Work Text:
Nightmares were not uncommon amongst members of the Demon Slayer Corps. Genya himself was no stranger to them, finding himself waking with a scream in his throat and sweat on his brow more often than not. He’d seen plenty of fellow slayers struggling similarly—thrashing or crying out in their sleep, waking up and immediately sobbing, or even flat out refusing to sleep at all—yet there was one person he never saw such issues in: Tanjiro.
Oh, sure, he was always there for everyone else. Of course he was. Several times, he had readily been there for Genya too, knelt at his side with that gentle expression of his, waiting for Genya to notice him and sit up and grab onto him for dear life. Always so soft and understanding. Always ready to listen. Never ready, however, to talk.
Genya was ashamed to admit that, when he first noticed Tanjiro’s ability to sleep calmly through the night, he hadn’t thought to look closer. It was only some nights later, when he had taken to soothing another slayer who’d woken up screaming, that Genya really pondered over it and realized with a jolt: he didn’t actually know what Tanjiro would have nightmares about. He had the typical corps member trauma, sure. Genya had seen those scars on him, he knew Tanjiro had suffered greatly at the hands of demons. But he did not know what had started that abuse, what had led him to join the corps in the first place, what had turned his little sister into a demon and set him on the path to change her back.
Even now—after they’d grown closer, after they had agreed to share the parts of themselves they never gave to anyone else—Genya had no clue what made him tick. The few times Genya tried to bring it up, Tanjiro just brushed off the question, or—worse—grew unresponsive. That was never a good sign. He first saw it when trying to help Tanjiro learn Repetitive Action, asking if he had any painful memories and watching in horror as the light dimmed in his eyes, as he turned quiet and solemn in a way Genya had never seen before. It wasn’t like him to be so dull, and it worried Genya greatly.
And yet, there was nothing he could do about it. The best he could offer was to remain by Tanjiro’s side, to hold his hand and stay with him even through the things he didn’t want to talk about.
He wasn’t holding his hand right then—Tanjiro was fast asleep and Genya busy with his calligraphy—but he was near his side. He hated to wander too far from him, even on these nights: the ones where Genya couldn’t stay asleep, couldn’t calm himself enough to relax, so therefore the ones where he turned to other activities to occupy and soothe himself. A favorite of his was calligraphy. He couldn’t say he was any good (though Tanjiro always provided him with a whole plethora of compliments) but he didn’t need to be good. He just needed the smooth glide of the brush over paper, the thick lines of black ink smearing and curling as he directed; a steady and peaceful creation that had no claim to his anger nor his sadness. It simply was, and that was what made him like it so.
He had been working on this particular piece for…an hour, maybe? Night was already properly underway when he woke up with a start, sweating where he clutched onto Tanjiro and shivering where his touch failed to land. He couldn’t even remember what memory had so plagued him during the dream, he simply got up and fetched his supplies, settling down on the edge of their futon and listening to Tanjiro’s total concentration breathing as he slept on. Sometimes, when he allowed himself, Genya would listen rapturously to that breathing, trying to glean some hint as to how the hell he managed it at all, let alone in his sleep—but this was not one of those nights. Instead, he focused on his art and his own shallow breaths and the desire to relax enough to curl up next to his partner, calm and peaceful and able to fall asleep with him again.
But then Tanjiro sat up.
Genya didn’t notice for a couple of moments. He heard the rustle of fabric behind him, but he didn’t think much of it until he finished the kanji he’d been drawing. Only then did he spare a glance backwards, and nearly jumped from his skin when he saw Tanjiro: sitting straight up, stiff as a board, eyes hazy and locked on the wall opposite to them. Genya took a shaky breath to ease the sudden fright in his chest, then twisted slightly further around, giving Tanjiro an upturned look.
“Hey, you alright?” He asked softly, trying to maintain a tone somewhere between casual and concerned. Tanjiro was always more likely to deflect conversation if he noticed Genya was exceptionally worried, yet he couldn’t help himself. He was allowed to fret over his partner too.
