Building Up the Ruins: Part 1
Category: Demon Slayer
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dimension Travel
Rating: Teens
Summary:
Giyuu is transported to a world where Sabito lived.
There's just one little problem: Giyuu can't speak.
Urokodaki says, “Do you think about Sabito?”
Giyuu keeps his eyes on the burning hearth. He answers, “Sometimes,” because saying he never stops thinking about him would earn follow-up questions laced with terms like “concerned” and “time off” and “all right”.
The only time Sabito leaves Giyuu is in Giyuu’s dreams. Even then, his most recurring dream is of Sabito: they are standing in a clearing on Mt. Fujikasane, and Sabito’s eyes in the half light are unseeing. He holds out a shard of the boulder that he had cut, and says, “Giyuu, can we bring it back to life?”
Urokodaki must suspect Giyuu is lying, because all he says is, “Let’s have dinner.”
And it’s good, sitting there with his old master and eating rice porridge that sears the roof of his mouth, their knees knocking together. Giyuu has missed the feeling of people entering his space, not out of disrespect, but out of history. Out of ease.
With his haori and nichiren blade out of sight for the first time in five years, he can imagine that he is thirteen again, finding surety in Sabito’s hand clasped in his. (Sabito habitually forgot to cut his nails, and they would leave tiny half moons in Giyuu’s palm.)
Sabito’s mask takes shape in the spitting fire, and flickers away, and Giyuu cannot be sure he saw it at all. His whole body aches with the wish that he could live in a world with Sabito in it, even if they were not friends, even if they never spoke.
Urokodaki hands him a cup and a bottle that smells of acrid rice wine and says, “Free for a fellow Water Pillar. Don’t take more than a few sips.”
They finish the bottle.
***
Giyuu bleeds out on his back, with Akaza’s disintegrating ribcage blurring in and out of focus.
Tanjiro is hunched above Giyuu, shouting something, his eyes huge, but Giyuu cannot hear him. Giyuu’s face grows wet, but the feeling is soon lost. There is no pain. There is nothing at all. He watches, as if through a window fogged with old dirt, as Tanjiro rips off a strip of his haori, balls it up, and presses it to Giyuu’s stomach.
Tanjiro is not unharmed, but he is alive, and this is the best Giyuu could have done. This is the only way Giyuu will accept death. He has already robbed the world of Sabito; with him alive, Muzan may have been long defeated.
He has overstayed his welcome. Tanjiro will manage the rest.
***
The scent of azaleas. Gravel pricking into his cheek. A line of ants marching along the dirt.
“Didn’t I,” Giyuu thinks, “die?” He sits up, pats himself down, and frowns. Wrapped around him is an undyed, scratchy kimono and a hakama. His Demon Slayer garb and nichiren blade are missing.
He hauls himself to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that sweeps him. His wounds have all disappeared. When he checks under his kimono, he finds no scars from the fight with Akaza, though older ones have remained, even the first one he ever got: a puckered, diagonal slash across his diaphragm. Demon. The same night Tsutako was dismembered.
This is not the afterlife.
He looks around. Mountains, hulking into the sky, quasi-familiar. Branches scratching in the soft wind. The first licks of sunlight on flat, tattered clouds. Tanjiro, the Demon Slayers, Muzan: nowhere. The road stretches down the mountainside and disappears into the gloom. Giyuu starts to trudge along it. Without his haori, his skin pebbles. Without his blade, he twitches at every rustle and creak.
He will find a village or town, and get his bearings, and return to -
To where?
Is Tanjiro alive? Is anyone alive?
He stops, regulating his breathing and dabbing at his forehead with his kimono. There is no sense in overthinking. For a moment, he allows the shrill song of the crickets to crest over him.
It is a presence, not a sound, that makes him turn around.
The scar must tilt differently. The eyes must be blue, not lilac. It is a Blood Demon Art, or a doppelganger, or a ghost. Giyuu gropes for his sword, remembers he does not have it. His underarms itch with sweat.
The line of the man’s mouth is hard. His Demon Slayer uniform is buttoned to the collar. “Everything all right, sir?” He talks abruptly, like he can’t bring himself to ignore someone who might be in trouble, but is still in a hurry and wishes he could be on his way.
Giyuu sinks down to his knees. He thinks of the snap of tendons pulled apart. He thinks of the crack of a wooden mask split down the middle. He wonders how fresh a corpse must be to be reanimated.
“Hey.” The man’s voice is deep, husky. It swallows the whole mountain. “Are you hurt?”
Between Giyuu’s ears an avalanche kicks off with rocks the size of toolsheds and they keep crashing.
A hand cups the back of his head, and something cool presses against Giyuu’s mouth. “Drink,” says the man, tilting the bottle. Giyuu gulps down water, sputters and coughs.
“I’m Sabito.” The man puts away the bottle and kneels. Just outside Giyuu’s space. “Now, I believe you have me at a disadvantage.”
