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Chapter Text

Tomioka Giyuu was halfway through his prayers when Kanzaburo came flying through his window, fluttering slowly around his head before landing on his shoulder. 

“Hm?” Giyuu opens his eyes, slightly annoyed at being interrupted while he was paying his respects to his sister and Sabito. “Kanzaburo…off, please,” he says softly, shifting a little so the Kasugai crow could hop off his shoulder. Once he heard the soft clack of Kanzaburo’s claws hitting the ground, he closed his eyes again and continued where he was interrupted. Tsutako nee-san, I hope everything is okay where you are, and that you, okaasan and otousan are happy together. Your Giyuu is doing well and misses you everyday…Sabito, if you were here as the Water Hashira, we could still train together, and I would at least have a friend I could laugh with. Giyuu hoped Sabito was not laughing down at him from wherever he was at how socially inept he was at social interactions. However, he doubted that considering how much Sabito liked to tease and laugh at him when they were younger. 

“A message…from Oyakata-sama!” Kanzaburo croaks, flapping his wings a little fervently. Oh, Giyuu thinks, paying more attention to the crow now. Probably another mission. He folds the sides of his haori onto his lap before standing up with a sigh, going to retrieve his katana. He had only come back from a mission the day before - the demons weren’t very strong, but it was the sheer number of them that had Giyuu feeling troubled for a split second while he was fighting. Thankfully, he only suffered a few cuts and bruises before he dragged his tired body back to his estate, collapsed onto his futon and slept until sunrise. Hopefully he could get this done and over as soon as possible as well. Giyuu wasn’t exactly in the mood to fight a kizuki right now. 

“The Water Hashira and the Wind Hashira are to investigate suspected demon activity in Nogata! The Water Hashira and the Wind Hashira are to investigate suspected demon activity in Nogata!” 

Giyuu stops where he stands, hand frozen above his katana. He could not have heard that right. Right? A little desperately, he turns and says, “Kanzaburo? I think I missed that?” 

“The Water Hashira and the Wind Hashira are to investigate suspected demon activity in Nogata!” Kanzaburo croaks again, a little more loudly this time. With an indignant squawk, he flies onto Giyuu’s hand and starts nipping on it, as if blaming Giyuu for his hearing problems. 

And hearing problems all right. Giyuu wished he did have hearing problems right now, if it meant he didn’t have to hear that concoction of words that should have never been strung together into a sentence. Because…a mission. With the Wind Hashira. Shinazugawa Sanemi. To Nogata. Of all places. He guessed his wish for the mission to end as soon as possible had been fulfilled, because Shinazugawa would probably try to behead him the moment they set off. No, from the moment they meet each other, perhaps. 

Giyuu sighs. If it was an order by Oyakata-sama, there was no way to avoid it. He cringes at the thought of being at the end of Shinazugawa’s angry rants and taunts for the entire mission, and feels a part of him shrivel up and die inside. For all he tells himself and Shinobu that he doesn’t care about what others think of him, being actively disliked and treated like an enemy by Shinazugawa and Iguro wasn’t exactly something that made him feel good about himself either, especially when he can’t understand what is it about himself that made those two hate him so much. 

It makes him a little sad. But there’s nothing much to do about it. It’s not that he hasn’t given his fair share of rebuttals and vitriol in return, but he did wish that they could get along more amicably. “Very well. Tell Shinazugawa that I will meet him at his estate,” he says, apprehensive. Perhaps if he made the trip to Shinazugawa’s estate, he would be less disgruntled and be in a better mood, even if Giyuu knew the chances of anything other than a frown or a snarl on Shinazugawa’s face when looking at him was lower than Sabito rising from the dead. “Go on, then.” He nudges Kanzaburo, who had been pecking at his fingertips. He startles a little before squawking, disgruntled, flapping around his head in indignance and then taking off into the sky. 

Giyuu stares at Kanzaburo as his figure grows smaller and smaller. With dread in his heart, he sighs and pushes his door open, starting to make his way to the other Hashira’s estate. 

This was turning out to be a very terrible day indeed. 

____

Sanemi glares at Tomioka’s stupid old crow, who is currently circling his head, repeating, “Tell Shinazugawa that I will meet him at his estate! Tell Shinazugawa that I will meet him at his estate!” Over and over again. As if going on a mission with that dead-eyed man for god knows how long wasn’t bad enough, his senile crow was now here to irritate and torture him before his master shows up. Like human, like crow. He has no idea just how Tomioka and everything associated with him could piss him off so much, but he just did. 

Sorai had informed him of the mission a while ago, and god knows why it took so long for Tomioka to be informed of it. He could guess it was because of how old and slow his crow was, but Sanemi spitefully chose to believe that Tomioka just wanted to piss him off for the sake of it. When Sanemi heard the words from Sorai’s beak, he damn near imploded, pacing a hole into the floor. A mission? With Tomioka Giyuu? He could barely tolerate the man during a Hashira meeting, let alone be in close proximity with him for a whole mission. The mission details were vague as hell as well - they didn’t even know what kind of demon it was, how many there were, merely a simple ‘suspected demon activity’. He wouldn't mind it as much if he was by himself, or Obanai, but this was Tomioka Giyuu he was talking about. He couldn’t fathom the thought of having to play detective with that snob that seemed to have the hilt of his katana stuck up his ass all the time. He’s thrown his chair, swung his katana around, gripped at his hair while screaming in frustration until he’s managed to get about a tenth of his anger out of his system. Better than nothing. 

