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Chapter Text

Kamado Tanjiro found himself struggling as he tried not to let his smile drift while approaching his mother — Kamado Kie — and two of his siblings — Kamado twins Hanako and Shigeru. A large basket of charcoal felt more like stone upon his back, and a sheathed hatchet bobbed at his hip in time with his labored gait. The snow crunched harshly underfoot with each lumbering step he took, resembling more the sound of knife against whetstone with how sharp and quick he sunk through the not-so gentle powder.

The twins, only meters away at this point, were helping their mother gather the necessary vegetables from the winter stores so they could be prepared for dinner, chittering about their evening plans around the heavy jars as they flitted back and forth around their okaa-san , their words carrying over the snow as if speaking from behind a blanket. Once they finished their chores, they would have the entire rest of the night free, other than cleaning up after dinner and keeping the fire fed until they all went to sleep, since Tanjiro had already taken care of gathering wood, Nezuko had taken care of tidying the house and scrubbing the charcoal shed, and Takeo was currently tending to their goat, the last and most burdensome of their daily duties other than the actual acts of their family trade.

He listened to their exuberant chatter, carrying clearly to his ears despite the light snowfall, the blanket of powder already on the ground, and the distance between them, and found his smile settling into place with ease, wiping the tiredness from around his mouth and under his eyes, replacing it with laugh lines and crow's feet. He allowed himself to imagine what they would be doing while he was down the mountain for the night as he continued to cross the bridge of snow between them.

His mother would stay up late weaving and sewing, creating new baskets and repairing his haori from yesterday's wear and tear, too worried to sleep right away when one of her babies was away from the nest.

Nezuko would work with her, continuing her learning of their mother's skills so she could look after Tanjiro as their Okaa-san crept up in age. Rokuta would sleep off his fever in the cage of her arms, the small doll he had inherited from Hanako, still smelling of their father, in his hands.

Takeo would sit by the window near the back of the room, next to the fireplace, so he could keep an eye on their goat in the night and rush out through the back entrance if any wild animals got into her pen and spooked her. He would fiddle with the logs that would be used to stoke the fire, examining them before proclaiming that Tanjiro was "truly a master at cutting firewood," and that one day he would surpass his Onii-san, and take care of the family when Tanjiro couldn't, "though the day would likely never come."

At this point, Tanjiro had his Otuoto's whole spiel memorized, and would often mouth it at the twins behind Takeo's back to make them giggle.

And the twins, who were currently discussing their plans loud enough for him to hear: when it was dark, they would get a cup of goat's milk, heated by the fire and sweetened with wild honey and wisteria petals. They would sit as close to the flames as their Nii-chan would allow, and listen to stories.

But he wouldn't be there that night, because he had to walk down to the village at the base of the mountain and sell charcoal. He felt sadness begin to well up at missing his siblings, at falling asleep alone. Even so, he contented himself with the fantasies he had imagined, and steeled his heart as he continued to walk towards the small gathering of his family members, a familiar, soft smile still firmly planted on his face, an old friend that brought with it comfort and safety.

As he finally grew near, the small gathering took notice of his approach, unknowing of the discontent that had been building in his chest, of the fausette of his light visage. His intentionally seemingly-unburdened steps carried well despite the muffling of the snow blanket, and his family members paused at the threshold to turn and look out at him, at his traveling shoes and the charcoal on his back.

"Onii-chan, where are you going?" Hanako questioned, looking disappointed and mildly upset. "I thought you were gonna tell us a story before dinner tonight!" She tossed her scarf over her shoulder and stomped her feet lightly in the snow, knocking some from her ankles while also sinking her lower. He pursed cold-chapped lips, biting their soft inside so as to stifle the laugh building in his gut at her dramatics even as unease began churning there, too.

Shigeru whined in agreement with his older sister, shifting his cargo to one arm so that he could hang off her as if he couldn't bare Tanjiro leaving, "Yeah Nii-chan, aren't you going to play with us? You promised!" The sound of his voice rang in Tanjiro's ears, and his previous sadness and sense of exclusion reared its head.

