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How long had it been since the end of the war? It could’ve been hours, minutes, and Giyuu wouldn’t have found a difference. He watched from a distance as the remaining Kakushi buzzed around the aftermath of the battleground, each hurrying to any Demon Slayers that still had a pulse. The smell of death clung to the air; white sheets draped over his fallen comrades bellowed in the wind, making Giyuu's stomach churn. But his gaze never wandered. He didn’t think he could look away if he wanted to.
A few Kakushi occasionally approached him to tend to his wounds. Still, Giyuu shooed them away, directing them off to anyone who needed it more than him, regardless of how his body ached. He leaned heavily on what once was a structure, now a demolished remainder of a wall. Vaguely, he noted Tanjiro being carried on a straw stretcher into a wagon designated for the injured. Good. He was safe.
"Tomioka," a medic pleaded, "Let us sit you down. You're nearly unconscious." Before he could protest, he was guided to a cart a little ways from the boy with the checkered haori.
His vision blurred for a moment as they eased him onto the wooden base, before turning to more of the injured. He never noticed the man by his side.
Call it guile, but until that moment, Giyuu had assumed he was the last of the Pillars induced into battle that still remained. With the way Shinuguzawa's head was dipped, he might as well have been dead. Assuming he was unconscious, Giyuu once more was taken aback as the man sighed quietly. Too quietly for Sanemi.
He was torn between speaking to the Wind Hashira or bathing in the silence between them. But as Giyuu opened his mouth, he was interrupted nearly immediately by a weak, "Don't." He risked a glance at Shinazugawa, and oh, through the curtains of white hair, Giyuu could see how his eyes watered. Silently, he wondered who the man had lost in this battle, if he mourned the fallen in general or someone in specific. Didn't Sanemi have a brother?
As if he could read Giyuu's mind, Sanemi spoke, his voice cracking, "Genya." It was strange, this moment. It felt as if Giyuu was watching a completely new side of Shinazugawa; a deceit, or something the man had always had and kept hidden deep, deep within, drawn out by the loss of the boy Giyuu could only vaguely recall. He wanted to console, comfort, do anything to help, but the grief between them hung too deeply for his words to hold any real impact.
His own loss seemed diminutive compared to Shinazugawa. Giyuu and Kocho weren’t exactly friends, but she was the closest thing he had to one, more so than Rengoku, if that was even possible. He somewhat enjoyed the small banter between them, though most of the time it was about something stupid. But of course, he would never hear that soft voice again, or the way she pushed for him to show emotion. He would never understand how the same smile that covered so much within, somehow, was still comforting. Shinobu was gone, and there was nothing Giyuu could have done about it. Maybe that's why it didn't dig deeper than it should've. Or maybe, he had already begun to grieve her long ago.
Giyuu remained silent for a long moment, his hand curling and uncurling in his lap, trying not to notice how Sanemi was gripping the side of the cart as if it could anchor him back to reality.
“I… didn’t know,” he finally mustered out, averting his eyes from Shinazugawa’s form, “About Genya.”
It took a moment before the Wind Hashira replied, his voice breathy and quick. “I watched it happen. I watched the light leave his eyes, watched his body crumble into dust,” Sanemi let out a dry, bitter laugh, though it came out more like a sob. “After years of pushing the kid away, telling him I didn’t had a brother so he would stop following in my damn footsteps and throwing himself into danger, I guess… I finally got my wish.” His voice cracked, the corner of his mouth twitching down from the pained smile as his bottom lip trembled.
Giyuu was at a loss for words, speech failing him at the pure venerability in the man’s tone, in the tears that had just begun to slip down his face. Sanemi didn’t bother to wipe them. So, in the impulse of the moment, Giyuu outstretched his own hand, cupping the side of Shinazugawa’s cheek, his thumb smearing the drop across his skin, and to his surprise, Sanemi didn’t pull away.
“The world is cruel,” Giyuu whispered, his voice hollow, yet soft. The Wind Hashira closed his eyes, his eyelashes sticking to the damp skin beneath them. “Why him?” He asked back, his voice equally as broken, “Why Genya?”
“I don’t know,” Giyuu admitted quietly, pausing for a second, before speaking again. “I do know that your brother’s death wasn’t in vain. He… he fell with courage, like Kocho, and so many others. He wasn’t a sacrifice; he was a hero.”