Tanjirou always had a great sense of smell.
He didn't always know that Demons were real, but he always knew that he seemed to carry a bone-deep stench of burning flesh. When he was little, he had thought it clung to his skin, from the smoke of charcoal, or the salty dry meat they ate through the cold months.
But his mother gave birth to more children, and with each new babe, Tanjirou began to realise that he was the only one that carried the caress of death in his scent.
He shouldn't have listened when old-man Saburo told him not to go back to his family that night.
Now, they're gone. Nezuko, Takeo, Hanako, Shigeru and Rokuta. His beautiful mother, Kie, who he promised that he'd protect along with his younger siblings. People who he had sworn to his father he would take care of, after his own passing years prior.
He'd failed, he failed, he—
He crawls through the bloody bodies of his relatives, fingers fumbling desperately to find a pulse under the icy red snow. Beneath his panic, he does not notice his own fingernails growing to slight points.
The smell of death was everywhere, it was suffocating him under the morning frost—
He barely dodges when a blade comes flying towards him from seemingly nowhere, a figure at the other end blurring in a pirouette of precision.
"Step away from the bodies, Demon." The young man says as he falls into a defensive stance, his feet making no crunch as he lands.
Tanjirou's breath hitches as he looks around frantically for a Demon before his attention finally darts down to himself— blood staining his hands from where he grips Nezuko's stale corpse. "Wait! No!" He yelps, pausing the man's slow steps towards him, eyebrows raising.
"You can speak." He questions curiously, obviously caught off guard by the fact.
"Of course I can! I'm— I'm human! Please, please help me, my family— they've been attacked!" He stutters, panic fumbling his words as his body becomes wracked with trembles that do not belong to the winter. The other person does not look too much older than himself, but the cruelty in his eyes speaks of aged realities as he begins his descent forward again, sword poised.
"No! I told you! It wasn't me!"
"This attack reeks of a Demon." He states, top lip curling with disgust.
And Tanjirou knows, can smell it permeating the wind around them, dripping from the gashes decorating flesh. It thrums with power that is beyond human comprehension, coy with a flicker of spice.
It reminds him of how he smells, and he supposes to any nose lesser than his, they may as well be the same. He scoots back from the bodies of his family, as to not soil them with his potential own blood. Cowering ankle-deep in the snow, he lowers his head, feeling the skin of his forehead go numb against ice. He inhales a lungful of crisp air, and exhales his only lasting plead.
"Please, please, even if you kill me, find the Demon that did this, make it pay." He sobs, teeth clenching harder than ever before as he feels himself give in to the sadness and frustration.
A sharp voice cuts through his mental turmoil. "Never leave yourself so defenceless in front of an enemy!"
Tanjirou's whole body flinches, head flying upward as a blade slides under his throat with needle accuracy. He winces and waits for death— but no pain arrives as he feels the cold metal press under his chin, holding his head up at an awkwardly high angle.
"Stop bowing so pitifully! If that worked, your family would still be alive! How can a weakling like you, who bows down when it's time to fight, to kill or be killed...be a man?" The stranger hisses with ferocious determination, brows knitted tightly down at him.
Tanjirou's breaths come in tiny puffs, staring up at his assailant.
"If you want something, if you want to avenge your family, you must fight for it! The meek have no power and no options! The strong will crush them in every way!" He yells, voice piercing the snow cloud between them.
"I will kill you, whatever you are." He snarls.
A fire sparks within Tanjirou. Ignites with a crack the moment the blade withdraws from his neck to align its final strike. He heaves his entire body forward, and with a wailing battle cry, tackles the man to the ground. He barely feels his blood begin to boil, doesn't see how his pointed teeth begin to mash together. His legs spring into a racing scramble the moment they hit the ground, and his arms don't bother to leave the snow except to bound him further down the hill in a primal chase.
He trips, and his body rolls like a ragdoll across the snow, iceburns grazing any and all exposed skin. With a deafening snap, his spine slams into a tree and stops his freefall— but leaves him severely winded, and wondering how his bones haven't shattered.
His mouth opens in a soundless gasp, but no air reaches his burning lungs. He watches in growing dread as the figure with the two-toned haori approaches him again, sword drawn.
Tanjirou does not recognise himself when a guttural sound rips from the broken confines of his small body. The flames inside him grow into a wildfire as he releases himself from rationality.
"GRYAAHHH!"
His body seems to gain a mind of his own, chest puffing out as smoke billows from the hollows of his canines. He doesn't see the man in front of him move until an acute pain cleaves through his shoulder, nailing him to the pine behind him.
"Is this the best you have? Becoming even less than a man? I thought I told you— to fight."
He twists the blade, and Tanjirou feels his mind fall through the bars of his own cage of panic as pain renders him useless. He feels weird— like he's shrinking as the flames in his chest are doused in frozen water. His breath hitches, and tears begin to bobble once more over his cheeks. His hand reaches forward to grab hold onto the strangers black uniform, and for a second— he's not sure if he's holding on or pushing him away.
"I will live, I will. I will— avenge my family, kill the Demon that did this—" He grits, blood spilling from his bottom lip as he stares pointedly into the firm dark irises pinning him in place. He feels them bury into his soul and gut him from the inside out, leaving his intentions bare to the world.
With a weak, useless final push that barely nudges the blade in his shoulder, he passes out.