He inhaled the crisp cool air and held it in his lungs, as if the building pressure in his ribs could quash the roiling sadness in his heart, and crush the lead ball of guilt in his gut to powder. In one quick woosh, he let it out and smiled, "Nē, Hanako-chan, Shigeru-kun, the mountain is still clear enough to travel, and we have lots of charcoal to sell! I want to have enough money for us to eat whatever we want during the New Years. What are we going to do with all this charcoal if I don't sell it? Besides, I bet the people in the village are running low. With how cold it's been, they must be burning through their charcoal!" The two giggled at his joke, his light-hearted teasing lifting their moods slightly, and Tanjiro allowed himself a more genuine grin, shifting the basket on his shoulders to relieve and redistribute some of the weight on his aching back as he placated the twins.

It was then that Nezuko rushed towards them with Rokuta in arm, kicking up snow behind her as she fled the remainder of their walk. She had decided to take Rokuta around the clearing in an effort to get him to settle down, but the widening distance between him and his eldest brother seemed to only agitate him more, and he had finally had enough, resulting in the ensuing tantrum, though it was quickly interrupted by a coughing fit. Rokuta sniffled loudly, with tears pouring down his face, wheezing painfully around his pathetic cries and Nezuko's, "Look, look! It's Nii-san! Nii-san is here!"

"Onii-san, thank god you haven't left yet," Nezuko began, breaths coming in short, rapid puffs in the chill air as she stopped in front of him. "Please, take Rokuta-kun, I haven't been able to break his fever and he won't stop asking for you. I'll do anything, I'll even walk to the village and sell charcoal myself if you look after Rokuta-kun!" Nezuko begged, strands of hair falling from where she it had been tied up impeccably the last time Tanjiro had seen her, showing just how frazzled she was.

Tanjiro steadied Rokuta in his arms almost instinctively after years of child-rearing as Nezuko pushed him into his chest, the basket slipping from his shoulders and into the snow in his hurry to catch his younger brother. He shot Nezuko a slightly reproachful look over Rokuta's head for her rough treatment as he settled the boy in his embrace, shushing and bouncing him on his hip until his cries devolved into sniffles, then stopped entirely. "Nē, Rokuta-kun, you're getting too big for this! I can barely carry you," he pressed his cold nose into the little boy's fever-flushed cheek as he forced a grin to his lips, listening to Rokuta's fervent protests of, "No! Nii-chan is strong, too strong for me to ever be too big to pick up!"

Despite his exhaustion, and the obligation he felt to go down the mountain, and the fact that his Otuoto was getting snot and old tears all over his haori, Tanjiro found himself wishing for time to pause, surrounded as he was by his family. His own ministrations began to slow as he got caught up wishing.

But time would not wait for him, and neither would the charcoal at his foot, and he really could not afford to humor his siblings any longer if he hoped to make it back before midnight.

Regardless, he cooed at the toddler and peppered kisses to his face until he was giggling, then pressed Rokuta's cheek into his collarbone and lightly rocked him in his arms. Rokuta drank into the warmth of Tanjiro's chest and began dozing.

Tanjiro had been the one Rokuta clung to after their father's death, considering their nearly identical appearance and temperament. Tanjiro was almost a carbon copy of his late father, down to their unique coloring and peculiar, almost flame-like, starburst birthmark. Tanjiro wouldn't be surprised if Rokuta had mistaken his father for him in his earliest memories. It helped that Tanjiro radiated heat like a summer day's noon, perfect for lulling stubborn children into naps or bedtimes.

He turned back to Nezuko, exhaustion seeping through the edges of his smile as he allowed the microexpressions to slip through in front of the eldest of his younger siblings, the one person he did not have to be strong for when he could barely keep from tearing at the seams when he was being tugged in so many directions. As the eldest son, and the eldest man in their family after their father, Tanjuro, had died, the responsibilities of caring and providing for their family was layed on Tanjiro's shoulders. Nezuko had been his anchor since before Tanjuro had died, maybe even when he had just fallen ill, and he could forgive himself for failing if she was there to catch him. As such, he did not attempt to hide the slump of his shoulders or the limp in his gait as he stepped near enough to her to cup her neck with his free hand and kiss her forehead.

"Thank you," he began, "but it's better if I go. I can feasibly make it up and down the mountain in one night, but you would almost definitely be forced to find lodging in the village."

