Sand grains trickle down, time runs out, and a decision must be made.
Tick tock,
Go forwards alone and fail at saving something so desperately needed.
Tick tock,
Or accept an offered hand and tread into the unknown.
Tick tock,
A mind lost in itself can only be recovered with one to show the path.
Tick tock,
Lifetimes upon lifetimes of emotions and a barrier in the way.
Tick tock,
So many choices and so little time.
Tick tock,
Only one will bring about what's needed.
Tick-
And a life hangs in the balance.
Tock.
Michikatsu took a moment to think over what had just been revealed to him, and how he had to factor that into any action he took going forwards. Both with this boy, his Father and family, and his interactions if any with Muzan going forwards. He would have to tread very lightly. One wrong move, and they all would die, and his Yoriichi's last wish would go unfulfilled, his legacy destroyed. And that was unacceptable. So, he would do as he had always done. Deal with the immediate problems, and figure out the rest when he had a moment alone. Turning his gaze to the boy that looked like a younger Yoriichi had he been given the right amount of food and care that he needed, his resolve solidified. He would not lose this second chance. Even if he had to fight Kibutsuji right then and there, he would protect them.
Hesitantly, he did something that he had been avoiding for years. He reached for the Kami's warm presence with intent for more than communication. He reached with intent for accepting help from something not of his own doing. The Kami seemed to smile with such joy, happiness, and understanding of what Michikatsu was asking for that his lips could not help but twitch upwards in response. The Kami was gentle with His presence, slowly guiding Michikatsu through what he needed to do, despite how the Kami worried for the elder still prone on the ground.
His body fluidly, but slowly, lowered to its knees. His blade placed behind his kneeling form, but within the child's sight. His perpetually tense body relaxed, allowing for greater movement, at the cost of showing any potential movement and unguarded emotions that he always had to hide to keep himself 'trustworthy'. An indefensible position, physically, that grated on the instincts that had been the main thing keeping him alive all these years, despite how he knew that the boy in front of him could not even scratch his skin should he try. Michikatsu's dominant hand, the hand he used to draw blood and claim lives. To cut down his Brother's still body that continued to stand even in death. To hold the letter that had flipped his worldview on its head, reached out with the palm up and fingers lightly splayed, open and asking without force.
The air warmed as Michikatsu followed the instructions given. And slowly, ever so slowly, the child relaxed. Still wary but no longer ready to attack at a moment's notice.
One more. The Kami seemed to say through the strengthening connection they shared. Here, Michikatsu truly felt hesitation and fear. Physically making himself more vulnerable was one thing. He had to do it whenever Kibutsuji decided to 'grace' him with his unwelcome, cold, presence. But this, he had not shown his heart to anyone since before his Brother had left to ensure he kept the position of heir all those centuries ago. Not even to that couple he saved a few decades ago, who somehow treated him like their own child despite what he was and all he had done, and who he thought could have been his parents in another life. Showing emotions on occasion was expected from the path he had given himself, but lowering the walls around his heart entirely?
All will be well. Trust. He still hesitated, it had been so long, almost five hundred years. He did not know what would happen to himself, what he would do if he truly felt again.
Trust. No harm will come.
Focusing once more on the boy in front of him, cold and hurt and so scared out of his mind that he fell back onto instincts that no child, no human, should ever have to experience. Made only worse by the legacy entrusted in his veins and weighing down his blood. Michikatsu lamented the burden that was sure to weigh the young one down despite how it was meant to be shared. He lamented, took one last calming Breath, and let his heart free.
He was confused.
He had a name, but he could not recall it.
He knew he had two Fathers and a Mother. Tou-san and Sire and Kaa-san, but only one was present and Tou-san was hurt.
His mind was warm and quiet, but that was wrong. There should be something there.
Breathing shouldn't be hard, much less hurt. Yet it did.
The smells shouldn't be so overwhelming, but they were, that was normal.
His eyes shouldn't be fuzzy, yet they were.
His skin pricked with a sensation that a distant part labeled as ̶'̶c̶o̶l̶d̶'̶. That same part labeled the sparkling white as ̶'̶s̶n̶o̶w̶'̶, the coarse brown underneath as ̶'̶m̶u̶d̶'̶, the vertical brown and white as ̶'̶t̶r̶e̶e̶s̶'̶ and so many other things being experienced for the first time.
