Chapter Text
The snow was deep and thick. It piled so far up, Tanjirou's foot sunk so far down the cold, frozen water reached his knees. Soaking his pants. Nevertheless, the snow still fell, pooling in his basket, weighing it down heavy on his shoulders. It fell on his head and shoulders, leaving a wet mess. Reddening his skin with frostbite.
But Tanjirou barely cared, he was used to it. He'd been the one climbing up and down the mountain for years now. Sometimes Tanjirou would carry his siblings down the mountain; other times he'd haul wood or coal and other things they could make money off of. It was just the way life went. Tanjirou never really felt it mattered much; it was just the normal. The only thing he'd ever complain about was how much he tried to help others.
Every day, Tanjirou would pack his stuff up. Piling his basket or his cart until everything was nearly tumbling out. He'd take them, accompanied by whomever decided to come along, and brought everything, and everyone, down. No matter how bumpy, wet, or tough the ground was. Tanjirou was always able to bring everything down with no problem.
And every day, once finally reaching the village entrance, he would sell everything he had. He was a good salesperson—Even if he only did say so himself—by no later than noon, all would be sold out. And yet, Tanjirou would usually leave for home just before sunset. He'd help the ladies with housework, with their cleaning, childcare, and even cooking sometimes; the men with their intense labor, their building, their hauling, even their planning.
It was always what he did. Without fail. It wasn't a bad thing, Tanjirou supposed. Kindness was a good thing. And the world needed more of it. So, as he continued lifting and dropping his legs in the tough snow, Tanjirou felt nothing but joy.
He'd helped many people that day, the sun had long since set. He'd sold all his coal; he had a pocket full of money. And with it weighing heavy in his pocket, Tanjirou couldn't help but think of all the things they could use it for. Better ingredients, better meals. Maybe he could even buy Nezuko a new kimono; of which he's been meaning to do for a while now.
Tanjirou continued on the path he's walked thousands of times. Even with the snow, the path stayed the same. But even if it hadn't, his incredible sense of smell would lead him straight home.
"Hang on, Tanjirou!" The sudden speech stopped Tanjirou in his tracks. Turning in one swift motion, he could see the man who was calling after him. The small house just off the trail Tanjirou was on had its lights shining through the open window. The frail man calling for him had his head stuck out of it. "You're not going back up the mountain now? It's simply too dangerous." The man said.
The old man, Mr. Saburo, continued to call out to Tanjirou. No matter how much he tried to deny it; no matter how much he attempted to leave, Mr. Saburo continued to beckon Tanjirou into his home. "Don't argue, just get in here." He said, his eyes trying to see in the darkness. "Before the demons show up." He said finally, his eyes still darting after every noise.
Mr. Saburo's home was exceedingly warm. At least, when it was compared to the outside. The snow slowly began to stop, less and less piled up outside the door. Putting the cup Mr. Saburo had given him down, the warm meal settling nicely in his stomach, Tanjirou couldn't help but ask, "What did you mean by demons?" After all, demons don't exist. Their myths; fairytales. Nothing but what parents use to keep their children from being too much of a bother.
But Mr. Saburo must still believe it. "Man-eating demons always prowl around after dark." He spoke as he was taking out a Futon from his closet, setting it up for Tanjirou to sleep in. How kind he was. "That's why it's not safe to go outside at night." He had said.
Though, that only stirred up more questions in his mind. "Mr. Saburo, can demons go inside houses?" He asked this time. Or, he thought now, are they just like vampires? Not being able to come in without permission.
Mr. Saburo took hold of a pipe, smoke already bubbling out of it. His eyes stared at nothing. It was as if he was watching the paint dry, how sad. "Yes, they can." He said softly, quickly taking another puff out of his pipe. "But the demon slayers protect us." He didn't speak much after that. Not after compelling Tanjirou to sleep.
His eyes were so lost, dead of emotion. He must've been so very lonely, Mr. Saburo. He's been all alone since the death of his family. It must've been so hard. Piling the cups and plates he had used, leaving them in a corner, Tanjirou went to sleep. Maybe, Tanjirou thought as he snuggled under the warm blanket, Maybe I can bring my siblings over. Would he like that?
The sun came up slowly, the sky stayed and stuck in a cold gray. The snow had stopped, but the ones still piled were high. If it hadn't stopped when it did, Tanjirou feared that it might have piled all the way up to the door handle. How lucky, he thought.
Tanjirou took back the basket he had left. His shoulders felt much better. Even with the weight of the basket, the harsh snow inside had already melted away. Taking his leave, returning to the spot he had left, his feet already high on the hill side, Tanjirou turned back. "Goodbye, now!" He called down, Mr. Saburo still at the door simply raised a hand. Then swiftly returned into the safety of his home.
Yes, Tanjirou thought as he started up his hike again, I will bring my siblings down. They would even bring a nice meal to eat. A sappy smile was drawn on his face. Oh, how happy Hanako will be to hear all his stories, no matter how happy or scary. And Shigeru will be so excited to climb down the mountain again. Why, Tanjirou was starting to get really thrilled.
