when we faced off together against death

by hhhhhhhappycow

Summary:

Genya could remember darkness. He remembered feeling so afraid that he thought he might vomit. He remembered Muichirou screaming his name, the dull flashes of pain which he barely felt through his fear.

Three years later and the country is largely at peace. Many of the former demon slayers have returned to normal life. But there are those, the ones who lived for so long with fear and suffering at their backs, for whom simply moving on is not an option. For them, the healing process is much longer.

Chapter 1

Genya woke up.

 

He was not expecting to.

 

The last he had known was the desperate grip of his sword, his own shallow breathing, the deep red of the kind of blood that only pulses from a fatal wound.

 

Someone was breathing in the same room he was stretched out in, which was even more bewildering.

 

Genya opened his eyes to a wooden ceiling that offered no further clues as to his location. Pale sunlight gave the sense that it was morning, although he could not have said which morning. Hadn’t it been night just moments before? Had dawn come so soon? Or had it been days? He had been in that situation before, so injured that he had simply lost time. Being as young as he was, time was something which he could afford to lose.

 

The blanket on top of him must have been extraordinarily heavy because he couldn’t move his body at all.

 

He turned his head slowly, ignoring the pulsating of the veins in his neck, to find the source of the breathing.

 

Muichirou lay just several feet away on a futon. He was also covered over by blankets. His large eyes were closed, and his breath whistled with each inhalation.

 

Oh. So, they had both made it, somehow.

 

Genya was glad. His mind felt foggy, losing focus, but he had the sense that had Muichirou not been there it would have meant bad things.

 

He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

 

*

 

The next time Genya awoke everything was a little bit clearer. The chattering of the three young girls who stole in and out of the room where he lay helped somewhat: It was a reminder that this was real, that he was no longer just drifting in waves of silence.

 

Fighting against his drooping eyelids, Genya choked out; “Where am I?”

 

He wanted to ask where Sanemi was, where Tanjirou and the others were, but that question seemed like a good place to begin.

 

The girl closest to him startled and nearly dropped the half-empty glass she had in her hand. She had taken it from Muichirou’s side, he noted: Did that mean Muichirou had woken and drank from it?

 

“Oh! You’re awake! Your brother will be so glad to hear it!”

 

Well, that answered one of his questions- but not the one he had asked.

 

Clearing his parched throat, eyes still trained on the glass, Genya repeated; “Where am I?”

 

“You’re at the Butterfly estate”, one of the other girls spoke up from where she was pulling the curtains apart. Hadn’t those been open before? Was it the next morning already? Time was simply slipping away from him. “You were taken here after Himejima and Sanemi got to you.”

 

Genya pushed his palms flat against the futon. The fabric of it felt strangely distant, as though he wasn’t touching it at all. Two attempts were made at pushing himself up before he flopped down in defeat, cringing in pain. His breath came in short gulps while beads of sweat began to work their way down the contours of his face. His ribs felt as though they had been crushed, muscle spasming and bone stabbing. Still, he supposed a fist or the butt-end of a sword was still better than a blade.

 

A blade. Slicing down through the air towards him.

 

He drew his hands up in front of him. They were bandaged. No wonder everything felt so muted.

 

Haltingly, he raised the blanket, afraid of what he would find underneath.

 

His chest was bare. Well, it would have been if not for the bandages swaddled about his midsection. Maybe it was more than just crushing blows that had landed against his ribs, although Genya couldn’t recall being stabbed at all.

 

Not that he could recall very much.

 

Genya could remember darkness. He remembered feeling so afraid that he thought he might vomit. He remembered Muichirou screaming his name, the dull flashes of pain which he barely felt through his fear.

 

He looked to Muichirou again, allowing his arms to drop and rest. Soft footsteps, fluttering like the wings of an insect, let him know that the girls were hurrying from the room.

 

The Hashira was sleeping, apparently peacefully. Genya couldn’t see his body at all, covered over by a patterned yellow quilt. He wondered whether it was in a shape as bad as his own one was, or whether he had been spared the worst of Kokushibou’s onslaught. In any case, his face was serene and peaceful. His hair looked somewhat tangled but it was spread about him like a thick curtain, the light blue ends dusting the wooden floor over the edge of the futon.

 

Genya’s eyes flickered back to Muichirou’s face. A pale moon caught in the pale sunlight.

 

More memories came to him, unbidden this time: Falling to the ground as the demon stalked towards him, unable to move in his panic other than to kick at the ground and push himself away, nowhere near fast enough. Pain so fierce that the world swam in a haze about him. And then Muichirou, flying quick and graceful, sword drawn, hair fanning his half-crouched form.

 

The demon had flung Muichirou aside but the mist Hashira got up again, positioned himself over Genya in what felt like no time at all since he had been knocked away. Genya rolled onto his back, gripping his sword so tightly the bones in his hand cracked, seeing his own blood pooling around him and feeling the wetness of it soaking his clothes to his skin, and then Muichirou was pressing against his ribs as he lay against him, shielding him, the pressure both painful and comforting.

 

There were things after that, too: Shadowy, shifting images. Had Muichirou lost a hand? And there had been somebody speaking to him, pleading with him, pleading with God...

 

Genya was pulled back to the present by more footsteps. Entering the room was a girl with a butterfly clip in her hair. He barely had time to recognize her as Kanao, the girl who had been in the final selection with him and Tanjirou and Zenitsu, before he laid eyes on the figure following her, and his heart caught in his throat.

 

Sanemi didn’t pause in his stride as he walked across the room and flung himself down on his knees by his brother’s side, gripping both of his shoulders.

 

“What the hell do you think you were doing? You could have died!”

 

“I was just… I was doing my job, brother. I wanted to help you.” Genya struggled to meet the intensity of his brother’s gaze, fearful of his wild eyes.

 

“You fucking idiot. The best way you could have helped me was keeping yourself safe.” Even though the voice was harsh, it was the same one that he could vaguely remember cutting through the darkness.

 

And then Sanemi drew him into a hug. Genya was confused. Was his brother not proud of him for what he had done to help?

 

More than that, the strength of Sanemi’s arms was rendering him breathless.

 

“Brother… Please…”

 

“Please don’t hold him so tightly. His ribs are broken”, Kanao, Genya’s savior, said. 

 

Sanemi glared at the girl and she fell silent, lowering her head; not in an obedient manner, Genya thought, but in one that was reticent and withdrawn. Too tired to argue, perhaps. Surprisingly, Sanemi did as was requested, lowering his brother back to the futon. Genya continued to stare up at Sanemi with wide eyes.

 

“Sanemi. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Genya blinked as hot tears welled up in his eyes. “And I’m sorry if what I did put you in danger or burdened you.” His throat went hot and scratchy too, closing up. “I just wanted you to be proud.”

 

Sanemi shook his head viscously, hard enough that Genya wondered if his brother was trying to give himself a headache. Or maybe block out everything else that was going on. “I never wanted any of this for you. I wanted you to have a normal life, to get married and have kids.” He paused, looking at his hands resting in his lap. “And now I guess you can. Muzan is gone. We don’t have to live in fear anymore.”

 

Genya watched his brother without saying anything. This was the most Sanemi had said… Well, anything to him, for a very long time.

 

Eventually, Sanemi continued; “Your friend Tanjirou is the hero of the hour.”

 

“Yes. I hear he killed Muzan.”

 

“Oh, he had some help.”

 

Kanao reappeared by Genya’s side with a glass. Sanemi took it from her hands and held it so that Genya could drink. The cool of the water was so refreshing in his dessert of a throat.

 

“This girl helped, too.”

 

Kanao bowed respectfully to his brother. “Not just me. Our other friends. And the other Hashira.”

 

Sanemi nodded. “And we couldn’t have done it without you and Muichirou.”

 

Footsteps pounded outside. Kanao turned her head, almost as though they had called her, before standing and wandering away and outside the room.

 

“Your friends are waiting to come and visit you. You aren’t being allowed many visitors until you feel better”, explained Sanemi.

 

“Would you mind keeping it down a little?” The voice made them both jump, and when they looked over Muichirou was frowning at them, blinking rapidly. He was still pale, yet his irritated expression caused shadows to cut across his face where deep lines were drawn.

 

"Muichirou." A rare smile graced his brother's face. "How are you feeling?"

 

The frown deepened. "Tired."

 

"Then rest. I'll be leaving soon. I only stopped in because I heard my brother had awoken." Muichirou's eyes drifted across to Genya as Sanemi spoke, and he held the younger boy's gaze for a few seconds before looking away. "I- I suppose I had better thank you. For protecting my brother."

 

Muichirou nodded lazily.

 

When Genya continued to gape at the Hashira, Sanemi nudged him.

 

Swiftly Genya dipped his head. “Thank you- Muichirou”, he stuttered over the words.

 

The young boy shrugged and then winced at the pain the action caused. “I’m just glad everyone is alright.” He looked over to the door. “I can’t wait to see the others.” His eyes closed as he yawned, and he sunk back further down on his futon without opening them.

 

"Well, I'll leave you two for now." Sanemi stood, stretching. "I'll be back at lunch, though, so enjoy the peace while you still can. And I expect Aoi won't be able to keep your friends outside for much longer."

 

With one final glance at his brother, he left.

 

Genya tried to do as his brother had instructed, however, he soon found that he was unable to get back to sleep. Something was niggling at him, and he couldn’t tell whether it was the sudden clarity of his mind or his creeping awareness of his injuries, or perhaps the light now flooding the room. An increasing number of footsteps passed by the door, and he waited for the moment that somebody would burst in. Some of them, in their gait, were more familiar than others.

 

“That sounds like Tanjirou, doesn’t it?”

 

He had thought Muichirou had slipped back into unconsciousness. He had been so quiet.

 

“Yeah. Figures that idiot would be waiting to talk to us.”

 

Muichirou smiled a tiny smile. His voice was full of sleep as he replied. “That idiot defeated Muzan.”

 

Those words took a while to really sink in. Muzan was gone. The Twelve Kizuki were all gone. All of the pain and hatred and fear they caused in the world… That could all be healed now.

 

Genya whispered; “If Muzan is gone… What happens now? To us?”

 

Muichirou was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. We wouldn’t really have a purpose anymore, would we?” He went silent again. “Do you think you’ll stay with your brother?”

 

“I’d like to.” If he would have Genya.

 

“He would probably like that.”

 

Genya didn’t respond to that. He was still trying to process the way Sanemi had acted toward him moments before: Was it just the thrill of victory? Or did he truly mean all he had said?

 

Warily, he questioned; “What about you?”

 

“I don’t know. I can spend time with my friends. I can be happy.”

 

With some effort, Genya half-turned on his side to look at Muichirou. The boy was smiling slightly to himself, eyes closed once more, and Genya couldn’t help smiling a little bit too.

 

He had time now. Time to make Sanemi love him again. Time to prove he was worth it. Time to get to know Tanjirou and Nezuko and Inosuke and Zenitsu and Kanao. Time to train with Himejima and Muichirou and the other Hashira who had survived. 

 

As he followed Muichirou in drifting towards sleep, Genya thought of the people he cared for, and what the future may hold for them.

Chapter 2

Notes:

I hope anyone reading this is having a great day!

Just to note, as I said in the tags, in this AU the demons did not all disappear when Muzan died: There are still a few stragglers hanging about. Some of the plot is going to be centred around that.

If Genya had been more like Tanjirou, perhaps he could have smelt it coming. If he had been more like Zenitsu, he may have heard its crunching footsteps through the snow.

 

But he was not like either of them and never had been, so he only notices the demon when it’s almost directly on top of him. One moment the world was suspended in crystal, spiny trees sticking out from the blankets of white that layered both ground and sky, and the next the dark cloaked figure was standing several yards away, fists clenched.

 

He thought that, underneath the hood, he could just make out the glint of its eyes.

 

Genya drew his gun.

 

The demon ran.

 

That was a new thing, these past three years. It seemed that with the passing of Muzan most of the older demons, the ones that were no longer bloodthirsty younglings, had become more aware of the power the slayers possessed. They crept warily in the shadows and fled from confrontation, whereas before they may have launched outright attacks.

 

Genya sighed, coughing at the cold air that filled his chest and throat, and set off in the direction where it had disappeared. He pulled his scarf tighter about his mouth but did not put the gun away. Just because it was older and now filled with fear did not make it less dangerous. In fact, it was the contrary: Those who had only been turned had been mindless, writhing things, but they had had no defenses other than their bodies. The ones who had been around for a while had learned to control their abilities, to set traps. They may no longer have been a coordinated force as they were under Muzan, but there were still those out there that operated with nearly the same level of intensity as the Twelve Kizuki had.

 

In truth, were the Demon Slayers not largely the same? Leaderless, their numbers dwindling as most of their remaining members returned to normal life. Only a few, like himself, continued the hunt.

 

Marching through the snow, he corrected that thought. Only a few, like himself, were unable to return to a regular way of life.

 

Overhead the moon shone weakly as it drew free of the clouds but the reflection from the snow was almost blinding.

 

It was a long struggle uphill. The fact that the terrain was disguised by the covering of white only made it harder, and Genya struggled not to stumble or fall.

 

Every few minutes he stopped to look about. Night had only fallen about an hour before. If it was out so soon after sunset, the creature must have had a hiding place close by. Perhaps even its home.

 

He continued walking, no longer knowing where he was really going. Maybe he should just turn about and make the journey back to town; better that than remaining out here to be hunted. And it likely would not cause too much damage if he did so.

 

There had been no reported murders here, after all. The only reason he had come was a sighting reported by a local who had seen a person moving up the mountain, too fast to be a human. That was the kind of thing that constituted news among the slayers these days, apparently. Genya could remember when there had to be at least two deaths before an investigation was deemed necessary.

 

But he had taken it upon himself to go. Even Sanemi had told him, as they sat hunched over their dinners in the inn before splitting in their separate directions, Sanemi towards home and Genya towards the mountains, that it would likely be a waste of time.

 

Genya huffed a breath, stopping and looking out over the slopes of the mountain that he had so far ascended. If he walked much further, it would grow much steeper, and he would soon need to use his hands to scramble up. He admittedly wasn’t too keen on that.

 

Sighing, he turned to go and froze.

 

Just through the trees, a few dozen meters away, sat the sharp outline of a house. Little more than a small wooden hut. It had been well-hidden, among a thick grove of trees.

 

The clouds returned overhead.

 

As Genya watched, a child ran from the hut, followed by another. The two frolicked about, playing and dancing.

 

A hooded figure appeared from the woods. It grasped the hand of the smallest figure, shaking its head. Genya was too far to hear whatever words were spoken.

 

Suddenly, the hood snapped in his direction, and a head appeared, wild eyes staring at him. Terror was written all across the man’s face. Swiftly, he ushered the children back inside of the house.

 

Genya took his time walking across the snow. By the time he was within the thicket of trees that acted as a barrier, the demon was crouched protectively in front of the house.

 

Faces peered through the window, their tiny fingers pressed to the glass. Two small pairs of red eyes stretched wide with fear.

 

Genya could see it. A family. Maybe not biological: More likely they banded together to survive, living in isolation from humanity. Genya had no idea how they were still alive out there, with no constant source of food. Perhaps they preyed on lonely travelers passing through. Strangers like him.

 

He reached into his pocket and the demon’s eyes followed his hand, but it did not move. It seemed to be wary rather than desperate or aggressive. One thing he had gotten better at over the years was reading into emotions.

 

Slowly, Genya withdrew his hand from his pocket, producing with it a few of the blood vials he kept with him.

 

Nobody moved. Genya hardly even dared to breathe.

 

Then, he backed away slowly. Just as Tanjirou had told him. Far enough until his figure had blended in among the trees.

 

Figuring it was safe by that point, he turned and made his way back down the mountainside. This area was heavier with trees, and he found himself weaving back and forth to reach the path.

 

Halfway down, he paused and heaved a sigh, looking back over his shoulder. There were no signs of pursuit.

 

Had that been the right thing to do? To let them live? Every other demon Genya had encountered so far had been blood-crazed, and he had put them down as fast as he had been able to do so. For all of Tanjirou's speeches about giving them a chance, only a handful had been sent to Yushiro.

 

Genya would have to send word as soon as he made it back to the town, he decided. And, if he caught news of any killings in the area in the meantime, he would return personally to put an end to it.

 

The thought of returning to his bed and the warmth of a fire had never seemed more appealing. Shaking himself, he turned to continue his journey.

 

A shadowy figure stood in his path.

 

Genya blinked. He had not expected this. Not at all.

 

The figure rushed toward him, and Genya did not even react as it looped its arms about him. He could recognize that chequered haori, those earrings, almost anywhere.

 

Tanjirou’s head still only reached Genya’s chest, but his arms were strong as he held Genya close, laughing.

 

When he withdrew his eyes, now mismatched, were bright. “What are you doing so close to my old hometown, Genya?”

 

Genya moved away a little, pulling his scarf even tighter around his face to hide his surprise. “I didn’t know it was.”

 

He looked into the trees, half-expecting Nezuko to appear.

 

“She’s back in town, sleeping. We came back to visit some of the people we used to know. We have a lot of memories here.” Tanjirou gave the usual shrug and smile that could make anyone in its path feel momentarily carefree. “I’m only out because I decided to take a walk, and I caught a familiar scent. So, now you know why I’m here, but why are you here?”

 

“Demons”, he replied simply. What else? At the questioning look on Tanjirou’s face, he indicated with one hand. “Back up there. I overheard a couple at an inn telling the story of the creature on the mountain and decided to check it out. Things have been quiet lately.”

 

Tanjirou nodded knowingly. “What did you see?”

 

“A family. I don’t think they’re doing much harm, just living up there, so I left them for now. But I may stay in the area for a day or so to make sure. Unless you’re planning to stay.”

 

“If you stay until next week Zenitsu and Inosuki are meant to be coming. We could all go for drinks! Oh- and I can introduce you to some of the people we grew up with!”

 

Well, that answered Genya’s question. Tanjirou and the others would be nearby: If anything were to happen, the people of the town would be safe.

 

For a moment, he contemplated Tanjirou’s offer. It would be nice to see some of the others. He had not really spent much time with them over the last year, since he went to live with Sanemi.

 

Still, he shook his head. “I only planned to stay for tonight, but then I have to keep moving.”

 

Tanjirou gave another knowing nod as they began to descend the mountain together. He always seemed to know. “Well, the offer is still open if you change your mind. Have you contacted Yushiro yet?”

 

“Not yet. I will when we get to town.”

 

“Well, let him know we’re here. Any help he needs we’d be glad to give.”

 

Genya made a small noise of acknowledgment. They had almost reached the edges of the town.

 

“Oh- and, by the way”, Tanjirou turned to him, a smile lighting up his face. “Happy birthday.”

 

Genya nodded. “It was a few weeks ago. But thank you.”

 

“I know, but we haven’t seen each other since Nezuko turned seventeen! It’s been so long!”

 

“It really has.”

 

They stopped by the first few houses that broke out from the trees.

 

“Well, the place we’re staying at is over there, so I’d better go.” Tanjirou pointed over his shoulder, down a side street. “Don’t be a stranger, Genya. Nezuko would love to see you before you go.”

 

“I’ll see you around, Tanjirou.”

 

Genya looked back over his shoulder until Tanjirou was just a small figure standing amongst the banks of white.

 

Genya walked through the snowy streets, watching as large drops tumbled from rooftops where snowbanks had gathered. The air tasted cold when he sucked it in through his teeth.

 

The only thing that reminded him to turn down a small side alley was a lantern hanging from one wooden building, the light melting the snow around it. He recalled passing it earlier.

 

Turning, he walked several meters and then caught sight of where he was staying. It was not an inn: This place was far too quiet for that sort of commercial venture to survive. Instead, he had found lodging in a home whose owners accepted money in exchange for allowing the occasional traveler to use their spare room.

 

He slipped in quietly through the side door that the owner of the home had shown him. It was cozy and small, and the bed was rather lumpy yet warm. As he entered, he hoped that the motherly old matriarch of the family had not been to check on him and found his bed empty. It would be better to avoid difficult questions.

 

With stiff fingers, he removed his cloak and boots, sitting on the bed to stretch out his aching feet. His lungs hurt from the effort of breathing in the cold and the sudden relief. He probably needed a bath, but he was unlikely to get one anytime soon.

 

His tiredness pawed at him, threatening to drag him down into sleep. Now that he was in the warmth of the house and no longer standing, it had hit him in full force, but he knew that he still had something to do before he went to sleep.

 

Rubbing his hands together a few times and then making his way to the small desk in the corner, Genya found a piece of paper and quickly scratched out a note, passing it to his crow to deliver to Yushiro. That was one of the things that had lasted: Their delivery system.

 

Not bothering to do much else, not even to light a lamp, Genya stretched out on the bunk, drawing the blankets about his body. They did not cover its whole length, and so he sacrificed his shoulders to the cold in order to keep his feet warm.

 

In spite of his fatigue, sleep did not come easily that night.

 

Images flashed before Genya’s eyes.

 

The demon children, playing in the snow. His own family. His mother. Tanjirou’s face when, one night, in the weeks after Muzan’s defeat, a group of them had sat up at the Butterfly Estate and Tanjirou had told them the story of his and Nezuko’s family.

 

How must he have seemed to those children today? A large shadowy figure in the snow. Walking alone through the night.

 

Genya turned on his side, forcing the thoughts away and praying that worse ones would not take their place when sleep finally claimed him.

Chapter 3

Genya left the next morning with a brief farewell to the owner of the house. He always ensured that the room he used was spotless and the bed turned down: Anybody using the room after him would find no evidence that he had been there at all.

 

A weak dawn stretched above the slanted roofs of the houses, and Genya paused as he made his way to the edge of town. Were Tanjirou and Nezuko close by? They would likely still be sleeping, depending on what their plans for the day were. Perhaps he should go and find them. Traveling alone could get tedious.

 

However, he already had his next target in mind. Alongside the whisperings of the creature upon the mountain, there were also whispers of another supernatural creature in a town close by. And, with this one, there were reports of it having attacked locals who got too close. Genya had only put that one off as this village- Tanjirou’s hometown- had happened to fall first on his route. He could only avoid it for so long, though.

 

For several hours he walked through the rocky, snowy landscape, shouldering his supplies. Around midday, when the high sun was turning a lot of the frosty surroundings to slush, he stopped and sat on a rock to drink some water and eat some food he had purchased the day before.

 

Once he was finished, Genya produced a piece of paper, a brush to write with, and some ink, setting them out and then standing awkwardly over them as he jotted down his message.

 

Sanemi.

