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“Hashira training? No, no thank you, Himejima-san.”
Genya doesn't know how to feel. He stares at Gyomei, almost dropping his plate of watermelon at the tense feelings swarming his body. Gyomei simply stares down at the boy, expressionless. Genya sits on his futon, blinking as he sets down his plate of watermelon with near shaky hands, getting ready to have this argument for the hundredth time.
Because they have had this argument many times before, and Genya knows this won't be the last.
“Genya, you are a part of the Demon Slayer Corps. You are required to at least partake. And, as my discipline, you are doing it.” Gyomei speaks, his voice authoritative and stern, one of his, no room for arguments tone. Genya frowns as he stares up at Gyomei, his brain jumping through hoops to try and get out of this.
“What? Why? But I… That's not…! But I don't even use a sword!” Genya argues, blabbering the sentence out, an attempt to get out of this even if he knows it's practically impossible. Gyomei’s eyebrow twitches a bit, showing his displeasure. “Why would I waste all of my time training as if I was using a sword when I don't use them? I have my guns, Himejima-san.” He mumbles, crossing his arms as he looks away. “Waste of my time and the Hashira’s time.”
“It's not just sword skills that’s being learned,” Gyomei speaks, his tone firm and unwavering, “everyone is doing something different. My training consists of no weapons.”
“Yeah, it's what I already do,” he grumbles, “so I’ll do yours.”
“We can figure it out.”
“Oh, so you want me to go bother the rest of the Hashira and force them to change their training to accommodate me?” Genya laughs, dry and forced. “That's just… No. No, no, no. I'm not doing that, Himejima-san, that's not something I’m willing to do.”
Gyomei’s eyes narrow.
“This is something you're not allowed to deny. This is something you are being forced to do, or upon the final battle, you're staying home.”
That makes Genya stand up.
“That's not fair! You can't do that!” He barks at Gyomei, and the older man stiffens. “You'll need me for that battle! You'll need me for that fight! Why am I being punished for not wanting to bother the Hashira and force them to change their training for me?!” Genya snaps suddenly, standing up and throwing his arms up. “How would you even stop me from participating?! You’ll need me! I’ll be needed!” He barks, anger boiling under his veins.
“Genya, enough.” Gyomei growls. “I won't be having it.”
Genya breathes in and out harshly, eyes twitching as he stares at Gyomei. “What do you want from me, Himejima-san?”
“I need you to join this. If you give up on someone's training, you will be forced to do your everyday training, not the specialty training everyone else is doing.” Gyomei sits down beside Genya’s futon, sighing. “This is important to me, Genya. I need this from you.”
“I won't force others to accommodate me.”
“But it's not all sword skills, Genya,” Gyomei speaks softly, brows furrowing slightly, “Uzui does stamina training, Tokito does movement training, Kanroji does flexibility training, Iguro is doing sword skill revision training, Shinazugawa will be doing infinite slashing training… Or, well, it's more like you're getting hit until you can stand it, and I’m doing muscle training.” Gyomei explains, his soft tone an attempt to calm down Genya. “Trust me, only three people work with swords. I’m sure none of them would mind changing it up for you.”
“Fucking liar.” Genya hisses. “You're a fucking liar.”
Gyomei’s eyes narrow. He stands up and sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll speak to them at a meeting about this. You have no choice in this matter. Those that are doing sword training that can't or won't accommodate, you can simply skip them.” He informs calmly. “Enough is enough. This will be discussed again after I talk to the others to find out what the answer is.” Gyomei speaks, shutting down Genya’s argument. “If you try and fight this argument, you're grounded.”
“You can't ground me-!”
“No outside time other than training, you can't send letters to Kamado, you can't spend casual time with Hashibami, you’ll go to bed two hours earlier and be bound to your room, and you’ll write me a two page essay about your duties.”
Genya shuts up and looks away, huffing. He really doesn't wanna do that, especially that last one. “I'm sorry.” He mutters out, though it's mostly just to save face, even if Gyomei knows it's a faux apology.
Genya feels his head being pat, his hair being ruffled, and Gyomei walks away. Genya scowls as he looks at his food and sits down to eat again, crunching his watermelon.
He's not happy. But he can't do anything about it.
He just has to wait.
.
.
.
“Genya,” a crow croaks, pecking him in a more gentle way, “Genya, wake up.”
Genya tenses his muscles, twitching a bit, nails digging into the futon as he curls up tighter, in an attempt to get more sleep…something he doesn't get often--sleep.
“Mmn..?”
He responds to the bird groggily, sleepily, the thick grasps of sleep still clinging to him. He gently reaches out and touches Zekka, feeling the crow’s feathers under his claws. The bird hops up onto Genya’s arms, and he has to pry his eyes open, the feeling of dried drool on his bottom lip and chin a slight bother as Zekka gently pokes his nose. It's not a peck, it's a simple poke to Genya’s nose, and Genya makes another noise at that.
“Get dressed and gather your weapons. You are being requested for a meeting with Gyomei and the rest of the pillars.”
Ah. He pulls the blanket over his head and whines aloud, attempting to hide away. “Noooo…” He drags out, a scolding voice in his head hissing, childish, fucking childish, but it's so rare he gets a full night of sleep, he wants to sleep for just a little longer. Zekka pulls a bit at Genya’s hair, gently cooing at Genya and attempting to get him out of the futon.