If Giyuu tells the truth, he will sound insane. But he does not care. He wants to say, Giyuu, my name is Tomioka Giyuu. Did you know me? Do you know me? So he does. He grabs Sabito’s upper arms, and they are tough as tree roots, and Giyuu wants to skate his hands over them, over the calluses that have no doubt made a home on his palms. Sabito’s brows tick, but he does not rear back or flinch.
Giyuu says his name, with all the breath in his chest.
No sound comes from his throat.
He tries again. And again.
Sabito’s expression is growing increasingly puzzled. He pries Giyuu’s fingers off him. “It appears you can’t speak right now. Don’t worry, I’ll still find a way to help you. Can you point in the direction of your home? Hey, breathe. Do you need more water?” He takes Giyuu’s shoulders, gives him a little shake, and says, “Focus on me, on me, that’s right. Now, point to three types of trees. There we go, good.” He continues in this vein, until Giyuu no longer feels like his brain is about to ooze out of his ears.
“Do you know where to go from here?”
Giyuu shakes his head. He strokes his throat with a trembling hand.
He would head straight to Master Ubuyashiki, but he has no way of knowing if the Ubuyashiki mansion is where it was in his timeline, and no way of asking otherwise. He does not even know if the Demon Slayer Corps is organised the same way; the Master could be someone else.
Sabito hums. His haori is covered in that green-and-yellow block pattern - there is not a stitch of red on it. Giyuu’s chest hurts. Who is Sabito’s closest friend? Where is Makomo?
Did Tomioka Giyuu ever exist in this world?
“It’s not a good idea to be around me. Whether you believe it or not, my job is to hunt demons - ”
Giyuu nods calmly. People tend to react with disbelief, which can be frustrating and lead to bodies piling up.
Sabito’s shoulders relax somewhat. “It’s dangerous. I can protect you, but only for now. As soon as I can, I will direct you to a place where you can be taken care of.”
Giyuu does not need to be taken care of - he needs a brush and paper and a nichirin blade.
“Stop making that face. A man doesn’t complain.” Giyuu had almost forgotten; Sabito often spoke like he was reading out of a rulebook, like he thought it would help others memorise the things he found sacred.
Giyuu starts to count to ten. He gets to four before he sends a prayer of patience to the gods.
“I’m timebound, so I can’t stop for long. You’ll have to keep up. My destination is Mt. Kumotori.”
Giyuu goes still. Mt. Kumotori is where Tanjiro used to live.
Shuffles mark this timeline - late spring, not winter, Sabito, not Giyuu - but if the world has not shifted immensely, it should be the second year of the Taisho era, or thereabouts.
Sabito has gone ahead. He looks back - something he might not have done if he had thought Giyuu capable of speaking. “Don’t get left behind!”
They keep a brisk pace. As the light grows stronger, Sabito’s form crispens: his hair has darkened from peach to russet, and a barely discernible scar bisects his upper lip. His skin had never been delicate, but it is more sun-weathered now, with fine, premature lines around his mouth and eyes, like the work of a light sketch. He moves as if he is above what anyone else says about him. Giyuu thinks of a great lone serow he saw when he was twelve, picking its way slowly through a crust of snow down the mountainside; it had stopped and looked right at him with old dark eyes, and it had seemed a god, or a divine sign.
Sabito is silent like that serow. Giyuu keeps hoping that he will say, You look like an old friend of mine or You seem familiar , but he only maintains his easy, assured stride.
They break their fast seated atop a moss-mottled pine log. Sabito brings out skewers of salt-grilled fish, and Giyuu gazes at them till Sabito frowns, after which Giyuu takes one quickly.
When he had first arrived at Urokodaki’s house, salt-grilled fish was the first thing they had eaten. Or, Giyuu, who was not hungry and whose stomach had always turned at the look of the fish, refused to eat them, and Sabito jumped up, almost knocking over the table, and said, “You should be grateful you’re getting food at all. We should make you gut and scale the fish yourself to appreciate the work that goes into it.”
Urokodaki, perhaps feeling sorry for Giyuu, grunted from his seat, “It’s fine, I’ve got some porridge.”
But Sabito leapt over the table, grabbed Giyuu by the front of his oversized kimono, and shook him like a sack of coal. His eyes glowed in the firelight. “You won’t disrespect Master Urokodaki. We’re settling this with our fists.”
It proved to be too much for Giyuu, who was still wobbly from the loss of his sister, and he curled up into a ball and covered his ears with his hands. Urokodaki swept Giyuu outside, rubbing his back, and Giyuu clung to him like a monkey, howling.
Two evenings later, Sabito marched up to Giyuu, who was crouched beneath a pine tree and doodling a fox in the snow with a stick, and shoved a rice ball at him. “You’re,” he ground out, “all right with this, no? It’s salmon.” Giyuu suspected that Urokodaki had had words with Sabito, but accepted the rice ball, and said salmon was his favourite.
They slept hand in sticky hand that night.
Giyuu still does not enjoy salt-grilled fish, but he will not say no to it. As he eats, his stomach settles and his thoughts slow down. Sabito demolishes his fish in a few bites and starts to pace when he finds that Giyuu is not halfway done. Dust browns his socks.