“Okay, okay! I got it! Just shut up!” Sanemi shouts, batting at the crow. The crow spits out another feeble, “Tell Shinazugawa that I will meet him at his estate…” before finally shutting up, tired from the flight. Sanemi watches as it flies over to the window and folds up into a little black, old, aging, senile pile of ugly crow, just like its owner. Sanemi tsks a little spitefully and grabs his katana, going into the courtyard. Tomioka better arrive soon, because all he wants is to kill this demon who is making him angrier by the very second by making Oyakata-sama send him and Tomioka to kill it. Is it even that strong anyways? Why else would it need two Hashira? Resources were spread thinner than ever, and there hadn’t been talk of any kizuki lately, apart from the one that Tomioka had slain before Kamado and his demon sister were exposed. What was Oyakata-sama thinking, anyway? Out of respect for the man, he would never dare to say it to his face, but Sanemi secretly thought that his spiel for his children to get along, especially Sanemi and Tomioka, was complete and utter bullshit. Get along? With a man so silent he might as well be mute, with someone that stared at everyone with those…those dead, emotionless, eyes? If someone asked him something, his reply would be one or the other:“I’m not like any of you,” or, he would stare at them with those large blue eyes of his as if he didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about, before turning away with a swish of his ugly ass haori. It was infuriating. It was maddening. Sanemi itched to give him a good messing up, just to see an ounce of emotion on the blank face of Tomioka’s. 

“Shinazugawa.” A familiar voice sounds, interrupting his spiel of thoughts. Sanemi slowly unclenches his fist, and lets out a deep breath. Tomioka was here. For the sake of wanting the mission to be completed as soon as possible, he would not speak, look or acknowledge the damned Water Hashira. He would go to Nogata, find the demon, stick his katana into the ugly thing’s neck, and then go home and sleep. Tomioka could be his shadow for all he cared. As long as he kept quiet as he always does and don’t piss him off, things would be much easier- 

“Shinazugawa, let’s get going. I want this mission to be over as soon as possible.” 

And now he’s done it. 

Sanemi whirls around and shouts, “Hah? Tomioka, do you think so highly of yourself that you think I’m staining you with my presence? Is that why you want to get rid of me as soon as possible? Do you think I wish to go on this mission with you? Anyone else would be better than you, you fucking piece of shit!” 

Yes, Giyuu knew very well that the other Hashiras would be better than him. He didn’t think that it was very kind of Shinazugawa to so brashly point that out, though. Regardless, he lowers his eyes and says, resolutely, “Same to you. You are not the most pleasant person to be around.”  

Sanemi splutters, pointing a finger at Tomioka. It was shaking in anger. “You- you!” He glares at Tomioka for a few more seconds before stomping out of his courtyard. “Fuck you,” he mutters, uncaring of whether Tomioka was following him. Even better if he wasn’t. Alas, he could hear the crunch of gravel behind him, which had never sounded so unwelcome in his life before.

What the hell gave Tomioka the right to say that he was ‘not the most pleasant person to be around?’ Mind you, people were scared of him, but at least he had friends like Obanai. Tomioka Giyuu wasn’t very scary in appearance, but he put everyone around him off with his attitude and sullen face. He perpetually had a black cloud hanging over his head everyday, and he deigned everyone around him to not be worth his attention. Who the hell was he calling unpleasant? Because it surely can’t be the man that no one liked and has ever liked in their lives. 

“Let me tell you, Tomioka,” he abruptly spins around, pointing his sheathed katana towards Tomioka. He pays no attention to the slight widening of Tomioka’s eyes. “Do not tell me what to do. Do not, attempt, to even speak to me. Or else I will slit your throat right there and then. We are not going to work on this mission together,” he spits the word ‘work’ out like it was a joke he’s heard, a mocking tilt to his mouth. “You are just going to shut up and follow me and kill whatever demons I attract. Do you fucking hear me?” 

One side of Tomioka’s cheek twitches. He opens his mouth. “Shinazugawa, I don’t think-” 

“I said,” Sanemi taps his katana on Tomioka’s shoulder once, twice, thrice, heavily, threateningly. “Do, you, fucking, hear, me?” 

Tomioka stares into his eyes, gaze stoic and unwavering. Sanemi can’t read anything from those dark blue eyes, empty and blank. They look like the ocean, like a canvas. They looked like they could swallow you up with its crashing tides, yet they looked like nothing at all. They look dead. 

Sanemi and Tomioka stands there for what feels like for an eternity, Sanemi’s eyes burning into Tomioka’s, as if daring him to object. Giyuu feels the sword, although sheathed, digging painfully into his shoulder. If he was anyone but a Hashira, he would have been on his knees from the pressure already. Eventually, Tomioka’s brows furrow slightly and he gives a small tsk, before sighing and moving his neck away from Sanemi’s sword. “Mhm. Understood.” 

He walks ahead. 

Well. That’s as good of an answer as he gets. Sanemi rolls his eyes, and follows. 

What a fucking nightmare. 

Chapter Text

Giyuu trembles, hands gripping the cloth of Tsutako’s outerwear tightly. In the silence of the night, every sound is magnified - he hears the desperate thump, thump, thump, of Tsutako’s heart beating from where he’s held tightly against her chest, the rushing of his blood within his veins, the shaky cadences of their breaths that refuse to steady. 

“...Nee-san,” he whispers, voice tight. “What’s going on?” 