Tanjiro didn’t reply to him either way. His head turned like a swivel on a stick to look at Genya, but he didn’t say anything. Honestly, it was kinda creepy. He just…stared at Genya, eyes completely blank and a little misty, like somewhere in his mind he wanted to cry. He didn’t though. He just turned back around, fixating on that wall again. Genya bit his tongue, then also turned, beginning to bottle up his ink and put away his brush and papers. He wasn’t done with his calligraphy, not by any means, but Tanjiro took precedence in his mind, always, so he put it away. It was when he stood and crossed the room to replace each piece in their rightful places that he heard it: the rich clink of metal on metal, the smooth sheen of a sword being unsheathed. Genya frowned, ink bottle still in hand, and turned curiously to see.
His heart stopped immediately.
“Tanjiro, stop!” He screamed, unsure if he even managed to articulate the words properly. The bottle of ink fell from his hand and shattered on the floor as he dove forward, reaching desperately for the sword now positioned against his partner’s throat.
Tanjiro didn’t even react to him. Genya tumbled at his side and grabbed the blade in both his hands, and Tanjiro didn’t even blink. His eyes stayed fixed on that wall, his grip obscenely strong on and against his sword. The hand pushing the blade into his skin dug deep cuts into Genya’s fingers, probably down to the bone, and he screamed again—nonsensically this time, stomach twisting from horror and pain alike, but he couldn’t get it out of his hands. Tears burned and rolled from his eyes in a mimic of the blood pooling down his fingers, pleading with Tanjiro and yanking against his grip to no avail. Finally, in his panic, as he watched a thin cut slice its way into the skin of Tanjiro’s neck, Genya shifted; he twisted in place, grip still firm around the blade, and kicked Tanjiro in the side as hard as he could.
He crumpled immediately, hands going slack with a small winded noise from his chest. Genya threw his sword away the moment he let go. It clattered somewhere across the room, sliding and skidding to somewhere Genya didn’t care to see. He didn’t want to look at the damn thing. He just hurried forwards, grabbing onto Tanjiro’s arms and hauling him upright again. Tanjiro followed the guidance, but limply, his brow furrowed and eyes still fogged over with an only semi-clearer look.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Genya demanded the moment he got Tanjiro to look at him again. He grabbed his face and turned his head around, inspecting that new cut on his throat. It was small, thin, barely there at all, but Genya couldn’t help but notice a similar scar directly above it—thicker, longer, more threatening. He swallowed, then released one side of Tanjiro’s face to wipe at his own, smearing away his tears. “What were you thinking?! What the hell were you even doing?!”
“You’re bleeding,” Tanjiro said softly, eyes still glassy but clear enough to focus on Genya’s hand. He tried to take hold of it but Genya snatched both of them away, bundling them in his lap and taking a breath. He knew they would stain his yukata a rusty red before he could manage to stop the bleeding and heal the cuts, but he didn’t care about that. Not right now. Nothing else mattered right now except for whatever the fuck this was.
“What were you doing?” He repeated, trying to speak calmer now, trying to clear his head and take another breath. Tanjiro frowned at him, inhaling a few times on his own before responding.
“I was sleeping,” he eventually mumbled, and gestured to their now rumpled futon.
Genya hissed through his teeth. “You had your sword to your throat,” he argued, more tears already bullying their way into his vision. Tanjiro’s expression twisted, eyes suddenly flaring and mouth pinching tight, lips rolled between biting teeth. He glanced down at Genya’s lap, at his tucked away hands—slowly healing—then across the room—at his sword, Genya assumed, though he refused to look as well. The apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed and gave Genya a new look: painfully curated, smiling stiffly with panicked eyes. It made Genya feel sick.
“I’m sorry,” he said slowly, obviously picking his words carefully, specifically, which only made Genya even more nauseous. “I…must have woken up—”
“Cut the bullshit,” Genya snapped, unable to help himself. Tanjiro quit speaking immediately, smile dropping like it was never there to begin with. “What the hell is going on? You scared the fuck out of me, Tani, I…what were you doing?”