He was so close to home now. Though, he was nearly out of breath. The trail had been much harder than it was before. Tanjirou had to pick his leg all the way up to take another step. But with the winds of the mountain pushing the snow down, and the closer Tanjirou got to home, the easier he could walk.
Tanjirou kept gazing at the sky; his eyes trying to gift his brain the knowledge of time. But the sun wasn't easy to spot. The clouds and fogs were much too thick to look through. It didn't really matter, Tanjirou supposed. He just wanted to know if-
Blood. Tanjirou could smell... Blood?
Takeo must've cut himself on the axe again. Tanjirou had attempted to show him the right way but, he must've not have been a good teacher. Most times Takeo tried to cut wood, especially without supervision, he always ended up cutting himself. So that smell, that sickening scent, it must've been him. It had to be.
All the air escaped Tanjirou's lungs. The air felt thin and unbreathable; his head felt as if a knife had broken straight through his skull. His eyes hurt, the cold too fierce to keep them open. But he simply couldn't close them. "Nezu...ko?" He mumbled, his limbs felt stuck to where he stood.
Nezuko, the beautiful girl she was, was crumbled on the floor. Blood pooled around her, reddening the snow she laid atop of. Rokuta was cowering under her body. Pure fear bubbled up into every fiber of his being. Finally sucking in a deep breath, Tanjirou quickly flew of the ground. His feet continuing to trip over the snow as he tried to reach their side. His earrings smacked against his skin, but he was too scared to notice.
He put his hands on their heads. They were so utterly, completely, cold. Not a single piece of their warmth was there. It was as if they were statues, cold and dead. Simply a reminder of someone's life. "Nezuko." Tanjirou still called, his mind too slow to grasp what had happened. "Nezuko! What happened? What's going on here?" He shouted; tears began to form in his eyes. Slowly starting to blur his vision.
Moving his hand to Nezuko's shoulder, Tanjirou attempted to shake her. As if he was waking them up from slumber. As if his cries would waken them back from the dead. "Nezu-" Only when he tried calling to them again was when Tanjirou noticed.
He couldn't move his head. He couldn't look into the house, the blood he could smell. He simply couldn't. Cause if he did, he knew his worst fear would be confirmed. If he looked... If he saw what happened...
But he did anyway. He stood up and grasped the doorway so that he could hold himself up. But he simply couldn't. His knees were too weak; he collapsed as soon as he saw inside.
The entire house was coated in blood. The walls, the ceiling, the floor it was all coated in a horrible shade of red. The smell was thick and horrid. It quickly overwhelmed Tanjirou. But even then, he couldn't help but call their names. His mother, his brothers, his little sisters, all of them. But not one answered. Not one, none of them were warm. Not a heartbeat to be found. All of them were gone.
Hours had gone by now. But Tanjirou was stuck in place, his back against the doorway. He had pinched himself, praying he was in a dream. Praying he was still sleeping in Mr. Saburo's home. He had pinched himself so much his skin was turning purple and bruised.
This had to be some kind of dream. No, it had to have been a nightmare. This couldn't possibly be reality. His reality. His mother wasn't dead. Tanjirou had seen her just a day ago. Hanako and Shigeru, they were waiting for him to get back. They wanted a story. He promised them a story. Nezuko and Rokuta, they were breathing when he left. He promised them he'd be back. How could they be... They couldn't.... Not them. Not his family. Anyone but them.
Please, God, not them.
The hatchet in his hands continued to slip, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it. The blood... it kept him from getting a good enough hold. His brother, his sweet Takeo, had held it in his hands. He was probably trying to use it to... to...
He had tried to commit Seppuku. He tried so hard to atone for the sins of which he committed. To apologize for not being there. To be forgiven for not protecting them. He tried, so incredibly hard, but he just couldn't do it. He was too scared.
So, he was just walking to nowhere. His hands swung side to side. Complete, empty, nothingness filled his chest. He could hardly think. All that was running through his mind was the dead, lifeless bodies of his family. His beautiful Nezuko. His adoring Hanako and Rokuta. His kind-eyed Shigeru. His admirable Takeo. His loving Mother. He couldn't get them out of his head.
He missed them. Tears fell down his face, cold and dying. Tanjirou missed them so much.
So strange, Tanjirou thought. His eyes landing on the man in front of him. His haori was mismatched. Green, yellow, red. It was such a weird thing. His hair was tied, held behind his back. There was he stood; he carried himself so tall...
But what did Tanjirou care. He knew not the man. He didn't know why he was here. It was none of his concern. It was only when he saw the sword on his hip did he care. The blade, it must've been so sharp. It could, so easily, kill him.
So, maybe, instead of him... If this man can do him the grandest favor, he could be with them again.
