Rengoku Shinjurou was in no mood to babysit a fledgling Hashira tonight. Yes, he heard the boy was good and that he would be able to hold his own, but Shinjurou was used to going out on missions alone, no matter the level of threat. It wasn't always smart, and Ubuyashiki-sama didn't approve, but he didn't care.

Let them come.

Let them come and try to kill him.

Maybe one of them would finally succeed and this charade would be over. Farce. Lie. The thing his life had become.

He lost his way on the Hashira path the moment that they placed Kyojurou in his arms for the first time – the complexity of emotion he felt had stunned and overwhelmed him. A love unlike anything he ever experienced flared through him, but it was tempered with a terrible dread as he looked at the flame tipped hair that already crowned his newborn son's head.

Of things that might ultimately come to pass.

What kind of twisted legacy was this to bring down upon an innocent child?

It was easier to bear when Ruka had been alive. When she was there, she helped him to direct his energy toward the family. He was protecting her and their children. He was protecting other families. When he became despondent or angry Ruka was always able to soothe him, convince him that while it was a burden it was one he could bear, that it was his duty as one who had been born strong. That people needed him.

She had a way with words, his wife. She had no ulterior motives, as she had much to lose – a husband, sons. She was simply a believer in the idea that if you had the power to protect others it was your duty to find the will to act. For her it was straightforward calculus. Her strength lay in being able to fiercely love those who she might lose.

From the moment that Kyojurou entered the world, Shinjurou could never understand it.

Or accept it.

And when Ruka grew sick and died, he simply stopped trying to make sense of it. And he became lost.

The new Water Hashira walked into his line of sight like a ghost. He'd seen him at a few meetings, but never taken the time to really look at him.

He was young.

(They were all young.)

At least half his age, which meant he was around the same age as Kyojurou. He was of average height and build, posture erect, though he carried himself as if he bore a burden. He wore the ugliest haori Shinjurou had ever seen. His black hair was a tangle, pulled back from a face that was epicene and angular and utterly expressionless. He came to stand in front of Shinjurou, regarding him vacantly, as if nothing lived behind his young eyes. Shinjurou noted that his eyes were an unusual dark blue, the color fading out at the edges as if to a twilight gray horizon.

Shinjurou sighed.

It used to be curious to him when their eyes matched their breathing style, not that it was always the case. Now it seemed like another cruelty. That they were destined to be the thing that would lead to their death.

Such was the fate of his family anyway.

He realized that the boy in front of him still hadn't spoken, though he was staring at him. Shinjurou got the distinct impression that he was in fact staring through him.

If this were another time in his life, Shinjurou might have been affronted and expected a show of respect or decorum, but at this point he didn't care. He simply turned and walked in the direction of the mission. He knew the boy followed only by the soft sounds of his footfalls.

Their mission brought them to the coast, where a number of fishermen had gone missing in recent weeks. When night fell they stalked the scruffy edges of low tidal dunes, watching the water for signs of the demon.

It was past midnight when they heard screaming. The boy took off instantly, and although Shinjurou was only a moment behind him, he was struck by the speed of the Water Hashira's reaction, as if he had been holding his breath the entire day, waiting to burst forth.

When they reached the waterline, they were too late to save the victim, and they were faced with a demon of great size that resembled a surume. It had something that looked like a human face where its mouth should be. It reared up from the water, swinging down with its tentacles, studded with brightly tipped stingers. The boy dispatched two of the tentacles with one slice of his sword, and Shinjurou felt a vague sense of relief, that he didn't have to be concerned with looking after the boy, that this would be over quickly, and that he would be in his cups within the hour.

He felt mild irritation relating to his suspicions for the reason why two Hashira may have been dispatched on this mission. It was possible that Ubuyashiki-sama had heard something of the demon's size and the placement of its head, which did in fact make decapitating it difficult. There was a time in his past when he could have dealt with this demon swiftly on his own. Watching the boy, he could see the time was nearing when the same would be true for him as well. That they could each deal with it on their own now was undeniable, but it would be a battle, and an unnecessary risk.

Still.

Shinjurou suspected that perhaps this was a test of some kind, that Ubuyashiki had sent the boy to observe his skill on the battlefield, and he wondered if perhaps a discussion regarding his retirement was in the offing.

The thought held a mixture of relief and dread.

If he retired he could be left to his own devices, allowed to wither.

But then another Flame Hashira would be called to service.

And that he could not face.

