Chapter Text
Sometimes, the only question that anyone can ask is why.
Zenitsu found himself asking this a lot. Why do I need to slay demons? Why must I suffer like this? Why did this happen to me?
And as of this moment, his only thought was why.
His katana shook in his grip, as another wave of pain and heaviness crashed onto him. His legs screamed with fury, and he found himself close to collapsing on the bloodstained ground.
And yet he couldn’t.
Not when kind-hearted, honest Kamado Tanjiro had become the one thing they all sought to defeat.
His once warm, ruby eyes were now a piercing scarlet, his remarkable, flame-shaped scar becoming a mark of impurity across his face, as his dear sister gripped onto him with all her might, hoping to regain his sanity. Tendrils of bone and flesh and muscle erupted from his back, lashing into a frenzy and attacking everything around them. With a start, Zenitsu saw one heading right for him, and as he deflected it with a clang, he was suddenly willed to run.
But not away.
He would not let his friend kill anyone. Especially not Nezuko, his demon-turned-human sister who was fighting so hard for him.
He ran forward, breathing with all the power he still had. Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash- Godlike Speed.
He leapt with a roar of lightning, slashing at all the flying projectiles aimed for him, and was even surprised by his own sheer speed, as he flew to a halt right in front of Tanjiro. His eyes met his for a second. Gold to red.
Just for a second.
Then, everything seemed to happen at once. He found himself reaching for Nezuko with his free hand, pulling her as gently as possible away from her brother. Even though he could hear her cries, begging him to let her try again to get through to her brother, he tugged with all his strength, and fell backwards, numb and with no remaining power, Nezuko beside him heaving gasps of exhaustion.
The next thing that happened went straight through his chest.
He could feel his grip slackening, his katana falling to the ground with a clatter. He heard Nezuko and Inosuke’s screams of horror, as he slowly looked down to the arm going through his body. Bitterly, he found himself thinking of Rengoku, and how the Flame Hashira had passed in a similar fashion.
Maybe he would’ve laughed, if not for the dire situation.
Now, he found himself staring right at Tanjiro. His expression seemed to be contorted, a distorted mix between mirth and regret. His eyes flashed with an unknown emotion, one that Zenitsu couldn’t recognize. He could feel Tanjiro’s fist shaking in his ribs , as the whole demon trembled, face frozen in confusion, and he almost screamed at the internal movement , his chest burning with a scorching pain that glazed his eyes over with tears and made his own body start to go limp. It hurt. It hurt so bad.
Tanjiro lashed his arm back; Zenitsu fell to the ground, unable to speak. He could only gasp, throat dry and scratchy, as his hands fumbled towards the injury. His fingertips became wet with dark red blood, and a single tear escaped from his eye, rolling down his cheek. If only… if only things had been different. Maybe I could have done something. I should’ve done something. At least to help.
Now I’m sitting here as deadweight.
“Z-Zenitsu! Please! Stay awake! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” a delicate, sobbing voice cried out, one that sounded like a gentle breeze rustling through petals of sakura. He felt a hand clasp his own, and through blurred, red-tinted vision, he could see a face, a petite, chiseled face with pristine rosy eyes that glistened with tears. Her expression was distraught, aghast, even guilty.
Why are you sorry? That this was all for your sake? When you did nothing wrong? he thought feebly, as if she could hear his thoughts. It wasn’t your choice to become a demon. You’re not at fault. Neither is Tanjiro.
“Oi, Monitsu! Don’t die on us!” a strained voice, gravelly and cracking, yelled. There was yet another clang of a katana, and he struggled to see what was going on. Looking past Nezuko, he could see Inosuke, slashing furiously at Tanjiro’s uncontrollable attacks. With him was Kanao, who, albeit fighting with Tanjiro, stole a glance at the pitiful blond that laid on the ground. Her eyes were raging with more emotion than Zenitsu had ever seen in them, sadness and anger and grief all at the same time. But she looked back, determined to return Tanjiro to normal.
