CW: we're diving into the demon slaying part of KNY so graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of PSTD and disabilities
03.
Like a Sunshower
fake it 'til you make it
.
(Japan, Taisho Period, 191X - 192X)
"Pack your bags," Urokodaki says. "You'll leave tomorrow morning."
Sabito brings his axe down, splitting the final log and leaving it embedded in the stump before he turns around. Sweat dampens his forehead and his neck. His sensei is standing by the cluster of pine trees, the scent of the river in the midst of falling leaves. "Throwing me out already, old man?" He quips without heat, carefully calm as he dabs himself with his towel, taking a seat on the stump. "And here I was thinking I'd earned my keep."
An exhale. Low and quiet, exasperated but fond. "You have free food and board."
"In exchange for chores, which I think is fair. You hate chopping firewood."
"That I do." Urokodaki says, taking a step forward. "...How are your legs?"
Aches. Like a muted sort of bruising after someone presses down too hard. Sometimes sharp enough to wake him in the middle of the night, gasping for air. It's been almost two years, and yet Sabito still sometimes finds himself trying to swing his legs and wriggle his toes, as if they weren't reduced to two uneven stumps.
He shifts. The makeshift prosthetic presses against what's left of his legs, solid and heavy in its weight.
Sabito inhales. "Fine."
"Sabito."
"I said it's fine." He can't help the brief flash of anger leaking into his tone, like liquid fire, before he sighs and tampers it down to a whisper of a simmer. "I can deal with it. I'm not an invalid."
"You're not," agrees Urokodaki. He's made his way over, stopping in front of him and reaching a hand out. His low voice reverberates in his chest so Sabito feels it more than hears it. He feels small. "You are one of my best students."
Sabito allows his face to be wiped with a thumb. Was his cheeks wet? "So why?"
"Contrary to your beliefs, I do enjoy your company. That you came back despite the odds against you," his sensei says, hand sliding down to clasp onto the side of his arm. "But as much as I would like to, I cannot keep you here forever. So here."
An envelope is pressed into his hands. It smells vaguely floral, like the wisteria on Mount Fujikasane when he pulls the paper open. Dated a week ago, from Kakushi teams twelve and twenty-two. Requesting assistance for a shipment to Takayama, Gifu, and the delivery/construction of wisteria wards…
"You've been listless for a while, stagnating here." Urokodaki sighs. "I have nothing left to teach you, so go outside. Enjoy the scenery. The wisteria will keep you safe."
"I still have my sword."
"And you still practice your Total Concentration Breathing at night. I'm aware."
Ah. He wills the heat back down from his cheeks, but not fast enough. Urokodaki chuckles, gives him a squeeze, and then stands.
"You've worked hard for so long, Sabito. Take it easy this time."
He's not too sure how to respond, so he settles for nodding, pulling himself up to his feet. The wood hangs heavy in his limbs, and he has to adjust to the added weight before he steps towards his sensei.
"Good," Urokodaki gestures with a jerk of his head, towards his cabin. "Now come in before your dinner gets cold. I even have tea cakes from Oyakata-sama."
"...May I have two?"
"Finish your dinner first. Then I'll consider it."
Sabito blinks his tears away. Heart no longer seeming quite so heavy, he takes his sensei's hands and goes.
.
.
Urokodaki packs with him. An extra set of cloud-printed jinbei, dried rations, whetstones, and ropes wrapped in waterproof skin. A walking stick, personally carved by him. The next morning, as the fog hung low in the chilly air, they ate their breakfast of porridge and grilled river trout in comfortable silence. His sensei presses his old fox mask into his hands when he's all geared up and ready to depart.
"For good luck," his sensei pats his shoulders. "Write back sometimes."
Sabito grins, a lopsided tilt of his head. "Sure, old man. I'll even send you souvenirs." Then, because he can't help it, "What kind of things do old people enjoy these days, maybe tea? Hard candy for your tee-"
Urokodaki's hand flashes out to whack him upside down the head automatically. Sabito takes it like a man, snickering at the curling scent of sour exasperation-amusement-fondness from his sensei as he jogs down the mountain path, waving behind him. Cranky because he's right, huh. Haha.
The journey to the Chubu region was exhausting. But a breath of fresh air, he'll have to admit. For the first few weeks, his knees ached from hauling a heavy pack filled to the brim with supplies and wisteria wards, unaccustomed to the travel. But the ache felt good, the satisfying kind that comes after a long session of katas. His sword hangs by his side, her familiar weight pressing against him as he navigates from Kakushi checkpoint to checkpoint.
Sabito spends his days listening to birdsong and counting the falling yellow leaves until finally, the scent of warm earth and sunlight change into the fresh tang of cold and distant briny open water, carried by the winds from the coastlines near Osaka. From there, it was easy to navigate. He catches a ride on the railroad, watching the city scenery change into mountainous ridges. He gets off at Gifu and follows the river trail past Inuyama. Then up the hills where the scent of distant onsen steam drifts from the village of Gero. It gets chillier this far north, something he was glad to know when packing.
He was more than exhausted when he reached Takayama, barely before sunset. Sabito practically crashes into the futon after he checks in at the local wisteria house, phantom pangs in his legs a mere afterthought. It doesn't even wake him up before noon the next day, which he chalks up as a satisfying workout.
Takayama is a lovely village, small but tightly knit. Its markets run along the riverside, glimmering in the sunlight, where wisteria wards decorate the porches of the houses alongside chimes, a splash of color against the blue sky. "Thank you so much, good sir," says the Kakushi as she takes the bundle of supplies from him. His pack is instantly lightened by at least a few pounds. "This will tide us over the coming winter."
"I can help with the repairs if you'd like." Sabito offers. He did spy a couple of homes in need of fixing.
"Ah, there's no need to worry, sir," the Kakushi crinkles her eyes. "Our teams will get it done in no time. Though, perhaps you can assist us with a delivery instead?"
"Oh?"
"Our squad over at Nagano has requested for help to mend the wards around the city," the Kakushi digs out a map, and points at the northwest route. "But we have our hands full with our repairs, unfortunately. It'll be great if you can deliver the materials to them."