Giyuu stops chewing. He looks at the road. Of course; he has been foolish. All he needs is a stick, or even his finger. He can write out his name and where he comes from and ask everything he wants to ask and -
Sabito’s brow is crimped. His fingers curl and uncurl.
Giyuu swallows his fish and it goes down as an aching lump.
No, he should wait. Sabito is impatient to cull the threat he has been informed of; Giyuu should not compromise the mission. There will be time enough for explanations later.
He makes himself finish his food.
Around noon, they halt at a fork in the road. Deep grey clouds are closing over the sky. Sabito says, “I’m going to start running. You follow the path over there down to the base of Mt. Sagiri. You’ll find a man named Urokodaki Sakonji. I’ll give you my - ”
Giyuu is shaking his head. He makes a swoop with his hand to indicate, Let’s run together . He is not worried about Tanjiro or Nezuko - this world is as it was meant to be, with Sabito’s breath mingling with the air, Sabito’s feet patterning the earth. It is only that he does not want to separate from Sabito. Not again.
Sabito’s unruly eyebrows go right up. “You’re not understanding. If you are in the vicinity of a demon, it will kill you.”
Giyuu repeats his gesture.
“I am going to run fast, and for a decent distance. There’s a difference between being a man and not knowing your limits.”
Giyuu taps his foot and stares at him hard.
Sabito bristles, looking like he wants to knock Giyuu out cold, but cannot because that would mean leaving Giyuu senseless in a place that is strange to him. “If you see or hear something odd, let me know at once. Just. Tug on my sleeve, or something.”
Sabito was not lying; he is swift, a fast-moving current. In their races, Giyuu would always have a view of his back. Sabito never slowed his pace, even when Giyuu wheezed and tripped and called his name. Only after winning would he turn around, flushed and grinning, and say, “Come on, I’m waiting!”
Even now, Giyuu almost has trouble keeping up. He hides a smile as they run together, well-matched, a fresh coldness in his lungs and the wind carding through his hair. His fading shadow dances over the foliage.
Sabito glances at him, lips parted, as if he’s seeing him for the first time. “Are you a distance runner?”
Giyuu keeps his eyes on the road.
“You’ve been quiet for a long time now. Is it that you can’t speak at all?”
Giyuu is not sure of that himself. He does not know if the reason is Blood Demon Art, or injury, or some form of magic. He does not know if it is reversible. He swallows the sourness filming his mouth and shrugs, and Sabito scowls at him.
By the time they reach Mt. Kumotori, the clouds have thickened, threatening rain. Sabito clasps Giyuu’s shoulder and says, “Stay behind me. Do not wander off or try to fight. I will not have your death on my conscience.”
I already have yours on mine, Giyuu wants to snap.
Sabito points west. “I hear voices,” and Giyuu starts, realising that he can just about makes them out, shrill and frenzied.
They rush towards the sound.
It is the same as in Giyuu’s memory. Tanjiro, on his back, shouting. Nezuko, above him, unmoving, like a puppet. A weight in Giyuu’s chest lifts; he wants to gather them into his arms, tell Tanjiro that they will be fine. Once Tanjiro becomes a Demon Slayer, Sabito can train him; Giyuu pictures Sabito jostling Tanjiro awake before dawn for an unplanned run, telling him to stabilise his core, inviting him over to make rice balls once they are done for the day, breathless and grass-stained.
Sabito shoots towards Nezuko, putting the full weight of his torso into his strike. Giyuu flinches when his blade slices through Tanjiro’s hair, almost taking off part of his scalp - had it really been that close a shave, back then? He waits for Sabito to hang back, to ask why Tanjiro protected her. Once the scene plays out, they can go back to the Corps Headquarters, and communicate this mess to the Master, and Giyuu can sit with Sabito and listen to him talk about the life he has built for himself.
Sabito does not pause to examine the siblings. He does not pay attention to Tanjiro, who is tottering and shouting, “Who are you?” He does not make to drag away Nezuko.
He dashes forward, his blade glinting.
Giyuu does not think about moving.
His body collides into Sabito’s, and then they are landing hard on the forest floor, rolling and grunting. The smell of scarlet crimson ore is in Giyuu’s nose. Sabito’s face is murderous. For a moment, Giyuu is paralysed, and the world is icy, endless lilac. A memory flickers, distant, without sound: Urokodaki’s house. Giyuu eyeing the slats in the dark window and whispering, What if the demons come? Sabito saying, Then we fight, and lifting his blanket for Giyuu to crawl in.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sabito snarls. He swings a vicious hook at Giyuu’s jaw. Giyuu blocks it with his forearm and his teeth rattle.
Time, he needs time. Tanjiro has to take Nezuko and run.
He knees Sabito between the legs.
Sabito grunts and curls up, and Giyuu leaps to his feet and puts some distance between them, his back bumping against a rough tree trunk. Tanjiro and Nezuko are gone - good boy - and Giyuu takes a moment to reorient himself and fall into a fighting stance.
Sabito struggles to stand up. Strands of frizzy hair have fallen over his face like weeds. His eyes are wild, his teeth bared. “You,” he says lowly, “were sent here to hinder me, weren’t you? You’re one of Muzan’s men.”