His gaze drifted back to Nezuko. He felt awfully tired. Like he could close his eyes and sleep forever. Black stained his vision, flickering in and out of sight as he struggled to stay conscious- no, alive.
“I remember everything,” Nezuko whispered, tears rolling down her face like an endless river. “You, Inosuke, Tanjiro, Kanao, Genya… everyone. I don’t want it to end like this.”
Perhaps the old Zenitsu would have found her pretty at this moment. Beautiful, even. But that was the least of his worries. He couldn’t spend his last moments doting on a girl he would never see again.
His eyelids felt heavy. So, so heavy. Sounds and sights were blurring in and out of his head; one instance there was only Nezuko, the next Inosuke was right there. He swore he could see tears coming out of that ridiculous boar mask.
“ZENITSU!”
He didn’t want them to feel sad. Even at the point of no return. With weak hands, he rested one each on his dear friends’ hands. A futile attempt, but it was good enough.
Suddenly, they were both gone. A sickening thud nearly made him gag, as a snare of bone and flesh flung both Nezuko and Inosuke backwards. He could only assume what had happened, and suddenly tears were running down his face. Was this what was destined to happen? Them, failing?
He didn’t know how much time passed. Why was he still alive? Still in pain? The throbbing in his chest seemed to be getting both stronger and weaker. He was so confused, so confused. All he knew was that the sun was getting brighter. Warmer and brighter.
“Thank… thank you.” A whisper left his lips. He didn’t quite know who he was talking to. Not when their heartfelt melodies were slowly dying down, growing quieter and slower. Maybe it was Jii-chan, Kaigaku, all the Hashira, his dear companions.
Perhaps it was everyone he was talking to.
As he finally closed his eyes, Zenitsu found peace.
His eyes fluttered open, and he was met with the dark sky, a blanket of star-speckled black. He blinked, the tiniest bit puzzled. Is… is this what happens after death? People always said it would be an endless white, but…
He slowly sat up, gazing around. It wasn’t only the sky- there were tall trees, eerie and looming above him, as a cold breeze ribboned through their branches. Something about them seemed so awfully familiar to Zenitsu, scarily familiar.
“Finally decided to wake up, you little fly?”
He whipped around in a panic. That sound… no, it can’t be…
Yet there it was, resting on the ground behind him, slowly disintegrating as it spat out words of fury. “You’ll pay for this! I’ll get you back!” it screeched, its voice so inhuman that Zenitsu almost wanted to hurl. Sure, he had heard worse, but this… this was wrong on so many levels. There’s no way this is possible. This… this isn’t right!
He watched in horror at the gruesome, beheaded demon before him as it finally vanished from sight, shouting one final curse at him.
With trembling hands he reached for his left side, dreading and dreading. Sure enough, his fingers brushed a sheath. A katana sheath. He slowly looked down at his clothes. He wore a dirty, battered yellow and orange yukata with uroko patterns dotted all over.
He wasn’t wearing his Corps uniform.
He came to the truth almost instantly. It surely wasn’t possible, but… as tears began flooding Zenitsu’s eyes, a lurching feeling leaping into his gut, he knew it couldn’t be anything else that had happened. He curled into a ball in the middle of the forest, sobs racking his body. Fate had sent him back. Perhaps it was punishment, punishment for failing previously. And now this was the result.
Here I am. Suffering, again.
Somehow, he found himself dragging his feet through Final Selection. It was a repetition- get attacked, slice the demon’s head off, and continue walking. He was in a daze. For the past seven days he had been thinking and thinking and thinking. All the sounds and sense of the world had flooded back immediately, in a way that a mere nightmare couldn’t mimic. So it wasn’t a dream. It was cold, hard reality.
It made him grit his teeth and hold back the tears that still threatened to spill from his eyes.
But that was the least of his worries.
As he stepped into the exam hall, relief was a small twinge in his mind.
And then something wrenched at his heart.
He couldn’t help but stare. There she was, wearing a soft pink kimono, hair tied in a neat ponytail attached by a butterfly clip. Her violet eyes held no emotion in them, a needless smile on her face.