Sabito takes it, because why not? Nagato city is a three-day trip away if he leaves tomorrow. Urokodaki did mention that he should enjoy the scenery; so he sends a letter off to his mentor and sets off in the morning.
That's where a crow steals his mask.
He's getting off the cart that he caught a ride on up the mountain trail, about halfway before he reaches the city. There's a freshwater stream nearby, and Sabito intends to freshen himself up. There's still half a day of hiking to do, after all.
One moment he's taking a drink, and the next thing he knows, something snatches his mask off from his head and flies off, black feathers in its wake.
"Hey!"
He goes after it, digging his walking stick into the ground as he pushes himself into the treelines, into the earthy scent of pine, root and rotting wood, damp in the late afternoon sun. It's almost evening, Urokodaki's warning echoes in his mind but- his mask, the one his sensei carved for him, gifted to him before his final selection test all those months ago. Sabito grits his teeth and doesn't stop, because it's his.
For the first time in weeks, he curses at the way his knees buckle with each step, as he picks his way past all the foliage.
Thankfully, suspiciously, the crow doesn't disappear from his sight. Rather, it flits between the treelines, a flash of white and berry-red of his mask against shades of green every now and then. Sabito isn't stupid. The crow is deliberately waiting for him. Baiting him. For what, he doesn't know. But he has to get it back.
Moist, earthy wood gives way to fresh, airy breeze. Sabito pulls himself out from the bushes and into the clearing, swallowing back a sneeze from the sudden sweet scent of pollen. This smells familiar. Like what, he can't pinpoint at the moment, as he looks up.
Several feet away from him hangs a lump of bundle right by the cluster of trees. It's big, the mesh of ropes taut and tight. At least five different points are secured on multiple trees around them, and now that he's looking, metallic spikes spread across the clearing, hidden among the overgrown weeds. A wooden traveling box lies haphazardly by a nearby trunk, stained with streaks of green.
The lump wriggles, and it hits him that there's someone inside.
"Migi, what the fuck." It says, exasperated. "Is that a mask? You can't just steal someone's mask like that?"
Perched on a nearby branch, the crow looks almost abashed.
"But Yasu-taishi, Yasu-taishi!" It caws, flapping its wings. Is that a Kasugai crow, Sabito squints. His mask hangs around its talons, the reds of its cords dangling like windchimes. "Look over there! I found someone!"
The bundle shifts. Then Sabito is looking into the snarling face of an Oni- and he draws his blade immediately.
"Who- what? Wait!" The stranger raises both palms. "I'm not a demon!"
"That sounds just like what a demon in disguise would say." Sabito deadpans.
"I am literally sitting in sunlight."
That's true, Sabito eyes them. But, "Who knows. Maybe you're a new type of demon that's resistant to the sun. Weirder things could have happened."
The stranger barks out a laugh, its crimson facade unmoving. A mask, perhaps? "Ha, you wish! It's still five years too early for that-"
"Yasu-taishi is not a demon!" The crow cries. "You rude boy! Show some respect!"
"To be fair, you did steal his mask. Kinda hard for him to respect us like that."
"Whose side are you on!"
Sabito lowers his blade. "Why do you have a Kasugai Crow?" He asks, squinting at this strange pair. "What are you doing here? Who are you?"
Whoever this Yasu is, they don't look like a Corps member. Unlike the standard Corps uniform of black and hakama pants, they seem to be wearing a simple kimono instead. No bitter, pungent stench of a demon, but a mix of fresh herbs and sweet flowers. As he steps closer, careful to kick the spikes away, he picks up a hint of curling bitterness underneath it all.
"This is Migi; she's my partner." Yasu says, an amused lilt in their tone. "And well, just vibing in the mountains, I guess. Great weather today."
"…It's already autumn," Sabito stops right before the net, crossing his arms and looking up.
"A little bit of cold does wonders for your skin," Yasu shrugs, jostling the ropes. "But nevermind that. Could you help me get out of this?"
"My mask, first." He snipes. Sabito braces himself, perfectly ready for the counteroffer, the negotiation, and the outrage. Of demanding to help them down before the exchange-
"Migi," Yasu says instead. "Give him back his mask."
The crow- Migi, glides down to him immediately at the command. Sabito brings an arm up out of habit to allow the bird to perch, and it offers his mask back in its beak. He takes it, and something in his chest loosens at the familiar weight by the side of his head.
"...isn't it kind of stupid of you to return it back before I released you?" Sabito can't help but ask. "I can just walk away right now."
"He's right! He's right!" Even Migi caws. "Yasu-taishi, you're an idiot!"
A laugh. "That's true. Maybe I should have demanded that you let me go first. But," Yasu cocks their head, and Sabito gets the feeling that they're grinning at him underneath that demon mask. "Will you really leave me here, though? A slayer, leaving poor old me to the mercy of the cold?"
He doesn't correct them on their presumption that he's a slayer. And it's true. He could walk away, and there's nothing this stranger can do. But… it's getting dark soon. And it's not very manly of him to not uphold an exchange. He has more honor than that.
"...Fine." Sabito relents. He kicks away the rest of the spikes underneath the net, circling around the clearing. The ropes are spread across different trees, crawling across branches and secured near the bases of each trunk.
At least he doesn't need to climb to reach any of them. Sabito slowly works his way through, using his blade to slice through each cord. Whoever made this trap is meticulous. An expert even, because the knots are interlinked in such a way that a single cut is not enough to release its victim. Each line acts like a counterweight to the other four. He has to pick apart and determine where to slice. It's honestly an impressive work of art.
One, two, three, four down. By the time he's on the fifth cord, the sun is already a silver on the horizon. "This is the last one!" He calls out a warning, before he finally slices through the final rope.
A hiss of wind, and a thunk! Sabito turns around to see Yasu on the ground, standing, as they pull the netting off one webbing at a time; A splash of lavender flowers, the pattern stark against their yukata. When they look back up at him, their crimson red mask sneers at him with a smile full of fangs. A pair of horns rests on their forehead.
What an odd choice of fashion for a human. At least his fox mask is easy on the eyes.