"Please, Tanjiro-kun? You need a nap, and I need a break from babysitting!" She brought her own hands up to cup his wrist, staring beseechingly into his eyes.

It was in this manner that they had learned to speak their true words without curios little ears, and it was this that told him Nezuko was not so much asking, as she made herself out to be, but ordering Tanjiro to go back into their home and rest.

With a fond, exasperated sigh, Tanjiro relented, though not before gathering enough energy from his exhausted mind to mother her, as their actual Okaa-san watched on in amusement. "Okay, but try to be back in time for the Hinokami Kagura, okay?" He joked once he had regained his composure and stepped away. The Dance to the Sun God wasn't for another two and a half months, and it would be almost horrifically impressive to take so long that she miss it. "If everyone is as desperate for charcoal as I believe they are, then you should sell out before the moon is above the treeline, but the snow disguises steep drops even in the daytime so you should stay the night in the village if you are worried about falling and don't think you can make it back before dark," he continued. "Also, I can smell a blizzard coming. If you end up staying in the village or with someone along the path, please try to return before the first flurry hits tomorrow?" 

Nezuko let out a relieved sigh at his words, though he could tell she was itching to roll her eyes and snort, however unbecoming it may be of a young lady. Nezuko had always thought his tittering unnecessary — and hypocritical, considering the lack of concern for his own long-term health — but Tanjiro was a firm believer in "hope for the best, prepare for the worst," and he would rather his siblings be fed up of his smothering than wishing for a safety blanket they had left behind. Regardless, Nezuko kept her composure and allowed him to continue fretting, "I packed some snacks but you may need more since you'll travel the mountain slower," and, "Here's some money in case none of the villagers can spare any food," and, "Do you want to borrow my scarf? The path is very cold this time of day, I don't want you to get sick."

Eventually, Nezuko's less-than-limitless patience won out and she brushed Tanjiro's concerns aside with a, "Thank you so much, Nii-san, I'll be back soon!" She leaned in to quickly kiss him and Rokuta each on the forehead, resting her hands on the sides of their necks so she could hold them in place as she pecked them in a mirror of Tanjiro minutes before, then she marched past the pair with gusto and picked up the basket of charcoal. She gave her mother a hug, ruffled the twins' hair, and gratefully accepted the hatchet before setting off for the village.

Tanjiro lay limp where he had collapsed, his breaths tearing ragged paths through his lungs and throat, their trails marked by blood. On the other side of the clearing, backed by the light of a slowly rising sun, Nezuko was forcing herself to her hands and knees, her own wet coughs making themselves known over the thundering pulse throbbing in Tanjiro's skull. Desperate hunger clawed weakly at his gut, becoming more distant with every passing moment.

Reality became more distant with every passing moment.

He could hear movement, through the cotton in his ears, somewhere far off. He thought it might have been Nezuko. He hoped she was okay, those coughs sounded bad and he was too tired to heal her if she wasn't. He was too tired to check if she wasn't.

Barely able to keep his eyes open, he let his gaze rest on the steadily brightening sky and slowly disappearing stars. He had always liked nighttime, despite his draw to the day, what with it's stillness and calmness, a rarity in a 7-person, 6-person, demon-and-demon-slayer household. But then the night and stillness became his bittersweet companion, stalking him, threatening to swallow him whole each time he succumbed to slumber, and suddenly it was suffocating. The quiet calm he had once taken refuge in had claimed him for itself, and he had grown weary of resisting so hard the siren's call of sleep.

He thought he might take a little nap, give the relentless hunter a bone, and take a moment to catch a much-needed break. Surely, after such a hard-fought battle, Nezuko would need a lot of help recovering, and he would do a poor job if he was not rested and energized. Surely, a few minutes of rest was warranted, necessary, even. It had been so long since he had last slept, and he was so tired. He had been constantly moving, constantly progressing, constantly taking care of his little sister and her friends, constantly being constant so everything would stay together a little longer, and he wanted a minute to pause. He wanted a moment to stop. He wanted a second for time to slow down. He wanted a thousand years.

No, no, he was just going to take a little nap, just enough to heal Nezuko and Tomioka-san and whoever else had come to help. He was so tired.