“Sleeping,” Tanjiro said again, though his voice had lost its strength, breaking meekly like a scared child’s. Genya wanted to scream, to bury him in his arms and hold him until he actually let himself feel it—whatever it was.
“But you weren’t,” Genya continued to argue. His own voice began to shatter, accompanied by more of those damn tears and a heavy ache in his ribs. He wiped at his face again—fingers luckily done bleeding—then grabbed Tanjiro’s and did the same, clearing off the blood he’d smeared there and cradling his cheeks in his palms. Tanjiro sighed almost imperceptibly and leaned into his touch, nuzzling against his hands and closing his eyes halfway. Trusting him. Genya scooted closer, held him tighter, pressed their brows together. Anything to make Tanjiro feel even more at ease. Anything to help him open up.
“I know you don’t like to talk about your past,” Genya whispered, and Tanjiro let out a shaky breath, “and I’m not gonna force you to. I know that shit is hard, and I don’t want you to…to feel pressured or anything, but Tanjiro…” Genya shook his head, then bent away, gently lifting Tanjiro’s face up to see. His partner blinked slowly at him, twisted expression finally starting to show the grief he so studiously smothered. “I really need you to talk to me about this, please,” Genya begged of him. “You scared the fuck out of me. I need to know what the hell is going on. Please.”
“I can just sleep elsewhere—” Tanjiro tried protesting with that weakened voice of his, but Genya shook his head.
“Fuck no, are you kidding me?” He snipped. “You think I’m gonna let you go somewhere else after that shit you just pulled? Never again, Kamado. Please, just talk to me.”
Tanjiro didn’t want to talk. Genya didn’t even need to see the fuzziness return to his eyes to know that, didn’t need to watch the drop of his gaze, the curling of his fingers on his lap, the pinch of his tongue between teeth that bit too hard. He knew what Tanjiro was like, and he had never before pushed past that didn’t want to. Not this time though. He couldn’t give it up this time.
Maybe that’s what Tanjiro realized. Maybe he noticed how much Genya needed it, needed to know he was safe and wasn’t going to hurt himself again. Whatever the reason, Tanjiro took a deep breath—it trembled all the way in and out—then closed his eyes and began to speak.
“A-A while ago,” he started to explain, “I went…on a mission. It was on a train, with, uh…the-the Flame Hashira. It was…it was supposed to be—to be easy, it…” he shook his head. His hands quivered where they fisted around his yukata, so Genya let go of his face to grab them instead. Tanjiro allowed him, fingers entwining with fingers and squeezing tight. His brow furrowed and carved lines around his eyes and his breathing picked up in speed, disrupting its usual pattern to turn erratic. Genya shuffled even closer, tucking his leg behind Tanjiro’s back and leaning down to his level, recognizing all too well the signs of a panic attack.
“It’s okay, take your time,” he whispered, and Tanjiro let out a shuddering exhale, one that teetered dangerously on the edge of a sob. Genya just held him as he tried to catch a proper breath.
He knew only vaguely of the mission Tanjiro spoke about. He’d heard a Mugen Train mentioned before, and he had been there as well when his mentor received the news of…well, the news of the Flame Hashira’s death. Felled by Upper Three, he heard. A truly tragic and unjust death—and apparently one that had cut Tanjiro far deeper than he’d ever known.
Had he seriously been carrying that pain by himself this entire time?
“Well, uh…” Tanjiro continued, taking only one moment more to hiccup before he tried to relax his brow and keep speaking, eyes still closed. “It didn’t…end well, obviously, um…i-it was…it was Lower One that was t-there, in the train, he…his blood demon art was…” Another hiccup. Genya squeezed his hands. Tanjiro bowed his head, nearly placing it on Genya’s shoulder. He moved even closer to allow him to do just that.
