Chapter Text
Rejoicing in someone’s death may seem macabre to most, but these aren't normal circumstances. When the Demon Slayer Corps watched the final dregs of Muzan leech out of Tanjirou and his eyes—his human eyes—reopen, there had never been a greater cause for celebration.
Humanity could finally release the breath it’d been holding for centuries, resting assured that the predators that lurked in the shadows were no longer supernatural.
Cowering under buildings and rubble, tucked away in the shadows, the—now former—Upper Moons One, Two, Three, and Six watched on with bated breath, waiting to feel their own bodies crumble and turn to ash. Gyutaro and Daki clutched one another as Douma embraced them both, Akaza stared at his lover, at Kyojurou, wanting him to be the last thing he ever sees, and Kokushibou directed his gaze to the rising sun, awaiting the inevitable.
But the inevitable never came.
The slayers watched on as the Kanji melted from their eyes, like dark tears while their bodies remained whole and demonic.
Rengoku Kyojurou had never been so shameless in his displays of affection as he tackled his lover—Upper Moon Three—further into the shadows in a passionate kiss. One of the main elements that had forced them to keep their love secret was gone and they were now able to love another in some semblance of freedom, even if the crowd that surrounded them was shocked, enraged, or flat out disgusted.
But the fact that the Upper Moons remained while all other demons turned to ash left the rest of the Corps with a question that no one quite knew how to approach:
What would they do with them?
With the breaking of Muzan’s curse, the Upper Moon’s temperaments became far more agreeable. This isn’t to say they weren’t annoying, or even liked by most of the slayers—only that they seemed to regain some sense of themselves once Muzan was defeated, as if his influence alone warped who they were.
Thanks to Akaza, Nezuko, and Tamayo’s assistance in the defeat of Muzan, proving that demons could choose to do better, to be better, Ubuyashiki decreed that the former Upper Moons would be given a choice:
Be placed with a Pillar to go through rehabilitation and eventually take the cure to become human once more,
Or be killed where they stand.
Easy enough decision to make.
The second biggest question was trying to figure out who would go where.
In one of the greatest displays of trust that Ubuyashiki Kagaya had ever shown, he held a meeting between himself, Amane, and the former Upper Moons. Only them and the former Upper Moons.
Of course, the Hashira were stationed throughout Head Quarters—none wanting to take the chance of leaving him completely unprotected—but within the courtyard itself, they were alone.
And so, negotiations began.
“I’m living with Kyojurou,” Akaza practically yells, knees barely touching the ground when he starts to speak. His voice is iron, prepared to fight tooth and nail, to spill blood to get what he wants or die trying.
Akaza was always obedient, never denying an order or questioning their motives. He did what he was told with no complaint, but with the demise of Muzan—along with the painful crawl of memories—his attitude towards authority had returned as well.
Akaza walked into this courtyard expecting to face a tyrant, a man much like Muzan not only in blood, but in attitude.
But it is not Muzan he kneels before.
“Well, of course.” Kagaya chuckles, the sound holding no malice, only amused endearment. “That was never in question. And you do not have to bow to me. I understand that you are used to how Kibutsuji ruled, but despite our relation,” Kagays face hardens, revealing the steel tough core that lays just behind his gentle exterior, “I do not lead as he does. So please, sit as comfortably as you please.”
The five demons all look at one another, shared expressions of confusion hidden with varying degrees of success.
Douma is the first to settle down, lounging as if his spot on the ground is his own personal throne. Daki sits down next, arms crossed and a pout on her face, but her own fear and uncertainty is clear, even to Akaza.
Gyutaro sits next, pressed tightly against his sister as his eyes shoot side to side, ever vigilant for any threats that may choose to strike at their weakest moment.
Akaza still kneels stiffly, staring at the others as they all wait for him and Kokushibou to sit.
‘Come on, old man. Don’t give in.’ Akaza thinks.
Akaza stares at the side of Kokushibou’s head, trying with all the strength he has to reach for any bond that may still exist between them all, but he finds nothing. The mental link they once shared severed with the cracking force of Muzan’s defeat.
Kokushibou locks eyes with Akaza for half a second, before he falls to seiza with a sigh.