"Thanks, my back's beginning to hurt after two days." Yasu stretches, curving backwards as a muted crack sounds out. "Ran out of wisteria wards too."
Sabito raises an eyebrow. Not a slayer, then. But another member of the Corps. A scout? "How did you even get trapped up there in the first place?"
"Let's just say a flamboyant weirdo in makeup has a grudge against me." Yasu doesn't elaborate further, instead adjusting their box and slipping the straw hat hanging on it back onto their head. Migi lands on it seconds later, fluffing out her wings.
Fine. Sabito doesn't want to ask, anyway. Instead, he sheathes his blade, and pulls his mask back down. "Let's go," he jerks his chin. "It's already getting dark-"
"North-Northeast! North-Northeast!"
A second crow comes out of nowhere, gliding down from the canopy of the tree. This one has a band of purple around its left talon, as opposed to Migi's right. It circles around them, wings flapping as it caws.
"Did you find it, Hidari?" Yasu asks. Sabito is beginning to see the pattern in naming the crows. He's probably not going to be surprised if two more pop up with the names Ue and Shita. Kita and Minami, even.
"North-Northeast!" Hidari repeats. "Yasu-taishi, hurry up! Hurry up!"
"Alright, alright." Yasu sighs. Migi takes off after Hidari, as they soar through the treetops and disappear to the beyond in a blink of the eye. Yasu adjusts their pack one more time before they're turning to the direction where the crows flew off to, picking their way into the grass-
"Stop!" Sabito snaps out of his staring, because what is this fool doing? "The sun's already setting, you can't stay here in the mountains!"
Yasu merely waves a hand. "It's fine, I have a job to do."
"There are demons at night!" He protests, despite the bitterness in his chest. He might have a sword, but he's far from being able to take on a demon in his current state, much less protecting a scout. His knees creak against his prosthetics. "We have to find the nearest town, quickly!"
"Don't worry about me, you can go on first!"
And then they're gone, swallowed into the bushes. He's left alone in the clearing, the distant rustling of leaves growing fainter and fainter with each passing second.
Sabito inhales once, twice, and then he's following after the fool. Fuck. They're going to get themselves killed at this rate, and Sabito can't in good conscience leave an unarmed scout alone in the middle of the forest at night. What kind of man would he be?
Sorry, Urokodaki-san. Sabito thinks, murmuring a prayer for luck. But I have an idiot to catch.
.
.
"What's your name, kid?"
"I don't exactly trust strangers who frolic in the forest at night."
"And yet you're following me."
"Because you won't listen! I can't just leave you alone out here, please turn back!"
"Ah well, Momotaro then. Never seen that hair color on someone before."
Yasu takes him deeper into the mountain trail, and Sabito almost loses them a couple of times. It's only by the grace of their unusual scent that he keeps up, until they emerge into a small valley.
It's a small mountain stream. Gravel and leaves cover the ground, stretching across the clearing. A thin river slowly trickles in a whisper at the center, shimmering under the moonlight. The scent of moss and mud fills his nose, fresh moisture chilly in the night air.
And a whiff of fresh blood.
"Do you smell that?" Sabito whispers. Yasu stops beside him, shifting in the corner of his eyes.
There's someone laying in the middle of the shallow water.
Yasu makes their way towards it immediately, water splashing quietly under their heels. Sabito curses under his breath as he follows after them. He gets to within five feet of the body, and the sight makes him freeze.
It's a young boy. Short, cropped hair, soft cheeks marred with a single slash wound. Couldn't be older than Giyuu, or himself. His eyes are closed, both arms laid on the ground. He's dressed in the usual garbs of the Corps uniform, torn gakuen wet from the stream. His sword lies in his right hand, stained with a hint of blood.
He looks almost like a picture of peaceful sleep. Almost, because everything below the neck has been picked clean.
The strip of unmarred skin ends right above the collar bone. Stark rows of white ribs exposed to the air, not a silver of flesh left on them, as if the meat has been picked clean. No lungs, no organs, nothing. He wouldn't be surprised if everything else below the stomach is too, hidden underneath the rumpled uniform.
"...what the fuck?" Sabito whispers. Bile crawls up in his throat.
Yasu quietly buttons up the uniform. They're quick, meticulous, arranging the body into something presentable, covering up the sickly white bones.
"We need to get out of here," Sabito hisses, once he finds his voice. His own breath was coming out in puffs of pale clouds; it's getting colder. There's something in the forest and he does not intend to stay and find out.
Yasu doesn't respond.
"Yasu-san," Sabito presses. He has a hand on his sword already.
"Haven't you noticed?" Yasu says instead, standing up. From the corpse's hand they pull out its Nichirin sword, a whiff of sunlight in the stench of rot. "They already know we're here."
You can fight? Sabito wants to say, wants to question what he meant, but the thought is cut short when he takes a step forward. A soft crunch sounds out under him, and he looks down.
It's not gravel under his soles.
Scattered among the red leaves, snapped twigs and wet mud, little chunks of white peek out from the slippery soil. Bird skulls, cracked and yellowed. There must be hundreds of them, buried in the mud. Sabito takes a step back. Another cracks under his steps, echoing in the night air.
That's when he notices the singing.
Kagome kagome. Soft and lilting, almost drowned out by the trickling of water. A children's rhyme, one that he recalls from all those weeks ago when he was passing through a village, watching a group of children play.
Caged bird, caged bird
The bird in the basket
When, oh when will it come out
In the night of dawn
The crane and turtle slipped
Who is behind you now?
Sabito whirls around and swings, unsheathing his blade in one motion. It meets nothing but air. The hair on the back of his neck stood and he twisted, digging a leg into the mud, bones and twigs crunching, leaves sticking to his clothes. A coppery, fetid stench-
Sabito screams as something bites down on his leg.
He brings his blade down in a crack, the back of his katana driving into invisible flesh. The singing cuts out. High-pitched wailing erupted before them, echoing through the air, the sound made him grit his teeth just as a form flickered into existence, landing on all fours several feet away from him.
Just for a split second, he see- A child, no older than five, dressed in a plain jinbei, slitted eyes glowing in the dark as it snarls at him. Barehanded and barefooted. In its mouth is a chunk of wood from his prosthetic.
