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imu-chan · 1 year

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As the morning wound away into afternoon, Kyojuro considered, not for the first time, his good fortune that none of his family had ever been slain by demons in front of his eyes.

He was no stranger to death, nor violence, but both phenomena tended to haunt people, to float just out of thought, and kept their hooks in the brains of those they had victimized. While death hovered on his shoulder, violence had no grasp on him. He was grateful for that. He must have been in a very contemplative mood today.

With the exception of Mitsuri, he felt he was in a unique position among his fellow slayers. He had grown up strong, not because he had to or was forced to, but because he was strong. He didn’t have to do what he did, but that was why he did it. He wanted those who had no choice to have one offered. He wanted to be the kind of person his mother had been for him.

Sometimes, however, that was easier said than done. He may be an accomplished demon slayer, but his social and domestic skills were in need of a tune-up (or so he had been told).

He’d spent the morning recounting his last mission (his first since his battle with Akaza). Kyojuro had griped about it a little, how he wanted a challenge, and Senjuro had poked him menacingly with a kitchen utensil. Ever since he’d started helping and hanging out at Kocho’s, he had gotten much more talkative and confident. Kyojuro didn’t mind this, but he also didn’t necessarily need a 13-year-old sassing him on his own health.

Nevertheless, he acquiesced, and he and Senjuro had spent most of the afternoon out in town, Senjuro gathering ingredients for some kind of meal he wanted to make, himself picking up some Dutch historical texts he knew deep down he wouldn’t be able to read until he saw either Mitsuri or Giyuu again.

The two of them had become somewhat of a dangerous duo, the only Hashira with fluency in two languages, allowing them to gossip and joke without anyone knowing what they said. Kyojuro had to admit he was eager for the two of them to get along, with Mitsuri much like a sister to him and Giyuu with Kyojuro wrapped around his little finger.

Only Iguro seemed to be opposed (what else was new), as he hated sharing Mitsuri with anyone, especially Giyuu, who he hadn’t quite warmed up to yet. To that effect, the Serpent Hashira bristled every time he heard even a lick of Dutch from his sweetheart; even if it was nothing more than a simple greeting or exclamation.

Quite the opposite was true for Kyojuro, who unabashedly melted whenever Giyuu mumbled something foreign under his breath. Then again, Kyojuro would listen to Giyuu dictate legal statutes if he so desired. His voice, breathy and quiet as it was, had become one of Kyojuro’s favorite sounds.

He was jolted from his pleasant thoughts when Senjuro elbowed him. “Aniki, it’s almost five.”

Kyojuro glanced at the bundle of ingredients in his brother’s arms. “So it is! I suppose the rice needs to be started?”

Senjuro nodded, and not very subtly passed the bundle of rice, nori and noodles to his aniki. “Maybe.”

Kyojuro caught on and grinned. “And I suppose you have more shopping to do?”

“Maybe.”

“Is this you telling me to go home and make my world-famous rice?”

“I don’t think you’re the reason rice is world-famous,” Senjuro joked, but nodded again. “Please? I didn’t realize how many things I needed to get.”

Kyojuro puffed out his chest. “Say no more! Don’t be too late, now! And don’t talk to strangers!”

“I probably will.” Senjuro replied flatly.

“Stranger danger is a very serious social issue, Senjuro—“

“Good-bye, Kyojuro.”

By the time he had all his supplies, it was nearly six, and thus the youngest Rengoku hurried along the frozen path towards his home. His basket was heavy with goods, but it didn’t distract from the gentleness of the darkening night around him.

The market was only a few city blocks length from the Flame Estate, so it wasn’t an arduous walk in the slightest. Senjuro rounded the bend in the path at the edge of the woods, noting how much quicker the wind whipped out in the open air.

He caught only a brief glimpse of a breathtaking sunset sky before someone slammed into him from the opposite direction, knocking the basket out of his hands. Thankfully, it landed upright in the loose snow and suffered no losses.

Senjuro hadn’t fallen, but he had stumbled back a bit, and, trying to regain balance, his hands gripped dusty fabric. He blinked, took a look at the person whose haori he had caught hold of, who now bent forward, catching their breath in front of him.

“Tanjiro!” He beamed, moving his hand to the other boy’s shoulder. When maroon eyes lifted, however, Senjuro’s smile fell, and he felt a twinge of nerves in his gut. “Tanjiro?”

A dry cough. A small smile.

“Senjuro, hey,” Tanjiro’s voice wobbled. He looked fresh from combat, dirty and bruised, his uniform knees torn through. “Good to see a friendly face.”