But he would push through. He can't stay asleep too long, people need him. People need his help; in fact, he's pretty sure there are people near him waiting for him to get up and heal them. He just can't quite remember through all the fog, his thoughts were slipping through his fingers, floating above the mist.

A warm hand cupped his cheek and the sky above him bled into sakura pink as a shadow passed over his face, drawing his attention away from his attempts at coherent thought. What a pretty pink-purple it became as it neared dawn, though heavy, wet clouds seemed to be rolling in.

From far away, he heard a girl cry.

"Nii-san, Tomioka-san....!" He thought she might have said.

His face melted into the warmth of the palm, froze in the place the warmth had been when it was gone. More sound — shuffling, hurried steps, maybe — became apparent to his sluggish mind.

Burning hands dug under his back, scooped up his knees, pulled him close to a burning chest. The hands left wet trails where they touched his back, and he felt a sting of pain through the floaty feeling of almost-sleep, but his thoughts were derailed when his focus was drawn back to the view above him.

The sky was so pretty, it's been too long since he'd seen it in the day, he thought, staring into blue — so beautiful even as it dripped on his cheek and fell, Almost like his own tears. Was it raining?

Why was the sky so sad?

Maybe, it did not wish for him to float from its burning embrace. Maybe, it would miss him. Maybe, it did not want him to fall asleep. Maybe, he did not want to fall asleep either, if the sky would miss him so much it would weep, or the girl so much she would scream or cry or beg — was that begging he heard?

Maybe they would wait for him to wake up.

He would, he swore, it was just a little nap and he would be up soon! Just... in a moment....

Chapter Text

Tanjurou’s body failed slowly, far slower than anyone else would in his position, but his charcoal burner’s lungs could not last forever. They had been under so much strain, even for years before he fell ill, as far back as the first day he began learning their family’s sacred kagura, that it was nothing less than a blessing of the god of the Sun, and it was not designed for the mortal body. His dancing made him susceptible to black lungs, and his black lungs made him susceptible to illness from the cold air.

Tanjirou, though, had danced as if their kagura was made in his image, and breathed charcoal dust and kiln smoke as easily as he breathed clear mountain air. He learned the kagura from Tanjurou quickly, quicker than a babe learns to nurse, so quickly that Tanjurou had gotten to see his son dance on the turn of the new year before he passed.

He was breathless as he saw the way the final dusk’s rays were overtaken by the fire of the torches and the fire of the sword when the dance began, and in utter awe as he saw the first dawn’s light flare his son’s hair into starfire as the dance came to an end. It was beautiful, and graceful, and Tanjurou found himself lost in memories of his grandfather, who had taught the dance to him when his mother had been too weak to dance it herself. His grandfather had danced like the seven-pronged sword was a part of him, like the chiming bells were the pulse of his heart, and the roar of the torches his own rumbled breaths. Tanjirou danced like the sword was part of him, and the bells were his heart, and the torches were his breath, but also as if the cold was an absence he must attend to, and the darkness an illness he must cure.

He danced like he was connected to everything around him, as if he were the sun reaching out to the planets in his orbit.

Tanjurou felt compelled to edge closer, to feel his warmth and be consumed by it, to join the dance and cast his light onto everything around him. Beside him, he felt his wife’s supporting arm pull away as she took an unconscious, shuffled step forward, as if she too felt compelled to dance even without knowing the sacred kagura. 

Kamado Tanjiro found himself struggling as he tried not to let his smile drift while approaching his mother, Kamado Kie, and two of his siblings — Kamado twins Hanako and Shigeru. A large basket of charcoal felt more like stone upon his back, and a sheathed hatchet bobbed at his hip in time with his stilted, laboured gait. The snow crunched harshly underfoot with each lumbering step he took, resembling more the sound of knife against whetstone with how sharp and quick he sunk through the not-so gentle powder.

The twins, only metres away at this point, were helping their mother gather the necessary vegetables from the winter stores so they could be prepared for dinner, chittering about their evening plans around the heavy jars as they flitted back and forth around their okaa-san , their words carrying over the snow as if speaking from behind a blanket. Once they finished their chores, they would have the entire rest of the night free, other than cleaning up after dinner and keeping the fire fed until they all went to sleep, since Tanjiro had already taken care of gathering wood, Nezuo had taken care of tidying the house and scrubbing the charcoal shed, and Takeo was currently tending to Yagi-san, their goat, the last and most burdensome three of their daily duties other than the actual acts of their family trade.