‘Fuck.’ Akaza grits his teeth before he too sits, but the tension still weighs in his bones.
When he finally looks up at Kagaya, the man is not all what he was expecting.
Rather than a severe man ruling with an iron fist, he finds a gentle smile, one that juxtaposes against the sickly purple that works its way down his face. Within Akaza’s chest, he feels the urgent itch to walk up and help the man, help him walk, bring him some water, any medicine he might need. Akaza can feel his face scowl at the thought. Despite Kagaya’s kind exterior, Akaza knows these types of men. The kind who present themselves as nice, as upholders of good who aren’t like those other bad men. No, they’re the good ones.
All men say they’re the good ones.
“The demons present are sitting now.” The white haired woman beside Kagaya announces, presumably to let the man know of what he can’t see.
“Thank you, Amane. Let’s begin.” Kagaya’s head turns towards Kokushibou first. “Besides Akaza, I believe you are the only one that we have some idea of where you may fit.”
“Is that…so?”
Kagaya nods. “If it’s alright with you, Muichirou has expressed some interest in you living with him.”
‘Muichirou? Isn’t that one of the ones he nearly killed?’ Akaza leans forward, craning his neck to look at Kokushibou.
He looks just as surprised as Akaza feels, his eyes blown wide as his gaze falls to his lap. “Very well.”
“Kokushibou-san, please understand this isn’t an order. You all have a say in where you get placed.”
“No we don’t,” Gyutaro shouts, Daki shuffling behind him as his voice rises. “You can pretend like you’re giving us options, but we’re not idiots! We either get placed where you put us or we get fuckin’ killed. Just tell us where you’re gonna shove us and let’s get this bullshit over with.”
“Gyutaro,” Kagaya’s voice carries a sorrow that Akaza has never heard from anyone with power before. It washes over him, easing the strain that has strangled his lungs. “I will not lie that your options are limited. But, I want you to know that I would like to take your own desires into account. My goal is not to put you somewhere to fester. I want you to succeed. One day, I would like to meet with you all once more under the light of the sun.”
Gyutaro tsks, crossing his arms as he presses back against Daki who pushes herself further into him.
“Oh, that’s so sweet, Ubuyashiki-dono! You really do seem to care for us.” Douma croons, voice just as disingenuous as always. “If I may request, I’d love to be placed with Shinobu-chan!”
“That is one request I will deny.” Kagaya’s voice is steel once more, cutting in its intensity. “Please, do not mistake my kindness for foolishness. I know of all the wrongs you have done against my slayers. I will not put you in positions to inflict more harm upon them.”
‘Douma, you’re such a fucking idiot.’ Akaza thinks to himself, biting back a smirk at the verbal dressing down Douma received. ‘Maybe this Kagaya guy isn’t so bad.’
“If I may ask,” Kokushibou’s baritone reverates through the space. “I have…harmed Muichirou and yet…am being placed with him.”
“Yes.” Kagaya’s voice is thoughtful, face serene as he turns towards Kokushibou, following the direction his voice came from. “Normally, I would not allow this, but it was Muichirou who requested it.”
With a single nod, Kokushibou falls silent.
“That’s too bad. I was really looking forward to seeing her again!”
“I can assure you, without her express permission, you will not see her. If you have no other preferences, you will be placed with our Water Hashira, Giyuu.”
“Oh.” For the first time since this all began, Akaza hears genuine disappointment in his voice. It sounds…rough, almost from disuse. But just as quickly as that glimpse of emotion shines through, his facade of cheer returns. “I suppose I’ll just have to make friends with this Giyuu!”
“What about us?!” Daki whines, but despite her aggressive tone of voice, she stays perched behind her brother, hands interlocked between them as they face their uncertain fates.
“Yes, we honestly aren’t quite sure where to put you two.”
“You’re not separating us. Wherever she goes, I go.”
“I promise you, that was never an option. In fact, I believe your relationship with one another will aid the rehabilitation process.”