He feels it then - a quick, nervous swallow in Tsutako’s throat, the way her body stiffens almost imperceptibly. “Nee-san will go see what’s happening,” she murmurs, forcing calm into her voice. “You stay here and don’t move, okay?” Giyuu’s eyes widen when Tsutako starts to rise, her warmth slipping away from the tight grasp of his fingers. 

“No!” The word tears out before Giyuu can help it. He claps his hands over his mouth when Tsutako looks back with a warning glance, a finger pressed against her mouth in a shush motion. 

“Nee-san, stay here with me, please…what if it’s dangerous?” Giyuu begs, soft but desperate. 

“Then all the more I have to protect my little brother,” Tsutako’s hands linger against his face, gentle and tender in its reassurance. But even now, he can feel the faint tremor in her touch. “If it’s a robber, Nee-san will chase him away with this.” She raises the axe in her hand, smiling reassuringly at Giyuu. Yet the unspoken question lingers in the air - what if it isn’t? - it presses in on the silence, a thought too dreadful to name. 

Giyuu hesitates. His heart lurches, as if tethered to her by some fragile thread. If she takes one more step away from him, the thin thread would snap, leaving only emptiness where she once stood. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to lose the weight of her presence next to him, to lose the safety he only knows in her arms. He can’t shake the dread pooling in his stomach, a terrible, heavy thing. 

“Stay,” he pleads again, voice breaking. ““Nee-san, you’re all I have left…”

Even as he says it, he knows it's useless - once his Nee-san has made up her mind, nothing in the world would make her change it. Tsutako’s tone sharpens - still soft, still loving, but carrying the steel of command. “No matter what you hear, you must not move from this spot. Promise me. Promise me this, Giyuu.” 

He freezes, lips pressed together. A tear slips out of his eye. 

The last thing he sees is the pink ribbon tied neatly against her thick braid, swaying as she turns her head to look at Giyuu one last time. Her blue eyes seemed in glitter in the dark, a fragile light against the unknown, and then - she’s gone. The door closes with a soft click, leaving only silence behind.

-

Giyuu wakes slowly. 

The first rays of the morning sunlight blurred his vision as the remnants of his dream clung onto him, too vivid, too close. A little disoriented, he sits up and sighs into the cradle of his palm, as though trying to press the ache out of his chest. Today’s dream had been more vivid than the other nights, but that was to be expected, considering he’s back in the place where his childhood ended, where he realised how weak he was when it came to protecting his loved ones. 

At thirteen, his sister had been nothing short of the absolute light of his life. Her words were the truth, her smile unshakeable, her presence a shelter. If she said that everything would be alright, then it simply was. Life had been that simple - yet so cruelly fragile. 

At twenty-one, though, he sees the falter in Tsutako’s smile, the tremble in her grip where she’s holding the axe. He sees how she takes a deep breath while letting out a long, shaky exhale, fingers fiddling with the hem of her kimono. He sees the fear that had been there all along, glinting in her eyes as she turned towards him one last time. It is a memory that tortures and haunts him over and over again, as he picks apart every last detail of that night like a scab he cannot stop reopening. Each time it hurts, but he tells himself it is no less than what he deserves for being small, for being afraid, and for not doing more. The more he digs, the more he finds - a flicker in her eyes he didn’t notice before, the strain in her voice that he should have understood. Each rediscovery is like a shard of glass, cutting him open, but he clings onto them anyways. Because it is all he has left of her, and if he tears it apart enough times until the guilt and grief is all that remains, maybe he can find something new of her in the ruins.

Giyuu drags his hands down his face, as if scrubbing the memory from his skin. With a slow exhale, he rises, dressing in silence. By the time he wears his haori, the steady weight of Tsutako and Sabito’s memory sitting heavy on his shoulders, the morning has settled around him, and so has he. 

Well then. Shinazugawa was waiting. He would not keep him. 

–

“Demons?” The older woman sounded so horrified, it was almost comical if it didn’t piss Sanemi off so much. “S-sir, it is not my intention to offend you, but surely you know that demons don’t exist? I-I mean, we are not living in a storybook, sir…” she trails off, voice faltering at the increasingly murderous look on Sanemi’s face. 

“Did I say anything about demons existing?” He growls lowly, a vein popping on his forehead. It’s far too early for this. He knew that to…normal humans, or whatever, demons were nothing but fairytales, warnings that mothers would whisper in the dark. The Demon Slayer Corps were illegal, anyways, and outsiders would have no reason to know of their existence. But, usually when they were sent to investigate demon sightings - especially in towns - something would have usually given the demons away: a shadow too large to be human, an unnatural stillness in the night, growls too deep and bodies left in ways that no human could have left it. People noticed. They whispered. And they feared. 

This woman, he realised with a flicker of irritation, had the same look on her face - a look of revulsion and horror that suggested that he, was somehow the unnatural thing in the room. The way she recoiled, as if he had said the unholiest and blasphemous thing in the world, sat like something poisonous in the pit of his stomach, ugly and dark. Not because of her fear, but because he’s seen that look before. 

Genya. 

No. Not going there. Sanemi shakes his head, clenching his fist and trying to refrain from slamming it down onto the counter in front of him. If he did, it would surely crack into pieces, and he had no patience to deal with all the screaming that would follow. “All I asked, old lady,” he growls, teeth gritted, “is whether you have heard of anything suspicious going on recently. Anything that looks like - yes! That! Fuck! Stop looking at me like that!” 