A crunch of its mouth, and the wood shatters. Then the singing resumes, and the boy flickers as it rushes at him, disappearing into air as a trail of mud and leaves indent towards him. Sabito flicks his sword up, the image of the young kid- no, demon flashing before his eyes right as an unseen force slam into him.
His right leg creaks. His defense slips. Sharp pain slices past his forearm as two gashes open up on his skin. A grit of his teeth, and then he pushes back with a backhanded slash, sending the invisible demon yowling into the trees.
"They're here, Yasu-san!" Sabito screams behind him. "There's more than one-"
"Five of them!" They call back. "Watch your six!"
A burst of leaves. Sabito twists, jumps back, and brings a leg up in a kick just as something crunches down on the wood again. It flickers, and this time it's a little girl with a single horn above her left eye. She warbles as she's thrown back, vanishing into thin air again. Sabito's back hits something warm right as he catches the familiar scent of sweetness and herbs.
"By Amaterasu, I can't catch them- not like this." Yasu murmurs, regret-apology-sadness in their tone. "We'll need to put them to rest- kid, have you faced a demon before?"
Just once. Seven demons slain, and even more repelled from sundown to sunrise on Mount Fujikasane, the memory still fresh in his mind's eye. "I can," He grits out, gripping onto his sword.
"The singing's a pain, but we'll just have to deal with it." A clang of sword against wailing. "You know where they are, don't you?"
A rustle of leaves and the crunching of bones in the dark. The demons slowly circle them, unseen, but among the smell of musty, rotting wood and decaying river moss, Sabito zeros in on the stench of pungent demon blood, as clear as the day.
"Let them come to you," Yasu murmurs.
Kagome kagome, the singing increases in pitch, then a chorus of scratching, distorted caterwaul right as the hair on his arms stands.
A shift in the air, then, movement to his left and right, as all of them rush at him at once.
One and nine-o'clock. Instinct screams at him. He can't use most of his Water Breathing after losing his legs; the loss of limbs has drastically reduced his ability to perform a breathing style that relies on movement, but he can at least offer this. Fifth Form: Blessed Rain after the Drought comes to him as easy as rain, muscle memory forged from two years of running up and down Sagiri Mountain.
Sabito ducks, just as two of the demons flicker into view, lunging at him. A split-second of pain, cold air on his cheeks as his mask goes flying, and he cut through their necks with a whisper of his blade.
The bodies land with a thump, melting into liquid. Their heads disappear before it even hits the ground. I'm so sorry, Sabito doesn't look, and prays. I'm so sorry, I've made it painless for you. Rest in peace-
Pain spikes in his shoulder. Sabito cries out, lurching back. He drops his sword. The singing cuts off into a mid-screech behind him just as the demon flickers into view in his peripheral vision, two red eyes searing into him as it bites down-
"May Amaterasu forgive you," Yasu murmurs, slipping their blade between Sabito and the demon, and beheads her in a single backwards slice.
The pressure lifts from his shoulders, leaving a stinging pain as he hits the ground with a thud. Sabito gasps, as he scrambles backwards, and watches the rest of the demon's pink kimono melt into the ground.
And then there was silence.
His chest hurts. He's breathing at harsh intervals. Cold, moist air fills his chest. A glint of metal, and Yasu flicks their sword to the side once. Droplets of dark demon blood dripped onto the ground.
Sabito lurches to the side and vomits.
Sour and bitter bile rises in his throat, burning in its wake. He's gasping, coughing, tongue a thick fuzzy clogging weight in his mouth. His cheeks are wet. He's shaking. There's a hand clasped loosely on his uninjured shoulder, as light thumping pats start on his back.
"Hey, hey." Yasu says, voice low and soft. Their body is warm, and up this close, he finally registers the faint, sweet scent as wisteria. "Oh god, is this a deja-vu. It's okay, you did a great job, kid. They're at rest now. Really good job."
Sabito hiccups, sobs wrecking his body. Is he crying? When was the last time he cried? Not even back on Fujikasane Mountain, when he was fighting for his life and getting both his legs bitten off. But the Hand Demon wasn't- didn't look like soft, wide-eyed children, tiny hands and drowning in oversized kimonos, not like the other kids during the Final Selection, not like Makomo or Giyuu-
"Breathe, kid."
He obeys. Inhales, exhales, alongside the rhythm of the patting. Cold, scentless air cycling through his mouth. His sobs die down into sniffs, and his vision clears enough to see Yasu's blurry face in the shadows. Something presses against his mouth.
"Drink," they say. "Small sips. I'll take a look at your shoulders."
The water is sweet on his chapped lips. Sabito swallows back the bile with each sip of water. He doesn't think he can handle smelling blood with his nose right now, but Yasu's flowery scent covers everything else up, thankfully. They hover beside him, fingers circling where it stings.
"We'll have to disinfect this," they hum, and then his arm is coaxed into a lift. "The human mouth is a nasty thing. Can't imagine how much worse a demon's is."
He lets his arm be maneuvered, tucking and pulling out from beneath his sleeves. A soft rip of cloth, and then Yasu is wrapping his wounds. They finish in mere seconds, tucks his arm back into his sleeves easily, and clasps him on the other shoulder again.
"Momotaro?"
"I think my legs are broken," Sabito manages out instead, in fits and starts. It's hard to see in the dark, but he feels the weight of the wood dangling off what remains of his prosthetics. "I can't walk."
"No problem, I'll carry you." Yasu taps on his knees. "Stay here for the moment. I'll have to wrap the body up; can't burn or bury them in a place like this. Migi, how far away is the next village?"
"Not too far! Not too far!" Comes the caw from above. A flutter of feathers. "I can see lights just beyond the next hill, past the trail!"
"Okay. Momotaro, can you look after Migi for me? I'll be right back."
Sabito closes his eyes. Something soft hops into his lap, and he carefully rests a hand on it. Migi is warm, her feathers soft as she tucks herself in. It reminds him of Urokodaki's crow, Kuroumaru, when he delivered letters to him when his mentor wasn't home. Migi's smaller, his fingers almost curling around her body, but she peeps every now and then, a soft cooing that's preceded by a shuffle.