 

Made it to the first town yesterday morning and went into the mountains in the evening. You were wrong: It was a demon. A few, in fact.

 

Pausing, Genya absentmindedly clenched and unclenched his fist around the brush. How much detail did he really want to go into here? What would Sanemi say if he knew he had left that family alive?

 

He resumed his writing, skipping ahead a little.

 

I ran into Tanjirou while I was there: It turned out to be his and Nezuko’s hometown. She was there also, although I did not see her. I left at dawn to investigate the further sightings.

 

I hope that you are also safe and well, brother, and that we will see each other soon.

 

Genya.

 

He passed the note to his crow, which was more than familiar with the direction it needed to head to by then.

 

Another full day of traveling was required to reach the town, and so Genya camped in a small copse of trees that night, sheltered from the worst of the wind and the harsh weather.

 

When he spotted buildings just over the brow of a hill the following morning, shortly before the sun crested high in the sky, he breathed a sigh of relief. Although he had wrapped up well, the cold the night before had chilled him to the bone, and his toes still felt numb.

 

This town was far larger than the one on the mountainside had been, and apparently newer too: Infrequent lamps lit the way along the streets, which were arranged in a grid that seemed carefully laid out so as to be simple to navigate.

 

Ignoring the terrified looks cast at him as he walked through the main street, Genya headed straight toward the first inn that he saw, not caring what the cost might be. It was easy to ignore the stares of the locals, partly because his mind was so focused on seeking warmth, and partly because he was simply used to it. Genya never blamed them for their gawking or their comments: He was very much aware of the way he appeared to them, hulking and scarred.

 

The owners of the inns that he frequented rarely seemed to mind, and that was the important part. The man at the door took his money and led him around to a row of rooms in a short yet wide building in a courtyard around the back. A few other men stood talking but fell silent at their approach.

 

As soon as the owner of the inn was gone, Genya ducked through the doorway of his room and bolted the door, shrugging his things off and sitting on the bed. Swiftly he removed his boots and began to massage his feet, lighting the lamp by the table to provide more warmth.

 

He would ensure that, when he left, he took his things with him. Just in case the men outside were thieves. They had seemed to be hovering in a suspicious manner.

 

Then again, he may simply have spooked them.

 

Genya shuffled a little closer to the door, attempting to listen out for anybody speaking.

 

“… see how tall he was?”, a higher-pitched voice mumbled, and Genya immediately placed it as the youngest of the group, perhaps a year or two younger than himself, a slouching boy with dark hair and a pimply face.

 

“Stop sticking your nose in other people’s business”, a gruff voice barked, a little louder, and someone else hushed them.

 

Silence descended for a long moment, and Genya thought perhaps they were finished.

 

He was about to move back toward the lamp when the first voice shakily whispered; “It’s weird though, isn’t it? A stranger arriving just as people are going missing?”

 

If anybody answered him, Genya did not hear it.

 

They were likely just travelers, he decided, or locals hanging around for whatever reason. Nevertheless, he waited until he was fairly sure that everybody in the inn was asleep before preparing to go.

 

The routine came naturally to him now: Loading and checking his gun, strapping all of his gear to his body, and, this time, drawing some blood to replace the vials he lost before. He held the syringe, kindly supplied by Yushiro, over the lamp until it was burning hot and then allowed it to cool a little before doing so: He had been advised that was best, although he didn’t really know why. Once he withdrew the right amount, he watched as the small dot quickly vanished, healing itself, and wondered briefly whether his blood would even be suitable for demons before shaking the thought away. He had never even been sure that these would do anything, human blood or not: Tanjirou believed in them, though, and so did the others. And, in spite of the distance that had grown between them, Genya trusted his friends.

 

After eating the last of the snacks he had purchased in the previous town, he searched the room one final time to ensure it was safe; took a nap; and, after a couple of restless hours, struck out for the woods to the south of the town.

 

This journey was simultaneously easier and more difficult than the previous had been: Genya much preferred the relatively flat ground of the forest to the mountainous terrain, however, the recent thaw had turned most of the mossy earth into boggy swampland, and he had to carefully maneuver between small grassy knolls to avoid his feet sinking deep into the mud. If he became stuck in there, he could easily have been picked off.

 

He picked his way further into the trees, moving so deep into the forest that he found it hard to imagine that humans had ever set foot there: Constantly he found himself beating undergrowth out of his way just to see whether it was safe to take a step. Eventually, he discovered a clearing where even the moonlight barely penetrated through the bare branches above, and where snow still lay heavy on the ground.

 

This was the perfect spot. Genya glanced over his shoulder. So where was it?

 

He did not need to search too far this time: In a flash of silver and cerulean, the demon came to him. The rustling of leaves and the sound of panting was all the warning he had before the pale creature emerged from a thicket, teeth bared in a growl. Its hair was an abnormal, almost glowing, blue, and its fingertips faded to the same color.

 

It hunched low to the ground, the growl rising to a high-pitched snarl.

 

Genya let his hand reach for his gun but did not yet draw it. This was a child before him, after all.

 

A child that was vicious and twisted beyond what should have been humanly possible, yet a child nonetheless.

 

Bright aqua eyes, visible even through the night, rolled manically in the demon’s head before they settled on Genya’s motionless form.

 

Then, it started to advance. The slow stroll of a predator, moving one step at a time. Genya thought he could see it drooling.

 

Swallowing, he forced himself to refrain from pulling his gun out and just blasting it away.

 

“Please”, he said, “stop. Speak to me.”

 

A guttural roar was the only response he got. The creature was gaining speed now, mere yards away from him.

 

“I don’t want to have to hurt you.” And, truly, he didn’t.

 

A blur of motion whirled in front of him, and Genya found himself tossed onto his back, so quickly he did not even register the motion. The demon swung a clawlike hand at him, fingertips peeling with blood. It was fast.

 

Luckily, Genya was faster. Before it could even lay a finger on him, he fired a bullet at the creature’s arm, and it was driven backward with a painful howl.

 

Scrambling to his feet, he drew in a deep breath and set his stance. He only had a limited number of bullets, after all.

 

The demon crouched against a bush, cradling the mess that remained of its arm. When it looked to Genya, its eyes were a mixture of emotions: Hurt, feat, rage. Maybe it had never encountered a demon slayer before. Unlikely, but always a possibility.

 

Genya opened his mouth, prepared to offer another chance.

 

And then those eyes, so wild and unnatural, were bearing down on him: Eyes that he had fortunately seen less and less of over the past three years, yet ones which were so hauntingly familiar.

 

Everything went silent. The trees around him turned black ink traced on paper and dripped away, all noises from the forest fading. He was no longer stood in that frosty clearing.

 

All Genya could see was Kokushibou, coming toward him as he lay defenseless. He felt his breath whistling; his chest tightening as his body compacted in on itself; the scars hidden beneath layers of clothing that were beginning to itch.

 

Without hesitation, he sent his next bullet straight through the demon’s head.

 

Blood cut across the snow in a clean line, and the body sank, trembling, to the ground just footsteps from Genya.

 

It was dead. It was not Kokushibou, but the corrupted form of a child, and it was dead.

 

Despite knowing that deep in his bones, it took Genya several minutes to compose himself, to calm his shaking breath, before he stood and stared at the pile of ash burning a hole into the snow, revealing ruts of dark earth beneath.

 

He shuddered. That was nearly him, once.

 

Every shadow, every decrepit trunk, had somehow taken on a more sinister tone, and Genya felt the need to get out, to be under the open sky, once more. Willing his shaking legs forward, he marched through the trees and toward that freedom, that safety.

 

It was certainly not like it had been before when the Twelve Kizuki had ruled, he reminded himself. Demons were different than they used to be, now that they had no clear leader. More akin to wild pests that needed to be picked off or tamed. You just had to be careful not to be bitten, as an underestimation could equal death.

 

That child was doubtless better off now than it had been minutes ago, anyway.

 

What could Tanjirou or one of the others done any differently? It had been closing in for the kill, no interest in talking, simply seeking blood. It had not played mind games or resorted to tricks as many others had in the past. But it had still been a demon.

 

The old Genya would have just killed it outright. He had been trying not to be like that, to be more like his friends, only it was hard. Especially with the weight of the memories he carried. Still, that was precisely why he had to be the one to continue in this work: Anybody else would likely not understand.

 

Finally, he emerged into the field outside, bending double as the ground swayed to catch his breath. That was another demon gone. There was no more Muzan, no more Kokushibou. He repeated those thoughts over and over, like a prayer.

 

He returned to the inn with the rising of the sun, trying to ignore the glances and whispers of the early risers. The sooner he got away from there the better.

 

If he was going to be traveling in the morning, he was going to need some rest before he undertook the journey; even so, upon lying down, he found himself unable to sleep.

 

Genya almost fell out of the bed at tapping on his window, but it was only his crow returning. In its beak, it clasped another letter. Sitting among the warmth of the blankets, close to the lamp, Genya pored over its contents.

 

Genya.

 

It is good to hear you have made contact with Tanjirou, and that you arrived at your destination safely.

 

You mentioned a few demons but did not go into detail about them. You were not injured at all, were you? If so, I believe that will prove the foolishness of your undertaking such a voyage alone. I hope in your next letter you will outline further what these demons were capable of and, more importantly, how you dealt with them.

 

On the other hand, you could tell me these things when you return home next. You have been away for close to a month now, and it is dangerous to travel alone in such cold. It would be even more foolish of you not to return now and rest.

 

Sanemi.

 

Genya sighed. As usual, there was little warmth and a lot of questions in his brother’s musings. That was to be expected from Sanemi: While their relationship had significantly improved in the time Genya had spent living with him, Sanemi would always speak his mind, even what came out was harsh.

 

This time, though, perhaps Sanemi did have a point. Genya was getting weary from walking, and his circuitous journey through towns and villages, searching for any local tales of beings that moved through the night, had taken a toll after a while.

 

To sit by Sanemi’s fire, and to sleep in his own bed: That would be a dream. Even getting a change of clothes and a decent meal would seem a luxury.

 

Genya nodded to himself. He would try to rest for a few more hours and then set out: It was about time he headed home.

Notes:

Ahh, sorry this took so long! I hope anybody reading this has had a good week!

Also, Muichirou will appear in the next chapter, and then whatever semblance of a plot I have will finally begin :D hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4

The closer Genya drew to Sanemi’s house, the lighter his step felt, although he trembled with the anticipation of the greeting that he would receive. While Sanemi allowed him to undertake these missions that he went on, recognizing how much Genya had grown, he was never completely happy with his brother chasing demons, and he always made sure to voice his disapproval.

 

Genya tried to focus on the positives. Soon he would be back to eating ohagi with his brother, sleeping through the night. A pleasant break. He would likely stay until he got word of a new threat, or until he got restless: Perhaps a few days, perhaps a few months. They were becoming increasingly spare.

 

His route to the villages which had been stalked by demons had been rather circuitous, and so the almost straight path he followed toward Sanemi’s home brought him into familiar territory much sooner. Before he knew it, he was passing by the grounds of a familiar house. It stood alone against the pinkish sky, under bare branches where, as Genya watched, several crows flocked to roost.

 

In the years since the defeat of Muzan, it had become tradition for the Hashira and other remaining demon slayers to stop by at the Hashiras' homes as they passed, even unannounced, in a way it hadn’t really been before. So, when he approached the Rengoku house, Genya paused.

 

A few of the crows perched above hopped back and forth and cawed. No signs of intelligent life or language came from them; they had to have been wild. Genya stared as they preened, considering his options.

 

If he continued on now, he wouldn’t be able to make it to Sanemi’s before nightfall, but he could make it perhaps shortly after midnight, and collapse straight into bed. Sanemi never slept early anyway; he would likely still be up and could let Genya in. And Shinjurou probably wouldn’t want to see him.

 

But then he remembered the children. Since he was in the area, he might as well check on them.

 

Genya approached the door and, upon knocking, smiled at the sound of a raspy voice calling; “I’ll answer.”

 

Instinctively, Genya looked down, but his eyes were dragged up to meet with a pair of bright golden ones. Senjurou had grown, and not only in terms of height: He had filled out also, the spitting image of his brother.

 

“Genya!”, he gasped.

 

Twin faces peered around the door: Kanata and Kuina, now easily recognizable to him. A faint twinge of guilt always touched his stomach when he saw them. Moments later, Kiriya also appeared, frowning curiously, and Genya was briefly reminded of his own siblings, tumbling all over each other whenever there was any kind of excitement at home.

 

The three Ubuyashiki children had been living there for some time; an arrangement that was supposed to be only temporary, but which had lasted for close to three years. It did good, Nezuko had told him one time, for Senjurou to have company. The four of them frequently visited Himejima together, often when Genya was there also, and he had seen the way the three solemn younger children lit up when Senjurou was laughing and joking with them. He had truly grown into the kind of big brother Kyojurou would have been proud of.

 

Genya did not always feel welcome here. Whenever he saw Kiriya in particular, in the kimonos that he still wore, he was an uncanny shadow of the twins. There were noticeable differences, though, now that he was growing older. Genya often thought that Kiriya somehow managed to seem both like his father, and like a child in a way Genya and his friends never really were.

 

Senjurou stood aside, and the pale-faced Ubuyashiki siblings darted back into the warmth of the house, moving swifter and smoother than should be possible. They always had been strange; something which he had realized cyclically, having noticed it upon their first meeting, briefly forgetting it during his awkward stage of being unable to speak to the girls, and then picking up on it again the few times he had seen them recently.

 

“Come in, please!”, Senjurou called, and Genya stooped to enter through the narrow doorway.

 

“Welcome, Genya Shinazugawa”, the twins said in perfect unison, and Genya nodded to them as he made his way down the hall, pausing to remove his boots, and into the main room. He ignored the goosebumps racing up his spine.

 

Shinjurou was sat at the table inside, smiling up at Genya. He was more at peace than Genya could remember seeing him, as though years had been lifted from his shoulders. There was no alcohol to be found in the house these days; not after Tengen and his wives came and cleared the place out.

 

“Genya.” He nodded a greeting and gestured for the young man to sit. “It is good to see you. No trouble, I hope?”

 

Taking his time, Genya allowed himself to settle among the warm cushions before he responded. The children crowded him on either side, seemingly wanting to get as close to him as possible. He did not complain; the added warmth was welcome after the deep chill that had gnawed through to his bones.

 

“Not at all. I’m returning home from a mission”, he noticed the way Shinjurou’s face set at those words, the way the children withdrew just a little, but continued regardless, “and thought I’d stop by.”

 

“Well, you just missed Tengen. He brought the babies; have you had the chance to meet them, yet?”

 

In addition to Tengen’s two-year-old son, another of his wives had just given birth to twins: From what scarce news Genya had heard, it was a busy time in their household.

 

“No, I haven’t”, he answered. “Have you heard from the others?”

 

Another old habit: Checking in on who was safe, who might need assistance. Not that Genya ever thought he could be much use in helping a Hashira. Even after all this time, he was nowhere near good enough.

 

“Not really. I saw the Kamado siblings and their friends a few weeks ago, and Mitsuri and Obanai were here the other day. They’re all fine. How is your brother?”

 

“Good, as far as I’m aware.” Genya looked down. “I’ve been away for a while.”

 

A breathy voice spoke up by his left ear. “Genya, next time you go on a mission, can I come too?” Senjurou.

 

The boy had his hands clasped in his lap, kneeling forward so that he was right in Genya's face.

 

Genya froze, gaze immediately darting toward Shinjurou. He didn’t want Senjurou to come. Didn’t want this man to risk losing another son. Would Shinjurou be angry, at the thought?

 

He braced himself for the former Flame Hashira's infamous wrath.

 

Luckily, there was a neutral smile on Shinjurou's face as he responded although, Genya thought, there was a sorrowful gleam in his eyes.

 

“No, son, you’re staying right here.”

 

At Senjurou’s pout, Genya elaborated; “There aren’t that many demons left, Senjurou. It would be a waste for you when you could be studying or training for something else.”

 

The pout widened into a frown, and the younger teen let out a long sigh, yet he seemed appeased.

 

Genya’s heart tightened. He understood the desire to hunt and fight, the need for revenge. He had had more than his fair share of opportunities to take out his anger; Senjurou never had. Still, it was better this way.

 

“Will you be staying for dinner, Genya?”, asked Shinjurou. The unspoken implication of staying overnight once the darkness has set in was, as ever, present. That was something that had not changed.

 

Feeling a little awkward, Genya glanced around the room, only to be met with the glassy stares of the Ubuyashiki kids.

 

“I- if it’s not too much trouble”, he stammered. Alright, perhaps he was still a little nervous around them. They were nice and all, but- weird. A tiny bit weird.

 

“Of course! The more the merrier!” Shinjurou stood, putting his hands on his hips. His golden eyes glimmered and for a moment he looked exactly like his son. Only for a second, though, because then Genya’s vision blurred, and the image became indistinct. “Now, who wants to help me in the kitchen?”

 

Kiriya leaped to his feet. “I do! I want to help!”

 

“Me, too”, Kuina announced, and when she stood her twin followed her.

 

Genya blinked swiftly, watching as Kiriya and his sisters followed their new foster father from the room.

 

Senjurou was watching, too, an amused smile lighting his face. “They seem so different now, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes”, said Genya, and then added; “You, too.”

 

A faint blush spread over Senjurou’s cheeks, and his smile widened. Genya couldn’t help smiling, too. He had only really gotten to know Senjurou through Tanjirou, in those first few hectic months following the defeat of Muzan, and it had been a slow process, but he had soon come to care for the kid as much as the others clearly did. It was unavoidable: Senjurou, while quieter than his brother, had the same sweet personality.

 

Over dinner, Genya watched as Senjurou and his father laughed and joked with the Ubuyashiki siblings. While he didn’t contribute too much, the atmosphere was warm and he found himself chuckling; although when Kanata smiled at him as she passed him a dish, all pale face and wide eyes, he was reminded of the demon he had killed the day before and felt sick to his stomach, pausing in his eating. He used to live to kill those things, consuming their flesh. How could his world have changed so completely?

 

It was a relief, in a way, to finally shut himself in a room alone and fall into a warm bed.

 

The next morning Genya joined them for a rather rambunctious breakfast, before heading out into the hall to slip his boots back on. He was gathering his things and considering saying his goodbyes when a knock came on the front door.

 

He froze. Who could that be?

 

Tengen? No, he had only been there the other day. Perhaps Himejima? Maybe someone from town? Or was there news?

 

Instinctively patting his hip to check he had his gun, Genya hurried to open the door.

 

He was met by a blast of icy cold air, and a world adorned in frost.

 

Piled high in front of him, almost up to his line of sight, were bundles of clothes. Mostly black, with a few colors thrown in.

 

What?

 

Curiously, Genya made to peer around them, only to freeze when he heard someone clear their throat. He glanced down.

 

The clothes didn’t go all the way to the floor. Someone was holding them. Genya caught glimpses of two booted feet; a long black robe; aqua hair; and then, two hands poking out from sleeves, one flesh and the other fashioned of some kind of metal, holding the bundles up.

 

Muichirou.

 

It felt like a long time since Genya had seen him. Close to three years, really. He had caught fleeting glimpses of the Mist Hashira at gatherings and so forth, had exchanged polite greetings with him. But they had not spoken one on one, only with their friends. In truth, Genya had avoided him a little, and he had always been under the impression that Muichirou was attempting the same: It was awkward, the unspoken shared experience of what they had lived through hanging over their heads. Genya had no idea what else they were supposed to speak about together, and yet he felt no desire to bring that history back to the present.

 

Muichirou cleared his throat again.

 

Realizing he was still blocking the doorway, Genya swiftly backed away, and the younger man breezed past him to set the bundles down at the end of the hall. The door swung closed behind him.

 

Genya watched his movements in silence. He was taller now; still nowhere near Genya, but then nobody was. It was difficult to tell whether he had changed physically otherwise, besides the obvious exception of his hand: Muichirou still wore clothes that were far too large, hanging from his frame. He could have been as slender as a twig underneath, or as muscular as Himejima- maybe not that muscular, he mentally corrected- and Genya would have no way to tell.

 

Dimly, he noted that his mouth was hanging open, and closed it.

 

Muichirou was fiddling with the bundles, ensuring that they remained upright in their stack. When he was done, he stood and turned, eyes wide and lips parted as he focused in on Genya. His expression was as unreadable as Genya remembered.

 

“Muichirou!”, Shinjurou’s voice boomed, and the man appeared in the hall. “You’re here!”

 

“Yes.” He nodded. “I brought the clothes, for the children.”

 

Shinjurou beamed a wide grin at him. “I really appreciate it, thank you. Actually- wait there, I have some stuff for you, too.”

 

And so he vanished, leaving them alone.

 

Muichirou said; “Hello, Genya.” He spoke warmly, albeit with an edge of caution. It came out similar to his old monotone but not quite the same. There was a little more inflection to his voice now.

 

“Hi.” Genya swallowed. “It’s- it’s been a while since we spoke, hm?”

 

“It has. What-”

 

At that moment Shinjurou returned, and Muichirou fell silent. In his hands, the man had several baskets, seemingly full of jumbled items. Muichirou automatically held his arms in front of him, elbows bent and palms up, and Genya watched as Shinjurou stacked the baskets up above his eyes.

 

“Thank you, Shinjurou”, Muichirou said, although it came out muffled.

 

Genya took pity on him. “I’m heading toward Sanemi’s. Do you want me to help carry them?”, he offered. It wasn't that far out of the way. Only an hour or two would be added to his journey.

 

“I would appreciate it.”

 

Genya plucked a few bundles from the top, so that Muichirou’s head became visible, and received a small nod in gratitude.

 

“Let me just gather my things.”

 

Once he was sure he had everything, Muichirou waiting patiently, by the door, Genya ruffled Senjurou’s hair, bowed respectfully to Shinjurou and the Ubuyashiki siblings, and followed him out of the front door, bracing himself against the cold. The children leaned out of the windows, waving until they were out of sight.

 

The two of them trudged through the snow together, Genya drawing slightly ahead and attempting to carve out a path for Muichirou to follow in since the Hashira seemed to be struggling slightly in wading through.

 

They had been walking quietly for several minutes, Genya going over the morning in his mind, when he wondered aloud; “What was it you wanted to ask me before?”

 

“Hm?”, hummed Muichirou.

 

“You said, ‘what’, and then Shinjurou-”

 

“Oh.” Genya looked back over his shoulder to see that Muichirou was frowning, his thin mouth drawn into a scowl. “I don’t really recall. I suppose I was going to ask what you were doing there, or what you had been up to since we last saw each other.”