He must look absolutely crazed and unhinged right now, because the woman splutters and words tumble out in a frantic rush, “I don’t know! I mean, people have been disappearing but no one thinks much of it! There are lots of bandits and criminals in this area anyways, it’s not exactly unusual for people to be targets! I’m sorry! But I really don’t know anything!” Her voice quivers and she bows profusely at Sanemi, though he’s pretty sure it’s not out of respect but rather fear that he might start shooting laser beams out of his eyes from how hard he’s glaring at her. 

A quiet voice cuts through the tension from behind him. “Who are the people that usually disappear?” 

Sanemi raises his brows a little; he didn’t hear Tomioka approach. Bastard was silent as always, moving with the effortless quiet of someone who doesn’t want to be discovered. He frowns and tsks audibly when Tomioka stands beside him, making his displeasure known. He hasn’t forgotten what he said the previous night. “How old are they? Man or woman?” 

“Ah,” the woman startles a little at his sudden presence, but recovers quickly, seemingly glad to have someone other than Sanemi to speak to. Sanemi scoffs quietly. It sure was rare to have someone prefer Tomioka’s presence over his, apart from that Kamado brat for sure. “I…I don’t…well, I think they’re usually women, since they’re good targets for bandits. I’m not sure how old they are, but they’re usually young women, maybe in their early twenties.” 

She withers under Sanemi’s unimpressed stare. “I’m sorry…that’s all I know.” 

“Thank you,” Tomioka nods flatly. He makes to leave, but pauses, his gaze narrowing. 

“Oi,” Sanemi snaps. He was about to leave too, but Tomioka’s blocking his way. “Move away.” 

“Did you see their bodies?” Tomioka says quietly. Sanemi bristles at being ignored. “Were they recovered? Or did they just go completely missing?” 

The question hangs in the air. The woman bites her lip, and her voice drops to a whisper. “I- I mean…they usually disappear. No bodies. No traces. Just gone. There are a lot of issues with…organised trafficking here, so that’s where they must have gone…” 

Sanemi notices her falter, and something about her hesitation gnaws at him. Tomioka must have noticed as well, because his head tilts slightly to the right, eyes narrowing. “And?” 

The woman’s eyes widen, and a shiver runs through her. “There…there was an accident a few years ago,” she stammers. “A body…left…completely mangled. In her home. No one knows who did it.” 

The woman’s words hang in the air like a stone dropped into still water. Tomioka doesn’t move, nor speak, just watches her, and that alone is enough to make her shrink further. 

“Oh?” Tomioka says. “I see.” 

“I moved here after the incident happened,” she says, hesitant. “I don’t know much, only what I’ve heard from whispers here and there. I’m sorry. I can’t help you here,” she seems to snap out of her reverie and swallows tightly. “Please leave.” 

Sanemi straightens, letting out a low, sharp sigh. Tomioka gives a curt nod and steps back, silent. His blue eyes were darker than ever. 

“Well,” Sanemi mutters, body stiff with tension. “That’s as much as we’re going to get here. Let’s move.” His voice is rough, clipped, leaving no room for argument. 

Tomioka follows quietly, fiddling with his haori. The air outside hits him - cool, dry and crisp, carrying the faint scent of earth and decay. “A demon that targets young women,” Sanemi says, musing. “Doesn’t really narrow down anything. That’s like half the fucking demons out there.” He kicks at a loose stone with impatience. “We need a trail. Something. Anything.” 

Next to him, Tomioka nods slowly, his dark eyes sweeping the town’s outskirts. “We’re not going to find any demons now. Until then, we could continue asking around. It’s a small town. Perhaps it would be faster if we split up and meet again at an inn, before the sun sets.” 

Sanemi snorts, voice sharp. “Not feeling feisty today, Tomioka? You’re being collaborative for once.” He sneers. It was a good suggestion, he admits silently, but Sanemi would rather fight a hundred demons than tell Tomioka he’s got a point.

“Shinazugawa,” Tomioka frowns. “I…” 

“Save it,” Sanemi snaps, waving a hand dismissively. Whatever that would come out of Tomioka’s mouth would surely piss him off again, and he would rather maintain whatever fragile camaraderie they had going on now (which was basically almost non-existent). “Meet at that inn, by sunset.” He points at a small, wooden building nestled between the trees further along the road. “No excuses.” 

Tomioka gives a small nod, expression unreadable as always, and slips silently into the shadows of the side street. Sanemi watches him go, his half-and-half haori fluttering in the wind, irritation flickering across his features before he turns his attention back to the town. 

He was that close to grabbing Tomioka’s shoulders and shaking him back and forth. If he did that, Tomioka would probably frown at him, unimpressed, and try to pull away. Or his eyes would narrow, stormy, like thunder ready to break. Perhaps he’d even let out an annoyed sound, shrugging his hands roughly away. 

Who was he kidding? Tomioka would stare at him with his emotionless eyes and say, “Shinazugawa.” With his dead-pan voice, and then walk away. 

It was maddening. He wants something that isn’t that blank, unreadable calm. Anything that showed Tomioka was human, capable of surprise, irritation, anger…or emotion. Anything other than him looking at everyone else and deeming them not good enough for his presence. 

With a frustrated sound, he stomps away. Trust Tomioka to ruin his mood as always, even if he wasn’t doing anything. 

-

Most villagers are like the first few he encountered. They stared at him warily, clearly guarded against him. They were fucking unhelpful, to say the least. It was one thing to be hesitant to talk to him. In that case, he would rather them not answer the door at all. Because why were they talking to him through a crack in the door?? They would stammer and whimper and stutter and all Sanemi would be able to see was a thin line of their stupid fucking nose and mouth. Half the time, he would stand there and shout, “HAH? What the hell did you say?” Because he could barely hear anything he was saying. They would then slam the door shut with a squeak very quickly after that. 