He doesn't know for how long he counts his breaths, but then soft footsteps stop beside him. "I'm done," Yasu says, crouching down before him. "Can you sit up? You take my pack, and I'll carry you on my back."
Sabito pulls himself up, legs shifting and tucked to his side, resting on the meat of his thighs. There's a shuffle of limbs, a heave, and then he's on Yasu's back. His thighs are tucked under each of their arms as he leans forward, hands thrown over their shoulders and circling around their neck. It's warm against his chest.
"Hidari," Yasu calls. "Please lead the way."
He falls asleep to the rhythm of footsteps.
.
.
"Has he written back?"
"…No. Not yet."
A crackle of fire. The rounded, comforting scent of warm water. He's angry for some reason. It's hazy, his body feels so heavy. A cup of steaming tea rests in his hands, feeling like air.
Urokodaki chuckles somewhere to his left. A stick pokes at the wood in the hearth, "Don't be too hard on him. Being a new Hashira is always busy."
Yeah, and like a coward too. How long has it been since he ascended as a Pillar? When was the last time he visited? Had written? Two years, three years? The face in his memory is starting to blur around the edges. Does he still have the baby fat in his cheeks? Is his hair still as unruly as river currents?
Is he still guilty about what happened during the final selection test, all those years ago?
"Makomo misses you. The both of you. She sent a package last week."
It's the fifth one this year. Cakes, knitted scarves and a handwritten note. He hates it. Enough with the packages. He wants to go see her himself. The winters must be harsh where she's stationed, hopefully her team is treating her well. How long has it been since the three of them talked face-to-face? Or ate roasted sweet potatoes together by the warmth of the fireplace?
He still feels his legs sometimes. On rainy days, they throbbed, spanning the entire joint where they had amputated his shredded limbs. His shoulder stings.
"I wish the both of you would stop blaming yourselves," his sensei murmurs, clasping a hand on him. It hurts, flaring hot like fire. "There was nothing you could have done. It's alright."
Yasu-san is there, slowly wrapping his wound. "It's okay, you did a great job, kid." He says. "Really good job."
No, no! He tries to say the words, but nothing comes from his throat. If only I were stronger, or faster, then I wouldn't have lost my legs! Then sensei wouldn't smell so sad all the time and Giyuu wouldn't have blamed himself or stopped speaking to me! I could had been a slayer! It's dark, then hands cover his mouth, his nose, and he can't breathe, greenish fingers dig into his shoulders and it burns, dragging him down. Tears spill from his eyes, he's so scared, he can't breathe, he can't-
.
.
He wakes up.
Breathe in, breathe out. The smell of rain. He curled his fist, his fingers cold and clammy. It's dark in here, a soft comforting weight on his chest, and there's some sort of dark stain on the ceiling. Sabito blinks a couple of times, until the stain sharpens in the shadows and he sees the thin lines running across the wood. The blanket draped over him is thick and warm, and there's a thin line of light running across the floor from the windows.
There's a mouse peering at him from outside.
Sabito squints. Maybe it's the trick of the light, but it's… awfully big for a mouse. Or a rat. But rats don't have such big, rounded ears, do they? Are they supposed to twinkle like that too, like the flash of a drawn blade?
A muted squeak, then it darts away into the soft glow, gone in a blink of the eye. His shoulder throbbed, and Sabito hissed as he shifted to sit up.
He runs his hands slowly over his body to make sure he hasn't been irreparably damaged. Apart from his left shoulder and several spots spanning his chest that sting dully like bruises under the wrappings, nothing's broken. His legs, though… ah, wait, there's a set of wooden prosthetics by his futon. Somehow, it's unbroken, the texture of the wood slightly different from the ones he's used to. Must be new ones then, Sabito concludes, and he breathes a little easier after that.
Now, where is he?
Sabito takes a deep breath, slow and steady, as he rotates the smell of the room in his head, picking it apart. Jasmine and lemongrass. Aromatic tea that reminds him of that blend that Urokodaki occasionally makes when he's feeling fancy, that he purchases whenever they pass the house with the wisteria crest in the village at the base of the mountain.
He's in a Wisteria house, then. How strange. Had Yasu-san carried him all the way here? Draped his spare clothes over him too, Sabito realizes, pulling the blue fabric closer. Urokodaki always carried with him the comforting scent of rain.
"-till restin-"
He freezes.
A distant shuffling. There's dim light behind the paper doors, as muffled voices drift in, too soft to make out.
"-ut up, how much lon-"
"-nagezuka-"
Sabito quietly slips his prosthetics on. Wrapping the spare jinbei over his shoulders, he creeps across the room, mindful of the creaks in the floorboards. The closer he gets, the clearer the voices are. One in a familiar smooth tenor that he recognizes as Yasu-san's. He doesn't know who the other is.
"-elling you we need to wait for him to wake-"
"-at kind of lazy bastard sleeps for a goddamn week-"
Sabito pulls open the door.
It's a cozy room, warm and lit. There's a kettle steaming by the irori in the middle of the room, firewood crackling in the sunken hearth. And Yasu-san is seated before it, a cup of tea by his side. The lack of shadows softens his Oni mask, drooping eyebrows framing the wide eyes as he turns to look at him.
"Yo," Yasu-san perks up. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
He's not wearing his hat. In his hands is Sabito's yellow and green kimono, the gash half-stitched. And then Sabito notices the new stranger sitting to his side.
Broad-shouldered and dressed in dull-yellow hues, this one sits cross-armed and rigid, a dark cloud brewing over them in contrast to Yasu-san's relaxed slouch. The smell of smoke and steel. Like… metalwork. The wide-eyed, comical puckered facade of their Hyottoko mask looks sorely out of place, the disparity a whiplash.
Sabito recognizes that particular style of mask. What's a swordsmith doing out here, away from the safety of their village?
"Finally," said swordsmith grits out. His voice is low and deep. Somehow, he manages to glower menacingly at him even with the googly eyes of his mask. "How much longer must you sleep? The nerve of you, to keep me waiting when I have work to do. I ought to kill you for wasting my time!"
Uh. Sabito sweats.