 

For the remainder of the morning and into the early afternoon, Genya gave Muichirou a rundown of everything that had happened on his journey, both the uneventful and the more exciting parts, such as when he had gotten lost and spent nearly two days in the wrong town before asking for directions. He was worried that he was talking too much, however, he also found that he was unable to stop now that he had started.

 

What had he been worried about before, with regards to talking to Muichirou? Yes, Muichirou was a Hashira, but he was also around the same age as Genya and his friends. And he was understanding. While Genya spoke, he listened quietly, only chiming in with the occasional remark or question.

 

Yet as Genya got closer and closer to the part where he had run into the demons, he found himself stalling. Discussing that with Muichirou… Muichirou, who he had once fought alongside, at potentially the closest point he had ever come to death…

 

Muichirou could be hard to read sometimes. Genya knew that he largely agreed with Tanjirou’s philosophies, that demons were just corrupted humans that could be saved, but to tell him that he had just walked away when faced with one, to tell him of the fear and the memories that always, always returned at those moments…

 

“Genya?”

 

Genya blinked and whirled in the snow. Muichirou was stood only feet from him, staring up with large eyes. Small white flakes had settled in his dark hair, and Genya realized he felt wetness touching his cheeks: It was snowing.

 

“Huh?”, he gaped, like a fool.

 

“You stopped talking.” Muichirou tilted his head. “Are you alright?”

 

“Fine.” Genya gritted his teeth. He needed to stop being stupid. He was fine. “Let’s just get you home before the weather gets worse.”

 

Muichirou stared at him a moment longer before bounding ahead, leaving Genya to trail after him.

 

The rest of their journey was conducted in silence. It was a relief when the sloping roof of Muichirou’s estate came into view.

 

It had been a long time since Genya had been there, yet it had not seemed to hardly have changed at all. The large house was set back away from the lane that passed close by, enclosed to the sides and the back by woodland. A reedy river ran through the fragrant pine trees behind it, winding past several yards from the building.

 

They pushed through the crisp, untouched white blanket to the front door, and Muichirou fumbled a little before opening it. The lack of noise inside was palpable and in complete opposition to the house they had just left. Even at home when it was only him and his brother, Genya was used to hearing Sanemi pottering about, occasionally swearing to himself, and the flickering of lamplight. Here there was nothing but cold.

 

Enough light filtered through the windows, tinged gray and white, that Genya was able to follow Muichirou through to the kitchen with his baskets. Each room they passed was large and hollow, mostly devoid of furniture asides from some chairs, bookshelves, and the occasional table.

 

Another reason it seemed so empty, he understood, was that Genya could keenly remember how it had been the last time he was there. Back then, during their training, the place had teemed with other young demon slayers. The rooms had seemed far smaller and livelier at the time.

 

“You can just put them down on one of the surfaces”, Muichirou instructed when they were inside the kitchen. He made his own way over to the cupboards and set his load down on one of the counters. As he was hunched over, sorting through it, he continued; “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

 

Genya was unsure whether he had misheard: Muichirou’s voice had come out rather muffled. “Huh?”

 

“Did you want to stay for dinner?”

 

Genya glanced through the window. It was getting swiftly getting dark out, and the snow appeared to show no signs of letting up.

 

“Okay. Sure.” He made his way over to put his baskets down. When he stepped back, Muichirou was watching.

 

“Did you want me to help with anything?”, he asked uncertainly.

 

Muichirou shook his head, hair falling over one shoulder. “I’m okay, thank you. You don’t know where anything is, you’d probably slow me down.”

 

Ah. He was right. Genya slunk down by the table and elected to wait.

 

It felt a little more natural, listening as Muichirou made his way about the kitchen. Although his footsteps were nearly totally silent aside from the intermittent swish of fabric against the stone floor, the sounds of the fire starting and pans clinking were soothingly familiar, and soon routine scents came through the air also.

 

Muichirou appeared focused on what he was doing, knelt at the stove, and so as the light grew dimmer, Genya stood and made his way around the room, using what he had with him to light the lamps dotted about.

 

As he got back to the table, he noticed that he hadn’t removed his boots and swiftly took them off, face burning. Had Muichirou seen him tracking snow everywhere? Surreptitiously, he wiped at the trail of drips leading through the kitchen.

 

The wait for food stretched out forever, and Genya’s stomach was roaring by the time Muichirou set a bowl in front of him. It didn’t look all that appetizing, and Genya could tell it likely wasn't very flavourful, but it smelt good. It certainly was not as bad as some of the meals Genya had eaten over the past few weeks, so he dug in.

 

He had been right: It was a little bland. Some spice but no real taste. If Sanemi were here he probably would have slated it. However, it wasn’t terrible.

 

When Muichirou joined him, his crow fluttered down, seemingly from nowhere, to sit on his shoulder. It must have been sitting somewhere overhead. His own was likely outside somewhere; it often came and went as it pleased, while keeping within a certain radius of his location.

 

“Oh”, Muichirou said, and Genya started. He had been staring. “She can get a little clingy with me, so don’t get too close.”

 

Genya eyed the crow, and it eyed him back before turning its head away. He noticed Muichirou wore an amused smile, although he had turned back to stare down at his stew.

 

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the clinking of cutlery against bowl.

 

“Sorry if the food is not very good”, said Muichirou, and Genya thought that, for perhaps the first time since he had known him, Muichirou sounded a bit embarrassed. “I don’t have guests for dinner often, so I make it to my taste.”

 

“Do you usually eat alone here?” He cringed internally as he spoke. That was rather a rude thing to ask.

 

However, Muichirou seemed to consider the question levelly, tilting his head and prodding into his bowl. When he answered, his voice was open and calm.

 

“Yes. I am a Hashira with no Tsuguko, so of course, I live alone. The Kakushi who had stayed here left a couple of years ago. Himejima comes over sometimes, and Tanjirou and the others stop by now and then. But I usually go to their houses to eat, or Tengen’s. It’s… Livelier.”

 

Huh. Muichirou wasn’t really that old, though, for someone to be living alone. Younger than Genya. It gave Genya chills to think of him walking the halls alone, cooped up in the winter.

 

He shook himself. Muichirou wasn’t some kind of hermit. He had training to do, people to visit. He likely spent time in town. There was no need to imagine that he was antisocial, like Genya.

 

“I remember being here before”, Genya mentioned, ducking his head to hide his reddening cheeks, “for the quick movement training.”

 

“Yes.” Muichirou surveyed him levelly. “It took you a while to get the hang of it if I recall.”

 

“Wha-”, he spluttered, “I’m faster now!”

 

“I’m sure you are.” Although his tone was serious, Genya thought he detected a slight hint of teasing in his eyes.

 

Curious, he asked; “Do you still train anybody? I mean… You don’t have a Tsuguko, but does anybody ever come by, wanting to learn from you?” Briefly, he thought of Senjurou.

 

Muichirou shook his head. “No. I do not consider myself a slayer anymore.”

 

Genya couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised by that answer, yet at the same time, it was somewhat to be expected. He had heard similar things from many others over the past couple of years; Murata, for one, who had taken up an apprenticeship in a nearby town.

 

But from Muichirou…

 

“Why not? There are still demons out there.” He had always considered Muichirou to be one of the most determined members of the corps. The ferocity he had displayed when fighting Kokushibou…

 

“Not very many.” Muichirou’s voice pulled him back to the present. “They will die out, sooner or later, with nothing creating them. I know Kanao mentioned, the last time she was here with Tanjirou, that Yushirou is working with those at the Butterfly Estate to find all locations of the flower which enabled Muzan to create demons.”

 

“A flower?”

 

“Yes.”

 

That was news to Genya. Strange; the thought that a plant could affect someone in such a way. Yet he supposed it was no different to any other poison, or the bite of an infected animal. And it did make sense: Demons were repelled by a type of plant also.

 

When they were done eating, Muichirou clattered their bowls together and took them over to rinse in the basin.

 

“You can stay here tonight”, he offered upon returning.

 

It was not that late, but the sky outside had grown dark. Genya thought for a moment. Struggling against the harsh conditions would not be pleasant, although he should get back to Sanami: He was expected after all.

 

Then he thought of what greeting might await him. Sanemi’s bulging glare and crossed arms. Perhaps he should stay and then slink back home late the following night in the hopes of avoiding his brother.

 

“Yes. I will, thank you.” He found himself yawning even as he spoke.

 

Muichirou nodded and gave him a vacant smile before departing the room.

 

It was about two hours before Genya realized his host wasn’t coming back.

 

Muichirou had not told him where he should sleep, so he stiffly stood, put out the lamps, and wandered the dark house looking for a room.

 

Whereas downstairs the rooms had felt empty and cold, on the second floor of the large building were many bedrooms, a few bare and basic, but many littered with various trinkets and ornate furniture. The stairs, located on one side of the house, led to a long corridor, along which the rooms all branched off to the left.

 

Genya could remember walking up and down that hall, panicking when left alone in the evening over his struggles to get to grips with Muichirou’s training. He had stayed in one of these rooms, although he could not recall now which one. The other students had taken over the place, the yells of training echoing in the halls. Muichirou had almost seemed a part of the house then, quietly fading into the background and only appearing occasionally as if stepping out of the walls to chastise them with a lethal insult.

 

He should just pick a room. They were all largely the same after all.

 

However, when he went to step into one, he saw that there were several cobwebs stretching across the furniture and he shuddered, withdrawing. He had heard enough horror stories from Zenitsu to count that one out.

 

He continued walking, unsure exactly of what it was he was searching for.

 

A light shone from under a door about two-thirds of the way down the hallway, and Genya hesitated outside, listening.

 

From inside came the soft, barely-there noise of Muichirou breathing. As Genya held his own breath, he heard the crinkling of paper. Muichirou was reading something.

 

Genya sighed, making his way into the room next door. That one was also rather bare but had a large window looking out over the forest and a desk that reminded him of his room at Sanemi’s house.

 

Steadily he settled in, dumping his things on the floor without bothering to unpack. In spite of his long rest the night before, he still felt somehow exhausted, and as soon as he had collapsed on the bed, he felt his eyelids fluttering.

 

Rolling onto his side, he could still hear the sound of paper rustling through the wall. In a way, it made him feel a little less lonely.

 

He slumped onto his back and closed his eyes, succumbing to the need to sleep. Tomorrow he would finally, finally, go home.

Notes:

So this chapter was a little longer than the last few. Thank you to anyone reading, and hope you've had a good week :)))

Chapter 5

It took Genya a long while to locate the bathroom the following morning. Once he had done so, however, it took him relatively little time to wash up and dress. Wandering down the stairs, he went into the kitchen to find Muichirou eating a breakfast of rice and some sort of fish.

 

“Good morning”, Genya greeted cheerily. A long night’s rest had revived him, and he felt more awake than he had in at least a week.

 

“Good morning”, Muichirou mumbled around a full mouth. “I left a plate of food for you on top of the cabinet.”

 

“Thank you.” He made his way over to take it, only to pause when he saw what was lying next to the plate. He bit his lip: He did not want to seem rude, but this felt an important thing to point out. “Um… Muichirou, your hand is here.”

 

“Oh, yes. I don’t wear it much at home.”

 

Genya stared at the metallic claws, curled upward. That made sense: It did seem a rather clunky thing.

 

Picking up the dish, he went to kneel opposite his host. They ate largely in silence, and Genya began to feel a little awkward again. He should probably eat and then make his excuses to leave.

 

Like he was continuing an interrupted conversation, Muichirou said; “I dreamed about Kokushibou last night. For the first time in a long time.” He was still looking down at his bowl but, as Genya watched, horrified, he glanced up. His face was unreadable, as if surrounded by an impenetrable mist. “I suppose that’s because I saw you.”

 

“I- I’m sorry.” Did Muichirou want him to go? Should he not have come at all?

 

Genya swallowed. But Muichirou was the one who had offered for him to stay!

 

“It’s okay”, Muichirou shrugged. “It just brings back memories.”

 

Oh, yeah. Genya had vaguely heard about Muichirou’s trouble with remembering things. He wondered whether he still had problems, or if his memory was better now.

 

Did he remember much of that night? Did he remember how pathetic Genya had been, how he would have died had Muichirou not stepped in?

 

“I get those dreams, too.” Genya hung his head in shame, gaze transfixed on the table in front of him. “Only- flashes, really. Sometimes I feel I should have died that night”, he whispered before he could stop himself, “when we faced off together against death.”

 

He looked to Muichirou, afraid of finding a look of horror or pity, but the Mist Hashira was unreadable as ever, sitting quietly for a moment before admitting; “I’m no longer sure what to do with myself. I never thought I would live as long as this. I was never very good at much else than fighting and killing. The rage that drove me... It's harder to reach. I mostly find myself tired to be tired.” Muichirou closed his eyes. “I feel as though I’ve lived ten lifetimes, and yet I still have so many years ahead of me.”

 

Genya knew that feeling well enough. Sanemi always said Genya needed to be the normal one, to settle down and have a family, for the sake of their own family they had lost. However, if anything, Genya thought that that would be Sanemi’s path, now that he had calmed down a little. Family was important to Sanemi, even if he didn’t always act like it: That much was clear. It was important to Genya, too, but he couldn’t imagine himself settling down and having one. Not in the way Sanemi suggested. Because he was tired, and having a family was not going to fix that. He just had to carry on the path he was already on, until he could finally rest.

 

In truth, part of the reason he kept fighting was that he simply didn’t think there would be much else he could do in the world. He wasn’t as kind as Tanjirou or as smart as Kanao and Aoi. Asides from that, he had little to offer.

 

When Muichirou spoke again, his tone was hushed, yet it spurred Genya to risk looking up at him. He stared back emotionlessly.

 

“Giyuu always used to talk about his ghosts so affectionately; when he did speak to us, that was. As though he saw them. The others sometimes thought he was a bit mad, but I understand now. I see my brother sometimes, in a window or a glass. A double reflection.”

 

Oh. Genya had not known that Muichirou had a brother; if it had ever been mentioned in front of him, he did not recall. He wondered how it would feel to lose Sanemi. The aching hole in his stomach expanding for the loss of another sibling.

 

How would Sanemi have felt if he had lost Genya? Would it be the same? His stomach twisted.

 

“I’m sorry”, Muichirou said abruptly. “I’ve put you off your food. This is too dark of a subject for the morning.”

 

“No, no! It’s good! Tasty, see?” Genya made a show of shoveling rice into his mouth; almost choked on it, and swiftly took a drink to was it down. “I was just thinking, is all.”

 

The Hashira nodded. “I think it’s just hard. To expect life to change so suddenly. All of our lives changed before, when it wasn’t our fault. So now we don’t want to change anything else.”

 

“We can’t really say the world has changed, though. Not as long as there are still demons out there, preying on humans.”

 

“It’s difficult.” Muichirou hummed, and Genya sensed that it was the end of the conversation.

 

He got up rather stiffly, but when Genya sprung to his feet and reached out to snatch his bowl from him, Muichirou moved his arm away as quick as lightning, throwing him a suspicious look.

 

“I will clean up”, Genya blurted out, lowering his head. “It is only fair after you cooked for me.”

 

Raising one eyebrow, Muichirou relented, slowly pressing the bowl into Genya’s grasp.

 

“Could have said that”, he mumbled.

 

Genya watched him walk away and turned toward the basin.

 

Having washed up, Genya traveled back along the creaking floorboards to the room he had staked a claim over the previous night. It took only a few minutes to collect up everything he had brought with him: As was usual, he had unpacked very little.

 

Outside in the hall, he found Muichirou already waiting for him, leaning against one of the walls between the equidistantly spaced windows lining the corridor. The morning light shone directly in through them, and Genya had to blink a few times after leaving his relatively dark room to notice him. He stood staring into space, completely still, and only startled at the sound of Genya’s approach, following him down the stairs and to the large front door.

 

Genya paused and turned back to look at his host.

 

“Thank you for helping me in carrying everything”, Muichirou said, his tone light. “Tell Sanemi I am well, and that I hope he is too.”

 

“It wasn’t a problem. And I will.” He rubbed at the back of his head, stooping in a half-bow and almost dropping his bag. “Thank you for the food!”

 

“I was impressed you could stomach it.”

 

“It wasn’t that bad.”

 

Muichirou seemed almost to smile at that. Genya found himself wondering what would happen should he stay a little longer. This was a nice house, and too large for just one person. Would Muichirou let him stay? Or did he want the house back to himself? Again, it was so strange imagining him wandering the halls alone: It gave Genya an uneasy feeling in his chest. Would Sanemi mind if he stayed away for one more night?

 

“Well”, Genya breathed into the silence, “thank you again.”

 

He opened the door before he could do anything ridiculous.

 

And immediately froze when he saw the hulking figure marching through the snow toward them, a staff held in one hand.

 

As soon as he had placed who it was, he took off running down the path toward them.

 

“Himejima!”

 

“Genya.” The man stopped in his tracks. “What are you doing here?”

 

Breathlessly skidding to a halt at his former mentor’s side, he explained; “I’m on my way home to see Sanemi and Muichirou let me stop over here.”

 

It was always a joy to see Himejima: Somebody he did not see enough of these days. Genya stuck close by him as they walked to the house, and watched as Muichirou greeted the other man with as much enthusiasm as he seemed capable of summoning.

 

“He occasionally stops by to check on me, or if he has news to share”, Muichirou explained to Genya. He tilted his head. “Do you?”

 

Himejima smiled. “Only news of a new food stall at the market. I was passing through the local town.”

 

“I do need a few things, if you would like to go together?”, Muichirou suggested. The small smile on his lips widened. “Genya here ate all of my food.”

 

“He can’t help it; he’s still a growing boy.”

 

“Let’s hope he doesn’t grow too much taller, it might hurt Sanemi’s feelings.”

 

Listening to them, Genya found his cheeks heating up. Aware that he was turning bright red, he gasped out; “Sorry, Muichirou.”

 

The shorter man simply shrugged. The smile did not leave his face. “I was only joking. I told you before, you weren’t a bother. It was good having a guest for once.” He looked up at Himejima. “Give me a moment to get ready and then we’ll set out. We could make it there for midday.”

 

He disappeared inside of the house.

 

Genya hovered next to his former mentor, unsure whether to just leave or not. It felt rude to go when Himejima had only just arrived: They had not spoken for some time. Himejima had been busy with the children that he cared for at the temple, after all, and only set out on rare days such as this to visit some of his old friends. Regrettably, the last time he had been to Sanemi, Genya had been away.

 

“It works out perfectly”, Himejima commented, drawing Genya out of his thoughts. He was leaning on his staff, balancing his weight on his one good leg. His face was contemplative and untroubled.

 

“What does?”, Genya checked. Knowing Himejima, he could be talking about what was happening right now, or perhaps a new meditation technique he wished to impart on Genya.

 

“I can help Muichirou carry everything home afterward, and then set out in the evening and arrive back by morning.”

 

Genya blinked up at him in surprise. That was similar to what his own plan had been, before. Still, the greater shock was that Himejima traveled at night: Many of the old Hashira still would not, including Sanemi.

 

“You travel at night?”, he whispered.

 

Himejima’s sightless eyes stared out over the blankets of snow. “I no longer have reason to fear the night. In fact, I prefer it. It is quieter and it allows me more time for contemplation.”

 

Genya nodded. What a wise man Himejima was, truly. He had hoped while training under him that one day he would also be that wise: Only, that was harder than it initially appeared. There were certain things that could be taught, Genya had learned, and wisdom was not one of them.

 

Muichirou reappeared, dressed in yet another long black standard uniform and cloak.

 

“Come on, you two”, he grunted, pushing past them and making his way out into the cold.

 

You two? Was Genya supposed to be going with them? He was not entirely certain where this local town lay in relation to Muichirou’s home, but if Himejima had passed through then he supposed it lay somewhere along his route.

 

Unwilling to protest and break off on his own, Genya simply followed in Himejima’s shadow. Maybe, if he stayed and spent time with Himejima, he would be able to tag along with him on his journey home. For part of the journey, anyway. In fact, there was a city not far from where Himejima lived where he could potentially catch a train, something which would miraculously cut his journey time by a few hours. Not that walking would be a bother: Genya, too, had nothing to fear from the night anymore.

 

Muichirou was still soldiering on ahead, only occasionally calling back to them. Genya pressed forward so that he fell almost in step with Himejima and could watch where they were going.

 

As they drew away from Muichirou’s house, they approached what could tentatively be described as a neighborhood: Several houses, each as large and with as much grounds as Muichirou’s, placed evenly apart. At one home children chased each other, shrieking, behind the house and into the woods that lay beyond.

 

After a few more minutes of walking, the ground began to slope, and the town revealed itself to them: It lay directly ahead at the bottom of a long and gently rolling hill. On either side of it were more hills, covered in trees and shrubbery. In the white winter sunlight, Genya caught flashes among them where the river reflected the sky. It appeared to run to the right of the town, tapering off through the forests.

 

The town itself was nowhere near the scale of some of the cities Genya had been to, but also far more urban than the many villages he had traveled between. A few dozen large buildings formed the center, rooftops bare, spiraling out into smaller ones with gaps between them that grew increasingly larger the further they were from the center and whose roofs still lay under that bright blanket of snow.

 

“It is a pleasant thing, to be here with the two of you”, Himejima commented as they approached. “The refreshing breeze and the sounds of people living their ordinary lives is a blessing. We should appreciate what we have in this life, Genya.”

 

This was familiar: Especially the watery tone to the former Stone Hashira's voice. Genya nodded, smiling to himself. “Yes. It is very good to see you, also.”

 

His voice choked, Himejima continued; “I’m so thankful to still have you both. It would have broken my heart to lose you… So soon after Shinobu.”

 

Genya’s heart sped up. It always went back to that night, didn’t it? In a way, he was glad Muichirou had brought it up: There was no way to avoid speaking about it. They had been snatched from the jaws of death by the aid of the talented medics at the Butterfly Estate, and now there was the need to make their efforts worth it.

 

“Thank you, Himejima”, he whispered, and quickened his pace.

 

In the town, Muichirou led them straight down a few paved side streets until they emerged into a large square. Rows and rows of stalls were set up, some selling goods and clothing, others selling various tasty treats.

 

Genya stared in awe. They had something similar in the town nearest Sanemi’s home: Yet, it had been some time since he had stopped by there. Looking back on it, Sanemi had not been all that enthusiastic about it either, especially after getting into a fight with a man about the price of some shirt he had wanted to buy.

 

They weaved about the crowds, who seemed to come in staggered waves. Himejima took over the charge wordlessly, carving out a path for Muichirou and Genya to follow behind him.