Hours pass in this exhausting circuit. Sanemi feels his already non-existent patience thinning and fraying into nothing but an atom. 

One last one, he thinks, a little madly. One last house. Tomioka’s better got something good, otherwise I’m going to punch him into unconsciousness. 

Sanemi stops at the final house of the street. It’s small, and a little old, but otherwise, it’s maintained rather neatly. Taking in a huge breath, Sanemi decides he could probably try to change up his tactic, seeing that threatening and screaming at people clearly didn’t work. 

“Anyone home?” He knocks at the door, tapping his foot against the ground impatiently. He knows someone must be home; he saw a shadow in the window earlier when he was approaching the house. A young woman, it seems, with long hair. “Hello?” He calls again, frowning. He raises his hand to knock once more when the door swings open. 

Sure enough, a young woman stands in front of him, brows quirked in curiosity. 

“You’ve been busy,” she remarks, a trace of amusement in her voice. “What brings you here?” 

Sanemi feels his brows shoot up to his hairline. “You’ve been watching me.” 

The woman tilts her head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re very loud,” she replies, with slight distaste. “You’ve been banging on people’s houses. Of course I noticed.”

Sanemi smirks, a sharp edge to it. “Not shy, aren’t you?” 

“Not about this,” she snaps back. Her expression hardens, and Sanemi notices the faint twitch in her jaw, betraying the unease she tried to hide. “If you’re asking about those disappearances…you’re not the first. Most people keep their mouth shut. They always say it’s the work of some trafficking organisation, or bandits, some excuse that helps them sleep at night.” She lets out a short, bitter laugh, the sound tinged with mockery. 

“I don’t believe them,” she says, eyes locking into his. There’s an intensity there that makes Sanemi pause for a brief moment. “It…It’s too strange. I can’t fathom it. People like you…people wearing your uniform,” she falters, caught between fear and awe. “They came once, after what happened…nevermind. It’s real, isn’t it?” 

The woman’s voice lowers to a shaky whisper. “No one believes it, but…demons are real, aren’t they? And your people…you get rid of them.” 

Sanemi’s gaze lingers on her, sharp and unyielding. He doesn’t say anything to confirm what she just said, but he doesn’t deny it as well. He watches as realisation settles over her features, swallowing nervously. 

“We came before when something happened,” he repeats softly, voice low and deliberate, dragging out the weight of his words. “What was it? Is it something that you think I should know?” 

The woman flinches, a small step backward, hands clenching at her sides. Her eyes dart away from a brief moment, before flickering back to him in uncertainty. “I…I shouldn’t…” She begins, voice quivering. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just…people talk. About that night. About her. And the boy…they say things that shouldn’t be said out loud.” 

“Her?” Sanemi thinks about the lady at the inn earlier that morning. The ‘accident’ she mentioned. The body that had apparently been mangled in her own home. “This girl, she was killed in her own home? Someone mentioned it to me earlier.” 

The woman’s eyes widened, as if she wasn’t expecting Sanemi to have heard of it. 

Sanemi leans slightly closer, the air between them tightening like a drawn blade. “Speak plainly,” he murmurs, voice low and threatening. “Do not waste my time.” 

Her lips pressed together, and for a heartbeat, Sanemi thought she might close the door on him there and then. But then, slowly, she exhales and meets his gaze. “That night…there was a girl. It happened a day before she was set to be married. Torn apart…they say it happened right in her home. No one knows exactly how,” she swallowed hard, her shoulders hunching as if to shield herself from the memory. 

“They said it was the brother. They whispered. He had always been clingy with her, and when he realised she was going to get married, away from her, he…snapped. Killed her.” She shivered, shaking her head as if trying to push the memory away. “The boy said that a demon came into the house and killed her. No one believed him, of course. He was a thirteen year old boy then. Considering what they were saying about him, the strength he might have had…some thought it was possible. To…do that. To her.” 

Sanemi’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening. A thirteen year old boy losing his sister to a demon was one thing. Being accused of her murder was another. 

He exhaled, trying to shake off the knot of anger and frustration coiling in his chest. Still, he couldn’t stop the sharp edge of sympathy that cut through the anger. That boy…he had been thirteen. Alone and frightened, with the town turning on him and calling him a- 

Murderer! 

Sanemi clenches his fist tightly. It was a feeling he knew all too well. 

“What happened to him?” He asks, trying to distract himself. “The boy. Is he dead?” 

“I’m not sure,” she bites her lip, gaze flickering away. “He ran away, in the end. But that’s all that I know of him. We don’t speak of what happened anymore.” 

The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive. She shifted uncomfortably under Sanemi’s stare, as if she feared he could sense every lie or omission. 

Sanemi clicked his tongue, turning slightly on his heel. “Convenient,” he muttered, though not quite under his breath. “Forget the parts you don’t like, and pretend it makes you clean.”

The woman flinched, but said nothing.

“You helped,” he waves dismissively, already stepping back from the doorway. She knew a dismissal for what it was, and the door slammed shut soon after. 

Sanemi didn’t turn back. He’d gotten what he came for.