“Hey yourself. Ara ara,” Senjuro inhaled quietly, his hand coming away from Tanjiro’s shoulder with a faint shadow of blood across it. “Geez, let’s get home, you’re a mess.”

Tanjiro nodded, and accepted Senjuro’s offer to carry Nezuko’s box. He scooped up Senjuro’s basket of goods, and the two set out on the final stretch of road.

“We didn’t receive your crow, I thought you were still on mission.” Senjuro hummed. “Did you run all the way here?”

Tanjiro shook his head, sending snowflakes off in clumps. “I passed out at one point. I think I ran into a tree or something.”

“Ara ara. I know you say you have a hard head, but you’re gonna give yourself another concussion.” Senjuro gently scolded, rubbing his dull fingernails back and forth over the leather strap of Nezuko’s box. Tanjiro cracked a smile at that.

“You’ve been spending too much time at the Butterfly Mansion, you’re starting to sound like Kocho-San!”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you think so.” Senjuro countered, enjoying the glint of surprise in Tanjiro’s eyes.

“You wouldn’t. Would you? Oh man, you totally would. I’ll be dead before dawn.”

Nezuko stirred in her box, perhaps turning in circles, as if defying the thought.

“I think you have half a shot with Nezuko-chan’s help.”

“I think you underestimate Kocho-san’s willingness to poison people.”

Senjuro laughed knowingly at that. “You’re going to see her soon anyway, from the looks of you. You know Aniki is a terrible nurse.”

“I guess she’ll be miffed no matter what happens,” Tanjiro frowned. “Um…especially with me.”

Senjuro glanced at him. “Don’t tell me you’re worse off than Giyuu-San? I figured he must already be there or something.”

It took a moment before Senjuro realized his own footsteps were the only ones he could hear crunching in the snow, so he turned. Tanjiro had his head low again, exhausted out of nowhere. Senjuro halted.

“Tan?”

Tanjiro’s fists clenched, unclenched. They began shivering, pink with cold.

“…you lost your gloves, huh?”

Tanjiro shook his head, began walking again, his face still turned to the ground. “I still have them.”

“Well then why — hey.” Senjuro grabbed his friend’s cold hand and made them stop again. “Did something happen to Giyuu-San?”

His hand was squeezed tight, grip more fierce than the cold. “He’s — alive.” Tanjiro shuddered, as if just now experiencing the winter weather around them for the first time. “But — I’ll tell you at home, I…don’t think I can repeat myself.”

Senjuro’s stomach flipped a little at the way Tanjiro was speaking, so quiet and worn. He wrapped his arm around his friend and hurried them as fast as was manageable back to the house, where his aniki was clumsily attempting to pour an insane amount of brown rice into a serving dish.

Kyojuro turned around as he heard the doors close, and upon seeing the boys, he quickly dried his hands on his black apron. His eyes, bright as usual, then became concerned, narrowing as Senjuro carefully set Nezuko’s box on the ground before darting out of the room to retrieve their stash of medical supplies.

Tanjiro looked like he’d been hit by a wagon, and he stood still, his breath still cold enough to puff into steam as he exhaled. He wouldn’t lift his gaze up from the floor mats.

Kyojuro took the two Kamados in as he approached them, already getting the heavy sensation that tonight wasn’t going to be the happiest of returns. Nezuko, adorable as ever, was snoring rather softly, half-asleep and dazed on the floor, her injuries all but gone thanks to her healing factor.

While he cared for her deeply, Kyojuro had witnessed her demonic battle prowess many times now, and knew by her sleepy state that she was no worse for wear. Her brother, however, was very human, required more care, and by the way he swayed on his feet, it seemed that something very unfortunate had happened to him on his mission.

Tanjiro was still shivering from his travels outside in the winter, and was stubbornly standing, not even reacting to the warm crackling of the fire nor the sound of Kyojuro’s approaching footsteps. He did finally speak, when Kyojuro was close enough to him for his shadow to catch the firelight.

“Kyo-San?”

Kyojuro folded down, balancing on the balls of his feet, and reached out to take one of his tsuguko’s frigid, scabbing hands.

“Welcome back!” Kyojuro began with his usual gusto. “Both of you!”

Nezuko rolled onto her back, and her little demon hand patted Kyojuro’s ankle in acknowledgement. Kyojuro sent her a smile, then focused on her brother.

“Tanjiro-Chan, I’m very glad you’re home,” he carried on steadily, keeping his voice low but warm. “What a state you’re in! Let’s get you fixed up, how about that?”