Tsuyuri Kanao. Alive and in the flesh.
They weren’t the closest, but it was still enough to nearly send Zenitsu into another sobbing fit. He could hear her heartbeat, the one that had faded away, strong and sounding like multiple flower petals raining onto the ground in a shower.
And he was so glad.
He walked forward slowly. He met her gaze once, and quickly averted his eyes. He couldn’t be up and front about this all. It would only interfere with the future. Maybe that was his goal, but it would change too much.
Too much had already changed for him.
He brushed past the Flower Breather, and caught sight of another person. There he was. Hair in a ridiculous mohawk, wearing a posh and aggressive expression on a scar-etched face, as he stared intensely at the two children that were watching them at the front. Shinazugawa Genya. His melody was clear and audible, an intense yet forgiving wind that whipped with the storms and leaves in its wake. Zenitsu turned his head before they could see each other.
It was silent for the next few minutes. Staring at the ground, Zenitsu could see the stones starting to light up, and he glanced up to see the sun rising. The wisteria was lit with its pale glow, and Zenitsu couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it. Some things were still precious in this world. Last time, he hadn’t been so appreciative of the warm welcome the trees and sun gave them. Even the two children, with expressionless twin smiles, made him feel only the slightest bit happier.
A bell chimed in the distance.
A painstakingly familiar one.
It was gentle, one that flowed with the skies and rivers whilst chiming. One that made him freeze in place, made his emotions turmoil. He slowly turned around, and almost collapsed at what he saw.
A young boy had stumbled into the exam hall. He sported a blue, cloud-patterned yukata, a bandage hiding his signature scar from view, with burgundy hair and warm red eyes that almost brought Zenitsu to cry yet again, his eyes blurry with the tears he held back.
Last time they saw each other, Tanjiro was a demon.
Now, he was human.
And the sound told him it wasn’t fake. It was really happening.
A sudden thought flashed in his mind. He couldn’t help but gasp softly at his own realization, ignoring the way everyone turned to look at him.
This wasn’t punishment.
This was a second chance.
“Welcome back,” the two children chorused simultaneously. Zenitsu spared them a glance, another pang of recognition flashing through him. He could remember their distinct voices, like feathers drifting in the sky at dusk.
Ubuyashiki Kiriya and Kanata quickly took place beside a covered table, and a wave of nostalgia hit Zenitsu. Ah. Right. We’re getting our ores.
“Congratulations,” the white-haired girl said, staring mindlessly at the slayers. “We’re pleased to see that you’re safe.”
“Ne,” said a gravelly voice, and Zenitsu turned his head to see Genya, staring intently at the children. “What am I supposed to do now?” he demanded. “Where’s my katana?”
Ignoring him, the children continued. The white-haired girl- Kanata, he could remember- said, “ First, we shall issue you all uniforms. We will take your measurements, after which your rank will be engraved.”
Kiriya then added, “There are ten ranks in all.”
“Kinoe.”
“Kinoto.”
“Hinoe.”
“Hinoto.”
“Tsuchinoe.”
“Tsuchinoto.”
“Kanoe.”
“Kanoto.”
“Mizunoe.”
“Mizunoto.”
“Currently, you are all the lowest rank, Mizunoto.” they concluded.
“And my katana?” Genya growled. The impatience and desperation flowed off of him in angry waves that stung slightly at Zenitsu’s ears. He had forgotten- Genya didn’t use a standard Nichirin blade. Sympathy bit at him, as he watched him leer at the two children in front of him. He wanted to prove himself so badly. He was genuinely a good guy, if Zenitsu could recall what Tanjiro had told him about the slayer.
“Today,” Kanata continued, “We will let you choose the ore for your swords, but it will take ten to fifteen days to complete.”
A sudden spike of anger, sharp as the twang of a cord, rang through the air. Zenitsu had been expecting it, but it still made him flinch.