“It was dreams,” Tanjiro finally managed, apparently finding some comfort in the shelter that was Genya’s shoulder. “H-His blood demon art—they were dreams. He gave me…well, I learned that if I…quickest way to wake up from a dream you’re not supposed to wake up from is…”
“Cutting your own throat,” Genya quietly finished for him. “Taking your own life.”
Tanjiro nodded mutely. Genya felt like screaming again.
“So, that’s what you’ve been doing this whole time?” Genya asked. “You’ve been killing yourself to wake up from nightmares?”
“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” Tanjiro moaned.
Genya—hating himself a little for it—pulled away from him then. Tanjiro’s head drooped limply at the removed support, so Genya released his hands too, grabbing and lifting his face up again. Tanjiro refused to meet his gaze.
“It is bad,” Genya told him, staring at his half-lidded eyes even if he wouldn’t look back. “Tanjiro—is that why I’ve never seen you have a bad dream? You just…you just kill yourself and keep sleeping?”
“I wake up,” Tanjiro admitted—forlornly, shamefully. “I just…I pretend I’m asleep. I don’t want to bother you or…or anyone else.”
“Bother me?” Genya scoffed. “What the fuck are you talking about?! You don’t fucking bother me, Tanjiro, you’re the whole goddamn world to me.”
Tanjiro peeked upwards at that, pretty red eyes fluttering open to see Genya and peer curiously at him, like he’d never expected to hear those words. Genya hoped that wasn’t true. It wasn’t fair. How exactly could someone as wonderful as him not realize how important he was to everyone else? Genya took a breath. It would always amaze him: Tanjiro’s absolute refusal to view himself as anything other than mundane. It would also always piss him the fuck off, but one problem at a time.
“I wish you would’ve told me,” he decided to say, restating his previous less-than-gentle exclamation. “I want to be there for you, Tani, and I can’t do that if you hide everything from me.”
“I know,” Tanjiro whispered.
“You don’t have to tell me everything either,” Genya continued, “just, you know, some of it. Tell me when you’re having a bad day. Tell me when you need help. Not everything has to be about the next step forward, you know. You’re allowed to be upset about the past too.”
Tanjiro did not agree with that statement. He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed lightly on it, glancing away—towards his discarded sword—before staring up at Genya again.
“It’s not anyone else’s problem, though,” he muttered. “It’s mine to carry.”
This man… “I want to carry it, Tanjiro,” Genya said. He caressed his thumbs over Tanjiro’s cheeks, underneath his glistening eyes. Tanjiro sighed through his nose, eyelids fluttering and brow knotting. “Don’t you get it? I’m here for every part of you, not just the pretty ones.”
“You think I’m pretty?” Tanjiro breathed—an unfortunately sincere question. Genya ground his molars together, huffing sharply through his nose and fixing his partner with a narrow look.
“I think you’re the most beautiful person I have ever seen,” he said, and Tanjiro’s eyes went wide, honestly appalled, as he always was when Genya said such things. “I love you so much, and that’s why I want to be there for you. I want to know the awful things you dream of—not because they’re good, but because they’re yours. I want every part of you, Tani. I mean that wholly.”
“But, I…” Tanjiro was clearly trying his best not to frown. His face kept twitching, mouth pursing and pulling and eyes flicking between Genya’s. Undecided. Probably arguing with himself, debating between emotional vulnerability and logical fallacy. Genya understood the war. Being fully honest with Tanjiro hadn’t been easy for him, but it had been worth it, because he was the one listening. Didn’t he understand? That was all Genya wanted to be for him in return.
“I know,” Genya whispered, then urged his face upwards, arching his own neck downwards to meet his partner halfway. “I know,” he repeated, before kissing Tanjiro gently, easing him towards Genya and holding him as softly as he could. Tanjiro made a small noise at the contact—something between a sigh of relief and a heartbroken sob—and he reached up, hands grasping Genya’s shoulders and pulling him closer. Finally succumbing, finally melting, finally letting Genya pull him into his arms and cradle him there, which was exactly what he did.
