Chapter Text
Senjuro was very small when he was born, Kyojuro remembers. Even Kyojuro’s small, chubby child’s hands had dwarfed Senjuro’s tiny, tiny hands. He barely had hair and his eyes were bleary, like he was still adjusting to a world with light.
Kyojuro loved him. He’d practically stolen him away from their parents. Hugging and rocking him with all the grace he could muster with his six year old arms. The bigger Senjuro had gotten the more Kyojuro had fallen in love. He spent nearly all the time he wasn’t training or doing chores making faces and pressing kisses to Senjuro’s little face and listening to the giggles the baby let out.
His mother had smiled fondly, pressing kisses to both their foreheads, face sweetened with love. Even with how tired she was, she still took the time to hold them like they were the only thing in the world that mattered to her.
Something Kyojuro doesn’t think he’ll ever forget, no matter how warm and fuzzy the edges of his memories become, is Senjuro’s first steps.
He had been down the hall, walking his mother back to her room when they heard his father’s delighted laugh and Senjuro’s baby babble. His Father was normally strict but his children and wife had softened his edges, made him able to laugh and love freely. His love used to curl protectively around them, warming them with its ferocious fire.
Hearing the sound of his laughter, Kyojuro tugged his Mother forward hastily and burst into the room. Standing with wobbly feet was Senjuro and standing behind him was Father, face split with a smile.
“Ruka, look,” he said.
Senjuro was usually a quiet baby but he squealed with joy when he spotted Mother and Kyojuro standing in the doorway. He started to stumble towards them and Kyojuro kneeled with his arms outstretched and prattling out encouragement.
Senjuro fell into Kyojuro’s waiting arms with an oomph and Kyojuro lifted him into his arms and hugged him tight. He spun around excitedly and beamed at his mother.
“Mother, mother he’s so big!” he said, staring up at her with bright, wide eyes. Senjuro clutched his yukata and let out a sound that almost sounded like ‘mama’.
Mother smiled and reached down to pat his head, “he is.”
Father snatched Kyojuro by the waist and plopped him on his shoulder and then led Mother with a hand between her shoulder blades to the bed. She only smiled indulgently.
“Come now, your mother needs her rest,” he said and squeezed Mother’s hand softly then promptly marched out the door, “let’s go start dinner.”
“Bye mother!” Kyojuro giggled and waved. She waved back.
Kyojuro held that memory close to his chest, and when nights became too cold and lonely to bear he let it light his heart on fire. It felt like how his father used to make him feel.
It was really all he could do, after all.
…
The sun rose over a hill of golden wheat and the rays swept over Kyojuro’s face like a greeting. He smiled, the sun was always a welcome sight, none more than to a slayer.
Before him, laying in the dirt, was a beheaded demon. Even so far in the process of dying it still found the strength to cry out, its half disintegrated body wiggling away from the beams of sunlight. Staring at the scene, Kyojuro felt a deep sense of pity. A life without the sun, how awful that must be.
“Y-you awful swordsman…how dare you be-behead me…,” it said, the edges of its face flaking away.
“You’re a demon and you’re killing people, it is my job and obligation to stop you,” Kyojuro replied.
Half of its head was gone, “humans…kill humans…w…why are…demons…diff…..”
It was gone before it even finished its sentence, probably for the best. It had slaughtered many of the people in the nearby village.
Kyojuro turned and faced the open road, he should be able to return home now. It had been a while, he had been bouncing from one mission to the next for some time. He would enjoy seeing Senjuro after so long and to eat something home cooked. Senjuro food was always superb, even if Kyojuro had no idea how he had become such a good cook. Back when they were younger and Kyojuro was responsible for feeding the two of them, they had to stomach many less than stellar meals. He had eventually improved but he would never be as good as Senjuro it seemed.
All the more reason to hurry home, he thought cheerily.
It was very early, so he had yet to run into anyone walking down this dirt path. The sky was still waking up, its colors sleepy and restrained. It was a pretty sight, against the golden fields. The air was fresh as well, it soothed Kyojuro’s lungs.
Eventually the peaceful tranquility of morning was broken, he had reached the town. It was a modest one, old fashioned and close knit. Early waking men and women walked about, preparing for the day.
Now Kyojuro was very distinctive, from his hair to his uniform and sword. So naturally as he walked eyes followed him, curious but still too bleary-eyed from waking up to really question him. That was a good thing, considering the corps worked under the radar, but Kyojuro considered himself a rather social person and was used to operating on little, or no, sleep.
