Like a heavy shower touching parched earth, the memories fell into her head, filling in the empty space where once only nothingness had reigned. Nezuko wasn't precisely certain what triggered them. Since the first one's return, all manner of things had proved themselves unwitting prompts. A scent, a sound, a situation; she did her best to allow the recollections their due, to not fight. She only half wondered if perhaps, as a demon, she had unconsciously pushed them away. If perhaps the pain had been too great and she had shrunk from it, clinging to Tanjirou's warm heavily-calloused hand, happy enough to accept poorly-defined broad strokes and ask for no more
Nezuko looked down at her hands. She moved her right one, curling her fingers inwards listlessly, as though she'd grabbed hold of something. She was no longer happy with broad strokes and vague moments. Unbidden, tears gathered. Tanjirou would worry to see her cry. She wiped away the moistness and sniffled softly, climbing to her feet. Idle hands called for trouble.
If she walked to the kitchens she could doubtlessly find some use for herself. Tugging on the heavy robes meant to ward of winter's bite, she could not help but recall her mother's warmly flushed face as she stepped outside her domain to greet father and Tanjirou as they returned from some errand or another. Winters had never felt cold, not until that wretched monster had happened upon them. She closed her eyes, flashes of bright red and rent cloth swarming behind her lowered lids. He had enjoyed killing causing them suffering. Her teeth gnashed together at the memory, hands balling into fists.
But there was no more to be done. Muzan was gone. What little remained of his foul bloodline was slowly being exterminated. He would be forgotten. No more than he deserved, Nezuko thought, his evil would not endure anymore than it had. His empire had crumbled and buried him within its ruins.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she forced herself to walk, to ignore the foreign chill of the wintry evening and to carry on as though she had any clue what she might do further on. Tanjirou needed time to recover; she would not rush him for the world and truth be told she too had a need for time. She needed to think. About the past and her time as a demon, about the fragile nature of life itself and mostly about the future; the last part terrified her.
Demons were static. Not as movement went, naturally; but they did not change. There was no place in them for it. They were simple creatures in some ways, especially those who knew nothing other than their gnawing hunger, their stomach a bottomless pit crying out for nourishment, for warm blood. They were pitiful creature, in spite of the many advantages offered them by their condition. If she had remained a demon, been forced to watch her only remaining brother grow older and older, frail and weak and in the end fade, as all men must, what would have become of her?
It did not bear considering. A twinge of pain stayed her progress. She looked out into the darkening gardens, contemplating the graceful flakes dancing their way into demise, crushed into millions of their fallen kin. The ache twisted deep into her gut. She had to walk on or her thoughts would overwhelm her. Still and all, she kept her pace even, reasoning she would not wish to explain herself if caught running about like some ill-mannered child. Even if she still looked very much like a child. A couple of years had not at all wrought changes.
She would grow in time, Aoi had assured her. Nezuko assumed she meant there would be visible changes soon enough. But the passing of months, the rolling of summer into autumn and then finally the advent of winter, had proven she would have to wait to see those.
The kitchens, warm and bright, fragrant with the scent of spices and food, embraced her arrival with something akin to joy. Or rather Sumi, Kiyo and Naho did. "I should like to lend a hand, if you can find a task for me." A kitchen was always in need of more hands than readily available, Nezuko had learned, growing up.
"You can help with the soup," chirruped Naho happily, grabbing hold of her hand and dragging her towards a pile of surprisingly fresh-looking vegetables before she was handed an apron and a sharp-edged knife. No sooner than she had sliced her way through a carrot that she felt at ease. In her mind's eye she could almost see her mother working on her delicious pickled radishes. She missed those so.
They fell into a pattern the four of them, soon enough. While the three girls were expert rice ball crafters, and handled any variety of rice with the same ease which marked a Hashira's taking down of a low ranking demon, their repertoire was somewhat narrow. Not that she blamed them; their former mistress had not required much of them in that regard.
Thus Nezuko set about teaching them and they followed along, seemingly in awe if any and all paltry information she had to bestow upon them. Her wisdom in such matters might exceed theirs, but quite frankly, she was well aware her own mother would have had far more to teach her. If only she had lived. Suppressing a sigh, Nezuko glanced upon Kiyo's face, the utter seriousness with which she treated chopping the carrots nothing short of endearing. Unable to help herself, she smiled and walked around Sumi to help the girl adjust her grip. "You will cut your fingers like that," she warned. "Look how I do it; place your fingers just so, behind the knife's blade. Do not press down, but gently moved it back and forth." Kiyo made a second attempt. "Precisely like that," Neuzko praised her, clapping her hands excitedly at the girl's success. A proud little face beamed up at her.