Chapter Text

The crunch of the gravel beneath Sanemi’s feet is loud in the silence of the small town. He squints a little as the warm, orange glare of the sun peeks through the gaps of crooked roofs; dusk was creeping in, Sanemi realises belatedly. Time to find Tomioka. He could have reached their meeting destination within a blink of an eye, just so that he could finally sit down and have a drink after the most maddening day, but there was something about the last woman’s story that forced him to slow his pace, to let to gnaw at the edges of his thoughts. 

It shouldn’t have bothered him; stories like that were more than common within the Demon Slayer Corps. Mangled bodies found in homes, blood on the walls - unfortunately, tragedy was a currency that the slayers were all too familiar with. 

This one, however. The only two people in the town that had opened up to him, were both talking about the same incident. They had the same haunted, feared look in their eyes, one that spoke of secrets and guilt. There was something going on in this town; Sanemi could feel it in his bones. And he was certain it had something to do with the girl that was murdered years ago. 

Sanemi dragged a hand through his hair, the front pieces of his bangs flopping down to kiss the tip of his nose. He huffs out a sharp breath as the small inn they agreed to meet comes into view at the end of the road. And there he stands - Tomioka, already waiting, his sword tucked neatly beside his hip, standing in the glow of the setting sun like a sad, brooding statue. Sanemi’s mouth twists into a half-snarl, half-smirk. 

“What are you doing, standing out here like that?” He snarks, rolling his eyes and pushing his way in. The door creaks with the force of it, startling the innkeeper inside. “You couldn’t have gone in first? Did you really have to stand outside like some sort of brooding freak?”

Tomioka trails after him and it’s only because of Sanemi’s sharp senses that he notices the sudden break in rhythm. The faint scrap of sandals halts against the flooring, the quiet shift in air stalling behind him. Tomioka’s presence, usually steady and unobtrusive, wavers for a second. There’s almost an imperceptible catch of a sharp inhale, like something unseen had brushed too close to Tomioka. 

Sanemi’s muscles tense instinctively, hand twitching towards his sword. He’s about to snap - What, demon? - Before Tomioka moves again, the pause gone as soon as it came. His footsteps fall back into line, quiet and measured, as if nothing had nothing. 

Strange. Sanemi glances at him over his shoulder, irritation flickering into suspicion. But Tomioka remains quiet and his expression gives nothing away. Typical. Whatever weird thing he was doing, Sanemi knows better than to ask; bastard wouldn’t give him a reply anyway. 

The innkeeper stiffened at the sight of both of them - Sanemi, with his myriad of scars and scowl, and Tomioka, silent with a sharp presence. The swords hanging by their sides didn’t help. Before the man could stammer out a word, Sanemi saved him the trouble of approaching them; he just gave a small shake of his head when he made eye contact with the innkeeper. The man’s relief was immediate; he all but scurried away to the back, grateful that he wouldn’t have to entertain these two strangers. 

“I was waiting for you,” Tomioka answers him. Well. Sanemi wasn’t exactly asking. He was telling Tomioka that he did indeed look like a brooding freak, standing outside like that. His eyes flickered up to meet him, unreadable as always. “You’re late.” 

“No the fuck I wasn’t,” Sanemi snorts, rolling his shoulders. “I said before sunset, and the sun has yet to set. Don’t fucking piss me off. Anyways, what have you got?” 

Tomioka sighs, pulling his haori closer towards him. For a moment, Sanemi catches something odd - Tomioka fiddling with the maroon side of his haori, his thumb sweeping back and forth across the fabric in a steady, almost compulsive manner. He tears his eyes away from the sight when Tomioka speaks.

“I didn’t get much,” he says, flatly. He sounded as dull and monotone as always, but there was a slight furrow to his brow, a little crinkle in the skin between his brows. Sanemi wasn’t an expert on Tomioka’s expressions, but he could recognise this one for what it was. 

Fascinating. Tomioka was frustrated. 

“I asked if they noticed anything strange going on recently, but they mostly gave the same answer as the other innkeeper. But…” Tomioka pauses, as if weighing his words. “ I discovered something interesting. The girls that disappeared, they were usually…not single. Always attached. Lovers, fiances, husbands. All of them.” 

“Oh?” Sanemi ponders, leaning back on his seat. “I wonder if the girl that the other old woman was talking about was attached as well. If she was…” Sanemi trails off, a slow, slightly deranged smile creeping onto his face. “Ha! We have ourselves the same de- I mean, same case as the one years ago.” Sanemi can feel the excitement thrumming in his veins, the same reckless kind that pulsed before a fight. A crazed smile stretches across his lips, itching for his blade.

“Ahhh, maybe this is why Oyakata-sama sent the both of us,” he says, smirk curling. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking out loud, knowing that there are still people around them. He knows Tomioka would still catch his meaning, though. “I still think I can do this without you, Tomioka, but…” Sanemi makes a face, reluctant. “Guess I’m not as pissed about it anymore.” 

 It’s true. Hashiras could cut down most demons with much more ease than the lower ranked slayers. Even lower moons didn’t pose much of a threat to them. Sanemi had heard, much to his annoyance, that Tomioka had dealt with a lower moon in the matter of seconds. The only time a demon other than an upper moon posed a threat to them was when they had some sort of twisted blood demon art that they’ve rarely dealt with or have never seen before. Oyakata-sama probably thought that this demon was not be underestimated and sent two Hashiras on the mission. It was quite conflicting - it made Sanemi both restless with anticipation but also eager to prove that he didn’t need Tomioka on this mission afterall. 

“Ah,” Tomioka says. His expression flickers - faintly queasy, if Sanemi were to put a word to it. He opens his mouth as if to continue, but closes them again, leaning back in silence. 

