Chapter Text
Kamado Tanjuro was born the eldest son of a family of charcoal burners. He was the only child to kind and loving parents, and he grew up grateful and content with their humble living.
He was 12 when he started learning how to cut wood, and he was 13 when he learned how to operate the kiln. He was 15 when he started worshiping the Sun God through the Hinokami Kagura, and he was 16 when he became an orphan.
Tanjuro was never the type to feel strongly about anything. But that was the first time he felt true, aching despair: as he cut off the bandits’ heads with a machete, watching his mother choke to death on her own blood.
He'd often wonder how things would've changed had he gone home a little earlier.
He became the head of the Kamado household then and continued to sell coal to survive.
He was 17 when he met Kie, and he was 19 when he married her. He was 21 when Kamado Tanjiro was born and never had Tanjuro felt joy and gratitude for life quite like when Kie cried with their newborn son in her arms.
He felt happier at that moment than ever in his entire 21 years of life. And before he knew it, he'd already become a father to six beautiful and kind children.
Kie was a wonderful mother and the best of wives, he will forever owe her his happiness.
Tanjuro was 25 when he started to grow sick, a gnawing disease eating him up from his insides, and he was 30 when he took down that bear.
Tanjuro felt his end grow nearer with every second passing and the obligation to pass down their heritage onto his eldest only ever weighed heavier on both his shoulders and heart.
He'd passed onto Tanjiro, the Hinokami Kagura, taught him all and everything he could, he was ready to hand down the hanafuda earrings and he knew the time was coming when he could feel his senses sharpen like they never have in his life; when his breathing had become more stable, when he could feel life thrumming ever so vividly through the veins of every living creature he came across, and most especially when calm and serenity had overtaken his entire being at the face of danger.
Tanjiro's eyes were fixated on him and Tanjuro could sense his son's heart beat erratically in fear. But all Tanjuro could feel was absolutely nothing.
His words of promise to the bear held not even pity as he sliced its head in two swift strikes without remorse.
Tanjuro felt a rush of adrenaline right after landing on the snow with the bloodied ax in hand, as if only then did he snap back to reality.
Stark clarity in contrast to the mist that fogged his identity from himself.
He finally felt at ease then, as he looked at his determined and stubborn son with his golden heart and sharp mind.
Ten days after that, he died.
At least he thought he died, he was sure he died. He was supposed to be dead.
His family was at his deathbed and they were weeping, crying, and wailing in grief. He felt his last breath slip through his chest and his heart beat its last beat.
Kamado Tanjuro died by nightfall.
He rose again come dawn.
He was 30 years old when a miracle befell the Kamado family and Kamado Tanjuro rose from the dead, all illness and pain gone as if the man was never sick to begin with.
Tanjuro knew something was wrong then, he could feel it in his bones and it shook him with unaltered fear in its purest form.
But he was thankful nonetheless to be given a chance to spend more time with his family, his sole purpose and joy in his life.
He was 32 when Muzan Kibutsuji crossed his path.
“The snowfall is heavy and it's nightfall, you'll both keel over frozen and dead before you can even think about going home!” Old Man Saburo insists, stubborn and aggressive in his concern for his friends who were on their way up the mountain.
Tanjuro was on the verge of relenting and agreeing to Saburo's offer to house them for the night. If only there wasn't that incessant nagging in the back of his head screaming at him to rush home.
In his many years of life, Tanjuro has learned to trust his guts more often than not.
“We're thankful for your concern, my friend. But I'm afraid we simply must get home as soon as possible.” Tanjuro offers his friend the most placating smile he had.
Tanjiro chimes in, “Saburo-san is right, Dad. It’s too dangerous to trek the mountain in this weather. It might be better if we go back up in the morning.”
“See? Even your son agrees!”
Tanjuro is silent for only a few seconds. Even now, all he wanted to do was just leave and run up the trail but he instead rests a hand on his son's shoulder.
“I understand, Tanjiro. It's dangerous but your mother and siblings are up there all alone and like you said, it's risky.”
“But you no doubt would die if you go now!” Saburo keeps insisting.
“How about I go alone instead?”
“Absolutely not!” Tanjiro and Saburo both cry out at the same time.
“How could your son let you go alone?! What if you, God forbid, get in an accident and no one's around to help?! Huh?!”
“You tell him, Saburo-san!”
Tanjuro sighs, helpless.
Tanjuro turns to Saburo with pleading eyes. “Please, my friend. I desperately need to get home to my family, all we ask of you is a little lamp to light our way.”
The two of them stare each other down for a good few moments.
“I can't with you, Kamado.” In the end, Saburo relents and sighs. He takes a minute to find a lamp and hands them extra layers of clothing and a rusted wakizashi without a sheath, likely older than even Saburo himself.
“Listen here, I want you to return all of these back tomorrow, alive. Do you hear me, both of you?”
Tanjuro smiles at him and the Kamados bid him their thanks and farewell as they start to ascend the mountain.