"Haganezukatamachi…"
"Stop adding weird syllables to my name!" He whirls around and immediately starts jabbing a finger into Yasu-san's chest with such force that he sways with each poke. "And how dare you make me wait! After I had to travel all the way out here! Did you know how long it took me? I'll tell you- five!" Here, he jabs his palm forward with a wrath Sabito has yet to see in someone. "FIVE goddamn days!"
"But you still came here anyway, when you could've ignored my letter," Yasu-san points out amicably.
"Hah? You wanna go, you asshole?"
"That's what you said before you stabbed me the first time we met-"
"Shut up, you bastard! What kind of idiot stands still when a knife is coming at you?"
"...ahaha."
"Ahaha, my ass!"
Yasu-san shrugs. "I mean, it was a pretty fine knife. I didn't even felt it sink in. You hardly ever see kitchen tools this high in quality."
"You can't fool me with your petty flattery!" If anything, his words only serve to rile Haganezuka further, and he starts jabbing fingers into Yasu-san's arm.
Sabito sweats harder. He's not sure if he wants to know.
"Kid," he jumps at the sudden address. Yasu-san pulls a flat cushion out from somewhere and slides it before the floor, beckoning him over. He pays no mind to the light assault from the fuming swordsmith. "Come sit."
Sabito tentatively toes his way across and settles on the cushion. He accepts a cup of tea, but he's got no appetite. So he cradles it instead, letting it warm his hands.
Haganezuka has switched from poking to soundless hammering with his fists (Jeez, how old is this guy?), but Yasu-san takes it without complaining. "How are you feeling?" He says instead, looking over at him.
His shoulders throb each time he shifts. His arms feel like lead. A dull headache is building on the left of his scalp, just above his ear. His fingers are shaking a little, ripples surfacing in his cup of tea.
"…like shit." Sabito admits. Dull nausea still churns at the back of his throat at the memory of his blade slicing through tiny necks.
"I'd be concerned if you weren't. You slept for five days, y'know? Gave the caretaker quite a scare; she has some dango for you, I'll fetch them later."
Five days? Sabito runs his hands through his hair, feeling strange and off kilter. The last time he was knocked out for this long was after his Final Selection, and back then it was only two days. Figures that he had grown weaker. It's been almost two years since he had fought on the field and faced any demons. And even if they're weaker than the Hand Demon, it's shameful for him to falter just because they were children-
"Cheer up, kid." Yasu-san fiddles with his needle, threading another line through his kimono. "The demons we faced. They were never children."
Sabito inhales, looking at him sharply. "Demons are made from humans. Just because they were turned doesn't mean-"
"No, no, I'm saying that they were never humans," Yasu-san cuts in. "Children that young never survive the demonification process. Too little constitution and too little blood to buffer the unstable demonic cells upon transfusion. All we did were to cut down puppets made from a Blood Demon Art. You saw them melt into blood instead of ash, didn't you?" He folds the kimono away, setting it on his lap. "You did not kill any children."
I did not kill any children, Sabito swallows, rotating the thought carefully in his mind, feeling something lift from his shoulders. It felt so real, flesh and blood parting under his hands, but… demons rarely make sense, don't they? They're a blight upon these lands, their Blood Demon Art akin to black magic, supernatural abilities unexplainable to logic.
"Got that in your head? Good," Yasu-san shifts his cushion to settle beside him, and Sabito catches the fixed kimono in his hands, smoothing down the greens and yellows. "Now that you're awake, we can turn in our report."
…Report?
"Haganezuka-sensei," Yasu-san says. For the first time Sabito has known him, his tone has taken on a sort of seriousness that pauses the swordsmith in his assault. "Does a sword with birds lacing its hilt ring a bell for you?"
The temperature drops in the room. Haganezuka slowly lowers his fists into his lap, and for several moments, Sabito can only hear the sound of his own heartbeat. Then, the swordsmith inclines his head towards Yasu-san, and says, in a quiet, seething voice:
"Where is it."
It wasn't a question.
Yasu-san doesn't respond, instead reaching out to his box to pull a wrapped package out. He places it between them and Haganezuka, laying it out on the tatami carefully before he unwraps the cloth.
It's the sword from the corpse. Sabito hasn't even noticed the birds carved onto its hilt, little sparrows interlacing with each other, etchings akin to paintings he's seen occasionally when he's passing through richer neighborhoods.
Haganezuka picks it up wordlessly, unsheathing it. Cleaned from blood and dirt, it's a lovely blade, a tint of blue glinting in the light.
Nichirin swords change color to match their wielders. A Water-Breath user, Sabito realizes, like a gut-punch. Not one of Urokodaki's students, but a brother regardless. He murmurs a prayer in his mind, respect to a fellow disciple of the same Breath.
"The Estate hasn't responded to my letter yet, so we don't know who-"
"Kaito," Haganezuka says, keeping his gaze fixed on the blade. "His name was Hisakawa Kaito."
"Kaito-kun, then." Yasu-san nods, quietly. "I'll let them know. And so here it is, returned to you."
"Tell me what happened."
"He's the one who found the body," Yasu-san inclines his head back at Sabito. "Could you describe to Haganezuka-sensei what we found on the trail?"
"I-" Sabito swallows. His palms feel clammy. "How should I-"
"You smelled it first, didn't you? Start from there, and take your time."
Sabito looks down at his tea. He inhales, once, twice. Then, steadying his breath, he talks.
About how he smelt the blood first, the scent of iron in the midst of rotting leaves and water. How they emerged into the valley, and saw the body there. How Yasu-san buttoned up the boy- Kaito-san's uniform, tucking away the bones and empty cavern of his chest, before the demons attacked.
Haganezuka is quiet as he walks them through the fight. It's only after Sabito finished describing the way the demons dissolved into the water, and how Yasu-san picked him up to descend the mountain, that the swordsmith slides the blade back into its sheath with a sharp click and asks, "Was he holding his sword?"
"-eh?"
"I said," Haganezuka slowly looks up at him, the wide eyes of his mask boring into him. The hair on the back of Sabito's neck prickles. "Was he holding his sword when he died?"