Together they endeavoured to create quite the feast for the eyes and, one hoped, for mouths as well. Nezuko filled dishes with care, setting them upon separate trays. That was the easiest part, after all. Sumi, Naho and Kiyo brought empty bowls. In short time, all was prepared.
"You like children." Kanao was a woman of few words. Her observations, when they came, for they must every now and again, were of an unusual quality; short, decided and, surprisingly enough, utterly dispassionate. Leastwise in Nezuko's experience. She was without feeling, precisely. Somewhere behind those mismatched eyes was wonder.
"I grew up surrounded by younger siblings," Nezuko pointed out patiently. "I helped our mother as best I could." There were times when speaking of her family did not bring a stab of pain nearly so strong as to cause a flood of tears. "I always thought I would end up very much like my mother, come to think of it." Kanao's rapt expression seemed to indicate permission of sorts. "Married to some boy in our town, mother to my own children with a nice little home and a small vegetable garden." She sighed. "It must sound very quaint to you."
Strange as it might sound, Nezuko had never longed for adventure. She had enjoyed the mundane household chores settled upon her, she had enjoyed holding Rokuta and rocking him to sleep; she had enjoyed brushing the children's hair and helping father with his meals when he yet lived. If that meant she lacked any manner of ambition, she did not mind. Not once had she set herself against the world, in spite of knowing all too well the hardships such an existence as hers entailed. She had accepted her place in the grand tapestry and took comfort in her close kin and their loving bond. Even if some winters they subsisted on thin porridge or she never had a new kimono and had to make do with using one of her mother's very few pieces or her brother played pranks which gave her a few hours more of work because they had mixed seeds together all over again, she still had the certainty of their love and that had been enough. Certainly she had expressed a wish for rice balls filled with all manner of treats and pestered her mother until she'd extracted the promise of a beautiful bridal set when she did marry and chided her brothers for their ways.
She looked to Kanao, attempting to determine whether her words had had some manner of impact. Her elder though she might be, it was difficult for her to believe it when such uncertainty played along her features. "You can still have that." She meant the husband and children and little house with a vegetable garden.
"Tanjirou still needs me. Perhaps once he is recovered I will consider it." She gazed away, at the horizon, at the thin golden line that was the setting sun. She had been there for him in some ways; the demon had been there for him. But she was only a pale reflection of Nezuko; a depiction with little finesse, guided by impulse and a slim glimmer of recollected affection. She had protected Tanjirou as best she could, when he had need of her. But Nezuko wanted more for him. She wanted to heal him.
The outer damage could not be fixed. His hand would take years of hard work to rehabilitate. His eye would likely never function again. But on the inside, where the scabs were ever so fragile, she could aid. And she needed the same from him, she reckoned.
Nezuko found herself looking back to Kanao at the swish of cloth. The other was standing, a small smile upon her lips. "I see." It was the sort of answer which said too much while saying too little. Or the other way around. She hadn't any notion of whether Kanao truly understood or not; she would not question it for her companion was sure to know her own mind. "Tea?"
Moving further within the chamber and away from the cool winter sun, Nezuko sat at the low table, upon a thin mat. Kanao poured, offering her the cup. She then poured one for herself. Nezuko gave a gentle bow and reached for the proffered libation. A soft scent wafted from the cup. She took a sip, thinking the brew just the perfect amount of bitter. Somehow, whenever she left leaves to steep, the tea ended up too strong. She must ask about the timing, she decided.
Silence was comfortable enough for Kanao that she did never tried to fill it. For her own part, Nezuko kept her lips firmly together, drinking her tea. The sort if tranquillity exuded by the other was more than enough to settle her nerves. Her thoughts, predictably, returned to bygone dreams. She had told her mother all about the perfect future. She had understood very little as a child.
But she would not be a child for much longer. Not if the turn of her thoughts was any evidence. And certainly not if matter continued as they were. And glad she was for it.
Much later, under the weight of a heavy comforter, head filled with visions of gore and the ringing of pleas for mercy, it did not feel at all as though she had grown. Her legs burned with the effort to keep upright even as pain sliced through her. She'd fallen to her knees and then fallen further, her hair spilling about like as a mourning shroud, her brother wailing as blood gushed from an open wound. Under the weight of her arm, he struggled. She slipped into oblivion.
Waking with empty arms and a heavy heart, she dragged in a shuddering breath. Cold sweat bathed her nape. Nezuko pushed damp hair out of her face. She pushed her blanket away and rose on shaky legs. It took her a few moments to understand where her feet carried her. But as soon as she'd slipped into her brother's chamber and knelt by his bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest, she understood. Propping her chin against the mattress, she continued her vigil. Careful not to wake him, she slipped her hand in his.