Ultimately it was Shinjurou who struck the killing blow. The boy executed the Breath of Water forms flawlessly, utilizing them to fend off attacks from the tentacles, giving Shinjurou the opening to perform the ninth Breath of Flame form, an attack powerful enough to decapitate the demon.

The entire encounter took fewer than ten minutes and even though both Hashira were soaked from fighting in the water, neither of them were worse for wear. When it was finished they regarded one another wordlessly and then withdrew, walking to the nearby Wisteria House.

When they arrived, they were admitted by a kind older gentleman. They dispatched their sodden uniforms on the engawa, not wanting to track sea water and sand into the house. They washed off using buckets of fresh water in the garden and were given kimonos to wear in the house during dinner.

Shinjurou was anxious to leave, to get to an izakaya, but he couldn't shake the idea that the boy was there to report his actions to Ubuyashiki, and he didn't know what to think of that yet. But he was in luck, as the proprietor of this particular Wisteria House was also a sake drinker, so he was at least able to take the edge off a little bit during dinner.

Not too much, not so much that the boy would have anything to report, just enough to make things a little more bearable.

Within a short time he found his jaw was set a little less tightly, his grip on his chopsticks a little lighter. The food tasted better, and his head cleared even as his vision became slightly unfocused.

It was then that he realized that the boy still had not said one word to him. All day. Not on the daylong walk to get there. Not once in preparation for the confrontation with the demon nor during the actual fight itself. And not since its conclusion.

It was odd.

"Tomioka, right?" Shinjurou asked.

The boy paused as he had been about to lift a bite of food to his mouth, his gaze shifted slightly toward Shinjurou, and he nodded once. It was a short, curt nod of the sort that would have probably been off putting to others. But Shinjurou was feeling better than he had all day, and the boy's reticence did not bother him, rather it made him curious.

"How long have you been in the corps, Tomioka?" Shinjurou probed.

The boy blinked and stared into the middle space in front of him, the silence dragging on for long enough for Shinjurou to think either he wasn't going to answer or he hadn't heard the question.

"It's been four years," the boy answered in a young man's quiet voice, and although Shinjurou couldn't be sure as they were the first words he'd ever heard Tomioka speak, it sounded as though he was a bit surprised by his answer.

"It's impressive," Shinjurou mused, taking another drink from his bowl of sake, "becoming a Hashira in four years. Not unheard of by any stretch, but still. Your sensei…is he Urokodaki-san?"

Tomioka looked at Shinjurou then, and though his expression was mostly placid, a small furrow had formed between his eyes, but Shinjurou couldn't read its meaning.

The boy would make a hell of a hanafuda player.

Tomioka nodded.

"It's good that he finally has a worthy successor. I know it weighed on him for many years when his students didn't survive final selection."

The words rolled off Shinjurou's tongue unthinkingly, loosened by the sake, and he meant them as a compliment to student and teacher alike.

But their effect on Tomioka was shockingly obvious, if brief.

He stiffened, brow and mouth turning into a pained frown, the wooden stare becoming a gaping abyss of yawning grief. He flicked his gaze down and away and when he turned back moments later his face was schooled into the unfathomable blankness that it had been before, and he stared into the middle space before him unblinking.

Shinjurou felt mild regret for his comment as it had clearly unsettled Tomioka. Although it was an ideology that he believed in less and less as time wore on, he still possessed a small sense of duty that it was the job of the older Hashira to nurture the younger ones. He was by far the eldest at this point, therefore he tried to gather his wits, to say the things he should say.

He poured himself another bowl of sake.

"I'm going to make an assumption here, Tomioka. If I'm wrong, please disabuse me of it."

Tomioka continued to stare into the center of the table, but he nodded infinitesimally.

"You weren't born into this life? Correct?"

Another tiny nod.

"So something happened that brought you here…some horror?"

Tomioka shifted his gaze to Shinjurou then, and there was a warning in it. Shinjurou took note, but he wasn't fazed.

He took a larger sip of the sake and then another and then it was his turn to stare into the middle space.

"Most of the Hashira are like you. Most of them have a terrible tragedy in their past that led them to the Demon Slayer Corps. I've heard so many stories of the most horrifying losses." He paused, drinking more and holding it, allowing it to burn his mouth and his throat a little bit before he swallowed it down.

"It is too much sometimes to bear on your own," he said softly. "When that happens, you should turn to the others…the other Hashira. They are your brothers and sisters now. They will understand in a way no one else can."