Sabito thinks of the way the boy's fingers had curled around the hilt so firmly that Yasu-san had to gently pry the blade away. "Yes," he nods. "So tight that his fingers were white."
It's a long moment before Haganezuka pulls himself up to his feet. Without a backward glance at them, he exits the room. The paper door slides closed behind him with a thud.
Sabito fidgets, chewing on his lips. Had he… said something wrong?
"Don't worry about him," he almost jumps at Yasu-san's voice, drifting from behind him. "He just needs some time to cool off. He'll come back once he's done paying his respects."
"Haganezuka-san seems… passionate," Sabito says, haltingly.
"Haganezuka-sensei forged Kaito-kun's sword," Yasu-san hums, pulling himself up to his feet. "All Nichirin Blades of fallen slayers are returned to their swordsmiths when possible, or if their wills mention nothing about it. They keep it to honor the dead. Or to melt them down for another sword, if needed. Though it rarely happens, since it's bad luck to gift the blade of a fallen swordsman to another."
Ah. Sabito supposes he understands the swordsmith's frustrations now. A sword is supposed to protect its wielders. To keep a reminder of their failures, each blade the memory of a fallen swordsman, slain by demons…
How many swords were returned to Haganezuka? How many names does he bear upon his pride as a swordsmith?
Yasu-san pats him on the shoulder, then jerks his head towards the door. "C'mon, let's get you some food. You hadn't ate for a week."
Sabito exhales, puts his cup of tea down, and goes.
.
.
One of the grannies brings him a bowl of rice porridge and some steamed vegetables. Sabito's upon the food in an instant. It's the first thing he's put in his stomach in days, and it's not until Urokodaki's voice in the back of his head demands that he go slowly unless he wants to hurt himself that Sabito takes measured bites and counts to sixty before he swallows. Afterwards, he sleeps for most of the day, focusing on recovering from his wounds. His arms don't feel as heavy as before, and he's determined to get better as soon as possible.
Yasu-san, on the other hand, flits in and out of his stay in the Wisteria house, his breathing and footsteps as soundless as light, never staying long enough for Sabito to start asking questions. When he does stop to check in on Sabito, it's with a cheerful greeting and a wave. He humors Sabito, letting him smell the pungent mix of medical herbs, and shows him which combination is good for his recovering shoulder.
"Tumeric and willow bark," he says. "To avoid infections and help with the pain. Check your blood circulation before you wrap your bandages too."
"You're very good at this," Sabito observes.
"I have a friend who's a doctor, and her standards are very high."
It's only half a day later that Hagenezuka emerges from wherever he disappeared off to, stomping into the foyer looking like everything in his sight offends him. He gets right up in Sabito's face, paying no mind to Sabito's bewilderment, before jerking a palm forward, curling his fingers.
"Sword."
"Huh?" Sabito stepped back, but Haganezuka followed.
"Give me your sword."
"I—"
"Sword!"
"Okay, okay!" Sabito hands his blade over, and it's snatched out of his hands instantly.
"And you!" Haganezuka barks to his side, where Yasu-san is already holding both palms up in an attempt to placate the fuming swordsmith. "Hand it over!"
Yasu-san produces an old tantō from beneath his sleeves. It's a simple thing, wrapped in black lacquered wood. A red, coiled rope loops around it, its ends frayed and dried.
"You're still using this old thing?" Haganezuka snapped, eyeing the sword in disbelief. "God knows why you still insist on using this junk. Are you an idiot?"
"I already told you before," Yasu-san sighs. "I don't need a new blade. Save those for the slayers instead."
"Hmph."
Then Haganezuka unsheathes Sabito's sword, and immediately, his mask darkens. "This- you brat, you dare call yourself a swordsman?" He roars. "When was the last time you sharpened your blade? The edges are all chipped, you bastard!"
"I-" Sabito winces, half-leaning away as he throws an arm up, bracing himself. "I'm sorry?"
But Haganezuka is already stomping back out and slamming the door again, disappearing like a gust of wind as before.
Nowhere as bewildered as Sabito was, Yasu-san shrugged. "He'll be back."
The next morning, as Yasu-san said, Sabito is drafting a letter to his sensei when the swordsmith stomped up to him again to shove his sword back into his arms. It's cleaned and polished, glinting in the light. "If you neglect your blade again," Haganezuka seethes, pressing his own mask into Sabito's forehead, so close that he feels the vibrations from the underlying growl. "I'll kill you myself, nevermind that you're Urokodaki's student."
"Wait, what?" Yasu-san yelps, right as Sabito sweats, "How did you know?"
"As if I don't recognize the craftsmanship that goes into your mask," Haganezuka scoffs, throwing his hat on. The chimes on his straw hat tinkle quietly, swaying in the early morning breeze. "Your old man always did like foxes for some reason."
Sabito touches said wooden mask sitting by the side of his head. It's plausible that his sensei was familiar with some of the swordsmiths, but he wasn't expecting one that's this... crude and loud.
"You're Urokodaki's student?" Yasu-san exclaimed, sliding up to the swordsmith's side to peer down at him. "What's your name?"
"You're telling me you carried the brat across half the mountain and you didn't ask?"
"I was distracted, okay!" Yasu-san tells Haganezuka, flailing. "He was literally bleeding out; I didn't have the chance to!"
"Whatever," The swordsmith hauls his pack up over his shoulders, making his way to the gates. "The next time you ask me to walk this far up north again I'll strangle you with your own intestines."
"You know you can just ignore my letters instead of showing up, right?"
Haganezuka simply makes a rude gesture with his fingers, and then he's gone, disappearing down the old dirt road.
"Haha… oh well." Yasu-san inclines his head over at him, stepping onto the engawa. "So, you gonna tell me your name? Calling you boy and kid is kinda getting old."
"...it's Sabito."
"Sabito. Sabito. Sabitogatamachi." He hums. "Huh, your name does sound familiar. You lost your legs in your Final Selection, kid?"
"...yes."
"And you still ended up as a slayer," Yasu-san claps him on his shoulder. "Impressive, kiddo. I respect that, making the most of what you are given."
"Where will you be going next?" Sabito tentatively asks, choosing not to respond to the lie. He stomps down the guilt bubbling beneath his chest.