“Are you kidding me?” the boy seethed, face livid with outrage, only to be interrupted by Kanata yet again, as she briskly clapped her hands twice.
A sudden flapping from above; feathers rained down as five birds swooped down from the morning sky.
“Your Kasugai crows.” Kiriya announced.
Amidst the regal black fowl flapping about, Zenitsu kept his eyes peeled for a small songbird, which he found fluttering down towards him in little ‘cheeps’ of excitement. He slowly raised a hand, and the sparrow landed lightly on it, talons digging painlessly into his skin. Its brown and white feathers were fluffed out in joy, as it chirped happily at Zenitsu. “Hello, Chuntaro.” he murmured back softly, and it suddenly occurred to him how quiet and scratchy his voice was, straining slightly to speak. Had he not spoken at all since coming here? He coughed gently as an itch rose in his throat, hoping he didn’t disturb the sparrow, but it remained supremely unbothered, beady black eyes looking up at him curiously. He wasn’t actually sure if Chuntaro was alright with the name, considering the fact that it might not even be his real name, but the little bird paid no mind.
What even happened to Chuntaro during the battle with Muzan?
The question rested uneasily in his head, but he shook it away. He couldn’t worry now. Not when he still had time to fix his mistakes.
He was cut off with a sudden squawk. One of the crows flapped away from its owner, who was waving his hand to ward it off. It soared over to Zenitsu, to land clumsily on his shoulder. This… this hadn’t happened in the past. Its feathers ghosted his cheek, and he let out an awkward cough as he turned to the commotion again, now with two birds using him as a perch.
“Don’t give me that crap! Who cares about some stupid crow?” Genya exploded, marching forward to grab Kanata by her hair, shaking the poor girl forward with the force of his grip. “I want a katana, you hear me? Ka. Ta. Na.”
Then, Tanjiro, being the effortlessly kind soul he was, did exactly what he did last time; as he argued with Genya, Zenitsu, knowing the situation would be taken care of, looked around until his eyes met Kanao’s. They both stared at each other for a lengthy amount of time, before he gave her an uneasy nod. She made no expression, but the sudden irregularity in her soft melody slightly reassured him.
A cracking snap resonated in the clearing. Both he and Kanao glanced back at Tanjiro and Genya, who had stumbled backwards, clutching his swollen, red arm with an expression between disgust and pain.
“Are you finished?” Kiriya asked, showing little to no concern as his sister rejoined him. Without waiting for a response, he whisked the cover off the table. More than twenty pieces of stone sat on the table, gleaming in the subtle sunlight, a reminder of how many had perished in the examination.
“Now then, please select an ore. The steel for the sword that will annihilate oni and protect you will be of your own choosing.”
Ah… isn’t this familiar?
Now, Zenitsu was lost in thought, as he slowly made his way to his dear Jii-chan’s dojo. A part of him was so happy, so relieved that he could try again.
And another part was scared, as he always was.
Sometimes he was exasperated by his own fear. Why couldn’t he be more brave? Why couldn’t he be someone like Tanjiro or Inosuke? He was sure that if they took his place, they’d have made more progress than him to change the outcome of their failure. And his failure- he had failed so many times already. He had failed to find a partner, failed to become a Hashira, failed to prevent Kaigaku from becoming a demon, failed to prevent Tanjiro from becoming a demon- tragedy was spilled over everything he met. Would he really be able to do it?
“Zenitsu!”
He heard a thunderstorm, one that ravaged the lands, yet with a caring, gentle rainfall. It sounded like home.
He stared, almost in shock.
Jii-chan committed seppuku because one of the Thunder Breathers had become a demon.
But now, Kaigaku wasn’t a demon, and Jii-chan was alive.
And Zenitsu wanted to make sure it stayed that way.
There he was- Jii-chan, with his spiky hair and mustache, silver with age and his uroko-patterned clothing. His sharp eyes crinkled with a proud smile that made his heart tremble.
“You are my pride and joy.”
If he listened hard enough, he could still hear that whisper of a voice in his head.