But that was wrong too, wasn't it? He knew what these were, had seen them his entire life, but he could not recall existing before that moment.
Movement caught his attention.
He turned and saw six yellow-red eyes, unnaturally pale skin, red marks on the head and neck, dark indigo-red hair, purple-and-black clothing, and an object ̶'̶s̶w̶o̶r̶d̶'̶ that caught the light that was labeled ̶'̶p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶'̶ and ̶'̶u̶n̶s̶a̶f̶e̶'̶ and ̶'̶m̶o̶o̶n̶l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶'̶. That object ̶'̶s̶w̶o̶r̶d̶'̶ was dangerous.
He let out a sound that was labeled ̶'̶g̶r̶o̶w̶l̶'̶ and ̶'̶d̶u̶a̶l̶-̶t̶o̶n̶e̶d̶'̶ and ̶'̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶r̶m̶a̶l̶'̶. He cared little for how the sound hurt worse than Breathing somehow did. All that mattered was Tou-san and his protection.
The dangerous figure 'man' somehow made the dangerous object ̶'̶s̶w̶o̶r̶d̶'̶ less dangerous. Not catching the light anymore, but still a threat. The dangerous man lifted what had been holding the dangerous object ̶'̶s̶w̶o̶r̶d̶'̶, ̶'̶h̶a̶n̶d̶s̶'̶ that distant part labeled. They were empty. But still not quite right. 'Pointy.' he thought. 'Not normal. Not natural. Threat.' He growled deep in his throat and chest, needing to warn the dangerous figure off despite how it hurt.
A flicker of a smell ̶'̶a̶n̶g̶e̶r̶'̶ caused him to growl louder, that was dangerous. It brought nothing but pain. Tou-san was not allowed to be hurt.
The dangerous man moved again, and he snarled. Baring his teeth and tasting more blood. The dangerous man stilled. And then he smelled warmth?
A moment there was only stillness and the faint scent of ̶'̶s̶h̶o̶c̶k̶'̶.
The dangerous man shrunk? ̶'̶N̶o̶t̶ ̶s̶h̶r̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶,̶ ̶k̶n̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶.̶'̶ And the dangerous object ̶'̶s̶w̶o̶r̶d̶'̶ was placed behind the dangerous man.
̶'̶H̶a̶r̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶c̶h̶.̶ ̶S̶a̶f̶e̶r̶.̶ ̶B̶e̶t̶t̶e̶r̶.̶'̶
The dangerous man was not so dangerous anymore. His body did something that made it less of a threat, and more open…? ̶'̶r̶e̶a̶d̶a̶b̶l̶e̶'̶
One unnaturally pointy ̶'̶c̶l̶a̶w̶e̶d̶'̶ hand reached out. Palm towards the clear, starry, moonlit sky. Inviting, patient, and understanding.
He did not understand.
A relaxing warmth seemed to emanate from the less-dangerous-now man. One that seemed foreign to the less-dangerous-now man, but familiar in a way that made him want to relax, let his guard down, and accept that inviting hand that promised something unnamed.
The not-so-dangerous-now man was still dangerous though. He couldn't tell what the not-so-dangerous-now man was feeling. And without telling what the not-so-dangerous-now man was feeling, he couldn't trust him. Not with his own safety, and definitely not Tou-san's. Despite how the familiar warmth said he could.
He smelled three new scents that pulled at his heart and made the quiet, rumbling warning in his chest die down to a worried churr. They were so intertwined that he could barely tell them apart. ̶'̶F̶e̶a̶r̶.̶ ̶H̶e̶s̶i̶t̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.̶ ̶U̶n̶c̶e̶r̶t̶a̶i̶n̶t̶y̶.̶'̶ that distant part of him whispered.
He tilted his head. 'No. Why hurt? Where hurt?' Before he could do anything, it was as if some kind of barrier came down. And the not-so-dangerous-now man was something else.
They were overwhelming, the emotional scents.
So many of them. So intertwined and clashing that it caused him to whine in second-hand pain at what the man must be feeling.
Anger.
Sadness.
Self-loathing.
Care.
Hate.
Joy.
Resentment.
Fear.
Regret.
Loyalty.
Loss.
Despair.
Love.
All so prominent. All so strong and fluctuating and intertwined. It hurt.
No being should ever feel like this.
He didn't like it. He wanted to make the pain go away.