He looked at Tomioka then, raising his brows in something that he hoped imparted solace or reassurance. Tomioka had continued to look at Shinjurou while he spoke, seeming to be focused on his words, though he remained silent after.

Shinjurou drank more sake.

"And you Rengoku-san?" Tomioka asked quietly, surprising Shinjurou. "Do you depend on the other Hashira?"

Shinjurou checked the Water Hashira's face to glean his intention for asking the question but he was met with a blank stare, except for what was perhaps a small furrow of concern.

His face was so difficult to read.

Shinjurou regarded Tomioka wryly for a few moments before responding.

"No," he sighed. "I am not like the other Hashira and therefore I cannot turn to them for such things."

Tomioka's eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to understand. "Why?"

Shinjurou took a large gulp of sake, finishing the bowl, before reaching for the bottle to refill it. "The Flame Hashira post has been filled from the Rengoku family line for generations. At some point we aligned ourselves with the Ubuyashiki family…it's in our histories…they are written…." He trailed off, picturing the scrolls in his house. The house with his sons, Kyojurou and Senjurou.

Lambs to slaughter.

He took two rather large gulps of sake, finishing the bowl.

"Anyway," he continued, his words slurring. "When one of us dies or retires…if someone capable is old enough…which you know…can be young…really, really young. If he or she can just kill enough demons…or a Kizuki…well. You know…you're it…you're a Hashira and that's…."

He trailed off, staring out into the darkness of the room.

"My son Kyojurou…he's sixteen. Do you know him?" Shinjurou looked at Tomioka appraisingly, suddenly wanting very much for Kyojurou to have a Hashira as formidable as him as an ally.

Tomioka, looking sheepish and unsure, placed his hands on the table and opened them in supplication.

"We've been introduced. I don't know…most people." When he finished the sentence his brow furrowed, as if he knew there was something wrong with the statement, but for the life of him he didn't know what it was.

Shinjurou took notice of it, but only gave it a moment's thought before continuing to gulp sake.

So Tomioka was a loner. He could understand the impulse. He might have chosen that path himself.

If not for marrying Ruka…if not for his sons…

"My wife…Ruka…she brought the boys up to be good…to be strong. Especially Kyojurou. Senjurou was just a baby when she…when she…."

He stopped speaking then, staring into the bowl in his hands.

"Kyojurr…Kyo will be good…too good. And I'm not going to last too much longer."

Shinjurou looked at Tomioka and the blank expression on the young man's face had definitely shifted. It was subtle but it was there: concern.

"My body…hm…probably would still be in my prime if I wasn't –" he pointed to the bottle "-but my mind? My heart? No!" He slammed his fist down on the table, a spark of anger flaring in his belly. The platters holding their food and the sake bowl and bottle clattered loudly.

Tomioka slid his hands from the table and regarded Shinjurou calmly.

"I can't stop him," Shinjurou exclaimed suddenly. "If Ruka was here, maybe I could bear it, but maybe not. He came from me…he is from my fucking family line…my family curse! I did this to him…." He pinned his head between his hands and squeezed.

Why was he doing this? Why was he telling all of this to a child they had made a Hashira? What was wrong with him?

"Rengoku-san," Tomioka said softly.

Shinjurou looked up, ready to strike out or defend. But all he saw was Tomioka's soft countenance.

"Rengoku-san," he repeated, his voice even and smooth, "You are still the Flame Hashira. Tonight, your sons will sleep safely at home because of the work you did. Isn't that enough for today?"

The words were spoken with a quiet authority and humanity that were beyond the young man's years.

Shinjurou stared into the eyes of the Water Hashira, which he realized then were not empty at all, but were in fact ancient, and as he did, he wondered if he had done enough for today. The ember of anger within him went out and he was left feeling adrift and exhausted. Suddenly he was overcome by the thought that what he needed was to rest. That he had, in fact, done all he could for that day.

Yes, maybe, it was time to rest.

He nodded, sighing, and placed his head down on the table and fell asleep.


-Four years later-

Rengoku Kyojurou was thoroughly engaged in the thing he loved doing the most, which was eating. He was not a picky eater, in fact, he was the opposite. Of course he had his favorites, sweet potatoes being at the top of the list, but there weren't too many things he wouldn't eat. He was always particularly hungry after a mission, which was one of the very few things that he had in common with Tomioka Giyuu, who was currently sitting next to him at the restaurant eating his own food in placid silence.

