Work Text:
Giyu wakes up in pain. His head is throbbing and his vision blurs when he opens his eyes. He wobbles into a sitting position and doubles over, bringing his hand to his forehead. His fingers meet rough bandages.
There’s no one in the room with him, and the silence is unsettling. He’s not used to quiet like this. With his sister, there was always something to do or something being done. With Sabito, a boy his same age, there was no shortage of running and screaming happening. So he is rather unnerved.
Sunlight peeks through the curtains, casting rays over the wall as the sun lowers. It’s turning night, but that doesn’t mean anything to him because he doesn’t even know how long he’s been sleeping for. Or why, for that matter. He can’t remember what had happened to land him here, but he knows he isn’t home and Final Selection is supposed to be soon and-
Final Selection. He remembers now, getting hurt during Final Selection, Sabito running off to help someone else as Giyu struggled to stay conscious. So surely, Giyu has now failed. But he doesn’t care about that now, he cares where Sabito is and why he is not here. Perhaps that means he wasn’t injured, or maybe he’s stepped out for a break. Surely, he would not leave Giyu here alone for long, so he must be coming back soon.
So Giyu waits. He watches as the light goes lower and lower, listening to the quiet sound of his breathing, sure that at any moment Sabito will come through that door for him. Eventually, after maybe an hour, he hears footsteps down the hall and immediately brightens.
The person who enters, however, is not Sabito at all. It’s another boy from Final Selection, Murata, who takes one look at Giyu and turns around. His footsteps walking away are far quicker than when he approached. That hope Giyu had felt just moments ago dims. Something isn’t right here, which turns out to be an accurate assessment when the next people to come through the door are a medic, a low level slayer with a tray of food, and The Master himself, Kagaya Ubuyashiki. Giyu’s heart both sinks and starts pounding simultaneously.
“Hello, Giyu,” the Master says. His voice is soft and low and comforting, though he’s only two years older than Giyu himself. “Are you feeling well?”
“What happened?” Giyu asks. He knows that he isn’t supposed to talk to the Master like this, but he’s beginning to panic and he’s not worried about respect at the moment. “Where is Sabito?” The Master’s eyes and smile both soften, somehow, and the other two in the room stop what they were doing.
“I’m very sorry to say that he did not survive the Final Selection.” To Giyu it’s as if the world ceases turning. His ears ring, his heart stops, his lungs fail to expand. Sabito is dead, and while he’d been fighting and dying to keep Giyu safe, Giyu had been peacefully asleep. “I’m sure this is very difficult for you to process, so I will leave you for now. Congratulations on passing your Final Selection, though I am deeply sorry for your loss.” The Master bows and leaves Giyu with the medic and the other slayer, but he wants nothing to do with either of them.
Dead. Sabito is dead. Of all the terrible things Giyu thought might happen to them, Sabito being the one to die was not one of them. Himself dying had crossed his mind, both of them dying had too, but not Sabito alone. He was always stronger than Giyu, smarter, far more skilled. Giyu is weak and frail and struggled to learn Water Breathing because his heart is weaker than most.
He should be the one dead.
“How does your head feel?” the medic asks. Giyu doesn’t answer, though, and the moment her hands meet his head he jerks back and lashes out.
“Don’t touch me!” he cries, eyes welling with tears. She sits back on her heels, looking sympathetic, but does not lower her hands.
“I need to assess and redress your wounds,” she tells him. “It’s non-negotiable.”
“I don’t care!” Giyu screeches, throwing out his arm when she gets too close. “Get out! Go away!” His sister, Urokodaki, even Sabito would be furious with him for speaking to someone like this, but two out of those three people, arguably the most important two, are dead, and the other is far away from here so it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care what they would have to say to him. “Just go, get out, I don’t want your help!”
“Tomioka-”
“No! No!” He kicks out, knocking his foot into the food they’d brought. He isn’t hungry anyway, he wouldn’t have eaten it. “Get out!”
Something about that convinces them to leave, probably because he is at great risk of hurting himself worse than he already was.
“I don’t want your help,” he finally sobs, pounding his fists into the futon as he hiccups. “I don’t want- your help.” They’re already gone, but he keeps saying it, gasping for air. “I don’t want… I don’t…”
He wants Sabito. Or Tsutako, that would be good too. He would even take Urokodaki. But none of them are here and the only way he will ever see his sister or Sabito again is if he dies. There’s a rather large part of him that wishes he had. He’s so tired of hurting, of being the only one left, of people giving their lives for him. He knows that Sabito said he should never dismiss her sacrifice as worthless, but it really feels it was.
Giyu has now been saved by the two people he loved most in the whole world, and they died because of it. What is the point of him if all he does is get others killed. He passed Final Selection, though obviously on a technicality, but will he even be able to save anyone if he were to become a proper Demon Slayer? Or would he be forced to watch as more people died for his failings? Is he even strong enough to try?
Giyu tosses the blankets off his bed and curls up with his face in the pillow to scream.
He’s so tired. Tired of the pain in his chest from his defective heart, tired of the ache in his soul from all the loss and suffering he’s been forced to muddle through. He’s just tired, all around. He doesn’t want to fight anymore.
But at the same time, he does. He wants to use what time his loved ones have given everything to let him have to do something good, something worthwhile. He wants to kill those who have taken everything from him, and protect others from feeling the same pain he feels now. No one should ever have to feel this hollow.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I’m really sorry, Sabito.” His head still hurts terribly, a testament to his weakness. He wasn’t able to kill a single Demon, and still he succeeded in passing where Sabito failed. What a waste of a sword he will be.
No, no, he won’t be a waste. He will make sure that he isn’t. Perhaps he will not be a Hashira, though he never much wanted to be, not like Sabito did, but he will help people. He could even grow, maybe, to support the Hashira. He could be something.
He can give his life for someone else the way others have for him.
But for now he will continue to cry and grieve and despair, until the time comes for him to pick what his sword will be made from. The thought of doing that without Sabito is terrible and sends him straight back into tears.
He’s been a useless waste up until now, but he won’t let it go any longer. He will make Sabito’s death worth something.