So, when he spotted an older woman setting up shop he decided to head her direction. Looking at the small, modest structure, it looked to be a medicine shop. Folk medicine, it seemed.
“Hello, Ma’am!” he greeted her brightly and watched as she blinked at him. She had tan skin, dotted with age, and black hair lined with white pulled up in a bun. Her yukata was a muted blue.
“Hello, can I do something for you?” she asked and set down the small jar of herbs she was about to set on a shelf.
“Not particularly!” he replied.
“...” she was silent for a minute and seemed vaguely uncomfortable, for whatever reason.
She sighed, “you have very piercing eyes young man, has anyone ever told you that?”
“They have!” multiple times actually, most people did not meet his eyes and he wasn’t bothered by that. Eye contact wasn’t necessary to hold a conversation.
“Lower your voice will you, this old woman has sensitive ears,” she said and then picked up the herb jar and began stocking the shelves once more, “do you need directions or something?”
“I don’t, you’ve had problems around here lately correct?” He decided to ask directly. Even though he had already slain the demon, more information was still good for the report he had to write.
She paused again, “If by problems you mean people disappearing and showing up half dead and bloody, then yes.”
“You won’t have to worry about that anymore, ma’am,” he said firmly.
Her eyes slid towards him and she seemed to study him, lingering on his sword. Whatever she found, he didn’t know.
“This town is small and most people come to me when they are sick or hurt,” she said and tapped a jar, “so one night they dragged a man here, more of a boy really. He was barely alive by the time they had gotten him here.”
Her eyes met his, “there wasn’t anything I could do, I can coax a fever or infection away, I can’t fix missing limbs.”
He frowned, “I’m sorry for your loss Ma’am, but I promise it’s over.”
“How old are you, boy?” she asked.
He blinked, what an odd question, “eighteen,” he replied and cocked his head.
She sighed and turned around, walking further in the shop and held up a hand, waving a hand to signal him to come further into the shop.
“I’ve seen you type of people before, granted the uniform is new,” she said and gestured to him, almost reproachfully.
“I don’t know what you do, but whenever you show up it’s because people are dying,” she took a pouch out from a box and pressed it to his chest, “and then it stops.”
“What’s this?” he asked, gently cradling the pouchy.
“Call it compensation,” she said flippantly and returned to shelving.
“Ma’am this isn’t necessary,” he tried to press the pouch back into her hands but she pressed into his own chest with a surprising amount of force.
“Just take it, if you don’t need it, maybe someone you know might,” she said and then pushed him towards the door.
“Now be on your way, it’s too early for this,” she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.
Kyojuro laughed, “Okay, thank you Ma’am.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said and then disappeared into her shop.
He studied the pouch for a moment, feeling the weight in his hand. Perhaps he would give it to Senjuro, he always tended to get sick around his time of year. Maybe it would help him.
Well, anyhow, he should be off before the old woman comes back out to tell him to leave again.
He laughed, what an eccentric old woman.
…
“Aniue, are you leaving soon?” Senjuro asked, hands cupped around hot tea. They were sitting side by side at a table.
“I am, Kaname issued my mission just a few minutes ago,” he took a sip of his tea, it was blazingly hot but that’s how Kyojuro liked it.
“Oh, I see,” Senjuro said, his voice was sullen and his face was pinched in disappointment.
Kyojuro smiled softly, “I wish I could stay longer,” he rubbed Senjuro’s shoulder.
“It’s alright,” Senjuro mumbled.
Kyojuro would've gone to tell Father of his departure already but something felt off. Senjuro seemed more troubled than usual. Senjuro was always dejected when he left for missions, though he usually did a good job of masking it, but his face was pinched in a way Kyojuro only saw when he was particularly anxious.
“Is everything already?” he asked.
Senjuro thumbed the rim of his cup, “Yes, I’m just–some kids have been giving me a hard time lately,” he looked away.
Kyojuro was alarmed and placed the cup on the table, this was the first he was hearing about this. Why would anyone pick on Senjuro?
“For how long? Why?” he pressed in closer and peered at Senjuro with a concerned face.
“I–well for a while now, they like to pick on me whenever I head into town for food,” he fiddled with the cup in his hands, “I don’t know why, I think they’re bored.”
Kyojuro frowned, that didn’t make him feel any better, “I’ll talk to them then.”