They were rarely paired on missions, although they worked well together. Kyojurou found Tomioka to be a pleasant person, but then, he felt that way about most people. Sure, he was quiet and often distant, but Kyojurou did not take it personally. Everyone was different after all, and the thing that mattered was that Tomioka was a skilled colleague, who had Kyojurou's back, and he never caused unnecessary trouble. Unlike Shinazugawa and Iguro (both of whom Kyojurou also liked and respected quite a lot) who sometimes made scenes in public that led to disruptions during dinner. It was usually all in good fun, but sometimes Shinazugawa would become aggressive with another patron, or that snake of Iguro's would scare a server, and dinner, which was Kyojurou's favorite thing, would come to an abrupt end. When he went to a restaurant with Tomioka, he always knew he was there with a respectable dinner companion.

That fact made eating in silence easier to bear.

Not that Kyojurou was ever really silent. In addition to many comments on the meal and almost constant overtures to try to get Tomioka to try new and different foods (the man was stubbornly attached to salmon daikon, and although he occasionally ate different things, Kyojurou could not comprehend why he would not expand his repertoire more when the opportunity presented itself) he also liked to discuss the mission.

So while Tomioka ate in silence, Kyojurou ate and talked, and although he sometimes suspected that he was speaking mostly to himself, occasionally Tomioka would nod his head or make a short verbal acknowledgement that gave the impression that he was in fact listening.

Other times it was less clear.

But Kyojurou didn't mind.

"I wonder how long that nest of demons has been there," Kyojurou pondered, turning to look at the Water Hashira for a reaction.

(It was minimal, a slight raise of his brow and a small shrug.)

"Some of the demons were quite old. They must have been very careful in their feeding not to raise suspicions in the surrounding areas," Kyojurou said.

(No response was given.)

"This udon is magnificent! Here, you must try it."

Tomioka accepted the dish from Kyojurou mildly, nodding slightly as he chewed.

When they finished the meal and no crows materialized with new orders, they agreed to travel the couple of hours walk to the Rengoku residence for the night, after which Tomioka would continue on to return to headquarters. Kyojurou was surprised that Tomioka agreed to it, as he often seemed in a hurry to move on after a mission, but he supposed it had been a long journey for both of them the day before to find the nest, and perhaps he was tired.

He knew he was very tired and would enjoy a night sleeping at home.

They arrived just after two in the morning and as Kyojurou suspected (hoped) his father was out of the house. He normally left in the evening and did not return until midmorning, and they would be long gone by then. Not that he did not want to see his father, but he didn't want to make Tomioka uncomfortable or upset Senjurou with a scene.

Unfortunately, scenes with his father were a regular occurrence whenever he was home, and it was not something that he wanted to put any of them through.

After he checked on his brother, who was sleeping soundly, he brought Tomioka the guest futon and a coverlet. The night was cold and bright with starlight, and he found Tomioka standing on the engawa staring out into the dark.

"I've laid out a futon. I can lend you a yukata," Kyojurou said quietly, keeping his voice down so as not to wake his brother.

Tomioka turned away from the sky and entered the house, sliding the door closed behind him.

"I'll sleep in my uniform," he replied tonelessly. He gazed around the house for several moments before adding, "Your home is very nice Rengoku. Thank you for your hospitality."

Without waiting for a response he turned and headed for the floor where the futon was laid out. Kyojurou was mildly surprised that Tomioka had spoken at all, so he watched as he removed his sword and haori, folding it in a manner that seemed practiced to the point of being ritualized, before placing both items on the ground near the head of the futon and laying down.

"Sleep well, Tomioka," Kyojurou murmured.

He received no response.

Kyojurou moved to his own room and prepared himself for sleep, wondering about Tomioka's haori. As he lay down he considered the choices they all made in regard to their outerwear and wondered what type of haori he might wear one day when he passed on his fire-tipped cape when his time as the Flame Hashira was over.

Kyojurou woke up the next morning to the sound of someone yelling. He noticed to his dismay that the sun was slightly higher in the sky and that he'd slept a little longer than he'd wanted to. He propelled himself out of bed and was down the hall in less than a few seconds, emerging into the scene that he'd hoped to avoid.

Tomioka was sitting on the floor across from Senjurou, a shogi board between them, and his father stood over the two of them, shuffling around and gesticulating, mumbling nonsense and obscenities.