This man is incredibly indifferent. Tanjirou attacked once, and he just dodged. The stranger's eyes as cold as steel. He attacked again; this time he was quick enough to cut him. But still, the man was detached. He looked at Tanjirou as if he was a fly. A thing that wasn't important enough to care or worry about; he was only a thing that is noticed because of his constant harassment.
It didn't matter to Tanjirou. Not that much; he couldn't care less about what this man thought of him. He just wanted peace. It was such a simple ask—One Tanjirou couldn't bring himself to say aloud—was it too much to ask for?
Why couldn't this man just get mad? Why had he continued to allow him the chance to attack? His sword hadn't once left it's sheath. The steel must've been so cold; if Tanjirou could get this man to finally end this pain, maybe he'll feel a pinch compared to what his family had endured. Maybe, with this act, when he sees them again, they'll forgive him. For abandoning them.
But this man, a man who held life and death in his hands, just kept avoiding him. Every swing of his hatchet was made useless. Nothing worked against this man. Tanjirou was just that weak.
The wind began to pick up the longer they fought. Large pushes of snow smacked at his face. His skin, already so pale and hurt with tears, began to freeze. It was so painful; but Tanjirou wasn't allowed to complain. Not when this was nothing to what they had to go through. Taking the wind as a guide, Tanjirou devised a plan. Maybe, with this, he could finally get the ending he so dearly wanted.
The wind blew one finally push upon them, and with it, Tanjirou disappeared. The stranger looked around with shock and confusion, he could see it on his face. The sudden disappearance finally pushed him into reaching for his katana. The man's eyes darted around.
Taking the opportunity, his enemies eyes turned to the left, Tanjirou threw a rock at him. It was meant to hit him square in the head, but instead it was blocked by the now unsheathed sword. Finally, Tanjirou thought.
He threw the axe high and swiftly charged at him. Tanjirou could feel his eyes bulging out of his head as he ran. But his attack was swiftly stopped when the other man chopped him dead in the neck. Falling to the ground, the snow hard and cold to his cheek, Tanjirou felt himself blacking out.
Tanjirou thought one last thing, one final tear crawling down his cheek. I really, truly am useless and weak...
Giyuu couldn't help but cock his head. His eyes near glued to the boy that laid before him. He was incredibly peculiar. Not even two seconds after their eyes met, had the boy attacked him. And Giyuu, to his knowledge, hadn't done anything to provoke him. He just... charged.
He wasn't a demon, he knew that much. His eyes were fine; his mouth was clean of blood. The boy's hands were a different matter. The bloodied axe he had carried, the same one imbedded in the tree behind him, had stained his hands red.
Giyuu simply sighed, sheathing his katana. There was no use for it. Not now. The sun was up and, even behind the shifting clouds, no demon would risk coming out. His job, now put on hold, could wait. So instead, Giyuu took the boy and flipped him onto his shoulders. His weight surprisingly light for a young man.
Taking a look back up the hill side the boy had jumped off of, Giyuu could still see remnants of the boy's footprints. So, as it seems, he will be able to find the boy's home rather easily. Maybe his parents can explain why he attacked him so readily; a complete stranger to him.
Giyuu now understood. The boy had wanted death, it seemed. The destroyed house was testament to his pain; the bodies of the boy's—assumed—loved ones laid dead on the once white snow. Giyuu too understood that pain. Looking down at his sword, all of which he now knew in his mind, he supposed that this boy, who couldn't possibly be over sixteen, wanted Giyuu to kill him.
If only he was just a bit faster. Maybe, if he had gotten here even a minute earlier, the boy's family would still be alive. Perhaps, at this very moment, the boy would instead be eating his lunch. Laughing and chatting with them like every other day. If Giyuu was just a second faster with each step...
He set the boy down onto the snow, using his haori as a make-shift blanket. After he was sure the boy was comfortable, Giyuu looked to the shovel laid close with other tools. Even though he wasn't able to save them, he would give the boy's family a proper burial. One the boy could someday return to and give them the remnants of his love.
The boy never once stirred. The whole time Giyuu worked away at digging and burying, the boy stayed still. Not once twitching or mumbling something; he wasn't like the others he'd known. If it hadn't been for his rising and falling chest, Giyuu might've believe he had somehow killed the boy.
Returning to his side, a short and small pink ribbon in his fingers, Giyuu once again put the young man onto his shoulders. His body still covered with the haori. He was going to take him to his past master, Sakonji Urokodaki.
The boy was quite strong. The cut on Giyuu's hand, of which still stung with the cold, was proof of that. The boy was, too, quick on his feet; both mentally and physically. With good enough training, this boy could grow into a great demon slayer.
Taking one last look at the destroyed home and the burial site, Giyuu knew this boy could grow into something spectacular. The pain he feels, the devastation he'll endure will push him to his limits. He'll fight to take revenge on the one who murdered his family. And he'll grow far past Giyuu's expectations.
He'll do exactly as Giyuu once did. No, this boy will do even better. He didn't know why he felt this way. But he knew, sooner or later, this young man will grow to do great things.