 

“This was the one”, Himejima announced, stopping in front of a food stall, and Genya stared. It did not seem like anything special: Just one of many advertising an assortment of snacks.

 

Did Muichirou and Himejima know each and every stall here? Did they come here that often together? Genya hadn’t known they were so close, although he guessed it was possible. It made him happy, in a way, for he did sometimes wonder about each of them. Muichirou, who was so young despite everything he had accomplished and all the lifetimes he stated he had lived. Himejima, who sought to take care of and guide those younger than himself.

 

The more he thought it over, the more it made sense to him. Himejima was kind enough that Genya knew he would forgive any hostile comments Muichirou might make toward him, even if they did genuinely upset him. On the other hand, Muichirou would probably simply zone out if Himejima was giving a long speech.

 

As Himejima started to make small talk with the owner, who apparently remembered him from earlier that morning- he was not an easy person to forget, after all- Genya followed Muichirou in sampling some of the food that was on display. Much of it was made from rice, some on sticks and some shaped into balls, with various meats and spices.

 

Genya hummed as he bit into one and then stopped, embarrassed. It was just so good.

 

“Are you going to leave with Himejima?”, a muffled voice asked to his left, and he looked over to find Muichirou munching on something on a stick.

 

“I was hoping to, yes.”

 

“Hm. Your paths diverge quite early on, though.” Muichirou swallowed and frowned, considering. “Are you sure you want to travel in the dark alone?”

 

Did Muichirou want him to leave now? Was this his way of suggesting it?

 

“I think I’ll be okay”, Genya assured him, uncertain. “I’m unlikely to run into trouble and, if I do, I can take care of myself.”

 

Muichirou still looked unhappy.

 

“You could stay again if you like. I really meant it earlier; you’re not a bother.”

 

Despite the frown on his face and his wrinkled brows, his eyes were wide and earnest.

 

Genya stared at him, astonished. He had not expected that at all.

 

Taking another bite of his food, Muichirou continued, his voice low and once again muffled; “Wandering alone in the darkness is no way to live, even if you’re heading home.”

 

What if Genya did stay? What would the problem be? It had been awkward initially, him staying there, but he did genuinely like Muichirou, even if he found him to be rather confusing at times. They had gotten along without any fights, without any bickering, and with only some embarrassment on Genya’s part. Spending a few more days there, having the chance to relax around Muichirou and speak to him- properly- was an idea that was growing more and more appealing.

 

And- maybe, finally- he would have the chance to make it up to Muichirou for saving his life by risking his own. Maybe, if he helped Muichirou, he would have paid off that debt.

 

But what about Sanemi? What about the next mission that was sure to come?

 

Genya swallowed. “I really wouldn’t want to impose…”

 

A shadow flickered over Muichirou’s gaze, and he looked down.

 

“You are always welcome to stay at my house for a while if you are tired from traveling”, Himejima offered, and Genya pivoted to find him turning away from the owner of the stall.

 

Looking from Himejima’s defined, imposing face, to Muichirou’s round pale green eyes, Genya considered it. He opened his mouth to respond.

 

“Help me! Somebody, please, help!”

 

The scream cut across, the crowd: A man’s voice, hoarse and breaking with tears.

 

Without a word between them, the three former demon slayers slipped between the crowds, finding a semi-circle of people gathered at the edge of the courtyard.

 

Another scream came, and the thing that staggered into view was grotesque. Seeing only its outline initially among the shadows, Genya took it for some misshapen, warped being, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

 

It emerged into the light, and people began to shout and cry.

 

It was not a monster or a demon. It was a man. Clutched to his chest, he held the eviscerated body of a child. One arm dangled seemed to dangle only by a thread, red stringy synapses exposed.

 

Genya looked away. The body was a day or two old: He wished he was not able to tell that.

 

Another thing he could tell from just a glance: Whatever had done that was more than human.

 

To his left, Himejima pushed forward toward the man, tears streaming down his face. Genya barely heard as he began to ask questions: Where the body was found and when, if the man had been alone or seen anything nearby…

 

Pupils darting in the opposite direction, Genya found Muichirou staring back at him. His face was expressionless, yet Genya could see the horror clear in his eyes.

Notes:

Yes, I finally updated this :) sorry it took so long! I have another chapter mostly written and will probably upload it either tomorrow or the day after, although I think it maybe just slightly shorter than this one!

Either way, if you're reading this then I hope you're doing well, and that you have a great weekend :D

Chapter 6

Genya’s gun clinked as he set it to one side. He had just finished cleaning and preparing it, and now he had little else to do before they set off.

 

He and Himejima had returned to Muichirou’s after all that had happened in the town square, waiting for darkness to fall. The body had been discovered at the edge of the forest beyond the town, the man had told them, and so that was where they would head.

 

For now, though, Genya sat in the center of the floor in the room he had claimed as his own. He could feel the sun sinking at his back, and it felt like the ticking of a clock. Occasionally he could hear footsteps in another part of the house, but nobody came to his room.

 

As dusk descended, Genya scrabbled about in the room for paper, finding a notepad tucked under his bed.

 

Carefully, he scratched out a letter.

 

Sanemi.

 

I am very sorry that I have not come home yet. I am with Muichirou. We believe there is a demon in the town where he lives and so we are going to investigate. Himejima is here, too.

 

I will see you soon, brother.

 

He hesitated. How should he end that letter? Should he say ‘I love you’ or not?

 

The countless slayers who had died in their fights against the Kizuki came to mind, as well as how he never really got the chance to even speak to Sanemi before he faced Kokushibou.

 

I love you. Stay safe.

 

Genya.

 

Standing, he made his way over to the window and creaked it open. It was stiff and he struggled with it for a few seconds.

 

Almost immediately, his crow swooped in to take it, fluttering off against the navy sky. Genya blinked. It had never been one to hover about and chat.

 

A knock sounded on his door just as he closed the window.

 

Muichirou stood outside; his face grim. Strapped to his back was his sword, the ornate handle peeking over his shoulder.

 

“Are you ready?”, he asked casually, as though they were going for another stroll.

 

Genya nodded. “Yes.”

 

Collecting his things, he followed Muichirou down the hall. The smaller man stopped by another room.

 

He had not even knocked on the door when it opened and Himejima stood before them, towering in the doorway.

 

“I prayed I would never have to do this again”, he announced sombrely, and then sighed. “But it has taken the life of a child. We must do what we can.”

 

Muichirou nodded, more to himself than anything Genya thought, and they made their way outside into the bitter cold.

 

They walked along the tree-lined path and down into the town. Many of the townspeople were still gathered in the square, and they silently parted as the three men made their way through. There was no need for secrecy: Everyone seemed to know why they were there.

 

It was rather unsettling: Genya was so used to operating in the shadows, unnoticed and unobserved. Some small communities knew about the demons and the demon slayers, but a town like this? Did they perhaps think they were some sort of bounty hunters? Or maybe Muichirou was trusted in this town, after the years of living there and visiting the market.

 

Someone in the crowd called out: “Another child has been taken!”

 

More murmuring followed.

 

“Again?”, Himejima whispered to himself. “Already?”

 

Genya glanced up to see that tears were leaking from Himejima’s eyes. He felt himself begin to tremble and tried to swallow the fear down. Fighting alone, he had not been able to afford to feel terror. Now, flanked by two of the greatest demon slayers of all time and sensing their tension, it came back in full force. Suddenly he was a teenager again, walking to face some of the most terrifying demons without the knowledge of whether he would return.

 

He wished Sanemi was there.

 

They reached the edge of the town, the forest where the man had stumbled from with the child earlier that day.

 

Genya took a deep breath. It was sparser than some of the other forests he had traversed recently, yet it was still impossible to see more than a few meters deep into the trees.

 

“Remember your mantra”, Himejima murmured, “and breathe.”

 

Tensing, Genya looked up at him. Did Himejima know how afraid he was? He was very perceptive, so it would be no surprise. Genya swallowed his fear down, ashamed at the way his hands trembled.

 

He muttered; “Let’s get this fucker.”

 

They walked out into the forest together. Himejima led the way, Muichirou falling in from his other side to walk in the middle, and Genya bringing up the rear.

 

Their journey was slow. Now and then Himejima would pause and, seemingly at random, turn in a different direction. Genya knew to trust him, though, and neither he nor Muichirou voiced a protest.

 

As they headed in deeper, the tingling feeling along the back of Genya’s spine came back. There were no signs that he had seen to indicate the presence of a demon, which was terrifying in its own way.

 

A cracking tree branch had Genya holding his breath and whirling about.

 

Nothing.

 

His eyes darted left and right.

 

Only the branches of trees, whistling almost musically in a slight breeze.

 

Turning back, he found Muichirou looking up at him with glossy clear eyes.

 

“Keep it down”, he said.

 

Well, as Genya had noted many times over the past couple of days, Muichirou was not one to beat around the bush. In a way, Genya appreciated it.

 

He drew in a deep breath and nodded.

 

“Yes.”

 

Muichirou shot him a somewhat sympathetic look, and they continued on, picking their way across the frosted forest floor.

 

A mere few seconds later, Himejima raised his hand, and they froze.

 

What could he see through the trees? Genya couldn’t make anything out past him, but he did not dare move. He stifled his breath, drawing in short gasps of air as silently as he could manage.

 

Himejima pointed to the right. Wordlessly, Muichirou began to step in that direction, and Genya followed him, drawing his gun out.

 

As they rounded the point Himejima was facing toward, Genya caught glimpses through the trees: Pale skin, straggly dark hair, the deep red of blood. Sickening gulping sounds became audible.

 

They had walked several meters, drawing slightly closer, when Muichirou also lifted one hand, pressing the palm toward Genya’s chest.

 

“Wait here”, he murmured, “and try to get a clear shot.”

 

Genya’s gaze immediately flitted to a bough in a tree where the trunks in front of it seemed to part, leaving him with a clear view of what was going on ahead. That would be just the right height.

 

He nodded, and Muichirou vanished among the shadows.

 

Shuffling over slightly so that he could rest at his vantage point, Genya finally caught sight of the creature- and its prey.

 

The child was dead.

 

That much was obvious. It did not seem to be in any better shape than the other one had been.

 

The demon kept its head down, feasting on flesh. Its thick black hair was coated at the ends in blood, dried and matted in some areas, fresh and dripping in others. As Genya watched, one hand came up to brush back a strand of hair in a gesture that was startlingly human.

 

Genya lined up the shot and held his breath. The angle wasn’t quite right: He couldn’t tell exactly where the creature’s head was, with the hair that appeared to flow right down to the ground.

 

Hoping that Muichirou was watching him, he shook his head.

 

The trees exploded with noise, Himejima and Muichirou leaping forward as one. They propelled themselves from trunks, twisting in mid-air, sword and axes flying and glinting silver in the moonlight.

 

Immediately, the demon was on the defensive, scampering away from its prey on all fours and weaving close to the ground with incredible speed, avoiding the blows which rained down upon it.

 

It was more akin to trying to catch an insect than a battle. This demon was clearly quick and clever: It easily avoided Muichirou’s slices, edging out of range of Himejima’s advances. With the limited space they had, they went around and around, occasionally shifting directions.

 

Genya cursed under his breath, trying to lock onto where the creature’s head was.

 

Something was bothering him, and it took him a minute to work out what.

 

Himejima and Muichirou.

 

They were moving slowly, so slowly in comparison to his memories of them. They were slipping slightly, and as he watched the demon sliced its fingernails across Himejima’s good ankle.

 

Was it their old injuries hindering them? Himejima, of course, had badly damaged his leg in the fight against Muzan, almost losing it. Although he seemed to be managing without his staff, for now, the difference was obvious. Genya felt the phantom pains beginning to tug and itch at his chest. If that was the case, then he would need to step in, and quickly.

 

He squinted. It was hard to see through the darkness, especially with the demon’s apparently random writhing, but he thought he could just make out the dome of its scalp.

 

The demon rose up on its legs for the first time, and they were treated to their first full view of the monster.

 

It stood taller than any of them: Taller even than Himejima. It was not muscular, though. Instead, it was spindly. Its hair hung down to its waist, still dripping blood. Its eyes were pitch black, and it grinned at them with two wet red mouths.

 

The demon opened its mouths and screamed.

 

Genya dropped to his knees, his vision blurring. What was this? Some kind of ability it possessed?

 

That sound… It had stopped almost as soon as it started, but somehow it had completely thrown him off balance. He felt as though he were at sea, being tossed about by the waves, and he had to hold onto a nearby tree to get back to his feet.

 

It emitted another short, sharp burst of noise, and that time Genya physically felt ill.

 

He swallowed it down, blinking rapidly. Even looking up through the canopy above, the moon, a tiny gold coin in the sky, seemed to rock back and forth.

 

Genya looked back down to the clearing, pushing a branch aside to see. Himejima too was leaning against a tree. He took a few staggering steps in a direction somewhere to the right of the demon.

 

Its arms shot out, as though ready to grasp him. Long white fingers clawed at the air.

 

Muichirou was closer, however. The Mist Hashira held his blade in front of him, swiping swiftly at the incoming threat.

 

For the first moment in all the time that Genya had known him, Muichirou was not fast enough.

 

Dirty fingernails raked across Muichirou's side, slicing through his dark clothing and hooking in his skin to drag him in.

 

He screamed; “Genya!” A cry of raw desperation.

 

Hands shaking, Genya raised his gun, and felt tears pricking at his vision. He was too unbalanced. The barrel of his gun weaved left and right, attempting to zone in on the demon’s head, its chest, any body part he could manage to hit.

 

Every time, Muichirou seemed to drift into his focus.

 

His eyes were wide, his face pained. He wanted Genya to fire.

 

Didn’t he?

 

Genya steadied the gun.

 

Muichirou wrenched his arm around, stabbing the demon and spinning to the ground: Yet, again, something was wrong. He landed clumsily, moved away too slowly, and the demon’s fingers flashed out, sinking straight into Muichirou’s side once more.

 

Genya’s breath choked. This couldn’t be happening. It felt like a nightmare played out before his eyes. A repeat of that night…

 

He willed his arms to move, his finger to stroke the trigger. He would be next. If Muichirou was out of the equation, he would be next. He needed to help Muichirou, until Himejima and Sanemi could get to them…

 

He could not move. Could not breathe.

 

Muichirou… Kokushibou...

 

No. Genya shook his head. That was a long time ago.

 

There was a dark heap on the floor at the demon’s feet, and it took him a moment to realize it was Muichirou. The aqua strands of hair fanned out away from his hunched form. Blood was seeping from him.

 

It was everywhere. Oh, Gods, it was everywhere… Genya could smell it…

 

An axe flew from nowhere and embedded itself in the demon’s chest. It flew back again, yanked by the chain Himejima was holding.

 

“Cover your ears!”, Himejima instructed and Genya did so, hunkering down into the bushes and clasping his hands to the side of his head just in time.

 

Why?

 

Why was he so useless?

 

Up until then, he had had no problem facing demons, with slaughtering them. He was not a coward. So why recently had his fear begun to return to him?

 

By the time he had stood and pushed through to the tiny, trampled clearing, moving automatically to carefully sidestep the body of the child, one of Himejima’s axes was buried in the demon’s head. Genya caught sight of it just as it gave a gurgled gasp, spat up blood, and crumbled into ash.

 

“Muichirou?” Himejima crouched by the young man. “Genya?”

 

Genya willed his legs to move, yet they remained fixed to the spot by the heap of ashes. He became aware that he was still holding his gun out, pointing forward at nothing, and shakily lowered his arm. It jolted and jerked about, but he eventually wrenched his fingers away from it, tucking it away.

 

His whole body began working again at once. By the time he was across the clearing and at their side, Himejima had scooped Muichirou up in his large arms. His head lolled at a sickening angle. Half of his clothes had been torn from his chest, and thick red gashes oozed blood. They shifted slightly with the movement of Himejima walking.

 

“Muichirou?”, Genya whispered. When he received no response, he tried again; “Muichirou?”

 

Himejima held one hand over Muichirou’s face. “He’s breathing. We need to get back quickly. Take the other body.”

 

Feeling sick, Genya held his breath and gathered what remained of the child.

 

Later, he could not recall the walk back to the town. He assumed they moved as swiftly as they could manage, cutting a straight path among the trees. He did not even recall handing the body off to a sobbing or shrieking family, and only barely remembered numbly informing the congregated crowd that the creature who did it had died.

 

What he did remember:

 

Someone took Muichirou behind some closed doors. The hours passed.

 

Genya sat outside those doors for a long time, pleading with his body to stop trembling.

 

Was Muichirou about to die because of him? For real, this time? He had been thrown off by the demon’s shrieking, of course, but, even more than that, he had been scared. It had been too much like-

 

Muichirou and Himejima should never have come. Why had they come? They had given up that life. Of course, wanting to avenge the death of a child was understandable; but they clearly shouldn’t have been there. Genya should have insisted that he went by himself.

 

He shuddered, noticing for the first time the coldness of the night and the snow that lay around him. The air was still and crisp, and all of the streetlamps had long since been put out. The townspeople had retreated to their homes. To his left and right, the street stretched emptily on. The world began to fill itself in from the vacuum he had sunk into.

 

Eventually, somebody called him to come inside.

 

It was a house: He had not even identified it as one previously. It had just been a building, a wall, a door behind which Muichirou and Himejima had disappeared.

 

Several people moved about, wiping down equipment and vials. If Genya was smarter, he might have known the names for some of it.

 

Muichirou lay asleep in a bed, his face pale as the moon, and his breathing harsh. His blade was propped up against the wall behind him.

 

Himejima stood by the bed. Upon approaching, Genya saw that his ankle was swathed in bandages and that he was back to leaning on his staff.

 

“He has lost a lot of blood”, Himejima whispered before Genya could ask. “He may not be able to get up for some time. I will stay with you for the night, but in the morning I must return to the children. I cannot leave them too long. I can send word to Aoi and the others then, too. There are medical professionals here, but- they may be able to help.”

 

Genya nodded mutely. It was only afterward that he understood that he was agreeing to stay.

 

More time passed: He could not say how long. He did not sleep, or eat, although one of the people offered him food.

 

There was talk, a lot of talks, about whether Muichirou should remain and rest there, yet Genya found himself insisting that Muichirou would want to recover at home, and Himejima agreed with him. Muichirou remained still and silent, unable to voice his assent or disapproval.

 

Genya was not certain why he had said that. It was an odd feeling that he had, based on his knowledge of Muichirou. In spite of their limited contact over the years, he sometimes felt that he had known Muichirou the best: An inherent understanding stemming from having known each other on the verge of death.

 

If he were to die, it should not be in a strange room, surrounded by strangers. They had come close to that before. He should be at home.

 

With the promise of returning for help if Muichirou had not awoken by that evening, Genya and Himejima carefully bundled their friend onto a stretcher.

 

Their journey up the hill took far longer this time. Himejima went ahead, Genya behind and keeping a watchful eye over Muichirou’s body. He did not stir, even as the faint rays of dawn crept up above the hill and painted his blank canvas of a face amber. When Himejima stumbled, weeping and apologizing profusely, Genya insisted that they rest for a while before continuing, wrapping an extra blanket over Muichirou. It was still cold out, even with the rising of the sun. And Muichirou had been stripped down to only his pants and the bandages that constricted his chest.

 

Maneuvering through the doorway proved another challenge. Although it was wide, the angle of the stairs behind the entryway prevented them from turning once inside.

 

“Perhaps we could go through the back way?”, Himejima suggested.

 

Genya stared at him. Those were the first words that had fully sunk in, coming through clearly rather than muffled, since they had faced the demon.

 

He shook his head.

 

“I’m not sure if that’s wide enough, either.” He looked despairingly down at Muichirou. “Hold on. Set this down for a moment.”

 

It felt odd to order his old mentor around, but at that moment he was simply too tired to care. His priorities were solely to get Muichirou into the warm, and then to collapse onto a bed to sleep a hopefully nightmare-free sleep.

 

They lowered Muichirou’s stretcher onto the snow, and Genya stooped, feeling under the blankets for Muichirou’s legs.

 

His thumb brushed something burning warm, and he flinched. Apprehensively, he awaited a stirring, a reprimand; yet Muichirou remained silent, not stirring at all.

 

He tucked one arm under the crook of Muichirou’s knees, the other under his back, and lifted him, moving as slowly as he could manage, attempting to keep Muichirou’s chest straight.

 

It was a little undignified, and Muichirou would almost certainly have protested had he been awake. Still, he felt warm, and light, and Genya let out a breath he had not known he had been holding.

 

Himejima held the door open for him, passing behind with the stretcher.

 

Achingly slowly, one step at a time, Genya went up the stairs. The thudding of his footfall echoed hollowly through the halls.

 

At the top, Himejima led him along and to a room, opening the door for them once again. It was the room where Genya had heard the shuffling and sounds of paper turning from. Muichirou’s room.

 

Too exhausted to even hesitate, Genya stepped inside. It was warm and cozy, not much larger than the one next door. The major differences were the small bookcase that sat next to the desk, as well as a couple of cabinets and boxes. Several old journals caught his eye on one shelf, and he saw a nearly identical one lying open upon the desk. Genya had not known Muichirou kept one.

 

He shuffled over to the bed, glancing over his shoulder at Himejima. “Can you help me lower him down?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Himejima took hold of Muichirou’s head and shoulders, steadying them, and together they stretched him out on top of the covers. Genya tucked the blankets in around him, stepping away to stare at his small, swaddled frame. His head peering out above the bundle was almost absurd with how comparatively tiny it looked.

 

“I will stay with him tonight”, Himejima said. “You need to sleep. I was able to rest somewhat at the doctor’s home.”

 

Was that where they had been? Genya nodded, and the room swayed with it. He was so tired. But…

 

But, before, when Muichirou was injured, they had been together.

 

What if Genya left him now and he never woke up?

 

On the surface, he knew what a ridiculous thought that was, however in his sleep-addled mind it took root at the back and grew all over his brain. For some reason, it screeched at him in the voice of his crow.

 

What if, what if, what if?

 

Genya leaned his weight against the wall, debating. However, Himejima knelt by Muichirou’s bed, pressing a large hand to his forehead, and Genya decided not to argue.

 

Himejima was right: He needed to rest.

Notes:

Poor Muichirou :(

Chapter 7

It was the tapping on the window that prompted Genya to blink his eyes open late that morning rather than the sunlight streaming in.

 

Sitting bolt upright, suddenly completely awake, he squinted at the form of his crow on the other side.

 

Creaking the window open and inviting in the sounds of leaves rustling and the stream flowing, he took the two small slips of paper that were offered to him.