Tomioka's face betrayed no emotion but Senjurou was in a state of semi-frozen anxiety as he looked from their father to the floor over and over again, his small shoulders jerking with every word Shinjurou uttered.

"Father," Kyojurou called out, keeping his tone even so as to not provoke him further. Shinjurou spun in his direction, swaying slightly as he did, and he squared his shoulders before he spoke.

"Who…what is going on? Kyojurou…when did you get home? Who is this person?"

Shinjurou asked, gesturing to Tomioka who was looking at Senjurou, his face seeming to hold an expression of solace.

"Father, this is Tomioka Giyuu, the Water Hashira," Kyojurou stated calmly. "Surely you remember him. You were colleagues for a couple of years."

Shinjurou swung back to face Tomioka, whose eyes slid from Senjurou up to meet his gaze.

"Tomioka? Yes…I see. You were so young….but you're a man now. It's been…I'm not sure how long it has been."

Shinjurou backed away, pressing his hand to his forehead. His clothing was dirty and rumpled from whatever ground he'd slept on. Kyojurou felt a familiar mixture of protectiveness and shame when he looked at him.

"A few years," Tomioka responded softly. "Your son was kind enough to let me stay here after our mission yesterday."

"My son," Shinjurou said, his voice growing hollow. "The Flame Hashira." The last words turned bitter as they fell from his lips. Kyojurou felt a twist in his chest, but there was little that could be done now to stop what was to come.

Shinjurou continued to look at Tomioka as he spoke.

"The most inferior Flame Hashira in our family's long history…terrible swordsman, not a drop of talent in his entire bloodstream. Nothing will come of him. Nothing."

Shinjurou's words were not loud, but each fell like a bomb, pain detonating in Kyojurou's heart with every one spoken. His eyes were locked on his father's back. He would never disrespect him by contradicting him, especially not in front of another member of the Hashira. Kyojurou could bear his father's insults but his gaze flicked down to Senjurou.

Oh if he could only spare him this abuse.

Tomioka's movement caught Kyojurou's eye as he slowly got to his feet. He was silent, but he stared at Shinjurou as he rose, something unreadable in his eyes. Kyojurou felt a moment of terrible dread, as he had no idea what to expect from the Water Hashira who was always so inscrutable but was known for being rather blunt. He steeled himself for a confrontation of some sort, when suddenly Tomioka shocked him by bowing to his father.

Another thing Tomioka was known for, was an almost complete lack of manners toward anyone other than Ubuyashiki-sama.

"The members of your family have always seemed rather extraordinary to me," Tomioka stated softly as he looked down and placed a hand gently on Senjurou's head. "Thank you for the game of shogi, Senjurou-kun."

His blank gaze shifted to Kyojurou's, his voice toneless when he said, "Rengoku, I will see you at headquarters."

He swiftly gathered his haori and sword and left without another word or look, leaving the members of the Rengoku residence in dumbfounded silence. To Kyojurou it seemed as though a spell had been cast, as everything stilled for a long time. Senjurou looked at him in something like wonder or concern, but seemed afraid to move. Kyojurou was similarly at a loss.

"That boy has always been so strange," Shinjurou said softly, shaking his head. He turned and stumbled slightly, muttering something about needing to lay down, before he stalked off toward his room.

Kyojurou and Senjurou stared at one another.

"Kyojurou, what just happened? That was really weird. Father never…just…stops…" Senjurou trailed off, walking over to stand by his brother and reaching out his hand.

Kyojurou took his brother's hand without thinking. He shook his head lightly.

"I'm not sure…it was a little bit like…" Kyojurou began and then chuckled. "Well, actually, it was a little bit like the final Breath of Water form. He created it himself. Dead calm…a lull. It is like he cast a lull."

"Is that possible?" Senjurou asked, looking up at Kyojurou with interest.

"I've never heard of such a thing," Kyojurou remarked, looking down at his brother with a small smile on his mouth. "But the world is full of amazing things, Senjurou. Anything is possible."

"Perhaps you should invite him over more often," Senjurou murmured.

"Hmm…Tomioka likes to be alone, I think. We will be alright. We have one another." Kyojurou stated confidently. "Come, let's make breakfast. I'm starving."

Kyojurou made a point of catching up with the Water Hashira at headquarters the next time they happened to be there at the same time. He spied him walking away from the Butterfly Mansion one afternoon with a bandage on his arm and a slightly irritated look on his face.