Sanemi was about to ask him what was his damned problem when a voice interrupts them. 

“Ahem.”

Both turn their heads sharply. The innkeeper, who had been keeping his distance with a meek, submissive air around him, now stands just a few paces away. His previous timid demeanor gone. Instead, it was replaced with some sort of strange, feverish gleam in his eyes. He cringes back a little when they swivelled to look at him, but jolts, as if struck, when Sanemi raises a threatening brow at him. He forces the word out anyways, voice uneven. 

“You’re talking about it, aren’t you?’ His voice is hushed, conspiratorial, but there’s a tremor of excitement beneath it. He edges closer, hands wringing together, lips twitching with something that might have been a smile if it wasn’t so warped. 

Seriously? Sanemi thinks. He knows what the man is talking about, of course. He’s mildly surprised that they treated it all hush-hush - it was a small town, but many years had gone by already. Sanemi would have thought that the folks would have at least gotten over the horror of it all, or stopped treating it like some sort of half-whispered ghost story. From the corner of his eye, he sees Tomioka fidget in his seat, bunching up the maroon side of his haori. He flicks it behind his back and leans back against the seat, as if hiding that part of the haori from sight. It looks unintentional. And it should be unintentional. Tomioka himself had done all that without a single change in his expression. 

Sanemi’s brow twitches upwards.

“They all pretend it never happened,” he whispers, gaze darting between them before fixing on Tomioka with a fever-bright intensity. Sanemi focuses back on the innkeeper and narrows his eyes at him. He sounded almost giddy. “This whole town. Cowards, the lot of them. I think it’s because they feel guilty.” 

“Guilty?” Sanemi says sharply. “What for? For saying that the boy killed his own sister?” 

Tomioka’s head snapped towards him so fast Sanemi’s almost impressed he didn’t pull a muscle. What the hell was this guy’s problem? “Yeah, yeah, I’ll fill you in on it later,” he waves his hand dismissively. 

The innkeeper laughs, and it was quite a disturbing and deranged sound. It was something between a cackle and a choke. “Hahahaha! You got it! He did, he did! You know what I think? The little guy probably got so mad at the thought that he had to share his sister with another man…he waited until dead into the night…and bam!” 

He suddenly brought his arms up in an arc and swung it through the air sharply towards them, making a wham! sound with his mouth. The sudden movement was so wild Sanemi nearly flinched. “The scene was so bloody,” the man continues gleefully. “The sister was in pieces, you know. After he went off running screaming his head off about a demon, a lot of us went to see what was going on.” 

He whistles lowly, looking half-awed, half-disgusted. “It was messy to say the least! Half her head was gone, I could see her brains splattered on the ground! Her limbs - everywhere!” The man shivered slightly. “The creepiest part? The part of her head that was still intact - her eye was still open. I still remember the colour of it till this day. What a beautiful shade of bl-” 

Tomioka slams his fist on the table. Wood cracks with a thunderous splinter. 

The innkeeper stops mid-word, the sound cutting off like a severed string. 

Sanemi watches, slightly in shock, as Tomioka lifts his bleeding hand, calmly picking the splinters out where they were embedded into his flesh. What the fuck? He’s seen Tomioka when he was awkward, irritated, stoic, but this quiet, simmering rage? That’s new. Was he that put off by what the guy was saying? Sure, it was vile, but as Hashiras they’ve seen things worse than that. 

“Oh,” the man says, tone lilting mockingly. “Too gruesome for you?” 

Tomioka flicks the last piece of wood away. “I don’t think you have anything useful for us. We will be making our leave.” He then stands up, movement controlled, almost mechanical. 

“Huh?” Sanemi snaps. “What the- who the fuck is we? Sit your ass down, I’m not done here!” 

“Well, I am,” Tomioka says. He doesn’t even look back. His voice is flat, unreadable. He’s really walking towards the door. It’s like the times he would just walk out on the Hashiras when they are mid-conversation and the way he would leave abruptly once their Hashira meeting ends. “This is a waste of time. We’re not learning anything here.” 

“You-!” Sanemi fights the urge to throw something at his retreating back. He should have expected this - Tomioka, the master of walking away when things get slightly uncomfortable. He was right, though. The man clearly didn’t know anything useful - afterall, he still believed it was the work of a human, not a demon. They wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him. What grated on Sanemi, though, was Tomioka’s behavior. He probably thought he was too good to sit through a story and wanted to go hunt the demon on his own. Without Sanemi.

That’s when Tomioka turns, sudden and sharp. His eyes catch the light, glassy-bright, feverish. “You really don’t care much about the victims, do you?”

“What?”

“You just want something strong to kill,” Tomioka continues, voice low and biting. “That’s what excites you, isn’t it? The fight. Not saving people.”

For a second, Sanemi just stares. The words hit like a slap, not because they were true, but because Tomioka said them. He’s the one person who usually keeps his mouth shut — who never judges, never raises his voice. Unless they provoke him, of course. But right now, his tone is sharp, disdainful.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Sanemi growls, fist slamming onto the fractured table, wood groaning under the force. “You think I don’t care? You think I enjoy seeing people torn apart?!”

Tomioka’s face stays maddeningly neutral. “You were smiling,” he says coldly. “When he described it.”

Sanemi’s blood roars in his ears, hot and unrelenting. How dare he. His whole body thrums with the urge to lash out, to grab Tomioka by his collar and beat him black and blue. “You don’t know a damn fucking thing about me, Tomioka!” He snarls, leaning forward until his face is a breath away from Tomioka’s. “Don’t sit there with your smug, self-righteous face and pretend you do. What’s it to you, anyways?!” He spits, jabbing his finger towards Tomioka’s face, trembling with fury. 