Giyuu shakes his head frantically. He is going to die twice in as many days.
Sabito lunges at him, swinging his sword in a downward arc.
Giyuu’s hands slap together against the blade.
Sabito’s eyes bug, and Giyuu snaps the sword in half before Sabito can recover. The pieces clatter to the ground.
Giyuu pants harshly, sweat soaking his clothes. He has only stopped a sword with his hands twice in his life: once in a practice match against Shinazugawa, and once in a practice match against Urokodaki on an anniversary of Sabito’s death. He rubs circles in his sternum; it is firm and whole, firm and whole.
Sabito’s jaw is slack. “Who are you?” he murmurs.
Giyuu sucks his teeth. He tries to mouth his name clearly, slowly. To-mi-o-ka Giyuu. Gi-yuu. He pleads with his eyes, hoping Sabito will pay more attention than when Giyuu tried telling him before.
His back is slammed to the ground. All the breath is knocked out of his lungs. A hand crushes his neck and he chokes. “How dare you say his name,” Sabito hisses. “How dare you use it to deceive me.” He’s got Giyuu’s arms pinned, one with a knee, the other with his other hand. In the deepening dusk, his face is a somen mask.
Tears are sliding into Giyuu’s hair.
“Where did you hear that name?” Sabito is demanding. The hand around Giyuu’s neck tightens. Stars burst across his vision. He kicks out impotently. “I know you can talk, you filthy little rat.” He loosens his grip, just enough for Giyuu to suck in a thin string of air and hack his throat raw. When Giyuu opens his eyes he finds the splintered end of Sabito’s blade pricking against his belly; blood has already bloomed on his kimono.
Sabito’s hand on the hilt is steady. “I advise you to choose your words carefully.” He could not have always been this difficult to reason with. Giyuu’s body goes lax as he searches Sabito’s furious expression.
Sabito will not help Tanjiro. He will not direct him and Nezuko to Urokodaki.
In this world, Muzan’s arm might stretch long into the future.
Giyuu’s stomach ties into a knot. He does not want to dwell on the implications of that - that it was always meant to be Sabito who died.
Impossible. Ridiculous. There is no world in which Sabito’s worth weighs less than Giyuu’s.
His palms sting, and he relaxes his fists. Tanjiro, he has to stay alive for Tanjiro, at least until the Demon Slayer Corps accept him.
Sabito is tilting his head. He presses his blade farther into Giyuu’s stomach, and Giyuu hisses, but does not move; if Sabito startles, he might slit Giyuu open on a knee-jerk reflex. At length, Sabito retracts his sword. “You really are a mute,” he says with some disbelief. “Since you can’t tell me your circumstances, I won’t kill you, though it goes against my better judgement.” He steps off and away.
Giyuu rolls to his side and covers his face. In, four. Hold, seven. Release, eight. Repeat. The birds are screaming. He stands up on shaking legs, watching as Sabito wraps the shards of his blade in a cloth he’d been using to carry food and says, “You’re not going to let me find those siblings, are you?”
Giyuu would rather lick the soles of his own sandals than get in another tussle, but if it comes down to it, he will, until he faints or is killed.
Sabito puts away the cloth. “I’m taking you to our headquarters, where you will be questioned. I don’t know who you are, but you almost went toe-to-toe with me, and you seem to have some connection to demons.” He narrows his eyes. “Don’t think you’ll be let off easy - if you fail to explain yourself properly, you will be executed.”
Giyuu presses down on his belly, where Sabito had cut him.
Sabito’s face is a stone. “You stopped me from decapitating that demon. She’ll kill people, and it will be your fault.” He buries his face in his hand, says, “My fault, too,” and curses softly.
If Giyuu took Sabito’s hand, would it be damp with his breath?
“If she takes the life of even one person, I will kill her, you, and myself. I will not make our deaths painless.”
Giyuu’s heart pulses into his throat. Tanjiro and Nezuko are safe for now, but he does not know where they have gone, or where they will go. The search for them could take months. Years. By the time he is cleared by the Corps - if he is cleared - they could be all the way in Hokkaido. They could be seeping nutrients down in the soil.
An image comes to him: stealing supplies, glancing at the closed doors of the Water Pillar Estate, slinking out on a moonless night with only the persistent dryness in his mouth as company. Blisters cracking open on his feet as he walks and walks.
Sabito snaps his fingers beneath Giyuu’s nose. “Look sharp, we’re heading to the town in the valley for the night. You will remain within my sight. If you try to run, I’ll break your legs.”
It’s the kind of thing that should make Giyuu want to retreat somewhere alone and meditate for an hour, but instead he feels removed from Sabito’s words, as if Sabito is a fever dream, or Giyuu is a fever dream in Sabito’s head.
They begin their march down the steep incline. Along the way the path thins into barely a path: loose rocks, gravel. Nothing to steady yourself against.
Unlike Giyuu, Sabito does not stumble even once. “At worst, you are with our enemy. At best, you require guidance. You need someone to show you how the world of demons is laid out.”