“Can…I need to send a letter first. To Ubuyashiki-sama.” Tanjiro croaked, sounding on the verge of collapse. His harsh breathing sounded borderline phlegmatic, which Kyojuro tucked away for later thought.

Kyojuro placed his other hand on the boy’s shoulder, steadying him. “Alright,” he answered, not pushing for more information. “We can certainly do that! Use your breathing first, though, you’re still bleeding. Looks like you have a broken rib that’ll need some mending as well.”

Tanjiro nodded, but his nose started to crinkle, so tears weren’t far off. He took in a deep breath, but his exhale slipped into a thin wheeze. “Hurts.”

“Forget Total Concentration, then. Just do what you can.”

Senjuro returned then, with a basin of water and the medical bag over his shoulder. He pulled at Tanjiro’s other shoulder to get him to sit, but Tanjiro didn’t budge. Senjuro began gently dabbing at the blood on Tanjiro’s damaged shoulder, and sent a cautioning look his brother’s way.

“Aniki, something happened to Giyuu-San.”

Well, that certainly sent Kyojuro’s gut into twists. “To…”

Thankfully, Tanjiro distracted him with his first small tears. “Giyuu-u-uu….” He warbled, blinking rapidly. “G-Giyuu got hurt. We got ambushed by an Upper Rank— Upper 2, in the forest…there were a lot of them…”

Kyojuro forced himself to keep calm. “Where is he right now?”

The dam broke. Tanjiro’s next exhale shattered the resistance left, sent him falling forward, into Kyojuro’s arms, his burning muscles giving out and his tears flowing fast. “Upper Two took him—he came out of nowhere—he wants something from — from — I couldn’t do anyth-thing I couldn’t get him out, hah, my sword…”

Tanjiro dissolved into half-sobs, letting Kyojuro and Senjuro smother him in a hug. “I’m so-sohorry…” he gasped, his throat closing, his lungs wheezing with the effort of crying. The hug softly broke.

“It’s not your fault. You mustn’t apologize. Tanjiro,” Kyojuro forced Tanjiro’s teary gaze to meet his own lone eye, sending goosebumps of realization down the boy’s skin. He made his meaning plain. “You are very, very lucky that you weren’t killed. That is not something to apologize for. It is the most important thing you can do.”

“But Giyuu—“

“Giyuu-San,” Kyojuro cut him off, even though his voice quieted a bit, “Protected you. That is the duty of a Hashira. If he weren’t with you…If either of you were alone…you’d be dead. But because you were together, you helped each other, just with your presence.”

Tanjiro sniffled, though he seemed to be calming a little. “I don’t get it.”

Kyojuro sensed a significant depth to this particular sentiment, and did his best to quell his own worries. He squeezed his tsuguko’s hand. “I’ll tell you later. You need some rest.”

“The letter—“

“I’ll take care of it. You’re not writing anything in this state, youngster. We’re going to pay Kocho-San a visit if your wounds start getting infected, so let’s not let that happen.”

Senjuro nudged him again. “Aniki, can you start a bath?”

“On it!” Kyojuro gently patted both of his little brothers on their heads before setting off to do just that. Senjuro pressed the wet washcloth to Tanjiro’s eyebrow, carefully wiping away the dried blood from a slash there.

“He’s right, you know.” Senjuro soothed.

“I know he is,” Tanjiro croaked, his heart feeling raw and small. “I wish he wasn’t.”

And, across the house, heart pounding violently, Kyojuro held his arm under running water, barely feeling it, and considered, not for the first time, his good fortune that none of his family had ever been slain by demons in front of his eyes.

He was grateful for that.

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Pt. 2 of Pretty Boy Down

I hope you guys like!

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #rengiyuu #kyojuro rengoku #giyu tomioka #kamado nezuko #kamado tanjiro #kamado siblings #rengoku brothers #found family #angst #pretty boy down #my writing #demon slayer #rengoku senjuro

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imu-chan · 1 year

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Ch. 3 of ‘Pretty Boy Down’

[I wasn’t joking when I said I put him through the wringer :(]

tw// references to/implied sexual assault, swearing, mentions of violence/pain, angst

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Giyuu almost wished the demons would get this whole spiel over with and just kill him. This shit was humiliating.

He was using this spare moment to gather his strength, enduring the horrendous, grasping clutches of the demon tearing at his uniform, mouth-breathing with his jagged teeth right in front of Giyuu’s face. Only a few more moments.

The demons serving under the Upper Rank had gone out of their way to not only inflict a fair amount of non-lethal injuries to him, but also to harass him, to make his every conscious moment perversely uncomfortable. Giyuu’s sole victory at this point in time had been his steadfast refusal to show any facial reaction to their efforts.