 

The first was in Sanemi’s familiar, barely legible script:

 

Genya.

 

So that’s why you haven’t come home yet. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

 

Take care, idiot.

Sanemi

 

Short and to the point. Genya smiled to himself before unfolding the other one.

 

Genya!

 

I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you again after we ran into each other on the mountain! Nezuko is sad that she missed you, too. There’s so much to do around here, even if it doesn’t seem like it. If you ever come back this way, let me know and perhaps we can meet?

 

How was your journey home? I haven’t heard anything, so I assume you made it there safely. Have you seen any of the others?

 

Your friend,

Tanjirou

 

Genya blearily rubbed his eyes, rereading the letter a second and then a third time.

 

As he did so, the events of the past couple of days caught up to him, and his eyelids flew wide open.

 

What had happened to Muichirou? They had gone back to his house, hadn’t they? Of course they had; he could see that much from their surroundings, although Genya could hardly recall staggering, exhausted, into the room next door and settling down to sleep.

 

He flung the door open, gaping in shock when he saw a figure waiting in the hallway outside. Only it wasn’t Muichirou this time; Himejima stood against the light of the windows, his palms pressed together and his head bowed.

 

“Muichirou?”, Genya gasped, fear digging like claws down his back.

 

Himejima raised his head. “He woke up, briefly, an hour ago and drunk some water, although he is sleeping again now.”

 

Relief seeped through Genya, and he twisted to stare at the wooden door beside the one he had just walked through. How bad were Muichirou’s injuries? He had heard Himejima speaking with the doctor, but had hardly taken anything in. Clearly nothing was broken or too badly damaged if they had been allowed to bring him home: Perhaps they had just sedated him to help with the pain of his flesh wounds?

 

At least, Genya hoped that was the case.

 

Hobbling forward and only now realizing the aches in his own body, how numb his toes felt, Genya asked; “Will he be okay?”

 

“Yes.” Himejima turned to him, and Genya felt that his unseeing eyes could almost pierce through him. The tall man appeared to hesitate for a few seconds before he said; “Genya, I must leave soon. I am sorry, but I cannot leave the children for too long.”

 

“That’s okay.” Genya nodded. Only, a second later, the implications sunk in: He would need to stay with Muichirou, unless someone else was able to come. He should let Sanemi know. “Are you leaving right away?”

 

He felt he already knew the answer before it arrived.

 

“Yes. I wished to wait until you were awake so that I was able to say goodbye, but… I need to get back to them.”

 

That was no surprise. He knew how much Himejima worried about the children in his care. As much as it pained him to admit, this was for the best. “I’ll see you out, then.”

 

An alarming thought came to him as they went down the stairs: Had Himejima even slept at all?

 

“Are you going to be alright going back now?”, Genya wondered openly when they reached the door.

 

“I’ll be fine. I will send word when I reach home.”

 

After one final embrace and a fond farewell, Himejima went out into the cold and made his way down the path.

 

Once he was out of sight, Genya stood in the middle of the hall, feeling small, and then slumped down to sit at the bottom of the stairs. A tiny ladybug was crawling across the floor not far from his feet, and he watched it move with interest until it flew away.

 

Memories of the previous night danced across his brain. Yet again, he had been useless and, yet again, Muichirou had suffered for it. Only this time Genya himself had come away unscathed.

 

The light shining through the windows grew stronger, shifted so that the rectangles over Genya's legs retreated to small concentrated white squares.

 

Slowly, unwilling to visit any other area of the house alone, he went back upstairs.

 

Each heavy step had the wooden floorboards creaking conspicuously loudly, and he winced, pausing at the top to stretch his arms out and pivot his aching feet. Tipping his head back, he saw the silvery gossamer threads of cobwebs lightly dusting the wooden beams overhead. If he were not aware Muichirou lived here, Genya would have half-believed the place to be abandoned.

 

Creeping down the corridor, he slowly shuffled the door to Muichirou’s room open. He held his breath in order to listen to Muichirou’s own soft breathing for several seconds before tiptoeing inside.

 

The room was incredibly familiar, and it took him a few seconds to recall that he had been inside the previous night when he and Himejima had carried Muichirou back home. The only key difference was that, now, the curtains had been closed, draping the room in a dark oppressive heat. It was almost like walking into a sauna, the air musty and damp. The chemical smell of sickness hung in the air.

 

Cautiously, Genya crossed the floorboards and pulled the curtains open just an inch, creaking the window behind open by roughly the same amount. He inhaled deeply as the first gust of cool air fanned his face and fluttered the fabric in front of the window, taking in the sharp scent of snow.

 

Muichirou was stretched out on his bed to one side of the room, blankets tucked under his bare arms, which stretched thin and pale at his side, one of them tapering away and ending at a puckered pink line above the wrist. What appeared to be a flap of loose skin hung limply below. Glancing about, Genya saw that the metallic contraption he wore had been placed on top of the desk and that a black jacket was draped over the chair in front of it.

 

Slowly, Genya knelt in front of Muichirou. He seemed to be in a deep sleep, his face perfectly still.

 

How bad were his injuries? It had been hard to tell in the dark. Genya stretched a hand out to withdraw the blankets covering him and then thought better of it. Would Genya be able to leave him in the next couple of days if he were able to get up? Or would he need to stay for longer? If that was the case, then maybe he should write to Aoi. She would be more than happy, he was sure, to send someone to tend to Muichirou, if she did not come herself.

 

Thoughts of back then came to him once again, and he recalled the time Muichirou had saved his life: How he had been unable to move as the demon clawed into him, how Muichirou had sprung from nowhere and stood over him. Muichirou’s blood flying as he was cut down, spraying warm over Genya. The light fading, the feeling of slipping away and wanting to fight it yet unable to escape the sweet embrace of nothingness that tugged at him, the certainty in the back of his mind that this was it, that everything was going to be over and he wouldn’t have to fight any longer…

 

Genya startled when Muichirou roused and coughed.

 

The younger man turned his face away, frowning, still sputtering a little.

 

“Muichirou?”, Genya whispered, leaning in close. “Muichirou?”

 

“What?” Muichirou’s voice was raspy and he did not open his eyes; however, he sounded irritated more than anything else, and that made Genya smile just a little.

 

He swallowed. What to ask? He supposed the obvious question would be a good place to start. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Tired.” Muichirou sighed a shuddering sigh. “In pain. Hungry.” He eyed Genya speculatively, and Genya leaped to his feet.

 

“I- I’ll get you something.”

 

Ignoring the way his legs protested at the treatment, he dashed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

 

Inside, he paused in his tracks. Where had Muichirou kept his cooking utensils, again? Had it been the third drawer down, or the second? Or had they been in that cabinet?

 

Crafting a soup of decent quality took about three times as long for Genya as it would have done had been at home, although he was able to learn his way about the house: For instance, where Muichirou stored his meat, and where the vegetables were kept. There wasn’t much in the house, but he managed to scrape together what was there.

 

He took the pot of soup back up the stairs, balancing carefully, and into the injured man’s room.

 

Muichirou was sitting up when he entered, a flush of color back in his cheeks. He sipped at the broth of the soup Genya had made while Genya watched anxiously, not speaking.

 

When the pot was almost empty, Muichirou smiled and murmured; “Thank you, Genya.”

 

With that, he settled the pot on the floor, shuffled back down, and went to sleep.

 

Genya stood, staring. Now what? Did Muichirou need his bandages changed? He hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he’d done it himself. Or perhaps Himejima had.

 

Deciding to simply do what he knew how to do, he took the pot of soup back downstairs to clean up, rinsing all of the utensils he had used and leaving them to dry.

 

Not wanting to be wandering the giant house alone, Genya returned to Muichirou’s room and settled down in one corner, drawing himself into a ball and waiting in case Muichirou awoke. In truth, he was not sure what else to do with himself.

 

Muichirou slept on, hardly stirring. Occasionally he would shift and the pattern of his breathing would change, but there were no signs of consciousness.

 

Genya had just made the decision to write to Aoi and was searching for something to write with- Muichirou’s desk was frustratingly devoid of clean paper or writing utensils, primarily stacked with books and scraps of paper upon which little drawings and a few words had been jotted- when there came the distant sound of knocking at the front door below.

 

Had Himejima forgotten something? Genya looked at a tall clock that stood in one of the halls as he made his way through. Himejima had left hours ago. Surely he wouldn’t have returned now. But who else would be there?

 

To ease his own mind, Genya drew a knife from the kitchen before he went to the door, tucking it into his belt.

 

Wrenching the door open, he found himself face to face with a middle-aged woman whom he did not recognize in the slightest.

 

Her dark hair was streaked with gray strands that betrayed an age not even hinted at by her smooth features. She had large, round eyes, not unlike those of an owl. A small child- a girl, with long hair that fell over one similarly round eye- clutched at her hand.

 

“Hello?”, Genya began, perplexed.

 

“Hello.” The woman’s voice wavered, her black eyes brimming with tears, and it came to Genya that he did indeed know her: She had been there, in the square, when the body of the first child had been found. Her hair had hung loose then, not swept back neatly as it was now, and her face had been contorted with pain. “We came to- well, to thank you. For what you did. And to see whether your friend is alright.”

 

What could he say to somebody who had just lost a child? His gaze drifting down, Genya took in the way the little girl avoided his eyes, the increasingly tight grip her mother kept on her.

 

Numbly, he mumbled; “He’s okay. Well, he’s not, but- he’s recovering.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it.” The woman cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice continued to shake, sometimes stumbling over words, yet Genya could see the effort she made in attempting to keep her tone steady. “My name is Yoshiyuki Yae. My family- my- we are extremely grateful to you for all you have done. We would like to invite you to share a meal w-with us. The other gentleman, too. The- the tall one.”

 

Genya hesitated. The offer seemed genuine and heartfelt; still, should he really leave Muichirou?

 

Muichirou would be fine, he reasoned. It was broad daylight outside, and Muichirou had seemed to be fully himself when he awoke before, even if he had appeared drowsy. Genya would not be gone for too long.

 

But the thought of sharing a meal with a family he did not know… While Genya had gotten over his problems of speaking to women, in particular, he still did not particularly enjoy the attention of strangers. A lot of the time he came off as rude or intimidating, he knew, even though he was the one who was intimidated. Would he not add to their misery without Muichirou or Himejima there to help with the social aspect of the visit?

 

Still, it would have been rude to refuse; and, something about the proud woman’s manner told him that, had he done so, she likely would have broken down. She already seemed on the verge of tears. Genya should stop trying to think up excuses.

 

“I’d be happy to join you.” He tried to force some faux-happiness into his tone, although he was sure it did not sound convincing. “But I’m afraid the other man has left already.”

 

“That is a great shame. I hope you will send him our gratitude, after this meal, and to let him know to come by if he does return.”

 

Genya dipped his head. “I will do. Thank you.” He hesitated. “Ah- I must make sure my friend is okay, but then I’ll be right with you!”

 

Upstairs, Muichirou continued to sleep soundly. Genya dipped his head close to the sleeping man’s lips to listen to his breath and was relieved to note that it was steady.

 

He turned to hurry out the door; paused; and then draped an extra blanket over Muichirou, just in case.

 

Under his breath, he promised; “I’ll be back soon, Muichirou.”

 

He followed Yae and her daughter down the hill and to their home, a small wooden building that stood on the outskirts of the town. The interior was cramped, furniture so worn that it was silken dotted about with cloaks and drapes tossed over them, and warmed by a fire. A simple wooden partition sat across the length of the house, dividing it into rooms. From somewhere within the dwellings came the scent of some sort of spice cooking; a warm, homely smell. Far better than the soup Genya had scraped together.

 

Stepping inside, Genya’s large form struggled not to trip over a stool or a small table that had been left about. Assumedly, someone in the family worked with wood: Carving materials had been swept to one side of the long dining table, and an axe sat by the door.

 

Genya knew he was correct when he caught sight of the children’s father. The broad man was already sat at the table, his head bowed slightly. His giant hands, almost as large as Himejima’s, were worn yet strong. Now, they were clawed in front of him in the same position Genya recalled seeing them in two nights ago, as the man cradled what remained of his child.

 

Sitting to his side was another child: This one very young, no more than three or four years of age. It stared straight ahead, not even looking up at Genya when he walked closer.

 

“This is my husband, Kimura, and our son Tadahiro”, Yae announced. “You have already met Tsuneko, our daughter.”

 

Genya nodded politely. "My name is Shinazugawa Genya. It is nice to meet you."

 

“Please, have a seat.”

 

It appeared to be a command rather than an invitation. Genya did so swiftly, settling into one of the chairs and watching as Yae and Tsuneko also joined.

 

A long moment of silence settled over them, which nobody seemed in a hurry to break, least of all Genya. He fiddled with his hands as he stared at the center of the table.

 

Yae spoke once more, her voice hoarse; “We invited the family of Ayame also, but… They declined the offer.”

 

Kimura added wetly; “Their grief is still recent.”

 

Ah. That must have been the other child. The one they found in...

 

Genya looked down abruptly, bile rising in his throat.

 

The fear in the small room was palpable. It shook the children so hard that they trembled silently in their seats, no playing or bickering as was usual for siblings. Genya watched them with a heavy heart.

 

Quietly, he announced; “The demon is dead now. You no longer have to fear.”

 

His words hung in the middle of the table for a moment.

 

“Yes”, Yae said woodenly. “Thank you.”

 

She bowed her graying head, pushed away from the table, and went out through the wooden partition into another room. When she returned, her arms were laden with plates of food.

 

As they ate Genya felt the vacancy of the child, whose name he did not know and did not dare to ask, in their hushed voices and downcast eyes. It was a sullen affair all around.

 

He found himself again wishing that Himejima or one of the others were there. This was another thing that Tanjirou would have been much better at. Consoling and speaking to people had never been a strong point for him.

 

Eventually, after a half-finished meal and stilted attempts at conversation, he made his excuses to leave. Both Yae and Kimura walked him to the door.

 

Kimura leaned in close as he shook Genya’s hand, his voice low. “A lot of people have forgotten what your corps did for us”, he mumbled. “But some people here in town, we remember.”

 

Genya blinked at him. How often did this town encounter demons that they were aware of such an issue?

 

Yae touched his arm, drawing his attention. “We will be praying for your friend to recover.”

 

“Th- thank you.” Genya swallowed, a lump building in his throat, as the children appeared, each one clinging to one of their parents’ legs. Their family may have been irreparably broken, yet they still looked like a family. If he had not known the tragedy which had befallen them, he would not have been able to guess it.

 

The lights from town receded and he grew aware that the skies were beginning to grow dark above. He hurried on through the melting snow in the direction of Muichirou’s.

 

The large house at the end of the long path stood silent and haunting against the clouds, with the sole exception of the one open window where the curtains had been slightly parted. Squinting, Genya saw the orange glow of a lamp or fire inside.

 

Strange. He had not lit one.

 

Racing up the stairs, he threw Muichirou’s door open without bothering to announce his arrival.

 

Muichirou’s wide green eyes looked up, startled, to meet Genya’s.

 

The man was sitting upright in his bed, sheets of paper- a letter- held in his hand. On the cabinet to his right sat a flickering candle, next to which his crow perched, eyeing Genya with its beady black gaze. His chest was largely bare yet bandages ran about his pale midsection, the ends of his long hair trailing over them.

 

“I thought you’d left already”, he said after a short pause. His voice was strained.

 

“Left?”, Genya queried, venturing forward and into the room. He closed the door behind him, using the second of reprieve in which he turned to do so to collect himself and hide his embarrassment at having rushed in so manically.

 

Muichirou looked back down at the pages held loosely in his hand. “To go back to Sanemi’s. You kept saying that you were supposed to, before.”

 

“Yes, but that was before. I can’t leave you alone like this.” He paused. Muichirou had stayed by him, even when he hadn’t deserved it. Why did he now think that Genya would just leave? “How do you feel now? Should I send for Aoi?”

 

“No. I think I will be okay. I just need to take it slowly.” Muichirou stretched his body thoughtfully, as though testing each part of it. “It’s not the worst I’ve ever had.” The smile he shot at Genya was amused yet rueful.

 

Genya cleared his throat. “Who’s the letter from?”

 

“Kanao.” Genya’s surprise must have shown on his face, for he continued; “We speak now and then, especially since Shinobu…” He stopped. “They’re organizing a meeting. For what is left of the Demon Slayer Corps.”

 

Why did they continue to do that? Genya had often wondered, although he thought he knew: It was the sense of danger that one could never truly escape from. Most of their numbers had vanished, members killed or deserted for a conventional job, yet the close-knit group who had surrounded the Hashira were still committed to the goal that Ubuyashiki had once set.

 

“Where did you go?”, Muichirou asked, tilting his head.

 

“Ah- the mother of one of the children came here. Yoshiyuki Yae. She wanted to ask how you were, and she invited me to dinner.” A prick of guilt stabbed at Genya. “I didn’t think to bring any food back with me- in truth I would have felt rude asking, and I was just in a rush to get back here before dark. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay. That was nice of them. I will have to visit them myself, as soon as I’m able to.” He yawned, and Genya watched as his abdominals rippled, and then his body shuddered with pain. “I’m going back to sleep.”

 

Genya stared at him, alarm rising. Muichirou had been sleeping a lot. Was that a good thing or not? He was still just a teenager, Genya supposed, and notoriously a daydreamer at times, but this seemed abnormal.

 

Aoi’s voice came into his mind, reminding him that rest was the best way for an injured body to recover, and so he did not speak his concerns.

 

“Do you not want anything to eat?”, he asked instead.

 

Muichirou shrugged. “I’m fine until the morning. That soup earlier was very good.”

 

When he had once more drifted back to sleep, Genya went into the room next door and moved his blankets into Muichirou’s room, placing them atop a futon he had unraveled and spread out a short distance from the bed. He hoped it was not so inappropriate that Muichirou would berate him for doing so, but he wanted to keep an eye on the younger man.

 

A flash of light caught his attention, and he jumped, only to realize that it was Muichirou’s crow, its beady eye shining as it stared speculatively at him.

 

It continued to watch Genya long after he had slid down among the blankets, and he rolled over and turned his back to it.

 

Not wanting to admit that a crow had freaked him out, he muttered; “Look out, you stupid bird. I’m watching you, too.”

 

The chattering noise it made in return sounded almost like laughter.

Notes:

Ahhh, sorry I haven't updated this in a while, but I hope you like this chapter! I'll be posting another one shortly!

Chapter 8

This time, Genya was awoken by the sound of stirring, and someone swearing under their breath.

 

His eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright as soon as he saw where the noises were coming from.

 

Muichirou was crouched on all fours on the floor to his left, long hair hanging across his face. He clutched at his stomach with his prosthetic arm.

 

“Hey!”, Genya barked, shuffling out from the futon and balancing up on his knees, almost careening over into the bedside cabinet in the process. “Hey, what are you doing?”

 

“Trying to get up.” Muichirou’s blunt response came through gritted teeth, and Genya sighed.

 

Reaching one hand forward, he offered; “Here.”

 

After a second’s hesitation, Muichirou took it, and Genya helped pull him up and then into a seated position, the two of them facing across from each other on the floor. Muichirou’s large eyes were filled with stubborn tears, his cheeks red, and Genya reminded himself that this was why he had remained rather than return home.

 

Forcing himself to speak as softly as possible, he told Muichirou; “You shouldn’t be moving around, you’re still injured.”

 

Muichirou huffed. “I have to get up at some point. And I need the bathroom.”

 

“Ah.” Genya flushed, turning over the solutions to that problem in his mind. Eventually, he realized that there was only one that really made sense. “Come on. Let’s go.”

 

It was uncomfortable. Incredibly so. Genya had to bend almost in half so that Muichirou could hook his arm over Genya’s shoulders, but they eventually hobbled to the bathroom, where they took turns waiting outside, and then down the stairs.

 

They had to take each creaking step at a time, the loud thud of Genya’s feet hitting one and then, a second later, Muichirou joining him, and that repeated over and over until they reached the bottom. Ultimately, they made it, although there were a few times he had worried they might overbalance, and both go hurtling to the bottom: Muichirou was small, far smaller than Genya, yet he was still solid.

 

“I feel too fucking old, Genya”, Muichirou said, a whine entering his voice, as they made their way into the kitchen.

 

Genya stopped by one of the kitchen chairs, stooping a little, and Muichirou slid down and into it with a clattering sound and a small 'oof'.

 

There was a short burst of silence. Genya shuffled from foot to foot, wondering whether he should also take a seat.

 

Eventually, he commented; “I couldn’t find your cooking knives.” It had been a struggle, the day before, trying to search through the house for everything he would need to make even the simplest of recipes.

 

“Oh.” Muichirou blinked. “They’re in that cabinet, there.” He gestured with his head, tipping it forward so that strands of green-tipped hair fell across the cloak he had draped over his shoulders and tied loosely at the front without bothering to button it up all the way.

 

Genya opened the door he was pointing toward. Sure enough, there they were.

 

“Are you hungry?”, he asked.

 

Muichirou hesitated, slowly tilting his head back upright to meet the other man's gaze. “I am now. Are you offering to make something?”

 

“Maybe.” Genya could do with eating, too: They had gone to bed early yesterday and slept right through, and his stomach was just starting to remind him how long he had gone without food. “What would you want?”

 

“Depends on what I have. Check in that cabinet. I usually keep vegetables in there. Some of them might be a little bad now, though.”

 

Hunkering down on his haunches, Genya swung open the small wooden door. He had been in there yesterday yet had only grabbed the vegetables that he had seen lying right by the front, without really checking the others.

 

Squinting, he reached in and pulled something out from toward the back.

 

It was a potato. Only, from the way its roots had grown, sprouting as limbs in all different directions, it looked more like a person.

 

Holding it toward Muichirou, the two of them began to laugh.

 

“Yes, I do need to clean that out more often.” Muichirou rubbed at the back of his head.

 

Genya deliberated for a few minutes over what he wanted to make before beginning the process, becoming absorbed in the task at hand. The spit of the pan and the boiling of the water rose in a mellow symphony of background noise.

 

He had almost forgotten he was not alone in the kitchen when Muichirou spoke up.

 

“You’re good at this”, he commented. "You seem very... Natural. There."

 

Genya glanced over his shoulder from where he knelt at the stove. Muichirou was still sat at the table, turned slightly away from it in the chair, watching him.

 

“Well, you might not think it but Sanemi feels very strongly about food.” Genya shrugged. A tiny smile ghosted over his lips at a memory, when he had first gone to live with Sanemi, of his brother standing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, muttering to himself as he stood over a bubbling pot of rice. “So he showed me a few things. And I picked up some of it myself, too.”