Gyutaro and Daki’s eyes snap to one another for a moment, their shoulders dropping the slightest amount. It honestly hadn’t even occurred to Akaza that they might be separated, it was always Gyutaro and Daki, two halves of one whole. As long as Akaza had known them, they had never been apart, even when they weren’t fused together, they were never far from the other if they could help it.
The fact that they could’ve been separated does explain why the two of them were so high-strung.
“But…where are we gonna go?” Daki’s voice sounds just as childlike and scared as she truly is. Beneath all of her posturing and dress, at the end of the day Akaza has always felt that she was just a kid who had to grow up too soon.
“If you truly have no preference, our Love Hashira Mitsuri said she was open to accepting you.”
The siblings turn to one another, a silent conversation passes between the two before Gyutaro turns to the man they all now answer to. “Fine.”
With a nod of his head, Kagaya speaks. “It’s decided then. Akaza shall live with the Rengoku’s, Douma is living with Giyuu, Gyutaro and Daki are living with Mitsuri, and Kokushibou shall live with Muichirou.”
Beside him, Amane writes, presumably the final decisions before she rises to her feet and nods at them all. “The meeting has ended. If you would please wait a moment for Shinobu-san to arrive, she will work out your diets for the future until you decide to take the cure.”
Amane walks to Kagaya and reaches her hand down, aiding the recovering man to his feet. Akaza feels that familiar itch in his hands and feet, the driving need to reach forward and help the still sickly man rise.
“Akaza.” Kagaya calls as he rises.
“Yeah?” Akaza snaps to attention, drawn out of his singular focus.
“Kyojurou has told me that you have some experience with medicine and treating the sick.”
Akaza reels back, shocked at this very personal information being divulged without his knowledge. He’ll definitely be speaking to Kyojurou about this when he sees him next. “Y-yeah. I do.”
“Good. If I may suggest, Shinobu is struggling to balance the influx of slayers recovering from the final battle. I’ll contact her about possibly finding you a position to help.”
“Do you really trust me around bleeding, wounded slayers?”
Kagaya’s smiles, voice calm and certain. “Yes. I do.”
Before Akaza can even respond, Kagaya turns and retreats back into Head Quarters.
* * * *
As far as Kokushibou knows, Akaza took up that offer.
Why exactly he wishes to spend his time tending to sick strangers, Kokushibou doesn’t truly understand, but in this new world they’ve all found themselves in, he suppose any distraction will do. From what his descendant has told him, Daki and Gyutaro have settled in very well with their Hashira, the former even allowing her to braid her hair. Gyutaro remains as typically stand-offish as Kokushibou would expect, returning the short, striped Hashira as much trouble as he gives him. Kokushibou is almost proud.
Douma seems firmly locked in the past, attempting to convince the Hashira and younger slayer he lives with—Kokushibou was told he was moved to live with the Stone Hashira and the Demon Eater after a confrontation with the Wind Hashira at Giyuu’s estate—to join his now disbanded cult. To no surprise, he isn’t successful.
All of them have forged bonds with their Hashira, some even beyond them.
But not Kokushibou.
Besides Muichirou, Kokushibou doesn’t interact with anyone else.
After centuries of fighting, Kokushibou had finally laid his sword to rest.
Kokushibou had thought living by the sword was all he ever wanted—it was all he knew—but living by it had brought him nothing but pain, constantly chasing the shadows of a brother who he will never reconcile with.
For weeks, Kokushibou existed in a state of limbo, stuck with no outlet for any of his anger, his failure, his loss. In his directionless state, he had turned to wandering the expansive woods that filled the valley around the Mist Estate.
This is where Kokushibou finds himself, climbing the large hill that sits just past the Estate. What lies beyond this hill is the only place that Kokushibou has yet to map out in his head—and one that is unmarked in any of the maps within the Mist Estate.
Kokushibou isn’t quite sure why exactly he started creating a mental map of the land. Perhaps it’s a remnant of his human life, a habit instilled in him from years of combat training. Always be aware of his surroundings, look for potential weak points, potential ambush locations, document any and all information that could be useful should an enemy strike.
Kokushibou may have put down the sword, but the sword doesn’t let one go that easily.
As he makes his way up the steep hillside, the dark whisper of his mind begins to creak.