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dimension Travel
Rating: Teens
Summary:
Giyuu is transported to a world where Sabito lived.
There's just one little problem: Giyuu can't speak.
Urokodaki says, “Do you think about Sabito?”
Giyuu keeps his eyes on the burning hearth. He answers, “Sometimes,” because saying he never stops thinking about him would earn follow-up questions laced with terms like “concerned” and “time off” and “all right”.
The only time Sabito leaves Giyuu is in Giyuu’s dreams. Even then, his most recurring dream is of Sabito: they are standing in a clearing on Mt. Fujikasane, and Sabito’s eyes in the half light are unseeing. He holds out a shard of the boulder that he had cut, and says, “Giyuu, can we bring it back to life?”
Urokodaki must suspect Giyuu is lying, because all he says is, “Let’s have dinner.”
And it’s good, sitting there with his old master and eating rice porridge that sears the roof of his mouth, their knees knocking together. Giyuu has missed the feeling of people entering his space, not out of disrespect, but out of history. Out of ease.
With his haori and nichiren blade out of sight for the first time in five years, he can imagine that he is thirteen again, finding surety in Sabito’s hand clasped in his. (Sabito habitually forgot to cut his nails, and they would leave tiny half moons in Giyuu’s palm.)
Sabito’s mask takes shape in the spitting fire, and flickers away, and Giyuu cannot be sure he saw it at all. His whole body aches with the wish that he could live in a world with Sabito in it, even if they were not friends, even if they never spoke.
Urokodaki hands him a cup and a bottle that smells of acrid rice wine and says, “Free for a fellow Water Pillar. Don’t take more than a few sips.”
They finish the bottle.
***
Giyuu bleeds out on his back, with Akaza’s disintegrating ribcage blurring in and out of focus.
Tanjiro is hunched above Giyuu, shouting something, his eyes huge, but Giyuu cannot hear him. Giyuu’s face grows wet, but the feeling is soon lost. There is no pain. There is nothing at all. He watches, as if through a window fogged with old dirt, as Tanjiro rips off a strip of his haori, balls it up, and presses it to Giyuu’s stomach.
Tanjiro is not unharmed, but he is alive, and this is the best Giyuu could have done. This is the only way Giyuu will accept death. He has already robbed the world of Sabito; with him alive, Muzan may have been long defeated.
He has overstayed his welcome. Tanjiro will manage the rest.
***
The scent of azaleas. Gravel pricking into his cheek. A line of ants marching along the dirt.
“Didn’t I,” Giyuu thinks, “die?” He sits up, pats himself down, and frowns. Wrapped around him is an undyed, scratchy kimono and a hakama. His Demon Slayer garb and nichiren blade are missing.
He hauls himself to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that sweeps him. His wounds have all disappeared. When he checks under his kimono, he finds no scars from the fight with Akaza, though older ones have remained, even the first one he ever got: a puckered, diagonal slash across his diaphragm. Demon. The same night Tsutako was dismembered.
This is not the afterlife.
He looks around. Mountains, hulking into the sky, quasi-familiar. Branches scratching in the soft wind. The first licks of sunlight on flat, tattered clouds. Tanjiro, the Demon Slayers, Muzan: nowhere. The road stretches down the mountainside and disappears into the gloom. Giyuu starts to trudge along it. Without his haori, his skin pebbles. Without his blade, he twitches at every rustle and creak.
He will find a village or town, and get his bearings, and return to -
To where?
Is Tanjiro alive? Is anyone alive?
He stops, regulating his breathing and dabbing at his forehead with his kimono. There is no sense in overthinking. For a moment, he allows the shrill song of the crickets to crest over him.
It is a presence, not a sound, that makes him turn around.
The scar must tilt differently. The eyes must be blue, not lilac. It is a Blood Demon Art, or a doppelganger, or a ghost. Giyuu gropes for his sword, remembers he does not have it. His underarms itch with sweat.
The line of the man’s mouth is hard. His Demon Slayer uniform is buttoned to the collar. “Everything all right, sir?” He talks abruptly, like he can’t bring himself to ignore someone who might be in trouble, but is still in a hurry and wishes he could be on his way.
Giyuu sinks down to his knees. He thinks of the snap of tendons pulled apart. He thinks of the crack of a wooden mask split down the middle. He wonders how fresh a corpse must be to be reanimated.
“Hey.” The man’s voice is deep, husky. It swallows the whole mountain. “Are you hurt?”
Between Giyuu’s ears an avalanche kicks off with rocks the size of toolsheds and they keep crashing.
A hand cups the back of his head, and something cool presses against Giyuu’s mouth. “Drink,” says the man, tilting the bottle. Giyuu gulps down water, sputters and coughs.
“I’m Sabito.” The man puts away the bottle and kneels. Just outside Giyuu’s space. “Now, I believe you have me at a disadvantage.”
If Giyuu tells the truth, he will sound insane. But he does not care. He wants to say, Giyuu, my name is Tomioka Giyuu. Did you know me? Do you know me? So he does. He grabs Sabito’s upper arms, and they are tough as tree roots, and Giyuu wants to skate his hands over them, over the calluses that have no doubt made a home on his palms. Sabito’s brows tick, but he does not rear back or flinch.