He couldn’t stifle every flinch or grimace, but his eyes, even when bloodshot, were still as stone, his lips, even torn, stayed a thin line, his true reactions tightly masked by clenched jaw and unmoving eyebrows. He tried channeling the expressions of Himejima and Tokito, blank and unbothered.

Thus far, it seemed somewhat effective. Any demon who had come close enough to bother him had pummeled their distaste into him for as long as they felt like it, then usually grew bored of him, and tossed him aside. Giyuu suspected that they were probably hoping for more lively prey.

At last, the perception of himself as a ‘stone-cold bitch’, according to Shinazugawa, came in handy. If he made it out of this mess alive, Giyuu swore he would make sure that asshole knew it was his bitchiness that got him through it. Fuckin’ prick.

If this were some incredible story, it would be pretty nifty that the captured hero had a good defense against pain, due to his willpower and intense training. But Giyuu had never heard any fairytales where the villains couldn’t keep their hands off the hero.

Well, there was Obanai, he supposed. Now there was someone who would never let him live it down if he died in the same circumstances Obanai had bested as a child. Then again, he didn’t think Obanai was petty enough to chew out a dead man. Or even waste his time visiting Tomioka’s grave to do so. Hell, the Snake Hashira would probably throw a party to commemorate Giyuu’s pathetic demise.

Giyuu broke his train of thought, sensing the slightest opening thread in his situation. Deep breath in. Knowing it would hurt, knowing it wouldn’t even do very much, Giyuu twisted at the hips and swung his bound arms like a club into the head of the demon with his claws inside his uniform.

Sure, demons couldn’t procreate, but that didn’t stop them from having their fun. Even so, they seemed to want a reaction from their victims, and nothing they had done so far had cracked Giyuu’s line of defense. Surely, though, it was only a matter of time before they settled for, at bare minimum, a weak, restrained body.

Ideally, there wouldn’t have been so many situations in his young life where kind others had voluntarily given their lives to the hands of monsters to save him, but then again, Giyuu supposed that, ideally, demons wouldn’t even exist in the first place.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been enclosed in this dark, filth-ridden space, as at some point he had been rendered unconscious, and thus delivered into this sunless cavern. Well, underground building, perhaps. There was a door and a man-made wall at one end of the darkness, he knew that much.

In fact, the not-knowing this information was starting to piss Giyuu off something fierce. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a solvable issue at the moment. He would have to just be mad.

The demon launched, swiping across his defenseless chest and drawing a near-mist of blood from Giyuu, so quick and sharp he almost didn’t feel it. He rolled back, trying to find an angle, but the next swipe caught the hem of his haori, pinning it to the dirt. Giyuu scrambled to his knees, and was rewarded by demonic talons slashing across the diagonal of his scalp, a stinging rain upon his head. He saw spots, toppled over, landed on his side, tried to force air back into his lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Perhaps the demon’s rancorous breath was part of its blood demon art. Perhaps it was sucking the oxygen molecules from the air with every inhale. Perhaps it held a tranquilizer or paralytic element. Giyuu couldn’t even focus enough to hold a thought for more than a moment.

As the demon contemplated what to do to him, Giyuu’s subconscious came to his aide, slipping him into a dream, a pleasant memory, maybe the last one he would ever make.

The snow was vicious that last night, the wind an awful force to reckon with. Tanjiro had childishly complained that they were going to die before they even reached their destination, probably saying so for the sole purpose of making Senjuro frown.

The youngest Rengoku had firmly replied that the temperature wasn’t as dangerous compared to the wind, and that surely Tanjiro had endured worse, having grown up on a mountain. Like his brother, Senjuro didn’t always catch when someone was being hyperbolic or sarcastic, although Tanjiro usually ended up giving himself away by responding with more and more dramatic answers, delivered in a flat, solemn voice.

“No, no,” Tanjiro deadpanned, holding his palms up to the fireplace he sat before, staring into the flames. “I’ve decided. This is the end of Kamado Tanjiro and Tomioka Giyuu. We will surely be remembered, albeit fondly, as fools.”

Kyojuro, who picked up on the joke quicker than usual, guffawed from the table, where he was gathering up all the dishes and utensils to wash. “Brave fools, though!”

Senjuro’s perplexed expression deepened at the crease of his brows. “You can’t be serious.”

“Sen...take care of Nezuko for me,” Tanjiro drolled, unfolding from his sitting position and laying supine to stretch. “And watch after poor brother Kyojuro, who, in his old age, surely will not be far behind us.” Senjuro finally detected the bullshit in Tanjiro’s tone, and reached over to smack the older boy on his stomach, which did finally make Tanjiro giggle and stop with his theatrics.