 

He caught the face Muichirou made from the corner of his eye.

 

“Cooking is one of the trickiest things, I think. With one hand.” He waved his prosthetic. “I can’t really move the fingers, so I prefer not to wear it, but sometimes I have to.” He paused. “I was never much good at cooking anyway, though, before.”

 

“Well, I’m here to cook for you right now, so you should enjoy it while it lasts.”

 

“You managed to make that sound like a threat.”

 

Genya snickered. “That’s right, you’d better enjoy it.”

 

“Or you’ll poison me?” Turning from the stove, Genya watched as Muichirou raised an eyebrow.

 

“Maybe not quite poison. Perhaps just serve you something really nasty.”

 

“Well, if that’s the worst I have to worry about…” The long-haired teen smiled. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

 

Genya grinned to himself as he continued cooking, occasionally getting up to prepare something else to add in or searching for an item he had forgotten. Every few minutes he had to ask Muichirou where certain utensils were kept, but ultimately he felt as though he were beginning to get his bearings.

 

Once the food was done he carefully, carefully, set it out on several plates in front of Muichirou.

 

“Ah- you’ve made a feast.” He was watching with the sharp, amused look Genya had seen him sport previously. It was relieving to see: The foggy look in his eyes had dispersed entirely.

 

His words sunk in. Oh. Maybe Genya shouldn’t have made so much.

 

Nervously, he replied; “Yeah. There’s two of us, and you said you don’t cook much, so I thought…”

 

“You felt bad so you decided to make me a range of tasty treats to sample”, surmised Muichirou.

 

“Something like that.”

 

Muichirou did not say anything else to indicate whether that was a good thing or not, and so Genya held his breath anxiously while he tried a bite of the grilled fish dish Genya had served.

 

He chewed slowly, considering, and then his eyes widened. “It’s good.”

 

“Really?” Genya brightened, mouth gaping like a fish for a few seconds. “You’re not just saying that so I don’t feed you bad food?”

 

“No, it’s actually good”, Muichirou hummed. He did not say much else, busy tucking into the plates in front of him.

 

Feeling ridiculously relieved and happy with the praise- even if it was simple enough- Genya dropped down into one of the other chairs, helping himself to some of the meal.

 

It was good: And not just the flavour. He had not had much of a chance to sit down and eat a large meal lately and stuffing himself until he was almost fit to burst felt good. The meal yesterday had been similar, but the tone had been so different, so somber, that Genya had not been able to bring himself to enjoy it in the slightest. This felt like- well, it felt like eating among friends.

 

Which was what it was, Genya recalled with a start. Muichirou was his friend, and had been for a long time. They would look out for each other at times like this.

 

Mentally, he made another note to send a letter to Sanemi. And he still needed to respond to Tanjirou, too; it would be impolite not to. And Genya supposed it had been a long time since he had seen Nezuko and Inosuke and the others. Since he was here, delayed on his way home, perhaps he should make plans to see them again.

 

Genya was not sure what it was- the meal, the bright light that seemed to herald Spring shining in from outside, the prospect of taking a break and reuniting with those he cared about- but he suddenly felt a quiver of excitement that he had not experienced in some time.

 

While they were eating, Muichirou’s crow dove in toward them, coming to perch on its master’s shoulder.

 

“Do you mind?”, Muichirou muttered, his mouth half-full.

 

Genya was not sure whether Muchirou was speaking to the crow or to him, but he shrugged in answer anyway and watched as Muichirou fed the crow with a little of the fish.

 

“Do you think she might take a liking to me now?”, he asked.

 

Muichirou stroked one finger over the glossy ebony head. “After a few more meals, maybe. Ginko’s not so easily won over.”

 

“Better than mine. He’s always vanishing off. I think he prefers being outside.”

 

They finished up the rest of the meal in comfortable silence, Genya again clearing and washing away the plates. Every now and then he would look over his shoulder, and with each glance he noticed Muichirou’s face taking on a more irritated expression. He did not ask why. If Muichirou wanted to say something, then he would: He was blunt like that.

 

As soon as he was finished, Genya went back to the table and held his arm out. Muichirou took it wordlessly, looping his good arm across Genya’s back.

 

“Wait.”

 

Muichirou’s voice was commanding, and Genya immediately froze, the former Hashira half-dangling with one foot off the floor. “What?”

 

“In that drawer, there. I have some pain medication.”

 

One step at a time, Genya shuffled over, and Muichirou hooked the drawer open with his prosthetic hand, scooping up a bottle.

 

“Are you good?”, Genya asked. “Can I go now?” Muichirou certainly was not heavy, but he was beginning to sweat a little. Must have been the food, combined with the warmth from outside.

 

Muichirou patted his side. “Yes. We can go.”

 

Slowly, they hobbled up the stairs, visiting first the washroom, and then Muichirou’s room.

 

When Muichirou was settled comfortably back in his bed, Genya paused, hands fidgeting.

 

Muichirou stared up at him. “What is it?”

 

“How is your side?”

 

“Sore.”

 

Genya didn’t say anything. Muichirou had needed his help to get around, hadn’t he? But it didn’t look as though his wounds were necessarily that bad. He was acting like his usual capable self bar the restriction of his movements. If Genya left now, that would make him a bad person, right? Since Muichirou still needed him to get about?

 

“Spit it out”, Muichirou snapped, and he jolted, face flushing.

 

“I set up to sleep in here.”

 

The injured man shot him a look that said he thought Genya was an idiot. “So?”

 

Forget being his usual self: He was clearly more irritable than before.

 

“I did it so that I could keep an eye on you”, Genya blurted out. “In case you needed me in the night.”

 

Muichirou continued to stare blankly at him.

 

Growing increasingly nervous and hot around his neck, he asked; “Do you think you’ll need me in the night?”

 

For a second, Muichirou stared down at the futon on the floor. Then he said; “You can stay in here if you want.”

 

“What?! No- it’s not- I want to make sure you’re okay, but I don’t want to invade your space. That’s all.”

 

“I’m small, I don’t take up much space. This big old house is mostly useless. If anything I’ll be the one creeping into your space.”

 

Genya pictured Muichirou, for some bizarre reason, as a small mouse hiding in the corner of the room, darting out now and then to pester Genya for scraps of food. It was a sweet though bizarre image. He shook away the strange thought.

 

“Alright then.” He huffed a little, stomping over to the futon. He was not sure why he suddenly had an attitude, other than that he felt somewhat vulnerable being dressed down in a loose shirt and pants, his traveling clothes stored away in the washroom, where he would clean them at some point before leaving since they were long overdue a wash. “I’ll stay here.”

 

The way he grunted and stormed across the room would likely have scared a lot of people.

 

But Muichirou merely shrugged, unfazed. “Okay.”

 

To punctuate the conversation, he shuffled down his bed and over to the bookcase. Genya watched him carefully in case he needed help, however, he was able to take one of the journals and return to his previous position with only a few huffs of effort, and he did not ask Genya to step in.

 

It was still far too early to consider sleeping, especially after the long night’s sleep they had just had. Yet Genya allowed himself to get comfortable, scooting down on the futon and listening with his eyes closed as Muichirou leafed through the pages. He wondered idly if there was anything else in the house or the yard for him to be doing, and decided that perhaps later on he would go into town for more food. For now, though, he would wait with Muichirou. Just in case.

 

Several minutes of silence passed, and he noticed that there were none of the scratching sounds that normally came with writing. Instead, it was just the occasional turn of a page.

 

Genya opened one eye and peered up. Muichirou was sat a few feet from him, staring intently at the handwritten page.

 

Huh. He’d thought those were Muichirou’s journals. But, unless Muichirou was in the habit of re-reading what he’d written, then he clearly wasn’t their author.

 

A flash of green made him glance up.

 

Muichirou was staring at him over the top of the book, regarding him expressionlessly with his faraway look where it was impossible to fathom what he was thinking.

 

Making eye contact, Genya glanced away swiftly. He scurried over to the bookcase and hooked out his own tome: Some kind of journal, printed rather than handwritten this time, to do with plants and gardening. Hardly thrilling.

 

He had thought that Muichirou might object to his helping himself, but no noise of protest came and, when Genya looked back over his shoulder once more, Muichirou had settled back down and was intently focused on what he was reading.

 

Following his friend's lead, Genya sank back onto the futon, turned the first couple of pages, and began to read.

Chapter 9

Notes:

I know I haven't updated this in forever, sorry about that! I've not abandoned this fic, I've just not felt much like writing lately and have a lot going on in terms of uni, work, personal life, etc. Now that things are starting to get back to normal I'm going to start updating again, but I can't guarantee when the next chapters will be (sorry again, it's just that I'm still pretty busy right now).

Anyway, if you're reading then I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the fic as a whole so far! :))))))

They fell into a routine with all the ease of an icicle melting under the midday sun.

 

Genya aided Muichirou each morning in hobbling down the stairs and into the kitchen until, after two days had passed, he was able to make the journey by himself. Genya still hovered nervously by his elbow as he did so, afraid that Muichirou may stumble or fall, until Muichirou had told him, in no uncertain terms, to go away and to stop fretting: He was well aware of the limits of his own body, and he would call Genya if he felt he needed help at all.

 

Yet Genya found he couldn’t help but feel anxious.

 

Another day had passed since Muichirou first made his way down the stairs unaided. The two of them were sat in the kitchen, eating a large breakfast- cooked by Genya, as always- in the morning sunlight when Muichirou looked directly at Genya and asked; “When are you planning to leave?”

 

Whatever Genya had been about to say, whichever light topic of conversation he had been about to broach, withered away and died.

 

“Isn’t your brother missing you?”, Muichirou continued. He was carefully helping himself to some of the soup Genya had made and he glanced down as he raised the spoon to his lips to taste.

 

Genya shuffled uncomfortably. The cold floor beneath him suddenly felt harsh and he was taken with the desire to stand and stretch his legs.

 

He had not heard from Sanemi asides from a short letter, stating that he hoped Muichirou would be alright, and for Genya to return home when he could.

 

Continuing to avoid the other’s gaze, he mumbled; “Soon. If you’re feeling better, that is.” That was the key issue here, the reason he was staying: Muichirou’s health was his top priority. As soon as he was no longer needed- as soon as Muichirou no longer wanted him around- he would have to leave.

 

“Well, don’t feel obligated to stay on my account”, Muichirou said, in a tone that reminded Genya of the days when he had studied under the Hashira as part of his training. What terrifying times those had been. “You may feel guilty, but you don’t have to. Muzan is dead, and we’re still here.”

 

In a softer tone, he added; “You did everything you could. You did everything I asked of you.”

 

Finally, Genya dragged his eyes away from the table and focused on Muichirou’s face. He was still pale, yet his eyes glowed fiercely and the sun rays coming in through the window behind his head bathed him in an almost regal light.

 

Genya glanced away, humbled, his cheeks warm. He forgot sometimes, that Muichirou was a powerful Hashira, with the way the younger man griped and teased him.

 

“I was prepared to die alongside you that night, you know”, he found himself replying, in an equally soft tone. “And now look at us.”

 

When he looked back up, Muichirou’s expression had taken on a faintly amused quality.

 

“Yeah. Now look at us”, he echoed.

 

Feeling emboldened, Genya ventured; “So, I would like to stay. At least a while longer. If that’s alright with you, of course. I… I like being here with you. And I’ve not received word of any other demons at all.” There had been no letters, no gossip, no reports. Life almost felt quiet, for once.

 

The words had tumbled from his mouth with little thought; yet, as he went back over them in his mind, he found that they were true. He was enjoying his time spent there, at Muichirou's. It felt akin to a holiday. A break from his regular life, where there was nothing to be done besides cook, eat, and wander the halls of the grand mansion while Muichirou remained in bed, mapping them out. His grip on the cooking knife in his hand softened.

 

Muichirou’s face relaxed. “Of course. Who else can I ask to carry me down the stairs in the morning?” He pushed his plate away from him. “You made a valiant effort today, Genya, but even you can’t disguise food that’s started to go bad. Let’s go to the market today?”

 

He phrased it as a question, and so Genya quickly nodded his assent, half-leaping out of the chair in an effort to clear the table. “Yes! Yes. That sounds like a good idea. And sorry about the food.” He should have noticed the brown tinge to the leaves of the vegetables, really. He must have been tired.

 

Outside, the snow was thawing, patches of tangled, muddy grass beginning to show through. Genya kept an arm about Muichirou’s side, afraid that he may slip over in the slush. After much deliberation, he had elected to leave his gun behind, since it made supporting Muichirou much simpler, as well as not having to worry about dropping it in the snow.

 

The walk to town was less arduous than any previous trek he had made, walking with Muichirou as the younger pointed out various houses and detailed the lives of those who lived there. For someone who didn’t remember much, Muichirou knew an awful lot about those residing in the neighborhood by his estate. Genya half-closed his eyes, picturing the families going about their daily business. Complete families: A stark contrast to those whose lives had been scarred by demons. There was a cloud of envy tinging his imaginings, yet also a relief. Was that not what they had fought for? That soon, every family would go untouched by-

 

Muichirou gave a tiny yelp as his foot gave way under him and he half-tumbled back in the snow.

 

Luckily, he did not slip all the way down; instead, he fell forward, dropping to his hands and knees.

 

“Muichirou!”, Genya cried. How could he have stopped paying attention like that? “I’m so sorry! I got distracted.”

 

The former Hashira’s body shook, his hair hanging down over his face, and Genya crouched beside him, pulling at his own hair. Was Muichirou seriously injured? It had been a bad idea to come out here. Was Genya going to have to carry him back up to the estate again?

 

With horror, Genya noticed that Muichirou’s hands had also landed in the melting snow, planted firmly in the sludge to hold himself up. Oh, how could Genya have let this happen? Muichirou must have been in so much pain, as well as humiliated by the fall.

 

Only, Muichirou tilted his head to the side, and Genya’s mouth dropped open at what he saw.

 

He was laughing. Muichirou's eyes flashed with amusement and his lips were open in a soundless chuckle, huffs of condensation clouding the air with each strong exhale.

 

“Help me up, Genya”, he ordered, although there was no edge to the words, only a gentle request.

 

“Right. Sorry.” Genya hooked an arm under Muichirou’s and pulled him up out of the snow.

 

As soon as he was upright again, Genya looked him up and down. Wet patches on his sleeves and the front of his pants made them stick to him. He must be freezing.

 

“Let’s go back and get you changed”, he decided, turning to begin their ascent of the hill.

 

“No, wait.” Muichirou held out his good hand. “We’re only a few minutes from the market now. We might as well continue on. It won’t add much longer to our journey. Besides, there’s little wind in the air, and it’s feeling warmer than it has been in weeks. I’ll be fine.”

 

Genya had to admit that he was right: There was an undercurrent of warmth in the atmosphere. Spring was finally here.

 

Still, he was reluctant to risk it.

 

His friend must have seen the deliberation on his face, for he waved Genya closer. “Come here.”

 

“What is it?” Muichirou looked as though he wanted to say something.

 

Genya stooped to listen, just to find himself recoiling in shock a moment after as an icy cold palm touched his cheek.

 

“Ow!”, he yelped.

 

“Cold, right?” Chuckling, Muichirou drew closer to Genya and looped their arms together. “Next time, if I go over, we both go over.”

 

Fortunately, neither of them found themselves slipping on the remainder of the walk, although Genya did lose his footing and stumbled to stay upright just meters from the entrance to the marketplace, Muichirou releasing his arm to laugh at him.

 

“I thought you said we’d both fall over together”, Genya panted once he had regained his balance.

 

“No, I said that if I went over again, we’d both go over. You’re on your own.”

 

Their snickers were lost in the humdrum of the crowd as they made their way toward the market. It was bustling and busy, but for once it was easy for Genya not to notice the stares he received as the tall, scarred outsider, focusing only on Muichirou as he led them between the various stalls.

 

He seemed to be in a more talkative mood than usual, and so Genya engaged in the conversation, discussing which items they needed to buy, listing ingredients, and asking what Muichirou would prefer in a soup or with rice.

 

Ultimately, Muichirou cut him off. "Genya. Just get whatever you think is best."

 

And so Genya did, weaving from stand to stand and making purchases. Muichirou, it turned out, liked to haggle over prices, which made the process take longer than Genya would have liked, and also was a little embarrassing, reminding him of when he and Sanemi went to the market and Sanemi would argue until he was blue in the face that a certain item was not worth the price it was valued at. At least Muichirou was wryer in his assessments of the products and did not cause a scene, although Genya found him wincing several times at certain blunt comments.

 

“That was a great deal, don’t you think?”, Muichirou commented, smiling as he tucked a bundle of herbs under his arm. Over his shoulder, the man he had bartered with watched them go with a suspicious gaze. He caught Genya's eye and abruptly looked away.

 

Genya nodded. “A great deal.”

 

He looked out across the stalls, half-hoping that he would spot a member of the family he had eaten dinner with before. It would be nice to thank them, and he was sure that they would like to see that Muichirou was okay, but there seemed to be no sign of them today.

 

Stretching out his free arm, Genya took the herbs from Muichirou and placed them with all of the other items they had purchased in the crook of his other elbow before once more tucking Muichirou into his side.

 

While they walked, Genya checked off his mental list. They surely had more than enough food to last them several days. To last Muichirou several days, he corrected, once he had left.

 

Even though they had bought quite a lot, the bundle under his arm still felt light enough. It was nowhere near as heavy as the pack Genya usually traveled with. He turned his face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth that came at midday.

 

He was stopped short when he felt Muichirou freeze and tug on his sleeve.

 

“Hm? What’s wrong?”

 

“Look.”

 

Genya was not sure what he was supposed to be looking at. The corner of the market Muichirou was gesturing to did not have any food stands, just a few with various carved knickknacks and supposed good luck tokens, alongside a few stalls selling fabrics.

 

He cocked his head. “What?”

 

“You need some new clothes.”

 

“Huh? No, I don’t!” Genya huffed a little, hunching over in embarrassment. “What’s wrong with the ones I have now?”

 

Muichirou drew away from him slightly to fix him with a wide-eyed stare. “You only have two outfits with you. I checked.”

 

That was true. Genya wondered how much Muichirou had been snooping, or if he had just noticed that Genya swapped outfits whenever one needed to be cleaned.

 

“I travel light”, he muttered defensively.

 

“Well, you don’t have to travel light while you’re staying with me.” Muichirou prodded Genya’s side and Genya bit back a startled yelp, struggling not to drop any of their purchases. “Go on, get something for yourself. You don’t need to wear the uniform anymore.”

 

Rather than pointing out that he no longer wore their slayer uniform anyway- and only partly because it no longer fit him- Genya reluctantly headed in the direction of the stands. He had a feeling Muichirou was not going to leave him alone until he did.

 

The two of them separated, Muichirou drifting in one direction and Genya in another. He perused some of the sturdier clothing options, running his fingers over the rough leather and taking in the musty smell. Noting the difference between the shine on the new clothing and his cracked, slightly fraying ones, he had to admit that maybe Muichirou was right. If he returned home like that, Sanemi was only going to go on at him about it.

 

After several seconds of deliberation, he picked up a jacket and pants that were thick yet lightweight enough for spring. They would be good for traveling. Practical.

 

Mission accomplished, he headed in the direction where he had last seen Muichirou.

 

Briefly, confusion laid a panic-laced veil over his mind when he was not able to find the short teen. After a few seconds of searching, however, he noticed his friend’s outline behind a pinkish cloth hanging in the air, visible but shimmery as though behind gauze. When he turned to face it and reached a hand out, he noticed Muichirou’s lips curving up in a smile, the dancing lines tinted red and peach and rose through the material.

 

Genya’s fingers faltered, his hand freezing.

 

Before they could reach their target, Muichirou beat him to it, tugging the cloth aside with a grin. He stopped, peering curiously upon spying what Genya was holding.

 

“Is that all you want to get?”, he asked.

 

“I don’t need much else.”

 

“What about this?” Muichirou stretched his hand out to a cloth draped over a nearby table. “Feel how soft it is. Warm, too.”

 

It was. Soft and warm. Genya beamed.

 

He ended up buying several items of clothing, and Muichirou smiled to himself as they walked back to the house together, skirting areas where the snow had melted to the point of becoming a muddy puddle.

 

While Genya unpacked the groceries Muichirou sat at the kitchen table and stared out the window. The clothes they had purchased were left bundled to one side; Genya decided he would sort through them later. Food was the priority.

 

A question Genya had been itching to ask bubbled to his lips as he worked. It was one he had been aching to ask Sanemi yet had never quite dared to.

 

He glanced over his shoulder at Muichirou’s vacant face.

 

It would be safe to ask him.

 

“Muichirou?”, he began.

 

“Hm?” Teal eyes snapped back to life, flitting toward Genya.

 

“Why do you still stay here? In this estate, I mean?”

 

Not many of the other Hashira had. Iguro and Mitsuri had left theirs, building their own house together. They lived the closest to Sanemi, and so their place was a frequent stopping point for him. Giyuu had also abandoned his former estate, moving into a small cabin not far from Urokodaki’s, and Himejima had his temple. Tanjirou and Inosuke and Zenitsu shared a home rather than taking up residence in an estate that had surely been offered to them upon the defeat of Muzan.

 

It was a sign of the times, Genya had thought each time he heard such news. But he supposed that progress was slow and the demon slayers corp were yet to catch up to the way the rest of the world was, slow to realize that Kiriya was just a child living with Rengoku and not the leader his father had been.

 

Still, he was curious to hear another perspective.

 

Muichirou mulled the question over for a long time.

 

“I’m not actually sure”, he replied eventually. “I only use part of the house, so it really makes no sense for me to stay.”

 

Genya waited, assuming that he would elaborate.

 

Except Muichirou simply returned to staring through the window and sipping at a glass of juice.

 

“I did notice that a lot of the rooms here haven’t been used for some time”, commented Genya. Probably since Muichirou last had trainees and kakushi residing in the estate, he figured. How long ago was that? Three years? Or had Muichirou dismissed them more recently? “We could clean them out, maybe. I don’t mind helping while I’m here.”

 

“Why?” Muichirou raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to move into one of them?”

 

Genya froze: It was the first time they had addressed the sleeping situation since Genya had said he would stay that night to watch over Muichirou.

 

“Would you rather I slept in another room?”, he asked cautiously, staring across the kitchen.

 

Muichirou shrugged his shoulders and stretched his arm. “It’s up to you. I know some people like to have their own space.” A smile spread across his face. “But I don’t mind. I like knowing you’re there.”

Chapter 10

Warmth was all Genya felt when he awoke that morning, and it was the same warmth streaming through the window that settled in his chest when he rolled over and observed the room around him.