"Tomioka. Are you injured? What happened?" Kyojurou asked, hurrying to catch up with him.

Tomioka stopped, shooting a look back toward the mansion that was possibly a glare by his standards, before stating cooly, "I got hit with a stinging blood art…it's nothing." He heaved a small sigh before leveling his gaze at Kyojurou.

"Everything okay with Kochou-san?" Kyojurou asked offhandedly, forestalling the discussion about his father.

Tomioka regarded him silently for several long moments before he nodded, an odd look in his eyes.

Kyojurou was about to ask something else, anything else, but then he decided it was time to get to his reason for seeking out the Water Hashira. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened at my family home…with my father," Kyojurou began.

Tomioka gave no indication that he knew what he was talking about and simply gazed at him impassively.

Kyojurou cleared his throat. "You may be aware that he is not well. He's been unwell for a long time…since my mother died, actually, and I wanted to apolog–"

"Rengoku," Tomioka interrupted quietly.

Kyojurou stopped, looking at Tomioka, and he held his breath, waiting.

For judgment. For scorn. For pity.

But he saw none of those things on the other man's face.

"Your father was an admirable Flame Hashira. You are as well. You are both a credit to your family and to the Demon Slayer Corps."

Kyojurou waited for several beats to see if Tomioka had more to say, but he simply stood there, gazing at him calmly.

"But how he acted…how he spoke–"

"Is none of my business. I was not born to this life, nor am I a father…I don't understand the burden he bears."

The words were simple, but they struck Kyojurou like a blow.

The burden he bears.

Kyojurou stilled. He found he could only stare at Tomioka and think about things that he almost never allowed himself to think.

He knew that he built his identity upon duty and responsibility that he did not question, but he did sometimes wonder if it would ever change.

If he were to find a wife. If he were to have a child.

Kyojurou understood his parents. His father had the legacy and was physically capable, but his mother had been the one with a Hashira's heart.

And he was his mother's son.

Kyojurou came back to himself and blinked a few times. Understanding of the truths of his life and the people in it lived in him, but his personality and energy spurred him to experience life moment to moment, and he wasn't given to introspection with any regularity.

Odd that it would happen at such a moment.

Kyojurou remembered the conversation he had with Senjurou and the possibility of Tomioka possessing some kind of ability to cast a version of his lull Breath of Water form. He considered asking Tomioka about it, but thought better of it. Tomioka never talked about himself.

Instead he said kindly, "You are an easy person to talk to Tomioka. I find your presence to be rather calming."

He watched to see if his words elicited a response that might be some clue if it might be true, but Tomioka merely blinked at him several times before, with no explanation, he turned and began to walk away. He stopped after a few steps and spoke quietly over his shoulder, his gaze slanted toward the ground.

"I am quite certain you are alone in that opinion," he stated softly, grimacing and shooting a glance back at the Butterfly Mansion.

Kyojurou smiled to himself, suspecting that Tomioka might be talking about Kochou, but he resisted the urge to ask any questions about Tomioka and the insect Hashira, no matter how often the subject was a matter of discussion among many of the members of the Demon Slayer Corps. That (whatever that was) was definitely none of his business.

Kyojurou changed the subject out of respect. "I have new orders. I'm off to investigate a demon killing people on a train."

"Hmm," Tomioka responded distractedly.

"Perhaps we can have dinner again when I return?"

Tomioka looked up at him, and Kyojurou wasn't sure how to read the look of surprise he gave him.

Kyojurou smiled warmly and shook a finger at him. "Tempura. I know of an excellent place! You will love it. The food is delicious. We need to broaden your culinary horizons Tomioka-san!"

Tomioka nodded noncommittally before mumbling, "Good luck on your mission." He turned and walked away without further comment and Kyojurou watched him depart.

"Until we meet again then," Kyojurou called out in his friendly manner, before turning and heading toward his next mission.


-After the Final Battle-

Shinjurou slid open the door to the room near the end of the hall. He paused for a moment before entering, steeling himself. Despite the fact that he spent more than half of his life fighting in a war, he never grew accustomed to seeing young people injured and maimed from battle and left fighting for their lives. There were other reasons he hesitated, but he set them aside.

One thing at a time.

He entered the room. Its single occupant was alone, sitting in a chair facing out the window looking into the garden. Shinjurou allowed his feet to fall a little harder on the ground than necessary, announcing himself to the patient, who visibly stiffened when he heard his approach.