He looked at that hand, still pale and open and inviting. But slightly different now. It was shaking with the emotions overflowing from whatever barrier they had been hidden behind.
He looked at the eyes and was surprised to see only two. No longer a dull red-yellow, but a glossy black and shining red. Framed by purple-red flames at the left temple, and mirroring flames rising up the right side of the neck and jaw. Tears streamed down pale cheeks and dripped onto the re-melting snow. The foreign-but-familiar warmth swirled around them both. Turning the snow to water, and causing green ̶'̶g̶r̶a̶s̶s̶'̶ to show.
The man was smiling. A watery, broken thing. Genuine, raw, and so full of wary hope that his hand loosened and dropped the object ̶'̶h̶a̶t̶c̶h̶e̶t̶'̶ he had unknowingly been holding the entire time. The ground of the sudden localized spring cleaned away the gritty blood, viscera, bone, and dirt with quickly melting snow and growing grass.
He looked back at that pale, clawed, trembling hand, that promised so much more than any word could possibly say and fully encapsulate. It was an offer of loyalty and trust. Of support and protection. Of unceasing, unfathomable love.
Taking a shuddering Breath that made his throat hurt with the bubbling emotions locked inside its damaged confines, he took a step forwards. Towards the man that promised to always be there, regardless of the path he took.
Another step. Even if it meant the man's life, he would happily give it.
One last step. So long as he and his were safe in the end, there was nothing the man would not give.
And so, he reached for the clawed hand that shook, and grasped it in his own.
'Trust given for trust earned.' he thought muzzily. The swirling warmth laughed with relieved joy and it felt like a door had closed, but he wasn't scared. With this man and Tou-san, everything would be alright.
Insistently, he pulled the man's hand. The emotional scents were still prominent and overwhelming, but Tou-san took priority. He was hurt, he was cold, he needed help. Help the man had promised without words. Help and protection he and Tou-san needed right now. One unconscious and unnaturally cold, the other young and injured and lost.
The man had promised after all.
Dark eyes moved through the unusually still night at a pace almost too fast to see. Disturbed snow trailing the air behind them like a comet's tail in the moonlight, the only visible sign of their passing. 'Faster, faster. Do not let the trail disappear.' came the urgent thought. Their mind drifted to what they had seen earlier. What had caused them to run with such urgency.
A Demon. Clad in purple and black, so skilled at masking its presence that had they not accidentally bumped shoulders they never would have known, simply thinking them one of the last people who abided by the old ways in their rapidly-changing world. This purple-clad Demon that had a blade at its side that couldn't be anything but Nichirin. This Nichirin Blade wielding Demon that stormed a man's house and burned it to the ground. That only used its blade to cut a branch and pin the man just out of reach of the hungry flames with a journal. Who used a knife that the man held to carve 'LIAR' onto the man's skin, and not its' blade or claws, before walking away and not looking back. The journal that they had read, and immediately became disgusted by the swindler in front of them. Pleading for help, to be let go. That they would never hurt anyone again. But no remorse or true regret colored his words or body. Rage filled them, and the man's head fell from his body with a dull splat. And then they turned their back as well. Following after the strange Demon.
This unusual Demon, who stilled for an almost invisible instant when it came across the group of Slayers. Who did not attack first, and only struck after being swung at. This blade wielding Demon, that did not draw out their deaths. Did not taunt them even as they proved to be massively outclassed in raw strength, speed, and skill of blade. This Demon, who struck down these young Slayers with such regret and reluctance deeply hidden in every movement. Resigned acceptance that only one side would be coming out alive. And after it was over, this odd Demon did not feast. Did not disturb the fallen bodies except to give them some form of decency and respect in death. 'What could create such a Demon? What is the reason it is so… human?'
How the strong Demon collapsed to the ground with a pained shout. Almost convulsing as it fell, crossed their mind. How it stumbled to its feet and unsteadily ran. Not out of guilt for its actions, but of worry and desperation for something unnamed. They wanted to know. They had to know.
And so, they ran.