Giyuu says his name, with all the breath in his chest.
No sound comes from his throat.
He tries again. And again.
Sabito’s expression is growing increasingly puzzled. He pries Giyuu’s fingers off him. “It appears you can’t speak right now. Don’t worry, I’ll still find a way to help you. Can you point in the direction of your home? Hey, breathe. Do you need more water?” He takes Giyuu’s shoulders, gives him a little shake, and says, “Focus on me, on me, that’s right. Now, point to three types of trees. There we go, good.” He continues in this vein, until Giyuu no longer feels like his brain is about to ooze out of his ears.
“Do you know where to go from here?”
Giyuu shakes his head. He strokes his throat with a trembling hand.
He would head straight to Master Ubuyashiki, but he has no way of knowing if the Ubuyashiki mansion is where it was in his timeline, and no way of asking otherwise. He does not even know if the Demon Slayer Corps is organised the same way; the Master could be someone else.
Sabito hums. His haori is covered in that green-and-yellow block pattern - there is not a stitch of red on it. Giyuu’s chest hurts. Who is Sabito’s closest friend? Where is Makomo?
Did Tomioka Giyuu ever exist in this world?
“It’s not a good idea to be around me. Whether you believe it or not, my job is to hunt demons - ”
Giyuu nods calmly. People tend to react with disbelief, which can be frustrating and lead to bodies piling up.
Sabito’s shoulders relax somewhat. “It’s dangerous. I can protect you, but only for now. As soon as I can, I will direct you to a place where you can be taken care of.”
Giyuu does not need to be taken care of - he needs a brush and paper and a nichirin blade.
“Stop making that face. A man doesn’t complain.” Giyuu had almost forgotten; Sabito often spoke like he was reading out of a rulebook, like he thought it would help others memorise the things he found sacred.
Giyuu starts to count to ten. He gets to four before he sends a prayer of patience to the gods.
“I’m timebound, so I can’t stop for long. You’ll have to keep up. My destination is Mt. Kumotori.”
Giyuu goes still. Mt. Kumotori is where Tanjiro used to live.
Shuffles mark this timeline - late spring, not winter, Sabito, not Giyuu - but if the world has not shifted immensely, it should be the second year of the Taisho era, or thereabouts.
Sabito has gone ahead. He looks back - something he might not have done if he had thought Giyuu capable of speaking. “Don’t get left behind!”
They keep a brisk pace. As the light grows stronger, Sabito’s form crispens: his hair has darkened from peach to russet, and a barely discernible scar bisects his upper lip. His skin had never been delicate, but it is more sun-weathered now, with fine, premature lines around his mouth and eyes, like the work of a light sketch. He moves as if he is above what anyone else says about him. Giyuu thinks of a great lone serow he saw when he was twelve, picking its way slowly through a crust of snow down the mountainside; it had stopped and looked right at him with old dark eyes, and it had seemed a god, or a divine sign.
Sabito is silent like that serow. Giyuu keeps hoping that he will say, You look like an old friend of mine or You seem familiar , but he only maintains his easy, assured stride.
They break their fast seated atop a moss-mottled pine log. Sabito brings out skewers of salt-grilled fish, and Giyuu gazes at them till Sabito frowns, after which Giyuu takes one quickly.
When he had first arrived at Urokodaki’s house, salt-grilled fish was the first thing they had eaten. Or, Giyuu, who was not hungry and whose stomach had always turned at the look of the fish, refused to eat them, and Sabito jumped up, almost knocking over the table, and said, “You should be grateful you’re getting food at all. We should make you gut and scale the fish yourself to appreciate the work that goes into it.”
Urokodaki, perhaps feeling sorry for Giyuu, grunted from his seat, “It’s fine, I’ve got some porridge.”
But Sabito leapt over the table, grabbed Giyuu by the front of his oversized kimono, and shook him like a sack of coal. His eyes glowed in the firelight. “You won’t disrespect Master Urokodaki. We’re settling this with our fists.”
It proved to be too much for Giyuu, who was still wobbly from the loss of his sister, and he curled up into a ball and covered his ears with his hands. Urokodaki swept Giyuu outside, rubbing his back, and Giyuu clung to him like a monkey, howling.
Two evenings later, Sabito marched up to Giyuu, who was crouched beneath a pine tree and doodling a fox in the snow with a stick, and shoved a rice ball at him. “You’re,” he ground out, “all right with this, no? It’s salmon.” Giyuu suspected that Urokodaki had had words with Sabito, but accepted the rice ball, and said salmon was his favourite.
They slept hand in sticky hand that night.
Giyuu still does not enjoy salt-grilled fish, but he will not say no to it. As he eats, his stomach settles and his thoughts slow down. Sabito demolishes his fish in a few bites and starts to pace when he finds that Giyuu is not halfway done. Dust browns his socks.