He listened to their exuberant chatter, carrying clearly to his ears despite the light snowfall, the blanket of powder already on the ground, and the distance between them, and found his smile settling into place with ease, wiping the tiredness from around his mouth and under his eyes, replacing it with laugh lines and crow's feet. He allowed himself to imagine what they would be doing while he was down the mountain for the night as he continued to cross the bridge of snow between them.

His mother would stay up late weaving and sewing, creating new baskets and repairing his haori from yesterday's wear and tear, too worried to sleep right away when one of her babies was away from the warmth of their hearth and the comfort of the family den.

Nezuo would work with her, continuing his learning of their mother's skills so he could look after Tanjiro as their Okaa-san crept up in age, since Tanjiro had to perfect the skills their father had passed to him as the oldest son. Rokuta would sleep off his fever in the cage of Nezuo’s arms, the small doll he had inherited from Hanako, still smelling of their father, in his hands.

Takeo would sit by the window near the back of the room, next to the fireplace, so he could keep an eye on their goat in the night and rush out through the back entrance if any wild animals got into her pen and spooked her. He would fiddle with the logs that would be used to stoke the fire, examining them before proclaiming that Tanjiro was "truly a master at cutting firewood," and that one day he would surpass his Onii-san, and take care of the family when Nezuo moved onto bigger things and Tanjiro dutifully followed after, "though the day would likely never come."

At this point, Tanjiro had his Otuoto's whole spiel memorised, and would often dramatically reenact it with Nezuo at the twins behind Takeo's back to make them giggle.

And the twins, who were currently discussing their plans loud enough for him to hear: when it was dark, they would get a cup of goat's milk, heated by the fire and sweetened with wild honey and wisteria petals. They would sit as close to the flames as their Nii-chan would allow, and listen to stories.

But he wouldn't be there that night, because he had to walk down to the village at the base of the mountain and sell charcoal. He felt sadness begin to well up at missing his siblings, at falling asleep alone. Even so, he contented himself with the fantasies he had imagined, and steeled his heart as he continued to walk towards the small gathering of his family members, a familiar, soft smile still firmly planted on his face, the tug of his lips an old friend that brought with it comfort and safety for himself as much as it did others.

As he finally grew near, the trio took notice of his approach, unknowing of the discontent that had been building in his chest, of the fausseté of his light visage. His intentional, seemingly-unburdened steps carried well despite the muffling of the snow blanket, and his family members paused at the threshold to turn and look out at him, at his travelling shoes and the charcoal on his back.

"Onii-chan, where are you going?" Hanako questioned, looking disappointed and mildly upset. "I thought you were gonna tell us a story before dinner tonight!" She tossed her scarf over her shoulder and stomped her feet lightly in the snow, knocking some from her ankles while also sinking her lower. He pursed cold-chapped lips, biting their soft inside so as to stifle the laugh building in his gut at her dramatics even as unease began churning there, too.

Shigeru whined in agreement with his older sister, shifting his cargo to one arm so that he could hang off her as if he couldn't bear Tanjiro leaving, "Yeah Nii-chan, aren't you going to play with us? You promised!" The sound of his voice rang in Tanjiro's ears, and his previous sadness and sense of exclusion reared its head.

He inhaled the crisp cool air and held it in his lungs as he did for the Hinokami Kagura, as if the building pressure in his ribs could quash the roiling sadness in his heart, and crush the lead ball of guilt in his gut to powder. In one quick woosh, he let it out and smiled, "Hey, Hanako-chan, Shigeru-kun, the mountain is still clear enough to travel, and we have lots of charcoal to sell! I want to have enough money for us to eat whatever we want during the New Years,” he paused as their countenance seemed to dampen further with guilt, and quickly switched gears, “What are we going to do with all this charcoal if I don't sell it? Besides, I bet the people in the village are running low. With how cold it's been, they must be burning through their charcoal!" The two giggled at his joke, his light-hearted teasing lifting their moods slightly, and Tanjiro allowed himself a more genuine grin, shifting the basket on his shoulders to relieve and redistribute some of the weight on his aching back as he placated the twins.

