is on him in a way he hasn't felt in a long time, so bad that his hands want to shake but don't have the energy to. The sun is still there, still warming the ground behind him, and when he opens his eyes, there's still a bloody corpse. But—
That's not Tomioka.
He sways on his feet, confused and tired, before falling to his knees. Sanemi's hand is gripping his sword and— not a sword. It's a knife, a kitchen knife. Why does he—?
Mother. The corpse, the bloody corpse, that's—not Tomioka, isn't broad enough, isn't tall enough. Too small, and dainty, and feminine, so it must be—but—but how is—he recognises that kimono. Recognises her hair. Her face. Recognises his own mother with a lurch in his gut. The shape of her eyes, her face, the things they share, he knows it from the mirror, knows it from his youth.
His mother is here. Her corpse is here. Her blood is on him. Why is—is this real?
The metal of the knife slices into his skin as he squeezes the blade, and the blood changes nothing. He's still—she's still here.
Why is this happening? What is happening? He's supposed to be dead, isn't he? Dead like everyone else he's ever cared about. Dead like his siblings, his parents, Masachika, Kanae, Obanai, Genya. All of the hashira. The master and his children. They're all—dead. So why isn't he? Is this hell? Is this what he deserves?
Footsteps against gravel, the panicked breaths of a child as they sprint towards him, and that's—that's—
Genya.
He clutches their mother and cries, screaming at Sanemi, and for a moment, he says nothing. Does nothing. He stares at his little brother with blood on his face, confused and devastated after everything that's happened—after Sumi, Teiko, Hiroshi, Shuya, and Koto were just slaughtered before his very eyes, and now their mother—and he just—breaks. Genya stops when Sanemi starts crying, hitching breaths that turns into full on sobs, wracking his entire body. Sanemi curls into himself, ignoring his little brothers stunned silence, and falls apart.
Why is he being made to relive this? Is it punishment for being such a bad brother? Does he deserve this? What's next, more terrible memories? Is Masachika's death next? Kanae's? Obanai's? Genya's?
A small hand touches his arm, and there's no itch from a healing scar, just the bare warmth of human skin on human skin. Something almost foreign to Sanemi now. He looks up, and it's Genya, uncertain through the pain bleeding out on his face, hesitant with the grief. He says, "Brother? ...What happened? Why did—why did you kill our mother?"
Sanemi never cried the first time. Never let Genya see his pain, never lingered or tried to explain. Just took his grief and rage and left. He opens his mouth, ready to tell him to back off, or to apologise for being such a shit human being, but the only thing that comes out—the only thing that can—is another sob.
Tears well up again on Genya's bloody face, and his anger leaves him quickly as he throws himself in his brother's arms, the only family he has left now. Sanemi takes the hug, desperate, clutching his brother to his chest as the sound of people steadily break the silence of dawn. They'll see them, soon. Two brothers clutching each other over a corpse, the corpse of their mother. They'll find the blood soaked house and childrens bodies. They'll want to know.
It's not real, he knows it's not. It's too good for someone like Shinazugawa, with blood under his nails from clawing his way to survival for so long, carrying his rage like a weight. If he was someone else—someone like Tomioka, with all his careful skill, with all of his surety, with his ability to see the good in even a demon, then maybe he'd deserve it. A second chance, an opportunity to right the wrongs. He'd make the best of it, he'd get it done. There would be no distractions, no doubt, just pure efficency.
But Sanemi—if this is real, if this—if there's even the slightest chance that this isn't eternal damnation for all of his mistakes, then—
Tomioka would save everyone. Kanae would know how. Rengoku wouldn't stop until everyone's survival and well being was assured. Himejima would already be on his way to the master. Iguro—well, Iguro would probably have killed a demon or ten by now. Tengen, Kanroji, even that kid, Tokito, they would be better choices for a chance like this. Anyone but Shinazugawa, really. Because Shinazugawa—
Maybe it is real. Maybe he can change everything, save everyone. Put in as much effort as he did in his first life to make that difference. But if this is his only chance, his last hail mary, then...
He looks down at Genya, still clutched and sniffling in his arms, blood streaking down his face. If this is the only chance he's getting, then he's spending it on Genya. He's giving him the life he never got last time, taking responsibility for his little brother in a way he was too cowardly to do before. Too caught up in his own anguish, his own pain. Genya deserves better, and if there's even the slightest possibility Sanemi can give him that, then he won't hesitate.
Looking up, Shinazugawa sees the warm sun, sees the first people flitting out of their homes to do their daily routines, unaware of the sight that will great them. Unaware of the blood staining the gravel, the corpse laying in the road.
Sanemi isn't the right person to fix everything, to save everyone. But he can do this. He can save Genya. Even if he only does that—it's enough.