 

Two empty mugs of tea were perched on top of the bookshelf, alongside the volume he had been reading, the corner of the page he had reached marked.

 

Muichirou had clearly been reading one of his journals again: The leather-bound book lay upturned at the end of his bed, and the lantern by his bed appeared to have burned out, the glass tinted a smoky charcoal color.

 

Genya shuffled over and removed the book, placing it neatly back in its spot on the shelf, before turning back to Muichirou's slumbering form.

 

The younger boy was still fast asleep despite Genya’s movement, his long hair splayed across the sheets and trailing over his shoulders.

 

Perhaps Genya should wake him up. He would be grouchy if he got up too late, although he had been sitting up late at night over the past couple of days, falling asleep long after Genya himself had drifted off. Always reading and scribbling.

 

Contemplating the issue, Genya leaned over to move a strand of dark hair that had gotten stuck to Muichirou’s face. Rosy heat fluttered against his fingertips as he did so, rising from the sleeping boy’s skin. Muichirou did not look pale now like he usually did. His cheeks were flushed and there was color in his face.

 

Without thinking, Genya’s hand drifted back toward Muichirou’s cheek, wanting to feel that warmth against his own flesh.

 

He stopped when his hand was a hair’s breadth from meeting his friend’s face. What was he doing? If Muichirou woke up now, he would be so confused, and would probably fix Genya with a perplexed glare. He could see it in his head.

 

Shaking himself, Genya stumbled from the room, and swiftly washed and dressed in the bathroom.

 

After checking that Muichirou was still sleeping, he shuffled downstairs and into the kitchen. In spite of the recent thaw that promised Spring, the morning was chilly, and frost had settled on the windows.

 

Genya prodded at the empty and unlit fire, and then checked the storage cupboard.

 

No coal. No wood. Ah. He had forgotten they were going to do something about that.

 

Sinking into one of the seats by the table and shuddering at the iciness of the material, he reviewed his options.

 

The house was far too cold. Of course, it was going to get warmer over the next few weeks, but mornings would likely remain chilly for some time. Too cold for someone recovering from severe demon-inflicted injuries, anyway.

 

It was no use: Genya was going to have to go and get supplies. Where did Muichirou get his coal from? Genya couldn’t recall him ever mentioning it, and he had not seen anyone going around town selling it as there was in the town where Sanemi lived.

 

Maybe he would just need to go and chop down some wood for the fire. Tanjirou used to do that when he lived out in the middle of nowhere, right? He had definitely spoken to Genya about it at some point. And if young Tanjirou had done it, how hard could it be?

 

It took him a frighteningly short amount of time to locate an axe and then- after one final check on the slumbering Muichirou- he slipped out the door.

 

Moving around the side of the house and toward the rear, Genya found himself face to face with the small river and the forest behind it. It was simple enough to find a place where the banks narrowed enough for him to cross, and then he was away, a bag slung over his shoulder in anticipation of the good he was going to collect.

 

The shaft of the axe sat snug against his palm, and he tilted his hands this way and that, feeling the weight of the blade resisting his movement. It was foreign; so different from his gun.

 

Narrowing his eyes, he surveyed the woods. Which tree should be his first victim?

 

An elderly pine, its branches gnarled and twisted and its roots even more so, caught his eye. With a huff, he stomped over to it.

 

Now, where to begin?

 

Much like with fighting, Genya supposed that a lot lay in the posture one assumed while chopping. He planted both feet firmly on the ground, then straightened his back and raised the axe back behind his shoulder, aiming at a certain spot on the trunk.

 

A shiver of glee ran through him as he struck the bark in exactly the place he had intended with a loud thunk, only a shiver of dread immediately followed.

 

That chopping sound rang out into the silence. No nearby creatures had been disturbed, no birds fleeing in a whirl of fluttering wings. The quiet of the forest did not feel natural at all.

 

A flicker of movement caught Genya’s eye through the trees, and he dropped the axe to the ground and turned, reaching for his gun.

 

There it was again.

 

And then again- slightly closer, on the other side of the thicket where he stood. He could hear them now: Light footsteps pattering about.

 

Genya swallowed. More than one set of footsteps. And laughter. Tittering, high-pitched laughter.

 

He wheeled about frantically as the movements increased about him, shadowed figures dancing just in and out of sight. And then- all at once- they came to a halt.

 

His heart was beating in his ears. Genya gripped the gun so tightly in his fist that his knuckles ached. His mouth ran dry. All there seemed to be was the laughter, echoing over and over, muffled like that of a child.

 

Images came to him, almost as clear as if he could see them through the trees. The nightmarish crawling demon with long dark hair; others, more refined, with claws like knives that had bantered with him and his friends as they struck.

 

Finally, something real: A face, through the trees. It took Genya a few seconds to recognize that it was not his imagination, however, due to its grotesque nature. Brilliant scarlet, twisted features and bulging eyes stared up at him.

 

Peering closer, he realized that it was a mask. A painted mask, the kind worn by actors or at festivals to depict monsters from folklore.

 

Then another, a little behind: A woman’s pale face with rouged cheeks.

 

The eyes behind the masks were wide, watching as he pivoted about on the marshy ground.

 

Genya raised his gun and they scattered through the trees.

 

No longer thinking, Genya abandoned the axe and raced after them, pushing one arm out in front of him to swipe aside branches and twigs that blocked his path. There were at least three or four of them up ahead, occasionally seen through the forest. He had no idea what he would do when he found them if he was able to catch up with them- to kill them or to try and help them. All he could feel was the fear weighing down on him, sinking deep into his bones until he felt as though he were drowning.

 

How could all of these demons exist here, so close to Muichirou’s home? Surely it was not a coincidence. Were they converging here on purpose? Had some other demon- a new Muzan- risen up to exact revenge? Genya imagined them all, gathering at night around the house, while he and Muichirou thought that they were safe in the candlelit warmth-

 

At night.

 

Genya stopped abruptly and squinted upward.

 

Patches of blue sky were clearly visible through the uppermost branches.

 

So, they were like Nezuko, then? Or were these not demons at all?

 

The sounds of harsh breathing and clothes brushing against foliage faded away.

 

What was he doing?

 

Was this even real?

 

No- it had to be. It was. Genya stared around, making a careful note of the way he had come.

 

He replayed what had just happened in his mind.

 

They outnumbered him. Even if they weren’t demons- or some new kind of demons- he should not be chasing them off into the woods. A momentary lapse in judgment. He was lucky that he was not dead already.

 

He would need to go back to the house. Yes, that would be best. Go back and tell Muichirou what he had seen. Together they could work out what to do.

 

But then, the thought of them following him… Of Muichirou being put in danger because of him…

 

Exhaling, he leaned back against a nearby tree, the gun still held tight in one hand.

 

A flash of red, through the green.

 

Genya tilted his head and attempted to keep his breathing even, ignoring the hitch where it caught in his throat for a second.

 

One of them was approaching, just to his right.

 

Moving as if it knew the forest well, weaving about a fallen trunk and over a stump without stopping.

 

In just a few seconds, it would be beside him.

 

Genya swung his entire body about, planting his feet against the earth and aiming his gun directly at the top of the mask.

 

It was the one with the face of a young woman on it, frozen in an uncanny smile. As soon as he moved, it halted in place.

 

His finger reached the trigger.

 

The creature was whispering something, but the sound was muffled.

 

He paused.

 

Slowly, hands trembling- and these were small hands; soft, pale hands with short nails that looked as though they had been chewed- it reached up and removed the mask. For a moment, Genya wondered why the face behind it was familiar.

 

Then it hit him. He knew where he had seen this person before: At the house where he had been invited to dinner. The daughter. He struggled to recall her name and, after a few seconds, it came to him; Tsuneko.

 

Her face was more animated now than it had been that evening. Tears fell from her eyes and her lips quivered.

 

“I’m sorry!”, she gasped, raising her hands pleadingly. The mask slipped between her fingers and she half-stooped to catch it before appearing to change her mind and whipping back up to face Genya. “We were just playing! W- we didn’t mean to…”

 

Genya stared as she cringed away, sobbing.

 

It was only when he heard his crow calling his name that he remembered to move. The gun was still clutched in his hand, aiming directly at the spot where she coiled away.

 

One of the other demons- a child, Genya saw now; just a child- dashed past and, seeing Genya, grabbed Tsuneko by the hand. In a matter of seconds, the two had fled into the woods.

 

Numbly, Genya lowered his gun and turned back the way he had come.

 

His feet staggered as he tried to take a step and he stopped, righting himself.

 

The sun was clear overhead when he emerged from the forest, which was his only indication as to how long he had been walking. Time slipped away from him, his shaky and unfocused breathing out of sync with the rapid pounding of his heart.

 

Genya was not like the others. He never had been. He could not control his breathing as they could. All he could do was hold onto his gun, and repeat a mantra in his head, but right then his gun felt too heavy and hot in his hands and the words wouldn’t come to him.

 

Muichirou’s house was a welcome sight, even with the black blossom fluttering and spreading across his vision.

 

He did not make it to the table in the kitchen. Not even to a seat.

 

Sinking to the floor, he crawled across to one of the cupboards and leaned his back against it, ignoring the way the handle dug uncomfortably into his spine.

 

Genya rested his head against his knees, letting the black blossoms swamp his vision, and finally gave up on his attempts to get his breath under control.

 

He was just beginning to feel happy here. To feel safe.

 

A child. He had almost…

 

No wonder Sanemi didn't even want him around. Because he didn't. Not really. Sure, his brother was glad he was alive, but having Genya around had to be a painful reminder to him and, deep down, Genya knew it. Wasn't that why he chose to stay away? For his brother's sake?

 

His breathing came even harsher.

 

And now Muichirou was going to want him gone, too. He had scared those kids, and they would tell their families. The entire local population would turn against him. And that was even without knowing about his powers...

 

Genya threw his head back and brought his fist up to his lips, biting down against his knuckles in an attempt to hold off his mounting panic.

 

Someone was there.

 

Someone was speaking to him.

 

Muichirou, still in his bedclothes, was leaning against the kitchen table, a small smile on his face.

 

“…was worried because you were gone.”

 

Genya was barely able to process the words over the roaring of his own heartbeat in his ears.

 

“I was chopping firewood”, he muttered, each word dragged out alongside a gasping breath.

 

“Why didn’t you just go into town to get some?”

 

“Genya?”

 

“Genya?”

 

Darkness overwhelmed Genya’s vision, and he wondered whether he was going to pass out. Then he realized that Muichirou stood in front of him in his dark clothing, blocking the view of the rest of the kitchen.

 

Somewhat awkwardly, he dropped to his knees beside Genya, and then an arm so warm it seemed to burn slightly was draped across Genya’s shoulders, a small hand coming to rest against his neck.

 

“Genya. It’s okay. Whatever happened- you’re safe here.”

 

“I’m sorry”, Genya gasped, because he had no idea what else to say. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m such a failure.”

 

The tears that fell from his eyes and onto Muichirou’s shirt were born more of embarrassment than anything else; embarrassment that Muichirou was seeing what he hid from everyone, even his brother, even his few close friends.

 

“It’s okay.” Muichirou’s voice was calm and hypnotically soothing, but Genya didn’t dare look up at him. “You’re not a failure, Genya, and you being here is not a burden at all.”

 

Shakily, Genya swiped his left thumb over his eyes. Fresh, stinging tears replaced the ones he wiped away, so he continued to wipe until the ache traveled to his throat instead, his breathing calmer yet still rasping.

 

Warmth spread across the hand that still lay in his lap, and he saw that Muichirou had taken a hold of it with his one remaining one.

 

The former Hashira got to his feet a few seconds later, and Genya followed his lead, nodding although he did not know at what.

 

Muichirou’s thumb rubbed rhythmically over the back of Genya’s hand. It was soothing.

 

Genya closed his eyes, finally getting his breath under control. A strange calm washed him, rendering him almost numb. Tired. He felt tired. Exhausted, as though he had just fought off five demons at once.

 

Slowly, he worked up the nerve to open his eyes and look at Muichirou, prepared for whatever look of disappointment or fear or pity he would find there.

 

Only it was the loud bang of the door being flung open behind him that had his eyes flying open. He whirled and drew his gun- still too heavy and hot in his hands- aiming at the source of the noise.

 

In the doorway, Sanemi gaped at him.

 

“What the fuck?”

Chapter 11

Bright, blistering red.

 

Genya was sure that was the color his face had turned upon seeing his brother.

 

For a second, the world hung suspended, and all he was aware of was the rush of heat to his face. He swore he could even see the pink tinge spreading around his vision.

 

“Sanemi?!”, he gasped after what felt like hours but was likely only a second or two. “What are you doing here?”

 

To his right, he heard Muichirou commenting; “I didn’t need that door anyway, thank you.”

 

He had a point: the door had slammed into the wall with such speed that part of the wooden panelling had splintered. Sharp fragments stuck out at different angles like the teeth of some lumber monster. Genya made a mental note to fix that before he left.

 

Sanemi took a couple of staggering steps forward into the kitchen.

 

“I- I heard crying, and nobody came to the door. I thought…” He stopped, looking between them, and Genya tilted his head. He hadn’t even heard anyone arrive. “What’s going on?”

 

Ah. A slight pressure on his hands confirmed that Muichirou’s fingers were still encircling his own.

 

Hurriedly, Genya stepped away, snatching his limbs back to rest at the side of his body. The pink tinge returned, stronger and more furious than previously.

 

“Nothing!” He wiped at his eyes. “I just- er-”

 

He looked to Muichirou for help.

 

“Genya became emotional. I think he’s been under some stress. Are you sure you’re taking care of him as well as you should?”

 

Well. That was not what he had been hoping for.

 

Genya cringed as Sanemi glared, willing Muichirou to stop talking. The question had been asked innocently enough, but he knew Muichirou’s way of getting under people’s skin, and that his brother was especially easy to aggravate.

 

True to form, Sanemi snarled; “Shut it, brat.”

 

It was a surprise that that was all Muichirou received in return. The privilege of having been the youngest hashira, he supposed.

 

Before his host could formulate his own response and- in all likelihood- make things worse, Genya stepped forward. “Sanemi, what are you doing here?”

 

Had his brother come to check up on him? A mixture of embarrassment and joy trickled through him at the thought.

 

The posture Sanemi took on was one that was familiar to Genya: Hunching his shoulders and scowling, he was the picture of surly intimidation.

 

“One of Gyomei’s kids is sick”, he muttered. “Kanao was going to deliver the medication, but I volunteered. I had- something to take to those kids up in the mountains anyway.” His ears turned pink, and Genya had to hide a smile. His brother still appeared to be under the impression that nobody knew about him routinely leaving food at the Kamado siblings’ door. “And I figured I’d better make sure you’re not dead yet, either. I’m fed up with taking care of your bonsai. When are you planning to come home?”

 

Right. Genya blinked and jolted upright. He’d forgotten about the bonsai. Then the question hit him.

 

Sanemi continued to scowl at him, and he had the idea that any answer he gave was bound to be the wrong one.

 

Cheerily, Muichirou interjected; “So, are you planning to stop here for the night before travelling on? You’re more than welcome to stay.”

 

Internally, Genya groaned. He loved his brother and was glad to have him close by, but having him there with Muichirou somehow felt too embarrassing. Especially the way their relationship had developed over the past couple of years. Sanemi had grown to… Tolerate him. And Genya knew now how much his brother cared and loved him, he really did. He had made it clear to Genya that he did. But sometimes old habits were hard to drop, and Sanemi's prickly front towards Genya often flew up in the presence of others. Genya tried not to let it bother him; he knew his brother had his reasons for acting as he did.

 

“If that’s alright with you, Muichirou, then I will.” Genya raised his eyebrows at his brother. Sanemi blinked back at him, as though startled by his own words, and then, dropping his gaze, he tacked on; “For dinner, at least.”

 

Muichirou’s smile widened. “Of course! Genya is an excellent cook.”

 

Genya felt the look Sanemi shot toward him like a physical brand burning on his skin.

 

“I know”, his brother replied slowly. “I taught him how.”

 

Well, that was a lie. Sanemi might have taught him to make ohagi, but not much else.

 

“I’m going to drop my things in one of the upstairs rooms if you’re sure about me staying. I don’t want to leave them lying around.”

 

“Go ahead. There are more than enough, so you can choose any of them. Except for mine, of course.”

 

Sanemi shot Genya another look as he gathered his things and headed upstairs. Genya shrunk away from his stare, unsure as to what exactly he was trying to say.

 

The remainder of the day passed slowly. Before his brother could return from upstairs, Genya eagerly asked Muichirou whether there was anywhere nearby that he could purchase some wood or charcoal. Shortly after, he set off with a set of directions scrawled onto a note in his pocket, venturing down the hill and through the backstreets until he found the place.

 

The family of woodcutters was kind in a manner that indicated they had never known tragedy. A few young children, their number indecipherable as they never seemed to sit still and never appeared underfoot all at once, grinned brightly while they dashed from room to room. An elder boy, perhaps a teenager, had hands as toughened and calloused as those of his parents. They helped Genya in hefting the weight up on his back, the logs bundled together and balanced on the wooden frame resting above his shoulders.

 

He decided to take his time walking back. By the time he returned to Muichirou’s, the sun was beginning to noticeably sink in the sky.

 

Muichirou was sat at the table when he entered, seemingly in his own world, gazing through the window with a faraway expression. There was no sign of Sanemi.

 

Silence hung in the kitchen, broken only by Genya’s footsteps and then the crackle of the fire as it began to roar. Weighing his options, Genya settled on starting to cook. Neither he nor Muichirou had eaten yet, and he didn’t believe Sanemi had either. He might as well make a start. Especially if he was going to prepare something that would impress Sanemi.

 

Stomping down the stairs alerted him to his brother’s presence.

 

Sanemi greeted each of them casually, with an ease that reminded Genya of the last period he had spent at home. Over the years, tense quiet had evolved into the casual comfort of having someone else within his own space, prior disagreements sliding away like rainwater off a leaf.

 

He had been overbearing in the first few months, he recalled. When he had been discharged from the care of the girls at the butterfly estate and sent home with Sanemi, his brother had constantly flitted in and out of his room, acting so kindly toward Genya that it had been unnerving. Genya had almost felt relieved the first time Sanemi blew up at him again- over what he could no longer remember- and that was when the tension had returned. Years of anger and pain that had been pushed aside as a result of Genya's injuries and the jubilation of having defeated Muzan rushed to fill the void between the two of them that Sanemi's outburst had torn open. The process of becoming comfortable in that house, in between month-long journeys hunting the demons that remained, had been slow.

 

Throughout the preparation for their meal, rather than taking a seat beside Muichirou, Sanemi hovered close to Genya, almost watching over his shoulder. It was intimidating, in all honesty, and Genya felt his fingers tremble slightly as he chopped the vegetables. Memories of that time bubbled under the surface- of the sting of his muscles every time he moved, the continual nightmares, the desire to leave the house for no reason at all, to run through the trees until he could collapse alone in the middle of nowhere and feel every ragged breath of fresh air passing into his lungs.

 

In the end, though, it wasn’t the knife hovering over his hand that betrayed him; it was his own overeager fingers reaching for a boiling pot without thinking.

 

“Ah”, he hissed, jerking back and clutching his hand to his chest. The pads of his forefinger and middle finger, which had instantly gone numb, were already glowing red.

 

He glared at the pot, thinking for just a fraction of a second that he might reach for it again: It needed to cool, he couldn’t afford to burn anything.

 

A brief pause followed in which everyone in the room seemed to simultaneously hold their breath, and then Genya turned and thrust his hand into a bowl of cold water that he had used to wash the vegetables off. The relief was immediate, although his fingertips remained numb, and his shoulder sagged, body relaxing despite the continued whirring of his mind. There was still so much to do to get it right.

 

“Genya! Make sure you’re concentrating!”, Sanemi barked behind him, much closer than he had been before.

 

Shit. Tears were beginning to form in Genya’s eyes, more from embarrassment than any pain.

 

Sniffling slightly, he looked over his shoulder at his brother.

 

Sanemi frowned back at him, eyes wide to the point that they appeared to almost bulge from his head. His jaw clenched and unclenched rhythmically.

 

“Genya?”

 

Behind Sanemi, still seated at the table, Muichirou’s gaze was drifting in their direction, slowly coming back to himself.

 

“I’m okay”, croaked Genya.

 

Muichirou’s attention flitted downward and he made to stand up, bracing his palm on the table.

 

“No, sit down. It’s okay.” Genya drew in a long, deep breath. His fingers were beginning to sting, although he was unsure whether it was pain from the burn or the result of keeping his hand submerged in the icy water for so long. “Sorry, Sanemi.”

 

From the corner of his eye, he could see Sanemi standing tensed, arm muscles taut and corded where they hunched up against his sides.

 

Genya took another steadying breath. This was yet another one of the reasons he had not returned home. Boundaries. Neither he nor Sanemi were great when it came to setting them.

 

“Sanemi”, he said quietly. “Can you sit down, please? I’ll have dinner ready in a few minutes.” Even asking his older brother to do that, breaking the silence in such a manner, was terrifying. The anticipation of a stormy response twisted in his stomach.

 

Rather than an explosion, however, there came a soft shuffling of feet against the floor. Genya turned his head slightly to see.

 

Sanemi took a seat at the table, although his body was still turned in Genya’s direction and his clenched fists were placed in his lap, shoulders squared and back upright.

 

A few seconds passed and Genya removed his hand from the water. He glanced back along his work surface before turning his back on the table behind him.

 

The throbbing in his hand had almost vanished entirely by the time the meal was complete, a slight pinkish mark and a numbing pain along his fingers the only evidence remaining of the burn.

 

Faster than Genya had expected- and much faster than it had taken to assemble them- the mounds of food disappeared. Muichirou dug in with even more enthusiasm than usual, while his brother ate like he hadn’t had a real meal in weeks. They spoke little, but Genya could feel Sanemi’s gaze occasionally darting in his direction.

 

Eventually, he asked; “So, what have you two been up to?”

 

Between mouthfuls, Genya told him all about the demon, and how Muichirou was injured, as well as their trips to the market in town.

 

Sanemi’s face went dark. His chopsticks hovered above his food without moving.

 

“Why didn’t you contact me? You shouldn’t have gone into a dangerous situation like that without a hashira present.”

 

Muichirou said; “I am a hashira too, don’t forget. Sanemi. I have protected your brother in the past and I am capable of doing so again.”

 

His serious tone had Genya looking away, confused and a little flustered.