Giyuu stops chewing. He looks at the road. Of course; he has been foolish. All he needs is a stick, or even his finger. He can write out his name and where he comes from and ask everything he wants to ask and -
Sabito’s brow is crimped. His fingers curl and uncurl.
Giyuu swallows his fish and it goes down as an aching lump.
No, he should wait. Sabito is impatient to cull the threat he has been informed of; Giyuu should not compromise the mission. There will be time enough for explanations later.
He makes himself finish his food.
Around noon, they halt at a fork in the road. Deep grey clouds are closing over the sky. Sabito says, “I’m going to start running. You follow the path over there down to the base of Mt. Sagiri. You’ll find a man named Urokodaki Sakonji. I’ll give you my - ”
Giyuu is shaking his head. He makes a swoop with his hand to indicate, Let’s run together . He is not worried about Tanjiro or Nezuko - this world is as it was meant to be, with Sabito’s breath mingling with the air, Sabito’s feet patterning the earth. It is only that he does not want to separate from Sabito. Not again.
Sabito’s unruly eyebrows go right up. “You’re not understanding. If you are in the vicinity of a demon, it will kill you.”
Giyuu repeats his gesture.
“I am going to run fast, and for a decent distance. There’s a difference between being a man and not knowing your limits.”
Giyuu taps his foot and stares at him hard.
Sabito bristles, looking like he wants to knock Giyuu out cold, but cannot because that would mean leaving Giyuu senseless in a place that is strange to him. “If you see or hear something odd, let me know at once. Just. Tug on my sleeve, or something.”
Sabito was not lying; he is swift, a fast-moving current. In their races, Giyuu would always have a view of his back. Sabito never slowed his pace, even when Giyuu wheezed and tripped and called his name. Only after winning would he turn around, flushed and grinning, and say, “Come on, I’m waiting!”
Even now, Giyuu almost has trouble keeping up. He hides a smile as they run together, well-matched, a fresh coldness in his lungs and the wind carding through his hair. His fading shadow dances over the foliage.
Sabito glances at him, lips parted, as if he’s seeing him for the first time. “Are you a distance runner?”
Giyuu keeps his eyes on the road.
“You’ve been quiet for a long time now. Is it that you can’t speak at all?”
Giyuu is not sure of that himself. He does not know if the reason is Blood Demon Art, or injury, or some form of magic. He does not know if it is reversible. He swallows the sourness filming his mouth and shrugs, and Sabito scowls at him.
By the time they reach Mt. Kumotori, the clouds have thickened, threatening rain. Sabito clasps Giyuu’s shoulder and says, “Stay behind me. Do not wander off or try to fight. I will not have your death on my conscience.”
I already have yours on mine, Giyuu wants to snap.
Sabito points west. “I hear voices,” and Giyuu starts, realising that he can just about makes them out, shrill and frenzied.
They rush towards the sound.
It is the same as in Giyuu’s memory. Tanjiro, on his back, shouting. Nezuko, above him, unmoving, like a puppet. A weight in Giyuu’s chest lifts; he wants to gather them into his arms, tell Tanjiro that they will be fine. Once Tanjiro becomes a Demon Slayer, Sabito can train him; Giyuu pictures Sabito jostling Tanjiro awake before dawn for an unplanned run, telling him to stabilise his core, inviting him over to make rice balls once they are done for the day, breathless and grass-stained.
Sabito shoots towards Nezuko, putting the full weight of his torso into his strike. Giyuu flinches when his blade slices through Tanjiro’s hair, almost taking off part of his scalp - had it really been that close a shave, back then? He waits for Sabito to hang back, to ask why Tanjiro protected her. Once the scene plays out, they can go back to the Corps Headquarters, and communicate this mess to the Master, and Giyuu can sit with Sabito and listen to him talk about the life he has built for himself.
Sabito does not pause to examine the siblings. He does not pay attention to Tanjiro, who is tottering and shouting, “Who are you?” He does not make to drag away Nezuko.
He dashes forward, his blade glinting.
Giyuu does not think about moving.
His body collides into Sabito’s, and then they are landing hard on the forest floor, rolling and grunting. The smell of scarlet crimson ore is in Giyuu’s nose. Sabito’s face is murderous. For a moment, Giyuu is paralysed, and the world is icy, endless lilac. A memory flickers, distant, without sound: Urokodaki’s house. Giyuu eyeing the slats in the dark window and whispering, What if the demons come? Sabito saying, Then we fight, and lifting his blanket for Giyuu to crawl in.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sabito snarls. He swings a vicious hook at Giyuu’s jaw. Giyuu blocks it with his forearm and his teeth rattle.
Time, he needs time. Tanjiro has to take Nezuko and run.
He knees Sabito between the legs.
Sabito grunts and curls up, and Giyuu leaps to his feet and puts some distance between them, his back bumping against a rough tree trunk. Tanjiro and Nezuko are gone - good boy - and Giyuu takes a moment to reorient himself and fall into a fighting stance.
Sabito struggles to stand up. Strands of frizzy hair have fallen over his face like weeds. His eyes are wild, his teeth bared. “You,” he says lowly, “were sent here to hinder me, weren’t you? You’re one of Muzan’s men.”