"Eh, I'm heading over to Morioka City. Got a job to do. The demon's still loose out there, can't let it run wild considering how nasty its Blood Demon Art is-"
"Take me with you." Sabito blurts.
Because it's not every day he gets the chance to observe a skilled swordsman other than his sensei up this close, much less someone like Yasu-san's caliber. Sabito might not have gotten more than a glance during that nightmarish night, but he knows enough that Yasu-san is different; A terrifying sense of accuracy demonstrated in that single split-second, when he slipped his blade between Sabito and the snarling demon and separated them with a simple, clean slice.
No breathing style or fancy swordplay, Sabito recalls.
And yet.
His sensei has always been exasperated at his tendency to get himself involved with trouble. But Sabito can't help it. Can't help the curiosity bubbling in him, tickling his nose and leading him on for this. He wants to watch him just a bit more, wants to observe his skills. Maybe he can figure out how to use that to his advantage; perhaps even how to handle Water-Breathing with his wooden legs.
(And then he'll finally drag Giyuu home for New Year's Eve.)
"Hah? " Yasu-san eyes him, incredulous. "No way, kid. Your current legs can't handle the hike, much less going after the demon, no offense. They're just a temporary makeshift."
"I-" C'mon, Sabito, think! What's an excuse, something, someone? "It's not just that. I'd like to meet someone. Haven't seen her in years, and since I'm already this close I might as well drop a visit."
"...Aren't you a little too young to have a girlfriend?"
"No!" He hates the way his voice cracks at the end. "Ew, ugh, Makomo's like a sister to me- and I'm already sixteen!"
Yasu-san snorts, stuffing another package of herbs into his box. "That's like, baby-aged. You're literally a baby, oh my god."
Am not! Sixteen is not a baby, he's practically already a man in the eyes of society!
"…So this Makomo," Yasu-san continues. "Where is she?"
"I'm… not sure. The last time I've heard she's been assigned to the team stationed near Sendai." It's a lie, he doesn't know where exactly Makomo is at the moment. But even with the letters, it doesn't change the fact that it has been almost three years since they've met. And in truth, he really does miss Makomo, even the way she crinkles her eyes before she roasts his fashion sense to oblivion. "I won't trouble you much, just… until we're near the checkpoint. If she's not in the city, I can just turn back. Please. I can cook, I can build a campfire, and polish your sword-"
"Aw, fuck, no need for all that. Put away the puppy eyes, jeez." Yasu-san groans, planting a hand on his hips. "A man shouldn't beg like that. It's unseemly."
"A man should when he's asking for a favor!" Sabito snipes back. "You aren't exactly healthy yourself either, Yasu-san."
"E-eh?"
"I can smell it," Wisteria and herbs, and a hint of sour bitterness underneath it all. Unlike the scent of flu, or the common illnesses Sabito occasionally catches. Maybe something else? Though it's probably something mild considering how Yasu-san behaves in a fight. "You're ill, aren't you? Not exactly a good condition to be traveling in. Why not take me along? An extra pair of eyes and hands is better than one. I'm a slayer, remember? It's my job to protect people."
Yasu-san says nothing, instead staring at him for several moments, the eyes of his Oni mask boring into him. Sabito almost starts sweating, willing himself to stay still and not start fidgeting with his fingers. Until finally, Yasu-san deflates with a sigh.
"Fine, sure, why not? I'll help you get to your long-distance girlfriend-"
"Not my girlfriend." He wheezes.
"-And you can, I don't know, help me with whatever, eh. Just don't die on me, or else Urokodaki will peel my ass from my bones. And I'd like my ass to be still attached by the end of this."
Just like that, the weight lifted off his shoulders.
"Of course," Sabito bows, a perfect ninety-degrees. "Thank you, Yasu-san, I won't disappoint you."
"Yeah, yeah, go pack your stuff or something. Rest well. Meet me at the gates tomorrow morning," Yasu-san stands, and makes a shooing motion. "We'll set off two hours before dawn. And for the love of god, write a letter to your sensei."
And for the first time in weeks, Sabito grins. "Yes sir!"
.
.
A/N:
TAISHO SECRETS - KATSUYA
Haganezuka stabbed him the first time they met because Katsuya accidentally pissed the swordsmith off by refusing his sword in a... less than polite way. The stab actually shocked Haganezuka ("You're supposed to DODGE and not stand still?") and Katsu took the chance to apologize, explaining that Nichirin Swords - especially ones as good as his - shouldn't be wasted on someone like him instead of actual Slayers.
Since then, Haganezuka has been… unusually tolerant with Katsuya? (he's been secretly trying to apologize to Katsu by trying to forge a new sword for him. now if only the idiot would accept it)
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Additional trivia:
Yasu - From Japanese 安 (yasu) meaning "peace, quiet", 康 (yasu) meaning "peaceful". An alias Katsuya took on in honor of their late eldest brother, Kazuya
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if Haganezuka has a million fans i am one of them if Haganezuka has ten fans i am one of them if Haganezuka has one fan that one is me if Haganezuka has no fans then i'm no longer alive if the entire world is against Haganezuka i'm against the entire world-
anyways i survived my exams! work has been a bitch but i still finished this chapter haha Suck It
Sabito finally joins the cast! ngl i spent a long time thinking how to introduce him because I didn't want to just make him survive and be powerful for no reason. i never expected to inflict him onto Katsuya, but here we are
This Sabito lost his legs during his Final Selection Test and ended up with PSTD. Both him and Giyuu are depressed in different ways; Giyuu, because he wasn't strong enough and Sabito was crippled because of him; Sabito, because he wasn't strong enough and now Giyuu has shut himself off and threw himself into demon slaying because of him. The both of them can't bear to face each other atm, or at least, until i put them through character development haha
timeline-wise we're about 5 years before everything goes to shit, 3 years before muzan killed tanjiro's family, and a few months after Sanemi's ascension to Hashira! I also don't really focus much on romance until the end, but you can either see Sabito's relationship with Giyuu as platonic or romantic
and finally, thank you all so much for your support!
(I'm crossposting this from AO3, so if you'd like to catch the latest update you can find me there!)