He’s kind of like Gyomei, he's taken on a more gentle and parental approach.
Like owner like pet?
(Genya sits on the boulder, kicking his feet. He's upset.
He can't do anything right.
He broke this stupid sword again! And it still won't change color!
He flops back, squeezing his eyes closed.
This is stupid.
He's stupid.
Shit for brains. Absolutely worthless.
“Genya.”
He flies up, eyes wide. He snaps his head over. “Hashi?” He echoes, and the bird shakes his head.
“Zekka.” The bird croaks softly. “I’m Zekka. Not Hashibami.”
Genya scowls. He also can't recognize his own fucking bird. He flops back onto his back, closing his eyes. “What do you want?” He grumbles out, and he feels the crow settle beside him. Zekka doesn't speak for the first few minutes.
“You're sad,” the crow speaks his observation, “why?”
Genya stares at the sky, scowling a bit. “I don't want pity from a fucking bird.” He snarls, glaring daggers at the crow. But Zekka shakes his head.
“Please. Let me help.”)
He lifts his head up to look at the bird, who is sitting there all patient and pretty. He hops off of Genya’s arms and onto the futon, looking at Genya and waiting.
Genya would be lying if he said his favorite animal was slowly becoming a crow. He always liked cats, probably due to being surrounded by so many, but… Maybe it's just the corps crows, but he has an acute appreciation for them. He reaches a hand out, a gentle, “step up?”, and the bird follows the command. It's something he always does with Hashi, so he's surprised Zekka is listening.
“Genya. Please get dressed.”
“I don't want to.” He grumbles, looking away. “This isn't a fight I wanna do, but… I'm still tired. And I don't wanna see anyone right now.” Genya sighs, glancing at the crow. Zekka steps close and gently grooms Genya’s wild mohawk, making him sigh softly.
“Genya.”
“Okay, okay…”
He pulls away, listening to flapping wings as Zekka leaves the room. He grumbles a bit and closes his door, feeling the urge to get back in his futon and sleep. But he knows that would only serve to irritate Gyomei, so he has no choice.
He slips his uniform on, adjusting it and putting his socks on…
Where in the fuck are his geta?? He looks around his room; not in his closet, not under his futon, not behind all of his plants that are definitely not a borderline obsession… where are they?
“Papa!” he calls out, grumbling… But a response doesn't come. He stays silent for a bit. “... Papa!” He calls, a bit louder, before muttering angrily under his breath, closing his eyes. He decides, fuck it, he doesn't even like wearing them. Fuck geta, he’ll just wear socks.
He fucking hates wearing geta anyway.
He grabs his haori, looking it over, the kanji for demon is embroidered on the back in stark white, making it stand out against the deep purples of the fabric. He pulls it on and walks out, his socks hitting the floor with soft thuds, and he walks into the--...
Huh. All the Hashira are here.
“Your geta are by the front door.”
“... Ah.” Genya's voice cracks a bit, staring at the Hashira, who all look slightly amused or simply confused, while Genya’s face flushes red with embarrassment. “I'm not putting them on.” He grumbles a bit, looking away as he sits beside Gyomei's legs, trying to push down the embarrassment.
“Didn't expect you to.” Gyomei speaks, amused, his hands running through Genya’s mohawk. “Now then, let's talk about the training, shall we?”
Genya breathes out, hitting his head to his knees and closing his eyes, just listening to the Hashira speak and plan this, all while Genya sits down, not wanting to be included with this conversation.
Tengen says he can train with his weapons, that's added weight, Muichiro can stay normal, as well as Mitsuri, Obanai had grumbled enough to say he’d attempt to work a gun into his routine, and Sanemi… Didn't really say anything. His eyes are narrow, staring at Genya, he can feel the glare, he shifts uncomfortably under it and leans into Gyomei for a touch of comfort, which he gets with Gyomei’s hand brushing against his hair.
It’s nice.
He breathes slowly, relaxing slowly in Gyomei’s comforting warmth. He hears Mitsuri’s soft cooing, the normal, “aww, this is so cute and precious,” type. Genya closes his eyes, huffing softly as he closes his eyes and tries to block out the cooing and the talking. He's not entirely interested in it, not exactly into it, more less uncomfortable knowing everyone has to change just because he decided to be special and not have the same weapon as everyone else.
But here he is, still unable to use a sword after three years.
He stares at the floor until everyone bids goodbye. He sits on the floor, holding his AR-15 to his chest like it's a teddy bear as he’s momentarily left by himself, still holding it close as Gyomei comes back.
“It's settled.”
Genya scowls a bit. “It shouldn't have been.”
“Genya…” Gyomei exhales, shoulders slightly hiking up as he looks down at Genya, and Genya stares up at Gyomei’s white eyes. “I want you to be confident in your ability. You need this.” Gyomei says softly, ruffling his hair. “I don't want anything to happen to you, so I need you to train with everyone else.”
Genya scowls a bit.
“It's not fair-”
“Genya.” Gyomei sighs. “I know you're not happy about this, but just… Understand that I need you to do this. Understand that this is for your benefit, I need you to come out of this alive.” He whispers, voice desperate. “I don't know what I’d do without you.”
Genya bites his lip and looks down. But he doesn't argue the point, listening to Gyomei walk away and speak to the estate staff, more than likely going to get everything set up.
Genya is simply left with his thoughts, falling back and staring at the ceiling.
He's not going to enjoy this.