It was then that Nezuo rushed towards them with Rokuta in arm, kicking up snow behind him as he fled the remainder of their walk. He had decided to take Rokuta around the clearing in an effort to get him to settle down, but the widening distance between Rokuta and his eldest brother seemed to only agitate him more, and he had finally had enough — resulting in the ensuing tantrum, though it was quickly interrupted by a coughing fit. Rokuta sniffled loudly, with tears pouring down his face, wheezing painfully around his pathetic cries and Nezuo's, "Look, look! It's Nii-tan! Nii-tan is here!"

"Onii-san, thank god you haven't left yet," Nezuo began, breaths coming in short, rapid puffs in the chill air as he stopped in front of him, leaning in close to whisper (unintentionally harsh) to him so that their siblings wouldn’t hear, "Please, take Rokuta-kun, I haven't been able to break his fever and he won't stop asking for you. I'll do anything, I'll even walk to the village and sell charcoal myself if you look after Rokuta-kun!" Nezuo began to beg as strands of hair fell from where they had been tied up impeccably the last time Tanjiro had seen him, showing just how frazzled he was. His eyebrows carved deep grooves into his forehead from their furrowing, and the tensing around his eyes almost made him appear to be glaring (which, Tanjiro mused absentmindedly, would not be out of character for him, even and perhaps especially when he is in distress).

Nezuo’s hair was very important to him, as was his image — he (as most of their family seemed to be) was on the shorter side with a kind of delicate beauty that made him unassuming. Nezuo, with such a boisterous, unyielding disposition, couldn’t stand being looked down upon, and showing even moderate discomposure was a sure-fire way to be dismissed as a pretty, immature little boy. He used his appearance as a weapon in itself, a cold mask to unsettle those that consider crossing him, and humiliate those that do.

But he was also a young boy, nearing the age of courting and marriage contracts, and his hair was one of the things he loved most (it looked just like Tanjiro’s hair except for the beautiful burgundy colour, just like his Tou-san’s hair, and he thought it was his most beautiful feature since it belonged to two people that were truly beautiful in a way that Nezuo couldn’t lower himself to reach).

For him to have his hair in such disarray, when he cared for it so deeply, Tanjiro knew he was truly at his wit’s end, truly desperate (truly close to letting his explosive temper get the better of him and his care for their youngest sibling) . Concern began to well up in Tanjiro’s throat, that genuine kind that steals your breath and squeezes a fist around your heart. He stepped forward, hands coming up as if to steady him, or search for physical wounds, though they hovered uncertainly just before they could touch his shoulders. The move was automatic, muscle memory of dealing with heavily bleeding scrapes, of dealing with accidental stabbings from Yagi-san when she got spooked, of dealing with burns from playing around the charcoal kiln, of wanting to catch his father when he collapsed from coughing fits but not wanting to hurt his pride. Nezuo saw his hesitance, and he struck.

Tanjiro steadied Rokuta in his arms almost instinctively after years of child-rearing as Nezuo pushed him into his chest, stumbling back to accommodate the sudden weight and dropping the charcoal basket so as to not fall with it as momentum and gravity tugged it back. He shot Nezuo a slightly reproachful look over Rokuta's head for his rough treatment (even if he was panicking, he shouldn’t have risked dropping their sick brother, Tanjiro was prepared to hug him, not catch a child) as he settled the boy in his embrace, shushing and bouncing him on his hip until his cries devolved into sniffles, then stopped entirely. "Hey, Rokuta-kun, you're getting too big for this! I can barely carry you," he pressed his cold nose into the little boy's fever-flushed cheek and nuzzled as he felt a grin raise itself to his lips, listening to Rokuta's fervent protests of, "No! Nii-tan is strong, too strong for me to ever be too big to pick up!"

He cooed at the toddler and peppered kisses to his face until he was giggling, then pressed Rokuta's cheek into his collarbone and lightly rocked him in his arms, giving Nezuo time to collect himself and straighten his hair. Rokuta drank into the warmth of Tanjiro's chest and began dozing.