Giyuu shakes his head frantically. He is going to die twice in as many days.
Sabito lunges at him, swinging his sword in a downward arc.
Giyuu’s hands slap together against the blade.
Sabito’s eyes bug, and Giyuu snaps the sword in half before Sabito can recover. The pieces clatter to the ground.
Giyuu pants harshly, sweat soaking his clothes. He has only stopped a sword with his hands twice in his life: once in a practice match against Shinazugawa, and once in a practice match against Urokodaki on an anniversary of Sabito’s death. He rubs circles in his sternum; it is firm and whole, firm and whole.
Sabito’s jaw is slack. “Who are you?” he murmurs.
Giyuu sucks his teeth. He tries to mouth his name clearly, slowly. To-mi-o-ka Giyuu. Gi-yuu. He pleads with his eyes, hoping Sabito will pay more attention than when Giyuu tried telling him before.
His back is slammed to the ground. All the breath is knocked out of his lungs. A hand crushes his neck and he chokes. “How dare you say his name,” Sabito hisses. “How dare you use it to deceive me.” He’s got Giyuu’s arms pinned, one with a knee, the other with his other hand. In the deepening dusk, his face is a somen mask.
Tears are sliding into Giyuu’s hair.
“Where did you hear that name?” Sabito is demanding. The hand around Giyuu’s neck tightens. Stars burst across his vision. He kicks out impotently. “I know you can talk, you filthy little rat.” He loosens his grip, just enough for Giyuu to suck in a thin string of air and hack his throat raw. When Giyuu opens his eyes he finds the splintered end of Sabito’s blade pricking against his belly; blood has already bloomed on his kimono.
Sabito’s hand on the hilt is steady. “I advise you to choose your words carefully.” He could not have always been this difficult to reason with. Giyuu’s body goes lax as he searches Sabito’s furious expression.
Sabito will not help Tanjiro. He will not direct him and Nezuko to Urokodaki.
In this world, Muzan’s arm might stretch long into the future.
Giyuu’s stomach ties into a knot. He does not want to dwell on the implications of that - that it was always meant to be Sabito who died.
Impossible. Ridiculous. There is no world in which Sabito’s worth weighs less than Giyuu’s.
His palms sting, and he relaxes his fists. Tanjiro, he has to stay alive for Tanjiro, at least until the Demon Slayer Corps accept him.
Sabito is tilting his head. He presses his blade farther into Giyuu’s stomach, and Giyuu hisses, but does not move; if Sabito startles, he might slit Giyuu open on a knee-jerk reflex. At length, Sabito retracts his sword. “You really are a mute,” he says with some disbelief. “Since you can’t tell me your circumstances, I won’t kill you, though it goes against my better judgement.” He steps off and away.
Giyuu rolls to his side and covers his face. In, four. Hold, seven. Release, eight. Repeat. The birds are screaming. He stands up on shaking legs, watching as Sabito wraps the shards of his blade in a cloth he’d been using to carry food and says, “You’re not going to let me find those siblings, are you?”
Giyuu would rather lick the soles of his own sandals than get in another tussle, but if it comes down to it, he will, until he faints or is killed.
Sabito puts away the cloth. “I’m taking you to our headquarters, where you will be questioned. I don’t know who you are, but you almost went toe-to-toe with me, and you seem to have some connection to demons.” He narrows his eyes. “Don’t think you’ll be let off easy - if you fail to explain yourself properly, you will be executed.”
Giyuu presses down on his belly, where Sabito had cut him.
Sabito’s face is a stone. “You stopped me from decapitating that demon. She’ll kill people, and it will be your fault.” He buries his face in his hand, says, “My fault, too,” and curses softly.
If Giyuu took Sabito’s hand, would it be damp with his breath?
“If she takes the life of even one person, I will kill her, you, and myself. I will not make our deaths painless.”
Giyuu’s heart pulses into his throat. Tanjiro and Nezuko are safe for now, but he does not know where they have gone, or where they will go. The search for them could take months. Years. By the time he is cleared by the Corps - if he is cleared - they could be all the way in Hokkaido. They could be seeping nutrients down in the soil.
An image comes to him: stealing supplies, glancing at the closed doors of the Water Pillar Estate, slinking out on a moonless night with only the persistent dryness in his mouth as company. Blisters cracking open on his feet as he walks and walks.
Sabito snaps his fingers beneath Giyuu’s nose. “Look sharp, we’re heading to the town in the valley for the night. You will remain within my sight. If you try to run, I’ll break your legs.”
It’s the kind of thing that should make Giyuu want to retreat somewhere alone and meditate for an hour, but instead he feels removed from Sabito’s words, as if Sabito is a fever dream, or Giyuu is a fever dream in Sabito’s head.
They begin their march down the steep incline. Along the way the path thins into barely a path: loose rocks, gravel. Nothing to steady yourself against.
Unlike Giyuu, Sabito does not stumble even once. “At worst, you are with our enemy. At best, you require guidance. You need someone to show you how the world of demons is laid out.”