The silence was tense, though it seemed as though Tanjiro was the only one to notice. the winds and snow fall had stopped a good while ago, no critter nor insect chittered, and their footsteps hitting the snow was the only noise the young boy could focus on.
He could smell his father's cold sweat run down his temple, could hear his father's breath quicken, he was having a hard time catching up to his father and Tanjirou dreads what that implies.
“Dad?” Tanjiro calls out to his father. “Dad, what's wrong?”
“Your mom and siblings are in danger.” Tanjuro spared no second to hesitate and Tanjiro wasn't sure what scared him more, his father's ice cold clinical tone or the fact that his worries had just been confirmed.
“What? Why? How- how do you know?” Tanjiro could feel his thoughts spiral in fear and worry but Tanjiro only hastens his pace as an answer.
“Hurry,” Tanjuro speaks.
The older man was practically hopping on the snow, his feet gradually becoming lighter with each step until before Tanjiro knew it, his father was already a good few feet away and he could barely see his silhouette.
It was then when Tanjiro caught a faint whiff of iron—of blood, human blood— and his panic had him disregarding how the chill of the seemingly stagnant air nipped at his skin, thoughts focused on getting home and seeing his family once more.
The moment Tanjiro managed to finally catch up to his father, hands on his knees and heaving, he saw a man stood before his little sister, clad in western attire and face passive as Nezuko started to convulse. Tanjiro's breath got caught in his throat.
They knew the man knew they were there, they were sure of it. But he never even spared them a single glance all the while taunting Tanjiro's father with words Tanjiro couldn't hear as his senses are flooded with the scent of blood, pain, anger and disgusting, wretched rot.
His father's scent smelled especially dense, so much more than the man who spilled warm crimson by the front door of their very home.
Pure, unbridled rage filled the air. Tanjiro's father was shaking in thoughtless, mind-numbing madness.
Nezuko was now slumped on the ground, Rokuta within her arms. They were bloody and wounded and Tanjiro's heart clenched tighter than tight at the thought of the state of the rest of the family he's yet to see. But Tanjiro could still smell their scents still very warm. That bought him hope at least.
“So you can't even handle this much blood?” The man spoke, loud enough that Tanjiro and his father could hear. His tone was flippant and his voice was smooth, betraying the scent of simmering and poisonous vitriol within. “I wonder if the rest of your family would fare well, don't you think so…?”
The man turned his head to face his father, with his red eyes and fanged grin, and the smile he held fell lower than his stomach.
Silence permeated the air for that single moment, not even the breeze dare pass by.
Fiery hot anger scalded Tanjiro's nose and he instinctively raised a hand to cover his mouth as he fell back by a step. Tanjiro's eyes dart to his father's shaking fist, gripping tight the rusty wakizashi with paper-white knuckles.
Tanjiro couldn't see his father's face but if he could, he'd understand why the man—the demon —stuttered in his steps ever so subtly.
Eyes turned lifeless and expression passive. His serene look betrayed the bursting hatred that Tanjuro could feel sparking his entire being.
His hair was shorter but the moonlight only served to emphasise its blood red hue, the hanafuda earrings most definitely didn't help the image.
Tanjiro heard the man mutter under his breath as his expression became taut, smile looking more like a grimace as even his chuckle sounded unsure.
“... of course not. It's simply not possible…”
Tanjiro blinks for a second, the world turns pitch black, and the sound of clashing iron brings to light his father lunging at an inhuman appendage from what he's now sure is a demon.
The figures became nothing more than a blur for Tanjiro who could only fall to his knees in shock and confusion.
Since when could his father do that anyway?!
A weak whine comes from inside their broken home, barely audible and garbled but as clear as day to Tanjiro who realises he had a family to save. His family.
He stands to run towards Nezuko and a tendril shoots like lightning to stab Tanjiro where he was just a single step ago.
Terror pulses through his veins and it moves his body while his mind reels from fear.
He hauls Nezuko and Rokuta in an adrenaline-fueled rush to get them inside the house. The clashing of his father's measly rusted weapon and the monster's incomprehensible screaming of vengeance and retribution grew louder and more frantic as his mother stirs and cries in pain.
Oh, Great God. Why was this happening to them?
There was nothing else Tanjiro could do but pray and trust his father while he rips at clothes and tightens knots around his siblings' injuries. Wiping blood and pressing on open, gushing wounds with eyes blurry from the tears.
A scream erupts from outside and a body comes crashing down, taking with it a good chunk of their roof as it falls to the snow.
Fear overtakes the scent of blood but rage continues to persist in the air. As his father flies down, hand in the air to strike down the kneeling monster before it bursts into a band of guts and tiny pieces of itself.
A few debris fly towards Kie, Hanako, Shigeru and Takeo and they start to convulse, screaming and thrashing like they've been burnt.
“This isn't over!” It cried out, and then his father fell to the ground.