"Enough Kanzaki," Tomioka stated, his voice pitched low but with a definite edge. "No more pain medication today. I can't think and I want to get out–" his words cut off as Shinjurou moved into his line of sight.

For the first few moments, Shinjurou was overwhelmed by the sight of Tomioka – it had been almost two weeks since the final battle, but in some ways the young man looked worse than he had when he was first brought into the Butterfly Mansion. He had been so covered in blood and gore, not to mention dust and dirt from the destruction of the town, he'd been barely recognizable as anything other than a person who was still alive who needed saving.

Now he was pale and gaunt to a point that it looked painful, lacerations and dark bruises just starting to turn yellow and brown at the edges scattered across the flesh of his face and neck and sharp, exposed collar bones. In some ways his missing arm was less disturbing, because what was left of it was neatly wrapped away in a clean white bandage that was mostly hidden by the hospital shirt he wore. But his eyes were not covered and they hooked into Shinjurou. They were glassy with medicine and exhaustion, but there was something else there that Shinjurou didn't recognize.

Tomioka blinked his eyes a few times and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Rengoku?" he asked, his voice sounding tight and strange.

Shinjurou pulled another chair up so that he could sit at the same level as Tomioka.

"Yes, Tomioka. It's me."

The Water Hashira stared at him unblinking for several moments before it seemed like something dawned on him and he closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said after a time, opening his eyes and making eye contact with Shinjurou. "I thought…nevermind. I need to get Kanzaki to stop with the medication. I need to get out of here."

Shinjurou observed Tomioka shake himself a bit and raise his hand to place his fingers on his left cheek, resting them there as he sighed.

Shinjurou suspected that Tomioka may have just thought he'd seen a ghost, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Kanzaki says you are recovering nicely. She said you should be out of here in about a week at the most." Shinjurou stated, hoping it would impart some measure of relief for the young man.

It did not have the desired effect, as the man in question dropped his fingers away from his cheek, and fidgeted with the edge of his shirt instead. He also returned to staring out the window without a word.

Shinjurou remembered enough about Tomioka to know that he did not concern himself with following rules when they did not suit him, therefore he wondered if perhaps being stuck here wasn't as much about Kanzaki as it seemed.

"Have you met with Ubuyashiki-sama yet?"

Tomioka gave a small shake of his head."Shinazugawa said we are to meet with him in a few days when we are both a little more healed." A few of his words were slurred and he reached up his hand to grasp his right shoulder, pulling on it softly.

Shinjurou assumed he was in more pain than he was letting on, but chose not to bring it up.

"I imagine we'll be disbanded," Tomioka stated without affect, his eyes staring out unfocused and no longer really looking out the window.

Shinjurou was surprised on two fronts. First, that Tomioka would speculate about such a thing, and secondly, that he would offer his thoughts in a manner that was not in response to a direct question.

Maybe she has given him too many drugs.

But looking at him as he pulled on his shoulder, the way his fingers dug into his flesh, made Shinjurou think that was not the case at all.

"What do you think you'll do when you get out of here?" Shinjurou asked, trying to hide the concern from his voice. He knew more about Tomioka Giyuu now than he had when they'd been colleagues, and although all the surviving members of the Demon Slayer Corps who lived to see the end of the demon war were faced with a similar uncertain future, there was something particularly unsettling for the remaining few who had been the vanguard. Particularly the ones who had no ties.

Who had chosen to be loners.

Tomioka's eyes slid toward him and he was struck again, all these years later, by a thought that he had that first night at the table after he'd drank too much sake, which was that the young man before him had ancient eyes. He stared at him for several moments before he released his shoulder and placed his fingers again to his cheek, gaze shifting out the window again.

"I don't know Rengoku. What have you been up to?" he asked distractedly.

Shinjurou was caught off guard again, as questions from Tomioka were rare, but he realized soon after it was a deflection. A part of him wanted to push, but he remembered what it felt like to be unmoored only too well. Whether or not that was what Tomioka felt, he couldn't be certain.

So he decided to be honest.

"Before he and I were summoned to aid in the battle, Senjurou and I were doing well," he said softly. "It was hard after Kyojurou for a time and I continued to falter, but I finally realized I was harming the only family I have left. I decided it was time to use my pension for something other than sake. Senjurou is continuing his education, and I've been working on restoring the Rengoku family histories and scrolls."

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and he saw Tomioka's gaze shift slightly as he too became aware of another presence quietly entering the room. Senjurou poked his head in, looking at him for permission to enter.