'Is this all I am destined to be? A warrior with no cause, lost out of time with no attachments save for a brother who died centuries ago?' Kokushibou lets out a sigh as he continues the trek up the hill.
'But what about your descendant?' A softer, kinder voice whispers in his head.
What about his descendant, indeed. He can't deny that the young boy has managed to weasel his way into his affections with his sharp wit and incredible talent. Even with their gradually growing softness with one another, he still catches the boy watching him with uncertainty out of the corner of his eyes.
When Kokushibou asks the boy why he wanted Kokushibou to join him, why he would ever choose to let the demon that nearly took his life live beside him , Muichirou had only shrugged, saying that he’d missed living with a relative.
How on earth the young boy decided Kokushibou was the best option is beyond him. Though, perhaps it’s because he’s the only option.
Kokushibou rounds the final crest of the hill and finds himself at the foot of a steep cliff face, the jagged rocks jutting out in haphazard patterns, their shark edged dulled beneath blankets of moss and lichen. The angle and treacherous nature of the face certainly explains why it remained unmapped: it’s simply too dangerous for a human to climb.
‘Good. Maybe I can find some peace up here.’
With a single leap, Kokushibou flies over the cliff, landing gently on the plush grass atop. The view from above is much like the view below, a gentle slope sprinkled with cypress trees and some undergrowth.
Kokushibou won’t lie, it is a little exciting to be the first sentient being to walk this way in who knows how many years. Perhaps centuries.
As he comes to the peak of the hill, a flash of maroon catches his eye, the familiar shape of earrings he hasn't seen in centuries moves out of his field of view.
Just as easily as that excitement had come, it transforms to rotten dread. Disbelief swirls in his mind.
‘No…’
With focus he hasn’t experienced in months, Kokushibou scrambles up the remainder of the hill, finally cresting the top, finding a sight he hadn’t expected.
A wide overgrown stone garden sits atop the hill, vines crawling and choking all other plants and stone, the echoes of a well cared-for plot of land lost to time. A low collapsed wall forms a perimeter with broken and toppled benches dispersed throughout. Vague remnants of paths through the once well-maintained garden are the only sign that there was once any order within the walls.
Sitting in the middle of the garden is a pond, the vines creeping in towards the center. In a few years time, the pond will no doubt be lost to their entwining grasp.
And there, in the middle of this pond, stands his brother.
Yoriichi has a serene, pitying smile on his face as he stares at Kokushibou, his eyes just as wide as his own as the two stare at one another.
Kokushibou's face curls in an expression of horror and distaste. "This is… impossible… You are dead! I watched you die!"
Kokushibou has yet to regret putting his sword down until that very moment. His hands itch for it’s familiar grip—perhaps this time things would end differently. He inches his way towards his brother's form, feet sinking into the mud and reeds surrounding the pond as he gets closer.
Yoriichi's brow furrows as his head tilts to the side and his mouth moves as if speaking but no sound comes out.
‘What in the world?’
Yoriichi seems to realize just as Kokushibou does that he isn’t being heard, a brief flash of frustration crossing his features until Yoriichi reaches out a hand.
Kokushibou falls into a battle stance without a thought, crushing any plants growing in the mud under a careless foot, the crack of their stalks lost to the blood that rushes within Kokushibou’s ears.
Yoriichi's face falls, his eyes heavy with regret and pain. He mouths one final message, and if Kokushibou didn't know better he may have read the words "I'm sorry" on his lips.
Just as Kokushibou's face curls into a snarl, his fangs and demonic attributes on full display, Yoriichi's form disappears.
Kokushibou stays in his battle stance, muscles primed for any surprise attack. Consciously, he knows he’s unarmed, he knows that when it comes to spirits he is woefully uneducated, but that doesn’t help to ease his mind.
It takes a full ten minutes before Kokushibou relaxes from his battle stance.
What was that? What does it mean? Has his brother's image now started to haunt him visually rather than just in his mind? The questions swirl in his head, feeling them pound against his skull, pushing, screaming for answers; to be let out so they can finally rest. Kokushibou is no stranger to feeling his deceased brother's presence like a crushing weight upon his shoulders, demanding his attention. For centuries, he had managed to push it away, to act as if its constant presence wasn’t there. Of course, the moment he gets the chance to move forward, it all comes crashing back.