Kyojuro scoffed, raising a single finger in defiance. “I’ll have you know, your precious Tomioka-San is a whole year and three months older than I am!”

“Yeah, but I’ve already determined that the cold will take him first. He’s no match for winter...in her wrath!” Tanjiro rolled over and dug his fingers into Senjuro’s side for emphasis, back into his strange persona. Senjuro burst into laughter at that, which only made Tanjiro laugh harder in victory, even if it was less at the words and more at the deeply weird and nigh-unsettling voice Tanjiro was putting on.

“Yeah, you might have to do all the fighting, Tanjiro. Wait, wait—“ Senjuro stood, gestured to Nezuko’s box, which sat upright near the doorway. “Could he—?”

Tanjiro howled at that, and now Kyojuro was starting to catch their contagious humor. Drying a bowl carefully, he stifled his laugh into the side of his arm, so as not to miss any other quips. Tanjiro had his stomach in his hands, nearly out of breath, and Senjuro was now leaning on the box for balance, much in the same state. Tanjiro gasped. “No, because—“ He gestured with his hands, indicating a very small stature for a person. “Because imagine Giyuu-San the same size as Nezuko, how itty bitty—“ his words dissolved into wheezes.

It was then that Giyuu had appeared in the entrance from the hall, hair loose and tangled from sleep, a still slumbering Nezuko held on his hip, her head slumped against his shoulder and hair neatly braided. Giyuu blinked in the firelight. “What’s so funny?” He yawned, and jolted when a fresh round of cackling ensued between the two boys.

Kyojuro, having not heard Giyuu’s approach, nor his low, sleep-soft voice, turned at the sound of the new laughter, and his eyes lit up. “Giyuu,” he gushed, quickly drying his hands and crossing the room. He drew his arm around his lover’s waist, gently pulling him close so he could be speak more quietly, but still be heard over the hysterics of the boys. “You’re up!”

Giyuu hummed, leaning in to routinely kiss Kyojuro on his cheek. His voice was a weak rumble. “Against my will.”

Kyojuro smirked affectionately, patting his hand against Giyuu’s hip. “You poor old man.”

Dark eyes narrowed, but Giyuu wasn’t fully awake enough for a sufficient reply. His words were smothered by another yawn. “You...shhhh. Or else.”

Kyojuro just smiled fondly at him. “Oh, don’t worry, I saved you some tempura. Here, I can take her.”

Giyuu beleagueredly transfered a snoring Nezuko to his lover, the girl in such a deep sleep she didn’t stir. Although she was nearly recovered, Nezuko had been exhibiting symptoms akin to a head cold, and had spent much of the past week either asleep or close to it while Shinobu attempted to diagnose her.

As near as could be determined, it wasn’t anything to worry about, but they’d all fretted anyway, unsure of how a demon, with supernatural youth and strength, had caught a human illness. It was possibly a sign that the demonic blood within was becoming less resistant to contagions, which could mean Nezuko was on the long road back to her humanity, but there was no clear answer yet.

Giyuu remembered pondering the strange situation as he ate dinner. He remembered Tanjiro asking him if they were leaving that night or the next morning, to which he had answered the latter. He remembered Senjuro and Tanjiro still in some deep conversation as they retired to their rooms for the night, Senjuro wishing everyone sweet dreams, Tanjiro imitating him in a high pitched impersonation, and Kyojuro gently scolding him to settle down and get some rest.

Giyuu remembered washing his own bowl before joining Kyojuro in the (frankly, messy and ridiculous) pile of pillows, blankets, and misshapen futons that he and Kyojuro buried themselves in at night. Nezuko had opened her eyes, but seemed close to falling back asleep as Kyojuro made up a story to tell her.

Once she was out, Giyuu remembered carrying her to her room and folding her carefully into her futon, snug, but not too snug. He remembered shambling down the hallway back to the room he shared with his lover, blowing out the candlelight and getting comfortable in bed.

Giyuu remembered waking a few hours later and struggling to untangle Kyojuro’s limbs from his own and poking him until he quit snoring. He remembered the early, secret morning of the next day, the smile lines carved into fawn-colored skin, the calloused, gentle hands stroking his cheek.

He didn’t remember leaving for the mission.

When Giyuu awoke later, head full of cotton, his empty stomach clenching, and in unimaginable pain, alone in the humid, pressing darkness, he wept.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #pretty boy down #my writing #I do not own kny #rengiyuu #fluff #angst

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