“No, no! It’s okay! It’s really not that big of a deal I promise. I don’t want to hold you up on your mission,” he frantically assured.
“You’re sure?” Kyojuro asked
“Yes Aniue, I promise I’ll be okay,” he replied.
Kyojuro was silent for a beat, “okay then, if you’re sure then I’ll trust you. Once I return home, we’ll take care of it.”
Senjuro seemed anxious, “okay, I’m sorry for worrying you.”
He quickly reached out to squeeze Senjuro’s shoulder, “don’t apologize, I’m glad you told me.”
He stood up and smoothed out the thighs of his pants.
“I’ll go tell Father of my departure,” Kyojuro stated.
Senjuro placed the cup on the table and stood up, “I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”
Predictably, Father didn’t seem to care and grunted at him to leave, it was honestly discouraging but Kyojuro moved past it as he always did. He wouldn’t get anywhere if he let it affect him.
He hadn’t seen Father since he reported to him when he first arrived and he’d only been home for two days. That was how it always was, though it stung to know Senjuro was alone while he was off on missions.
Senjuro was standing at the entrance with his hands clasped in front of him when Kyojuro reached him. He was warm under the sun, his golden hair glowing.
Senjuro smiled when he saw him, “Aniue.”
Kyojuro stepped across the threshold, he knew while he had only been issued one mission, he likely wouldn’t be home for some time. It was the burden of any slayer, but especially that of a Hashira.
Kyojuro held open his arms with a soft smile. Senjuro blinked and then stepped into his arms. He wrapped arms around him gently, sometimes it still felt like Senjuro was a tiny child clinging to his legs.
Now he reached Kyojuro chest and while Kyojuro stopped growing years ago, Senjuro was still young. He would probably grow taller than Kyojuro.
Kyojuro squeezed him one last time and then stepped away.
“Goodbye, I’ll return when I’m able to,” he said.
“Goodbye, Aniue, please be safe.”
Kyjuro nodded and set off, the location Kaname specified was fairly far away so he would need to hurry.
So he left Senjuro standing at the entrance, colored warmly by the sun like a fuzzy memory.
He was waving goodbye.
…
Mother’s breathing was labored.
She was laying in the futon, her face was pale and sweaty. Her eyes were cloudy and half lidded. Kyojuro held her hand in his, it was a gentle pressure.
Kyojuro wiped his watery eyes and Mother squeezed his hand. When he glanced up at her, surprised, he found her with shut eyes. She looked like she was sleeping.
He sniffled and then curled down next to her, above the blankets. He still held her hands. They laid there for a while, he’d squeeze her hand softly every few minutes and she’d squeeze back.
He wasn’t allowed to see Mother too often anymore and he didn’t really understand what was happening. Just that she was sick and the doctors couldn’t fix it, that she would die soon. Father didn’t know he was here with her. Mother had only sighed and beckoned him closer when she had finally spotted him in the doorway.
Mother coughed and her entire body shook with it. She breathed heavily and cracked her eyes open.
“Kyojuro,” she began, her voice was breathy and low, “please go get your father.”
He quietly sat up.
He didn’t move.
“Kyojuro,” her eyes slipped back shut.
He stood up, let her hand slip from his, and silently left the room.
His father was down the hall, sitting at the table with his face buried in his hands. Kyojuro tugged his sleeve to get his attention.
“Mother wants you,” he muttered.
Father stared at him through his fingers for a moment, his eyes were bloodshot and watery, his face was flushed. He took a deep, shuttering breath and then stood up and walked away without saying anything.
Kyojuro stared at his back as he walked away. He looked away, he wanted Senjuro.
When he found him, Senjuro was curled in a ball in Kyojuro’s room, there were dried tear tracks on his cheeks. At first Kyojuro thought he was asleep but then Senjuro turned to look at him through the corner of his watery eyes.
If Kyojuro barely understood what was happening, then Senjuro sure didn’t. He could feel the shift in energy though, Kyojuro knew. How awful, being so sad and not understanding why. He laid down behind Senjuro and hugged him close to his chest.
Senjuro seemed to nod off in the comfort of his elder brother’s arms, but Kyojuro stayed awake, face buried in Senjuro short hair. The house felt cold.
When he finally sat up and tugged along a still sleepy Senjuro to his Mother’s room, he found his father leaned over her futon with shaking shoulders.
The house was cold.