The night wore on.
The young head of the Ubuyashiki household was a sight to behold. Nezuko watched a by much too serious for his age efficiently set about solving one issue or another and felt her cheeks heat at her own listlessness. The gods were telling her, she did not doubt, by dint of example, that she had moped more than long enough. It was one thing to take one's time to reach a decision, it was quite another to wallow with no goal in mind. Squaring her shoulders in preparations, she called out softly to her brother.
Tanjirou looked up from his book. "What is it?" Other people might have been annoyed at the interruption. Not her brother; his inquisitive eye glinted with undisguised interest. Nezuko could almost convince herself the blind eye followed suit. She hesitated, a sense of awareness rising in warning. There would be no turning back, her mind whispered. If she committed herself to the path, she had to follow through. So she did.
One deep breath later, she said, "Do you remember when Takeo fell headfirst into the firethorn bush that one summer and we had to help pick the thorns out of his flesh?" For a moment, his eyes widened. "And how Hanako started crying even though she didn't have a single scratch? Takeo's expression." She chuckled. "I'd never seen anything like it; he looked ready to cry his eyes out but kept it in."
"He did set Shigeru to crying though, which brought our parents out of the house sure enough." They shared a laugh. "Mother was furious. I'll never forget her face then." They'd been punished for not taking care of the younger children. But they had still teased Takeo about his tumble after. Once he'd healed they'd even gone back to the bush together, daring one another to stick their arms in it. Thankfully, no more than a few scratches had resulted.
The floodgates had been opened however and from there on they jumped for one story to another, sharing smiles and quiet laughter. Remembering the family as it had once been seemed to allay some of the oppressive tightness in her chest. She wondered if Tanjirou felt the same, but did not ask. "I think they would have wanted us to think of them like this, she said once the mirth subsided.
"And why shouldn't they have?" her brother asked back, his agreement as obvious as the nose on her face. " He cocked his head to the side and waited a beat. "Say, Nezuko, what brought this on?" She frowned. Holding his good hand up, Tanjirou went on. "Is this about the nightmares?"
"Not entirely," she admits honestly enough. "I feet–I still do–I feel lost. The old world is gone. And I do not know where to go from here." There was no sense in hiding from her own brother of all people. "We cannot go back, I well know. But I know not where to turn." She supposed the simplest answer was that she wanted a purpose. Something more than being Tanjirou's shadow, his constant burden, even if one assumed with no qualms and a wealth of love.
Confused, her brother gave her a long look before making a measured response. "You are still a child. There is no need to think about any of this."
"I am four-and-ten; other girls my age are affianced." A sigh spilled past her lips. "Can we at the very least agree I am no child?" Ever so slowly came his reluctant agreement. "There must be something for me to do."
"What do you want?" That was the crux of the matter, was it not? Nezuko kept still as she pondered the answers she might give. Tanjirou waited, leaning back in his seat as though they had a lifetime ahead. And they did. A blessedly finite one at that as well.
"I want what we had before," she confessed at long last, only too aware of the purpose being tied with defeat from its very conception. Yet her heart would not listen to reason. She looked at her brother, silently begging him to do something. Anything would do; anything at all would do.
Tanjirou stood. He approached her seated form and knelt by her side. His good arm wrapped itself around her shoulders tugging her weight into his side. His cheek rested against her forehead. "Would you settle for my unconditional love instead?"
Tears sprang to her eyes. "It would not be any kind of settling." She hugged him back, throwing her weight into it. Her poor brother, having not expected such vigour, fell backwards, pulling her right along. A dull smack signalled the back of his head had met the polished floorboards. Peals of laughter dispelled the former noise as brother and sister broke apart.
Nezuko managed to rise first. She helped Tanjirou along. "I do mean it," she insisted, brushing away invisible lint from her garb. "I think I will be fine now." It was a promise. He must have recognised it as such because his hand came to rest upon the top of her head and he stroked gently along her midnight tresses. "What do you want?" If she heard him say the words, perhaps she would gain the necessary courage to decide.
"Peace, mostly." The answer flowed so well. He must have thought about it. "I hope we can all live well from now on, heal the wounds of the past and build a brighter future." His expression took on a strange cast. Just as soon as it had come, it was gone though. With a brief shake of the head, Tanjirou returned to the subject at hand. "Think about it and tell me when you know what you want."
She nodded solemnly. "I leave you to your books then," she said, standing. He had given her a matter to ponder and find her answer she would. Eventually. For the time being, she rather thought she would go outside and enjoy the fine spring day.