Tanjiro had been the one Rokuta clung to after their father's death, considering their nearly identical appearance and temperament. Tanjiro was almost a carbon copy of his late father, down to their unique colouring and peculiar, almost flame-like, starburst birthmark. Tanjiro wouldn't be surprised if Rokuta had mistaken his father for Tanjiro himself in his earliest memories. It helped that Tanjiro radiated heat like a summer day's noon, perfect for lulling stubborn children into naps or bedtimes.

Despite his exhaustion, and the obligation he felt to go down the mountain, and the fact that his Otuoto was getting snot and tears all over his haori, Tanjiro found himself wishing for time to pause, surrounded as he was by his family. His own ministrations began to slow as he got caught up wishing.

But time would not wait for him, and neither would the charcoal at his foot, and he really could not afford to humour his siblings any longer if he hoped to make it back before midnight.

He turned back to Nezuo once he had his hair sticks in place, exhaustion seeping through the edges of Tanjiro’s smile as he allowed the microexpressions to slip through in front of the eldest of his younger siblings, the boy who was practically his twin, the one person he did not have to be strong for when he could barely keep from tearing at the seams when he was being tugged in so many directions. As the eldest son, and the eldest man in their family after their father, Tanjuro, had died, the responsibilities of caring and providing for their family was laid on Tanjiro's shoulders. Nezuo had been his anchor since before Tanjuro had died, maybe even when he had just fallen ill, and he could forgive himself for falling if he was there to catch him. As such, he did not attempt to hide the slump of his shoulders or the limp in his gait as he stepped near enough to him to cup his neck with his free hand and kiss his forehead.

"Thank you," he began, "but it's better if I go. I can feasibly make it up and down the mountain in one night, but you would almost definitely be forced to find lodging in the village."

"Please, Tanjiro-kun? You need a nap, and I need a break from babysitting!" He brought his own hands up to cup his wrist, staring beseechingly into his eyes.

It was in this manner that they had learned to speak their true words without curious little ears, and it was this that told him Nezuo was not so much asking, as he made himself out to be, but ordering Tanjiro to go back into their home and rest, as well as give Nezuo time to himself to cool down.

With a fond, exasperated sigh, Tanjiro relented, though not before gathering enough energy from his exhausted mind to mother Nezuo, as their actual Okaa-san watched on in amusement. "Okay, but try to be back in time for the Hinokami Kagura, okay?" He joked once he had regained his composure and stepped away. The Dance to the Sun God wasn't for another two and a half months, and it would be almost horrifically impressive to take so long that she missed it. "If everyone is as desperate for charcoal as I believe they are, then you should sell out before the moon is above the treeline, but the snow disguises steep drops even in the daytime so you should stay the night in the village if you are worried about falling and don't think you can make it back before dark," he continued. "Also, I can smell a blizzard coming. If you end up staying in the village or with someone along the path, please try to return before the first flurry hits tomorrow?" 

Nezuo let out a relieved sigh at his words, though Tanjiro could tell he was itching to roll his eyes and snort, however unbecoming it may be. Nezuo had always thought his tittering unnecessary — and hypocritical, considering the lack of concern for his  own long-term health — but Tanjiro was a firm believer in "hope for the best, prepare for the worst," and he would rather his siblings be fed up of his smothering than wishing for a safety blanket they had left behind. Regardless, Nezuo kept his composure (by the skin of his teeth) and allowed Tanjiro to continue fretting, "I packed some snacks but you may need more since you'll travel the mountain slower," and, "Here's some money in case none of the villagers can spare any food," and, "Do you want to borrow my scarf? The path is very cold this time of day, I don't want you to get sick."

Eventually, Nezuo's less-than-limitless patience won out and he brushed Tanjiro's concerns aside with a, "Thank you so much, Nii-san, I'll be back soon!" He leaned in to quickly kiss him and Rokuta each on the forehead, resting his hands on the sides of their necks so he could hold them in place as he pecked them in a mirror of Tanjiro minutes before, then he marched past the pair with gusto and picked up the basket of charcoal. He gave their mother a hug, ruffled the twins' hair, and gratefully accepted the hatchet before setting off for the village without a glance behind him.