"It's alright Senjurou. He's awake. You can come say hello," Shinjurou beckoned.

Senjurou walked into the room and came to his father's side facing Tomioka.

"Hello Tomioka-san. How are you feeling?"

"I am fine Senjurou-kun," Tomioka said reassuringly, his fingers slipping from his cheek, his hand settling on the arm of the chair. His face remained impassive, but his eyes narrowed conspiratorially. "Have you practiced shogi like we talked about?"

Senjurou grimaced a bit, though his expression was light hearted.

"My father has no patience for the game," he said with a chuckle, giving his father an affectionate look. "He doesn't know how to sit still for long enough. My brother was the same way," he finished wistfully.

Shinjurou saw a consoling look pass between Tomioka and his son, and it caused a lump to form in his throat.

"Do they have it at school?" Tomioka asked after a few beats, his face serious but his tone conveying interest.

"Yes they do!" Senjurou answered excitedly, but he seemed to catch himself, remembering where he was, so he lowered his voice when he continued. "They have clubs. I'm working hard so I can compete."

By the time he was finished speaking Senjurou was beaming and Shinjurou felt a strong flare of love and gratitude in his chest, that his son could smile like that and persevere in a world that could be so utterly dark and cruel.

He felt eyes on him, and when he shifted his gaze from Senjurou, his eyes met Tomioka's. It was then that he became aware of the smile that he had on his own face. For a moment he thought to try to school it into something more serious, but Tomioka also seemed to have a ghost of a smile on his mouth and a lightness in his eyes that Shinjurou had no memory of ever seeing before.

"Father, I'm going back to help Kanzaki-san. Is that alright?"

"Of course."

"It is good to see you doing better Tomioka-san. You must come to the house when you are well. I will cook for you and we can play shogi." Senjurou bowed to the Water Hashira and another soft look passed between them.

"I would like that very much Senjurou-kun," Tomioka replied, and to Shinjurou it seemed like he really meant it.

The change in Tomioka after Senjurou's presence was marked and he seemed more comfortable and less removed. He made normal eye contact with Shinjurou and seemed to be waiting in his own placid way.

"Senjurou is a light in the dark," Shinjurou said, a smile forming on his mouth.

"The young ones often are," Tomioka stated mildly.

"I certainly wasn't," Shinjurou chuckled.

After several beats Tomioka responded, "Nor was I."

"I think," Shinjurou began, "being with them – people who face the light – may be good for people like us."

Tomioka sighed before he responded.

"It seems like that may be true Rengoku. I know I found Kyojurou to be more pleasant than most of the others." He paused for a brief moment and grimaced before adding softly, almost to himself, "And he didn't seem to dislike me."

Shinjurou was puzzled by the idea that anyone would dislike Tomioka, and he felt the urge to say something about it.

That Kyojurou never brought another Hashira to the house except for Kanroji, and that was before when she was still hisTsugoku. That once, when Shinjurou was sober and able to escape his cloud of self-loathing for a short time, he overheard Kyojurou telling Senjurou of the Water Hashira's quiet demeanor, and how he thought that perhaps he just needed a friend.

Kyojurou had said, "Really, Senjurou, all people need is one good friend, and they can get through almost anything."

Such was the generous and tender heart of his brave son.

And he recalled being struck by the truth of the statement, because he recognized in that moment that the loss of his wife Ruka had robbed him of his one good friend, and that it had been his undoing.

But he could bring himself to say none of this, because talking about Kyojurou was still hard, and he needed more time to tend to the deep wound left by his loss.

So instead, after some time, he said with quiet resolve,"Senjurou is right, you should come visit us. He is an excellent cook and he would benefit from your company…if you are amenable to being company that is."

Tomioka frowned before he said softly, "I think if I am to figure out what to do with my freedom, being company is going to have to be part of my future plans."

Shinjurou was heartened to hear Tomioka speak of the future, and he stood, wanting to leave before the mood shifted or Tomioka changed his mind.

"Then I have your word – a visit for dinner and that insufferable game when you are well enough to travel. You can stay with us for a while if it suits you. I will hold you to it."

"I'd expect nothing less from a Rengoku." Tomioka sighed, though he looked at Shinjurou and there was something that dwelled in his placid gaze that may have been gratitude.

Shinjurou was able to walk out of the room with a gladdened heart, and he went in search of his other good hearted son, so that he could offer him his help.