“I don’t… understand.” He feels a shakiness work its way up from his chest to his arms and legs, his breath increasing rapidly as tears start to pool in his eyes. “Why won’t you leave me alone!” he screams at the empty spot where his brother’s visage once stood. Reaching to the side, he rips a young tree out of the mud and casts it into the middle of the pond, the force disturbing the once serene surface of the water, pushing waves of water out onto the dry land.
Kokushibou stands there, breathing heavily, his chest and arms shaking as he tries to breathe some steadiness back into them. He takes a deep calming breath before slipping his mask of indifference back on his face. Looking down at his feet he finally notices the small bud of a lotus crushed beneath his zori.
A bittersweet feeling fills his chest as he recalls the very same flowers growing in the gardens of his childhood home.
The little bud is choked out by the weeds, rocks, and muck of the dilapidated garden. Even still, despite everything, it grows. Perhaps…
‘Might as well.’
And he reaches down and pulls up the nearest weed to the bud.
It's a start.
* * *
During their monthly Upper Moon updates, Muichirou’s caused some concern amongst the other pillars.
“What's he doing out there!? I don’t trust him.” Sanemi crosses his arms, throwing a tantrum like a child not getting his way.
Obanai rolls his eyes, “You don’t trust any demon, Sanemi.”
From Kyojurou’s exchanges with Obanai, his change of mentality has been a stark but welcome one. A couple of months ago, Obanai would have agreed with Sanemi wholeheartedly: demons were no good and could never coexist with humans. But apparently watching his girlfriend braid the hair of one half of the former Upper Moon Six while her brother sulks in the corner–much like he himself is often doing when Kyojurou visits their estate–forces you to see the similarities that exist between them all, especially after Muzan’s defeat.
“So you feel great about Muzan's number one lackey disappearing into the woods for hours every night?! To a place none of us can reach?! How do we know he isn’t plotting something?”
“Sanemi, I believe we need to give the demons a chance!” Kyojurou interjects, arms crossed and a wide smile firmly fixed to his face. “Muzan is gone, and there’s no way to bring him back! If whatever he does out there brings him peace so be it! Akaza was restless until he started working with Shinobu; this is exactly the same!”
From what Akaza has told Kyojurou, Kokushibou—though intense—is largely not that bad compared to the other Upper Moons. This isn’t to say Akaza ever liked the demon, but based on his reactions to the others (namely Douma) the lack of true animosity is clear.
If the demon has taken up gardening to fill some time, Kyojurou can’t truly find the harm in that.
Shinobu nods her head. “Perhaps, Rengoku-san, but Akaza interacts with you, me, the girls, and a number of other living people. Same thing with the other Upper Moons. Kokushibou’s the only one completely alone.”
“What a sad, pitiful existence. We should put him out of his misery.”
Sanemi scowled, his intense stare only contributing further to his fierce expression, but when he turns to Shinobu, she—as ever—remains unphased. “What are you trying to say?”
“She wants him to have a friend,” Giyuu clarifies, eyes not leaving Sanemi’s form, his gaze flicks from his arms to his legs, Kyojurou can only assume to watch for any signs that he may get physical.
‘Their relationship has truly grown so much since the final battle.’
“Maybe not a friend, but another living thing he can speak to!”
Kyojurou’s face lights up, his smile widening even further. “That’s an excellent idea! I fully support this!”
The ultimate goal of this all is to get the demons to make the choice to take the cure by reconnecting with their own latent humanity. One of the biggest contributors to Akaza’s success was his interactions with Kyojurou, their clandestine meetings stirring up Akaza’s humanity even before Muzan was eliminated.
If Upper Moon One is lagging behind the other demons, then Kyojurou can’t think of a reason why finding him his own catalyst for humanity would be detrimental.
“This is insane! Letting him live is already too much and now you want him to be buddy-buddy with someone?! I’ll kill him myself if he comes near a single person.”
“I don’t think you could.”