The moment the kiss ended, Genya had Tanjiro in his lap, guiding his head to bury against his chest as he always loved to do and tying him tightly in his arms. Tanjiro didn’t cry, not yet, but his breathing had turned ragged, straining against the obvious desire to. Genya rocked him slightly in place, twisting one hand to comb through his hair and pressing a kiss on his skull.
“It’s hard,” he murmured, and Tanjiro made another one of those broken noises, “but it will help. I know you’re carrying so much. You’re trying to turn Nezuko back into a human and defeat Kibutsuji—that’s been a lot, hasn’t it?” Another noise, this one louder and followed up by Tanjiro’s hands fisting around Genya’s yukata. “And what about the rest of your family? And the Flame Hashira? You’ve been carrying them alone too, haven’t you?”
And there Tanjiro began to cry.
He kept relatively quiet at first, probably trying to not ‘bother’ anyone. So, Genya squeezed him tighter and gave his head another kiss, still swaying him side-to-side and continuing to speak.
“It feels like it’ll never stop,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder anymore. His own throat had started to close, more tears searing his eyes and bruising his chest from the words he said. They came from his heart, after all. His own burdens and pain, the things that troubled his nights and haunted his days. “Sometimes, it feels like you’ll just die under the weight of it, like that’s all you’ll ever feel again.” Tanjiro hiccuped and held Genya tighter, forehead rubbing into his chest and sobs coming a little louder now. “But at the same time, you don’t want to feel like anything else, do you? ‘Cause feeling any less than this also feels like a betrayal to their memory, like you’re forgetting who they were to you.”
Finally, Tanjiro’s composure snapped. He wailed, a long and heartbroken noise, then fully collapsed into Genya. His whole body shuddered, trembling like an earthquake had shaken his core. His tears poured hot and endless onto Genya’s chest, soaking his yukata within moments. Genya did his best to hold him close, to cradle him in his arms and squeeze him until he could breathe again, but he was sobbing too and really wasn’t certain how much he accomplished. They must have woken up half the estate at that point, but Genya didn’t care. As awful as it was, as much as it hurt for himself and for Tanjiro, he couldn’t help but be a little glad at it. He buried his face into his partner’s hair and breathed him in, every last atom of him.
“It hurts to see you hide from me,” Genya confessed while nestled there, as steadily as he could, only pausing to allow Tanjiro space to reply with another bawling keen. “I know you know how that feels—that’s what it felt like for you too, wasn’t it? Before I told you what happened to me?"
Tanjiro nodded into his chest, babbling noises that almost sounded like I’m sorry. Genya hummed and shook his head as soon as he heard it.
“Don’t be sorry, I just want you to know I feel the same,” he muttered. “I don’t want you to do this alone, okay? I just wanna be there for you.”
Tanjiro gasped uselessly for a moment—a concerning sound if Genya didn’t know he was simply trying to get the breath to speak again. He had heard himself do the same many a time before, desperately attempting to refill his lungs in order to respond to whatever had been asked of him. When he was young, he was usually beat again before he could ever manage it. He made sure to kiss Tanjiro extra softly as he tried his best.
And he managed it eventually, trembling and fighting to tell Genya, again: “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, dammit,” Genya tutted. “Just let me be here for you, okay? That’s all. Just let me be here.”
“Okay,” Tanjiro managed to heave before he dissolved again, crumpling beneath the weight of his endless grief.
Genya went numb in the legs and dry in the throat while he wept—while they both wept. No one bothered them the entire while, thank god—they likely recognized the cause for the noise, and decided to keep to themselves—so they were left blessedly undisturbed the entire while. Genya didn’t know for exactly how long, nor did he care to put a timeframe on it. Somewhere towards the end—towards when Tanjiro’s breaths began to return to their usual pattern and his gut wrenching sobs ebbed to uneven mewls and indiscernible whispers—the sky outside began to lighten, hinting at an approaching dawn, but even then Genya did not care to give it his attention. Rather, the entire time, he just held onto his partner. He kept him against his chest and bent himself over his huddled body and held him as he finally let himself cry, possibly for the first time in months, if not longer.