He was drowning. That was the only thing he could compare what he was feeling to. Drowning and lost in the maelstrom of his own emotions, his only anchor the steady warmth of the Kami that had accepted him and sheltered him all this time. Who he had given nothing in return but a fixed shrine that he constantly damaged and broke, and countless needless deaths at his hands. Guilt swelled up in his throat and he choked on its intensity. He barely saw the boy in front of him, coal-red eyes shining with tears and second-hand pain. Michikatsu did not like that, did not want to be the cause of any more pain. And so he tried to smile. A full smile that showed nothing but the overflowing emotions tumbling about in his chest. He pushed his hope that the child would accept the trembling, waiting hand, stained with blood only he could see, forwards. And his vision grew blurry, grew smaller and less sharp, but he could care less. All that mattered was the hurting child in front of him and the elder laying helpless behind.
The hatchet that the boy had been holding fell. Hitting the suddenly spring ground with a soft thud, and cleaned by the rapidly growing greenery. One slow step forwards. Then two. The child walked closer and closer until, had he wanted to, he could lunge and grab the child. But he did not. He waited, patiently but urgently. The elder, the child's Father perhaps, still needed help. Help both he and the Kami were anxious to give. Then the child gently took his hand and a shock seemed to hit him, and he knew. This was more than an opportunity to save the legacy of someone he so deeply loved. It was a second chance, one to do things right. And by the Kami and stars above, and the hells below, he would do anything to ensure it was never lost.
The child pulled at his hand, and he obliged. Standing with an elegance and grace he thought long gone. Torn from him and shattered by injury, torture, and time. His emotions briefly steadying out, leaving him feeling more free than he had since he was a child. The boy gently, but insistently, pulled him over to his unconscious Father. Once they were next to the elder, Michikatsu paused in shock. For in front of him, was his Otōto. His Yoriichi. His Brother. Both older and younger than he had ever seen. His newly free emotions threatened to overwhelm him and leave him frozen with their weight. For that was his Brother but it also was not.
Yoriichi had died centuries ago.
Had died while fighting and crying for his older Brother. Michikatsu instinctively tried to wall the emotions away.
No. The Kami almost hissed. 'How can I help if I can't tell the difference of years gone and now?' he snapped back.
Emotions not bad. Lean into and learn. The Kami encouraged, its warmth a much-needed steadying weight.
An insistent tug on his hand jolted him out of his turmoil and confusion. 'Right. The child. Focus on helping the child's Father. That looks like Brother but isn't Brother.' He hastily, but fluidly knelt down on the soft green earth and started to look for injuries. Pale hands trembled as they searched with increasing confidence and worry. There was a slight give and creaking of the ribs, but nothing beyond that. He deliberately did not look at the man's face until he had to. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him again, but Michikatsu expected it this time and soldiered on. The man was thin and frail with sickness and stress, he noted. Nothing like Yoriichi had ever been. He doubted that Yoriichi could have ever been this frail. Even with the knowledge that his Brother had suffered, he doubted it. That one difference made something in him relax somewhat, and the world felt more real.
There was a matching mark on the Father's head, but it's shade was ever so slightly brighter. More like sunburnt skin that had healed over an old scar, than a splash of arterial blood. Dark black-red hair was identical at first glance, but it was more straight and lightly waved, more similar to his own. He could not tell what color the eyes were as they were closed, but undoubtedly they were similar to the fire-eyed child at his side. Michikatsu's hands paused for a moment when they brushed over the tacky blood that stained the man's face and cheek. His eyes narrowed, there was something off and familiar about it. The child's hands snatched his own and moved them to the skin of the elder's chest.
Michikatsu flinched.
It was cold. So so so cold. It was a wonder that the man's heart was beating with how it felt like ice. Frowning, he moved one hand back to the man's head, it was burning hot. Like the first flames that burn an empire to the ground. A stark contrast to his almost-frozen chest.
Blood. Scent. The Kami whispered, the swirling warmth speeding up and the greenery growing faster. Closing his eyes, he inhaled, focusing on the blood of the injured man, and he stilled with horror.
Opening his eyes and looking at the child that gazed at him with trust and hope, Michikatsu felt guilt over what he was about to do. Michikatsu couldn't help but cry silent tears. Ember-red eyes widened in confusion and shock, before the small body started pulling at his hands. Here he was, once again causing pain, even though it was to save a life. 'Are you watching, Brother?' he thought mournfully. Aloud, he spoke in a quiet, halting voice that wielded power and commanded respect, yet overflowed with regret, guilt, and pain. "Forgive me… Little one."
The clawed hands that no longer trembled, tensed, and pierced thin, fragile skin.