…
The sky was purple and orange with the setting sun when the Rengoku Estate finally came into view. Kyojuro brightened, he had been traveling for a while now and was happy to be home. He thumbed the medicine pouch in his hands, he could finally give it to Senjuro.
He reached the entrance of the outer walls and stiffened.
There was dried blood on the wall, smeared in the shape of a hand. There was a trail of small, bloody spots of it leading towards the door.
The blood had to be at least a day old, Kyojuro thought and tied the pouch to his belt. He placed his hand on his sword and forced himself to not run to the door. Bursting in without any heed towards possible danger could do no one good.
Once he reached the door, he realized it was open. He pushed it open and found the estate completely silent. He stepped in.
“Senjuro, Father!” he called out, no one responded. He frowned and sped up.
There were traces of blood on the walls, on the shogi screens, and on the floor. It seemed to be in a spotty trail, like it had dripped as someone stumbled through the estate. It passed by the kitchen.
There were ingredients, vegetables, spread out on a table and there were dishes set out ready to be used. It looked like they had been abandoned. It made the anxiety in his chest suddenly spike, Senjuro was the only one in the kitchen when he was gone.
The trail cut off, it had been waning for a while. He decided to check Senjuros room first. It was close and he was desperately hoping he was there.
No luck, it was empty. He gave in to the mounting dread and took off towards Fathers room. For what was probably the first time he cursed how large the estate was.
He barely turned the corner when he saw Senjuro.
He was lying on his side, collapsed just outside their fathers room, the shogi door was open. Kyojuro was frozen solid for a moment.
“Senjuro!” he bursted forward and slammed to his knees next to him. Now that he was closer he could tell Senjuro didn’t seem to be breathing.
As gently as he could Kyojuro turned him over onto his back. His breath stopped at the sight. He forced himself to move past it to check his pulse, he placed a finger on his neck.
Nothing.
“No, no, no, Senjuro,” he whispered and checked again.
Nothing, again.
The world had shrunk, all he could hear, see, feel was Senjuro’s cold, lifeless skin.
Senjuro…?
Senjuro’s face was red and purple, one eye looked swollen and black. There was blood dried around his nose and the corners of his mouth. He was pale and cold, nothing like the sun-kissed, warm boy Kyojuro had raised.
How did this happen? How could he-how could he leave for a few weeks and come back to–this.
It didn’t make any sense.
He pulled Senjuro into his lap and cradled the back of his head with his hand. He tightly wrapped his arms around Senjuro and curled around him. He began to rock, like he was trying to soothe a baby. Like he had when Senjuro was just born and Kyojuro was just six.
It was cold.
He didn’t loosen his hold on Senjuro any.
It felt like everything was under a layer of cotton.
“Goodbye, Aniue, please be safe.”
Senjuro.
“Yes Aniue, I promise I’ll be okay.”
It was cold, Senjuro was cold.
Senjuro smiled.
Senjuro clutched his yukata and let out a sound that almost sounded like ‘mama’.
Mother.
“Kyojuro,” she began, her was breathy and low, “please go get your father.”
Father.
Father!
He still didn’t know where Father was.
He took a shaky breath, he had no idea how long he’d been here. His cheeks were wet, and his knees hurt. He released the hand cradling Senjuro’s back and wiped his face with his sleeve.
He needed to find Father.
Despite the urgency his body didn’t move, he felt completely locked in place. He clenched his teeth and forced his body to move.
He gathered Senjuro in his arms, slipping an arm under his legs and back. He stood up slowly and his face crumbled when Senjuro's head lolled back. He re-adjusted him to rest against his shoulder.
Senjuro was so light in his arms.
Kyojuro squeezed his eyes shut and began towards the futon. It wasn’t made, Father never kept his room clean.
He gently lowered Senjuro to it, guiding his head to rest on the pillow. Kyojuro found his hand and held it in his shaky hands.
He’d seen dead bodies before, that was an unavoidable facet of being a slayer. If you couldn’t handle the violence, the bodies torn apart and spread across the walls, then you couldn’t be a slayer.
But this was so different.
He never knew those people and if he did it was passingly or professionally, this was his little brother. He’d seen him grown up and now he’d seen him grow cold.
Father, he reminded himself.
He squeezed Senjuro’s hand once and then let it slip from his hand.
…
Senjuro babbled and giggled when Kyojuro hugged him close.
“Don’t worry Senjuro, you're so little so your big brother will protect you!”