His hands itches - aches - for his sword, to spar and kick and punch at the infuriating man sitting across him. Every nerve in his body was screaming for release.

“Don’t act like you care about anyone apart from yourself,” Sanemi hisses, his voice dropping lower. The words grind against his teeth like shards of glass. 

Tomioka stands there, spine straight, one hand resting loosely against the hilt of his sword, the other brushing the edge of his haori. A corner of his lips lifts, eyes full of derision. A short breath huffs out through his nose. 

Tomioka’s scoffing at him. 

Sanemi freezes for half a beat before his blood surges, molten hot. “The fuck was that? Did you just scoff at me?” His voice cracks into an ugly, harsh laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. But nothing I wouldn’t expect out of you, Tomioka. You fucking look down on everyone, don’t you?!” 

For all his fury, there was a strange thrill coursing through Sanemi’s veins, tangled up with the rage. Finally, he thinks, as he watches the tightening of Tomioka’s fist against his side. He wasn’t shouting at the wall. Tomioka wasn’t staring past him with those blank, dead eyes; he was reacting, cracking, showing something more than plain sarcastic quips. The scoff, the flicker of anger in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened - Sanemi drank it all up like a man in a desert. Exhilaration sparked under his skin, hot and electric, and for the first time, he felt like he was finally landing blows that actually mattered. 

And something did change. Something has to have bothered Tomioka that he actually got angry, rather than just sitting there like a damned statue or saying something stupid like - You’re wasting energy. That’s not important. Shinazugawa, I wonder how you even complete missions when you don’t think about anything at all. Sanemi could see it; whatever nerve he had hit, it was real, and the thought sent a wild jolt into Sanemi’s chest. He felt like he should have been angrier (angrier than he currently was, anyways), but instead, he felt giddy, exhilarated, even. 

He was finally getting under Tomioka’s skin. 

Something clicks in Sanemi’s head. 

“Ah,” Sanemi says, making a face of realisation. Tomioka looks at him, brows furrowed, irritated. He quirks a brow, as if to say, what? “Ahhhh. I get it, Tomioka. It’s something about that girl, isn’t it?” 

It makes sense. Now that he thinks about it—every single time the girl was mentioned, Tomioka’s composure slipped, just a little. When the innkeeper first brought her up, he’d seen it: the way Tomioka’s hand twitched; how his voice had gone sharp when Sanemi pressed the innkeeper for more details—too sharp for a man who supposedly didn’t care. And that flash of rage when the man described her body… that wasn’t disgust. That was personal.

The words drop like stone in water. 

The air shifts - subtle but suffocating. Tomioka freezes, every line of him drawn taut, his shoulders locked as if someone had driven a blade through his spine.

Before either of them can speak, the innkeeper from behind them lets out a low, tremulous laugh.  For a split second, the tension breaks just enough for Sanemi to remember he was even there.

“Oh, so you’re figuring it out,” he says softly, eyes darting between them with feverish delight. “And here I thought you would remain oblivious forever.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Sanemi snaps, hand flying to the hilt of his sword “Make your words clear, old man. Or I’ll - “ 

“-cut me down?” The innkeeper finishes for him, grin stretching unnaturally wide. He leans forward, eyes glittering. “Why don’t you ask your buddy over there?”

He jerks his head toward Tomioka.

Sanemi turns. Tomioka’s back is still to them, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white. He doesn’t move, but the faint sound of dripping reaches Sanemi’s ears—blood, falling from Tomioka’s split palm and onto the floor. Pat. Pat. Pat.

Then he thinks back—back to everything that everyone had said so far: the boy who ran screaming about a demon, the sister torn apart in her own home, the people too afraid to speak of it even years later. And he remembers Tomioka’s reaction - the way his shoulders had gone rigid, how he’d tucked the maroon side of his haori out of sight; like he personally couldn’t stand to let anyone see it, how his voice had gone cold the moment the story turned to the girl.

The puzzle pieces click together, one after another, until the picture becomes too clear to ignore.

The boy who killed his own sister.

His throat goes dry.

“What was she called again?” The innkeeper makes a contemplative sound, stroking his finger over his chin, voice dripping in mockery. “Ah, yes, she had a very pretty name, didn’t she?” 

Tomioka whirls around, eyes bright, voice a little unsteady. “Shut up.” 

The innkeeper ignores him, grin widening as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Tsutako…wasn’t it?”

He leans forward slightly, savouring the silence that stretches between them. His eyes glitter with something unhinged, and every pause feels deliberate, drawn-out, like he’s tormenting them with each heartbeat.

Tomioka’s entire body stiffens. His shoulders are rigid, his fingers digging into his palms until the skin turns white and more blood drips out, yet he makes no move. His jaw tightens; the blue of his eyes sharpens into something raw, exposed, as if a dam inside him is trembling on the verge of breaking. Every breath he takes is shallow, precise, controlled - but the tension in him is palpable, almost electric.

Sanemi leans slightly forward, pulse racing, mesmerized by the sight. He’s never seen Tomioka like this - so utterly still, yet so alive with unspoken fury and grief. The name, repeated even just once, carries a weight that makes the room feel smaller, the air heavier.

The innkeeper tilts his head, savouring it further. Each syllable stretches, deliberate, almost mocking.

“Tsutako...To…mi…o…ka.”