Soon after the sky began to lighten, after Tanjiro had started to lose his energy and grow lax in Genya’s grasp, Genya tugged him up a little closer and angled his aching neck further down, bending to whisper in his ear.
“I know I have no right to ask you to change what you do,” he murmured, and Tanjiro sniffled, “but, when you find yourself reaching for your sword again, will you do me a favor?” Tanjiro nodded slowly. “Just, come find me instead, okay? No matter what’s going on, come find me, and I’ll help wake you up.”
“But what if I’m dreaming about you?” Tanjiro mumbled. His voice scratched something terrible—overworn from all his crying no doubt—but Genya couldn’t help but be glad for it. “What if I’m dreaming something bad is happening to you? What if…what if you’re dead too?”
“Then you know it’s a dream,” Genya told him, “because I ain’t leaving you, Kamado. You’re stuck with me. You decided that when you—oh, how the fuck did you say it?—bonded with me in our nakedness.”
As hoped, that got Tanjiro to laugh. It was just one small giggle, but it was enough to make Genya grin too.
But of course, his darling Tanjiro just had to go and change the moment, saying softly: “I’m sorry for scaring you. And I'm sorry for hurting you.”
“One day, I’ll get you to stop saying those damn words, I fucking swear it,” Genya clipped at him, then edged backwards, grabbing Tanjiro’s arms and encouraging him to sit up. Tanjiro whined at the pestering, but followed along all the same. His face and eyes were red and puffy and wet with tears. He looked beautiful.
“I’m not hurt,” Genya told him when he got those pretty eyes on his own again. “I’m all healed. Side effect of eating too many demons, y’know? You, however…” he lifted one hand to Tanjiro’s jaw, moving it sideways to see that thin cut over his throat. It wasn’t actively bleeding, though a dried trickle remained, tracing down his artery towards his collarbone. Genya frowned and caressed his thumb directly beneath it, cracking away the dry blood and earning a shiver from Tanjiro. “I’m gonna get some supplies to clean you up,” he decided aloud, “then it’s bed time for you, okay? For both of us. I’m tired as fuck.”
“But the sun will rise soon,” Tanjiro weakly argued, watching Genya with big eyes as he stood on numb feet and tried to shake some feeling back into his legs.
“What about it?”
“Well, we have training.” Tanjiro gestured towards the shoji doors that would lead outside, then gave Genya his big doe eyes again. “Himejima-san will be expecting us.”
“Himejima-san will have heard us crying the whole night and know why we’re not making it today,” Genya quipped, though he wasn’t honestly certain how true it was. On one hand, his mentor had drilled into him the importance of discipline and daily practice, no matter what may have occurred the day or night before to subdue them. On the other hand, he was also a kind and understanding man—if an aloof and strange one—and wasn’t likely to punish them for crying. Genya preferred to place his bets on the latter stakes.
It made Tanjiro relent anyway, which was all Genya needed. It was odd, to see the stubborn man give up the fight so easily, but he wasn’t about to complain; instead, once he’d gotten full sensation back in his legs, he crouched in front of Tanjiro again and scooped up his chin.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told him softly. “I’ll bring you some tea too, to help with your throat.”
“Thank you,” Tanjiro whispered. Genya just nodded and kissed his forehead, standing up to leave.
Tanjiro stopped him before he could step outside, though. He called his name once, desperately, so Genya turned back around and met his eyes. Tanjiro smiled at him, soft as ever. Beautiful as always.
“I love you,” was all he said, gentle and honest.
Genya gave him a smile too. His face burned with blush, as it always did when Tanjiro said those words, but he didn’t care to scoff it away, not right now. He just gave his equally honest answer.
“I love you too.”