 

“Himejima was there, too. Besides, neither of you are”, he muttered once he had regained his composure. “Hashira, I mean. The demon slayer corps are no more.”

 

The combined weight of the glares they turned upon him had him immediately shrinking away, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

 

“I mean…”

 

“Our numbers may have dwindled, but we are still having a meeting of what remains of our ranks soon.”

 

Sanemi’s face brightened as he turned to the younger man. “Are you attending the meeting, too?”

 

“Yes.” Muichirou nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. It’s been too long since I’ve seen some of my friends.”

 

“Where is it being held?”, asked Genya.

 

Sanemi rolled his eyes. “Giyuu’s home.”

 

“It is central to everyone, I suppose”, Muichirou remarked, and Sanemi snorted with a short, sharp toss of his head.

 

“You’ll have to bring some food, brother”, Genya suggested, completely ignoring the dramatics.

 

“And you, too.”

 

Sanemi offered; “We can make some together.”

 

Feeling suddenly reluctant to commit to anything of the sort, Genya answered; “Maybe.”

 

Muichirou frowned in his direction. “Your cooking is good, Genya. Don’t worry.”

 

“That’s not- thank you.”

 

He hunched over and focused on the last few bites of his food while the other two at the table swapped news. Muichirou related Himejima’s visit and asked after the sick child- Genya was pleased to hear that, while they were suffering, it was not something that anyone believed to be fatal, so long as they were cared for, which Himejima was more than capable of doing- while Sanemi told them of Mitsuri and Obanai’s newborn son with a fond smile that had Genya grinning into his tea.

 

Once they had finished, Sanemi helped Genya with tidying away the tableware, and then Genya followed his brother upstairs to the long corridor of rooms. Sanemi had chosen one right at the end, a few doors down from where Muichirou and Genya had been sleeping. He bid Genya an early goodnight and quickly slipped inside, closing the door with a gentle clicking sound.

 

Genya hesitated for a few seconds before returning downstairs to follow Muichirou up.

 

However, rather than joining their host in the room they had been sharing for the past few days, Genya slipped back into the room he had initially used when he arrived at Muichirou’s home. He had a strange feeling that Sanemi was going to want to come and speak to him at some point. Muichirou spared him a puzzled glance as they parted by the door but offered no comment.

 

His hunch turned out to be correct; only half an hour or so later, Sanemi practically burst through the door.

 

“Huh-” Genya dropped the book he had been holding and scrambled to catch it before he could lose his page. “Sanemi!”

 

“Brother.” Sanemi closed the door behind him, louder than was necessary.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“That’s what I want to know.” He sat down when Genya gestured for him to do so, crossing his legs and leaning forward with one elbow on his knee and his fist on his chin. “Why haven’t you come home yet?”

 

Genya thought he knew why, that there was an understanding between them. Perhaps he was mistaken in that, too. He usually was mistaken, when it came to Sanemi, he thought with a wince.

 

“I’ve been continuing our mission. I told you earlier: I’ve come across a few demons in the past couple of months. They needed dealing with.”

 

“A few..." Sanemi shook his head. "Some of us hunted for months without turning up so much as a corpse, and yet you find a few demons in the time you've been gone... And you ended up here.”

 

Those who had been looking clearly hadn't been following the right trails. Or, perhaps, as Genya had wondered on certain dark nights when sleep had trouble finding him, there was something demonic in him, something that whispered to him where to look. The same thing that allowed him to consume the flesh of demons.

 

Rather than address that, he said; “I decided to stop here on my way home. And then Muichirou was injured… I couldn’t…” Genya’s voice faltered, and he swallowed. “You know. Sanemi. After… I couldn’t leave him like that.”

 

Sanemi’s troubled eyes caught in the candlelight, gleaming as he nodded. He sat back on his hands, his shirt falling open even wider. Genya winced once more, as he always did, at the sight of the scars that crisscrossed his brother’s chest.

 

“You seem to be eating well.” Genya’s eyes darted back up to Sanemi’s face, only to find his brother was staring at a point somewhere beyond his shoulder. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

 

“I have, brother”, he whispered. “I promise.”

 

A short pause passed them by.

 

Sanemi’s mouth worked, seeming to struggle with something, although no sound came out. Genya waited patiently, smiling at his brother. For all of the nerves and awkwardness, he couldn’t help feeling glad that they were able to have a calm conversation, Sanemi asking him genuine questions and thinking over what to say.

 

“You need to look out for yourself, Genya. All of this- you shouldn’t still be out there. Just come home.”

 

They had been over this.

 

“I have to, though. I feel like I have to. Do you understand?”, Genya implored.

 

Sighing, Sanemi looked up.

 

“I understand. When are you going to come home?” He stopped before adding, worn-down fingernails scrabbling against the woven mat he sat upon, “I prefer the house without you so don’t hurry.”

 

“Not yet.” It was an evasive answer, but Sanemi didn’t press for more, not even when Genya waited expectantly, breath stifled and teeth sunk in his lower lip. “At least- it won’t be until Muichirou’s completely healed.” And then it depended on what other troubles he ran into on his way home, and if there was any news, and…

 

“Fine. Do what you want. You’re not a kid anymore, I guess. But don’t stay away long enough for me to start worrying about you.”

 

Tears welled up in Genya’s eyes.

 

Sanemi must have been getting emotional, too; he was blinking a lot, and Genya thought he could see his eyes shining. Then again, maybe he was just seeing things: Through his watery gaze, everything seemed to be shimmering.

 

Abruptly, his brother stood.

 

“Get some rest. We can talk more in the morning.”

 

With that, he left the room. Genya listened to his creaking footsteps, and then the muted thumping of a door opening and closing.

 

Shuffling back down under his blankets, Genya elected not to resume reading his book. It was getting late, after all; the wintery night bore the beginnings of frost against the window overlooking the garden, and he could hear the wind whispering across the tops of the trees outside.

 

He blew out the candle and lay in the dark, listening to the occasional moan of floorboards in the other rooms over the sound of the growing gale. It felt oddly cold and lonely. He must have gotten used to having Muichirou around. The soft lull of his breathing, always slow and measured, had been like a metronome that Genya could time his own breaths to when he was starting to overthink at night.

 

Was Muichirou alright, sleeping alone next door? Genya turned to face the wall that bordered Muichirou’s room. Genya hadn’t even helped him to bed. Muichirou hadn’t said anything, though. Maybe his injuries were healing quicker than Genya had thought.

 

Tangling his legs in the sheets, Genya shifted onto his other side. His pulse began to race as the events of the morning rushed back to him and he had to force his gaze away from the outline of the sky through the window, terrified that those masks that had danced before him in the woods would appear out of nowhere, staring down at him, bulging veiny eyes replacing the laughing ones of the children.

 

His mind wandered back to Muichirou. Muichirou’s hand clasping his own, thumb stroking soothing motions across his cool skin. Muichirou’s eyes, like pools of clear and calm water, fixing him in place and grounding him back to the real world. There- these were far more pleasant thoughts.

 

He continued to think about Muichirou for some time, and he was still thinking about him when he drifted away into sleep.

Chapter 12

“I can’t stay too much longer.” Sanemi’s tone was gruff as ever as he lingered in the doorway, broad frame silhouetted in the pale morning sun. “Himejima’s kid is waiting for this.” He raised one scarred hand to indicate the small pouch containing the medicine.

 

“I understand.” Genya nodded, nibbling at his lip. “Be careful out there, brother.”

 

Sanemi did not answer. Instead, he drew Genya into a one-armed hug. It did not last as long as Genya might have wanted; still, long enough that the scent of Sanemi lingered briefly on his shirt when his brother withdrew.

 

The look Sanemi gave him before he turned to go was pensive, his eyes narrowed. Genya tried not to be unsettled. He was long used to his brother’s wild looks and sometimes sudden hostility. Sanemi seemed rather subdued for the meantime, though. Genya got the sense that his brother was simply relieved that he was not out there wandering the countryside alone.

 

The door closed, and Genya was alone again.

 

Or so he thought.

 

“He’s still not much of a talker.”

 

Genya jumped and pivoted to face the direction the voice had come from.

 

Muichirou was standing halfway up the stairs, his long sleeves folded across his chest. His hair was half-pinned up, half-down and trailing over his shoulders. He looked… Like Muichirou. A bit more of a mess than usual, but in a good way. A single loose strand of hair falling over his shoulder was joined by more as he tilted his head quizzically.

 

“Neither are you”, Genya replied. He let out a long breath when Muichirou’s lips twitched, his shoulders sinking.

 

It was awful to think, but he felt… Relieved now that Sanemi had left. He did love his brother, and he wanted to spend time with him, but having him in the comfortable bubble he and Muichirou had curated had put him on edge. And now his visit to Muichirou felt more official in a way. Sanemi knew where he was, and that he was safe. Genya's face heated as he remembered the way Muichirou had talked about protecting him. As if he were something that needed protecting.

 

The floor barely creaked as Muichirou swept swiftly down to Genya’s side. “You didn’t want to go with him?”

 

Genya pretended not to know what he was asking. “I saw Himejima recently”, he shrugged, avoiding Muichirou’s gaze. “Besides, it makes no difference to me where I leave from. It all depends on where I’m needed next.”

 

“If nothing comes up before the meeting, you could come with me. I need to see Kanao soon: She wants to see how I’m healing up. Aoi, too.”

 

“Ah – I usually meet with Kanao, too.”

 

Muichirou tilted his head. “For your wounds?”

 

“Yes. But, even before…” Genya felt his face flushing even more than before under Muichirou’s unwavering, inquisitive gaze. “Because of… What I’m able to do.”

 

Muichirou’s eyes seemed to cloud over momentarily with confusion, before the fog cleared and the brilliant aquamarine returned to his gaze.

 

“She’s not experimenting on you, is she?”

 

Genya choked in his rush to get his words out. “No! No, Kanao would never!”

 

He relaxed when Muichirou snickered. “I’m kidding. I know she wouldn’t. She will be there, though, when we meet. If you do want to join me.”

 

Genya’s immediate smile was muted momentarily. “Is that… Okay?” He knew these meetings were informal; no longer shrouded in security and secrecy as the Hashira meetings of the past had been. When the Master had still been alive.

 

The Master’s surviving family were not invited to these meetings. The twins sometimes travelled to them, but they were never part of them. Genya recalled that, even before, on the few occasions he had met them, they had somehow seemed simultaneously at the periphery of and in the centre of everything going on. The calm in the eye of the storm. Much like the Master had been. Nezuko had told him they preferred that calm, and each other’s company, when the former Hashira met.

 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Muichirou’s voice startled him from his thoughts.

 

“I…”

 

“Is there someone who wouldn’t want you to be there?”

 

My brother?

 

Genya swallowed that thought down. Just because Sanemi did not want him out there hunting, didn't mean Sanemi would not want to see him.

 

His mind flitted elsewhere, imagining the others who would be present. Flashes of faces lit up behind his eyes. Himejima would be glad to see him. Kanroji. Uzui, even. They were always kind.

 

And, of course, there were Tanjirou, Nezuko, Inosuke, and the others. His friends.

 

“No.”

 

“Then there’s no reason not to come with me, dummy.”

 

He was right. Genya was learning that Muichirou was, a frightening amount of the time.

 

Muichirou must have seen that he gave in from the look on his face, because he smiled and wandered away toward the kitchen.

 

Genya took that as a sign. He cooked a small meal for the two of them, and they sat close together as they ate.

 

“What are your plans for today?”, Genya asked when he was nearly finished.

 

“Cleaning.”

 

Muichirou’s answer surprised him, although it really should have been expected.

 

“Cleaning?”

 

The large, ancient house was rather dusty. Genya had noticed a thick layer of green-grey grime settled on certain windows, thicker in the hard-to-reach corners. It was the kind of dirt Genya had seen in other old houses, where the occupants had grown so used to there being a thin veneer of dust over their lives that these often-overlooked areas were just that: Idle and unnoticed. Some of the rooms in the house looked as though they had not been entered in years.

 

Muichirou did not look around as Genya took his empty bowl from him. “Yes. I’ve not cleaned for a while. And, since it seems I’ve been having visitors recently, I figured perhaps I should.”

 

“What, were you waiting for someone to be here to help you with it?” Genya dunked the bowls into the basin of water as he spoke.

 

“Not really. But now you’re here, I might as well ask you to help, right?”

 

Genya pretended to scoff, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see Muichirou’s small pink tongue poking from his mouth.

 

Bellies full and armed with cleaning supplies, they walked the halls, stopping at each room to peer inside. Muichirou carried a broom that was taller than he was. Genya had offered to take it from him several times but Muichirou always declined, shooing him away. Genya had to admit, he wielded the broom as deftly as he did the sword. It was equal parts amusing and terrifying. Genya himself held several rags and a bucket of water: He would give the dusty surfaces a wipe with the dry rags, and then he and Muichirou would swab the floors with the wet rags.

 

They fell into an easy routine, so that even the ache in Genya’s muscles felt familiar and pleasant. It had been a long time since he had cleaned this thoroughly. It called back memories of days spent working in Himejima’s house. He wondered if Muichirou had completed the same work in his training. Genya caught himself looking at Muichirou’s small, pale hand. While he knew, perhaps better than anyone else alive, the strength there, Muichirou always seemed too delicate for that kind of labour. Too young.

 

By the time the sun was peaking in the sky and shooting thick slats of light through the windows at their already sweat-slick faces, they had left behind the comfort of their bedrooms and ventured into a wing of the house where Genya had only set foot once or twice. He quickly surmised that it was a guest wing, with several identical bare rooms containing stripped cots. He vaguely recalled staying in a similar room during his Hashira training with Muichirou although, glancing from doorway to doorway, he could not identify which had been his.

 

Occasionally some relic would present itself in one of the rooms. Muichirou fished a book he thought he had lost from underneath one of the cots. A drawing of someone that neither of them knew was retrieved from the back of a door. The artist must not have been very good, for Genya struggled to tell if the person was male or female, old or young. He wondered vaguely if they should try to find the artist to return it to them; except, of course, that plan relied on the artist still being alive. Tucked in the corner of a drawer was a shirt which Genya was fairly certain it belonged to Inosuke at one point or another, given the fact it had been half ripped to shreds.

 

“What’s this?”, Genya wondered idly, picking up a small vase which had sat behind the door to one room. It looked as though it could have been an old doorstop, or perhaps a flowerpot.

 

He had not really expected Muichirou to hear him, let alone answer him. A moment after the words left his lips, however, Muichirou was there at his elbow, cerulean eyes wide. “What’s what?”

 

They stared at the vase for a long moment. Genya watched Muichirou’s face for a flicker of recognition, yet it remained as blank as it had when they evaluated the other items they had discovered.

 

“I don’t really remember”, Muichirou said, once the silence had stretched on for so long Genya thought he was going to have to shake him awake.

 

“Oh.”

 

Genya did not want to press. He turned the misshapen vase over in his hands, cringing slightly at the dry, rough surface against his palms.

 

“My memory is better than it was”, Muichirou surprised him by continuing. “But there are still… Gaps.” He stopped abruptly, gaze fixed to the floor.

 

Genya put the vase down on top of a small side table. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s move on to the next room.”

 

Rather than doing that, though, Muichirou suggested they soap the floors of the long hallway. They took a brief break to rinse their grimy hands, refill their water buckets, and take a drink before trudging back up the stairs. Muichirou’s bucket was almost full to the brim, and sudsy water slopped over the edges and rained onto the floor every few steps. Genya did not offer to take it, instead simply stepping around the mini man-made puddles that appeared in his way.

 

The ache in Genya’s arms intensified when they resumed their cleaning. Taking a short break had been a mistake. It felt as though they were making far less progress than they had earlier in the morning. Every time Genya thought they were maybe getting somewhere, he would look up and realise what a tiny portion of the stretch of hallway they had cleaned.

 

His eyes drifted to Muichirou while they worked. Genya worried a little, about how he would cope without his prosthetic, but he seemed to be working fine with just one hand; if anything, he was doing a quicker and more thorough job than Genya. Muichirou had his hair pinned up, all of it this time, so that it was out of his face, loose wispy strands of black and teal falling here and there about his shoulders.

 

“Did your brother say why he came to visit?”, Muichirou asked, breaking Genya’s concentration. It was not entirely unexpected that Muichirou would speak to him; they had exchanged the odd comment since resuming their task, but what he was asking did give Genya pause momentarily. “Or did he just want to see you?”

 

Genya considered his words carefully. “I think… He was truthful when he said he had been passing by this way. But I do also think he wanted to check up on me.” He paused, straightening slightly from where he was hunched over the rags on the floor, and shook his hands. His back and wrists thanked him for the break. “Believe it or not, our relationship is actually much better than it was before.”

 

Muichirou did not stop in his own scrubbing. “I remember Sanemi never even told us he had a brother. Why did you not get along before?”

 

“It’s difficult…”

 

“How so?”

 

“You like to question me, don’t you?”

 

Muichirou finally stopped what he was doing and looked up, sitting back on his haunches in a mirror to Genya. “You like to be asked questions.”

 

Did he? Genya considered it. Maybe he did. Maybe he liked having conversations, rather than travelling in silence. He had always considered himself a loner, keeping to himself; however, he could not deny that he found Muichirou’s style of conversation- sometimes direct, sometimes meandering, and with little hint of which was coming next- drew him in.

 

After a long moment in which Muichirou’s gaze did not waver from his face, Genya said, slowly; “We lost our siblings. And our…” He wiped at his face with one hand. “Our mother. I was young. I didn’t really understand what I saw.” There was no need to elaborate on what he had seen. Muichirou would know. They all knew. “I blamed him. He… was hurt, I think. I can never take back the things I said to him.”

 

Muichirou’s lips had parted slightly while Genya spoke, but he did not interrupt. When it was evident Genya had finished, Muichirou finally glanced away, twisting the rags in his hands slightly.

 

“I’m sorry”, he said eventually, but it was the way everyone else always said it, the way Genya had said it himself to others who had lost family to demons. He did not blame Muichirou for it: After saying it so many times, it was difficult to put meaning into those words.

 

With more conviction, Muichirou continued in a voice barely above a whisper; “Your brother talked about you when you were unconscious, you know. I heard him, late at night, when there was nobody else around. He would plead with someone who wasn’t there, begging them not to take his brother.” Muichirou’s pale face wavered as Genya’s eyes went hot. What was it about Sanemi that always made him feel ridiculously emotional? It was as though, when his brother was around or even mentioned, Genya retreated back to being the scared little boy he had been all those years ago. “He said that he would give anything, do anything, if it meant you would live. So, really, I think Sanemi loves you more than you think, regardless of what you might have said to him.”

 

Genya drew in a breath. The quiet of the house settled in around them, and he became dimly aware of leaves rustling in the wind outside, the only sound permeating the silence.

 

He knew Sanemi loved him, really. He had known it ever since that night, since he saw the desperation in Sanemi’s bloodshot eyes. But they still had never really spoken of the past together. Sanemi still got mad at him sometimes over very little. They would never go back to being a team, like they were as kids, although he knew Sanemi was trying.

 

“I used to have a brother”, said Muichirou.

 

When Genya looked at him, his eyes were unfocused, looking at a spot on the floor.

 

“Oh. Really?” Genya remembered Muichirou mentioning a brother before, but he was still surprised to be reminded of the fact. He couldn’t picture Muichirou as an older or younger sibling, somehow.

 

“Mm. A twin.”

 

Genya blinked, startled, at the thought of two Muichirou’s running around.

 

“Identical?”, he asked.

 

Muichirou nodded. “We would have been, yes. We still would be, if he was still alive, I suppose. We were very different, though, so who knows… Maybe we would have had different styles.” A small smile ghosted over his lips, but it did not touch the rest of his face. “My brother was a very competent person. He got angry with me sometimes, when I would make a mistake. He said I was useless.”

 

Genya felt anger rising like bile in his throat, alongside an uncomfortable sense of familiarity. His hands curled into fists where they rested against his knees.

 

“It wasn’t that he didn’t care”, Muichirou continued. “He worried about me. He wanted me to be stronger, to take care of myself. He just didn’t express it very well.” He locked eyes with Genya. “I’m glad that you and Sanemi are fixing your relationship. I wish I’d had the chance to do that with my brother.”

 

“Muichirou…” Genya swallowed, unsure what to say. That he was sorry for Muichirou’s loss? That his relationship with Sanemi was complicated, but better than he had hoped it would be for many years, and he was unsure what it would even mean to fix it?

 

Luckily, Muichirou did not leave him long to answer. After glancing back down at the floor, the former Hashira wobbled his way to his feet and dusted himself down. Turning to the door closest to him, he said; “Let’s clear this room out. Take a break from the hall. I think this is the last bedroom on this side we have to clean, too.”

 

Without a glance backward, he passed through the door.

 

Genya threw the rag he had been using into his bucket of water and followed Muichirou. He found him stood in the middle of the room, which looked much like the others. A bed, some empty cupboards and shelves, a small window through which Genya spotted his and Muichirou’s crows fraternising in a tree outside. They would be having words about that.

 

Muichirou muttered that he would get the cloths they had used for dusting and start on the window before shuffling around Genya and exiting.

 

Genya’s attention was held by the crows for another minute before he shook himself into action. Turning to face the cupboards lining the wall, he opened each one in turn to ensure they were empty and nothing else had been left behind there.

 

Assured that there were no surprises awaiting there, he got on his hands and knees and bowed his head, squinting to look under the bed. What he found there, glinting dimly in the dark, startled a laugh out of him.

 

“What is it?” Muichirou reappeared in the doorway.

 

Wordlessly, Genya held up the bullet, pinched between a thumb and a finger: One of his, obviously.

 

Muichirou smiled, another ghosting smile.

 

“I must have left it here.” Genya settled it on top of the bed as he spoke, intending to take it downstairs and store it in his bag once they were finished cleaning. “Or it found its way in here somehow through someone else.”

 

“Do you often lose bullets?”

 

He did not. “No. But they’re small. Hard to keep track of them all the time. I’m sure I’ve lost a handful over the years. Easier to lose than a sword, anyway.”

 

Muichirou really did smile at that. Then his face fell, turning serious.

 

“I have a question.”

 

Genya hesitated, wondering what Muichirou wanted to ask that he needed to pre-empt with that.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Can I use your gun?”

Notes:

Soooooo...... it has been a long time. Sorry! I think everyone knows how it is: Life and lack of motivation just had me tied up. I do still have this whole story planned out, though, so was able to pick up where I left off (and even expand my plan a little!). Here's hoping the burst of motivation lasts!

Thank you all for your lovely comments :) I really appreciate each and every one of them.