“The hell do you mean by that, Tomioka?!”
“Children.”
With a single word, the courtyard falls silent.
Ubuyashiki emerges from within the Headquarters building and takes his seat on the engawa. Ever since Muzan’s demise, the sickness plaguing him has started to recede. It is a slow process, and even in the months since his defeat, the creeping miasma has yet to recede beyond his nose, and his eyes remain shrouded in the sickly purple that once plagued most of his body. There are whispers amongst his doctors that the scars and blindness will be permanent. Even if the cause has stopped, the damage is done.
The Hashira quickly fall to their knees.
“Good afternoon, Ubuyashiki-sama! You’re looking better every day, are you feeling better?” Mitsuri rushes out before anyone else could get another word in.
A smile makes its way across his face. “Yes, I am well, Mitsuri, thank you. I believe that if we are to help the former Upper Moons rehabilitate, we need to treat them as comrades rather than prisoners. I agree with Shinobu and Rengoku. Forming relationships with others is key to humanity; if we want him to truly rejoin human society, he needs to have a friend.”
“He talks to Tokito, isn’t that enough?”
“Obanai, you know that’s not the same! You’ve seen how Gyutaro is with me and you versus how he is with Daki. Being family isn’t the same as having a friend.”
“Fine," Obanai sighs. "Who do you suggest then?”
“I… Maybe….” her shoulders fall. “I don’t know.”
Silence falls over the courtyard as they all scramble to think of someone who would be an appropriate match for Kokushibou.
“Maybe Urokodaki-san? He’s old.” Tengen proposes, but even he doesn’t sound that confident in his suggestion.
Giyuu seems to share that same uncertainty when his face scrunches up momentarily. “I don’t think they would mesh well.”
“I’m out of ideas then.”
“Well, who else do we know is older than thirty and somewhat comfortable around demons?” Sanemi snaps.
All eyes turn to Kyojurou, their pointed gazes causing a rock in his stomach.
‘Please, don’t suggest what I think you all will. Please. ’ Hoping against hope, Kyojurou attempts to maintain his usual air of optimism.
“I’m not sure why everyone is looking at me! I’m only twenty-one!”
“Rengoku-san, how has your father been?”
Kyojurou feels his smile falter, his worst suspicions confirmed with a single sentence. AS quick as he can, he covers the slip of his mask and returns his smile to where it sits. Where it should always sit. “He’s been getting better but still has quite a ways to go!”
“Would he be open to meeting Kokushibou?”
“I do not think so, no! He barely talks to Akaza, and he lives with him. I don't think that it would go very well!”
“I think perhaps you’re not giving your father enough credit.” Kyojurou flinches back as if he were struck. Not enough credit? What does Oyakata-sama know about his father? He still knows him as the man he once was, not as the man he has become. “I believe we should give it a try. Tokito?”
“Yes?”
“Would you bring Kokushibou to the Flame Estate tomorrow?”
“I can try, but I don’t know if he’ll agree.”
Kyojurou feels tension in his body grow increasingly through this conversation. There’s a reason he never invites people to visit their home. Shinjurou hasn’t hit him or Senjurou since his near-death experience at the site of the Mugen Train, but the heavy, bated breath that blankets the entire house is undeniable. Shinjurou occasionally raises his voice, but he’s become more aware of this as the months have gone on, catching himself and even going so far as apologizing when he does, but the effect remains. Kyojurou and Senjurou both brace for the worst. The only one who seems able to ignore it is Akaza, and that is more because he’s so fiercely protective of Senjurou and himself that he fearlessly puts himself between them and Shinjurou, no matter what the man is doing. Even if every time Akaza stands between them Shinjurou's face seems to fall.
Kyojurou can barely bring a smile to his face at the thought of people coming to his house.
“Oyakata-sama, I– I really don’t think that this is a good idea! Please.”
Oyakata looks at Kyojurou with an expression overflowing with sympathy but with all the firmness of a parent who thinks they know better.
“I’m sorry, Rengoku-san. I’ve made my decision.”
“Very well.”
Rengoku leaves the meeting with the beginning of panic starting to grip his heart.
‘This can’t possibly go well.’