He did not know what he had done exactly, or maybe he did but he was not sure if he could recreate it. He knew every single movement his body had to do, how to twist, how to turn, how to jump, he had practiced a million times, he had practiced every little motion over and over again, Mitsuri had helped him with his jump, this father had helped him with the strength he could imprint of the slashing part, Obanai had helped him with twisting his body into impossible positions and Giyuu had helped him with connecting all the parts into one swift motion, a motion he never got right no matter how hard he tried.
But there was no time to practice, there was no ‘trying’ anymore. He could not afford to fail this time, real lives were at stake and ‘trying’ was not good enough, he had to do it and either survive or die with honor, or sit back and watch how everyone got eaten in front of his eyes… to him there were not many options because sitting back was not an option at all, he was a Rengoku after all and he had taken Giyuu as his haha and he refused to disappoint either of them.
The whole thing had been scary, probably the scariest thing he had done in quite a while, if not ever, but for a full minute he could not find it in himself to feel fear; for a full minute, while face to face with that faceless demon, he felt nothing but calmness. It was a very strange kind of calmness, a scary kind of calmness, almost empty, as if he were not able to feel anything at all and that emptiness was what his brain registered as ‘calm’.
His face had gone blank in an instant, just like Giyuu’s always did, no smile, no gentleness, nothing at all, his whole personality had been erased for a moment and a more primal part of him awoke. He was a protector, that was what he had always been at the end of the day, even when he had never before been able to show it through fighting, but he would this one time; just as his father had predicted, he would do anything in order to protect those close to him and Kyojuro, even if he could not forgive him, even if he could not trust him, even after everything that had transpired between the two, was still his dear brother and he would protect him even at the cost of his own life.
His hands had squeezed the tsuka of the katana until his knuckles turned white and he had refused to take his eyes away from his foe even when they tingled, asking him to blink. The last demon slayer had been knocked into a tree and there had been nobody in between his older brother and the demon, there had been nobody to protect him anymore so he had acted.
Senjuro had not thought it through; just like Giyuu had warned him not to do, he had made decisions with a hot head, but there was no time to waste and one could barely call it a decision when he had not been sure what was he doing to begin with until he stood face to face in front of the demon with an unturned nichirin sword that was not his, swinging it in front of him to make the demon back off.
The demon stomped his feet into the ground making it shake under him. A light blue snowflake-shape compass appeared underneath it but Senjuro did not think too much of it, it was probably related to that problematic blood demon art that the other demon slayer had informed him about but there was nothing he could do about that other than dealing with it.
As he adopted the right stance every piece of a puzzle he did not knew he was trying to solve fell into place and his head cleared: there were no doubts in his mind, there was nothing at all but him and the demon and his older brother behind him, there was no past and no future, just the second he was standing on, no arguments, no fear, no resentment, everything had disappeared and dissolved into the background.
There were no questions, he did not care what the kakushi would think of him, he did not care what his father would say, he did not care if Kyo would be glad of his actions or disgusted instead, if he would think that he had risked his life for nothing, if he would be patted on his back or casted aside. He had blown his cover up, his regulatory kakushi anonymity had long been shattered but there were more important things to consider so he was not going to overthink it, he would help regardless of the consequences and would deal with it afterwards, once his brother was out of danger, once the kakushi took the hurt demon slayers and left, once the passed out girl that still held his brother’s katana in her hands was out of danger, once that the demon slayer that had used the last crumbs of energy to protect him was taken care off.
His hands had found the katana lying in the floor on its own and his instincts had taken over him, he was going to do the defending this time, that was what he had always been destined to be, so he would apologize to Oyakata-sama personally if he had to, he would grovel on his knees and beg for forgiveness later, right at that moment, on that night, Senjuro had one and only one goal and he was ready to do anything to succeed.
And what if the nichirin blade had not changed? Genya’s katana had not changed either and he fought nevertheless. He ate demons and use a gun too but that had nothing to do with his fearlessness; he was brave enough to leave his fears behind him every time he faced a demon, he would put on a brave front and barrage his way in and out of any situation because he was motivated enough, he had no talent with the blade and even then he fought because he wanted to get to see his brother again, because he needed to apologize and he would turn into a demon temporarily if he had to to achieve his goal so why could not Senjuro give his all with no shame of failing?
He had always been scared of failure but it was high time for him to face that fear in the same exact way that he was facing the demon: with determination and courage. He would fall if he had to fall and he would stand back up because the price of losing was higher than what he could afford to lose, he would stand up injured, hurt and desperate if that meant that he could save his brother this one time, even if he could not save anybody else in the rest of his life, even if that meant that he disappointed everybody: his father, because he could not pass Flame Breathing down, his mother, because he was not strong enough, his brother, because he had done exactly what he said he would do and had gotten irretrievably hurt as he said he would. He would disappoint his sisters after all the cheerleading they had done, he would disappoint Genya after he taught him all the tips and tricks of fighting when one was not good enough, he would disappoint Nezuko after all the nights practicing and laughing together. He did not wanted to, he did not wanted to disappoint Obanai after the reluctant but helping hand he had lent him, he did not wanted to disappoint Mitsuri with her oh so cheerful spirit that encouraged him to try over and over again even when he never got it completely right, and more than anything, he did not wanted to disappoint Giyuu, his haha, the family he had chosen, the first person that had taken him in out of the kindness of his heart and nothing else, when he was not good at anything and had been running away from his problems and from his own demons.
He could deal with disappointing people even when he did not wanted to let them down, but he could live with that, he could live with everybody looking down on him because they had done that before and he was very much alive still, but he was sure that he could not survive letting Giyuu down, he could not bear the thought of the only person he needed to go through any trial to look down on him, to being disappointed, to be let down.
Senjuro shook his head, almost as if he was trying to take ugly thoughts out of his head. Giyuu had told him that he would fail in life, that he would fall; he had also promised him that he would be there whenever that happened, that he would always be his haha, that he would not abandon him in his time of need so the only thing he had to do was to get away from that fight with his life, if nothing else, every other life that he managed to save was a bonus and if he managed to retain all his limbs then it was more than enough.
There was no shame in falling, the shame was in not getting up again, even his father had agreed to it, so if he fell he would make sure to stand up again, his head held high with pride and his eyes steady in the faceless demon. He would try again and again no matter how many times until he succeeded or until day break, the only other reason for him to stop was to die and he was not planning on dying…
One could argue that he was not planning at all and they would have been right but he was not going to think about it because nothing good would come of it so he would not put neither time nor energy into it. He would take whatever that demon had in store and would wiggle his way around it somehow, he would not accept defeat.
Soon enough his bravado was literally knocked out of him and he hit the floor with a thud, blood gushing out of his mouth maybe because he had bitten his lip or maybe because of something worse that Senjuro was not going to think about.
A wet cough slipped out of his throat and more blood splattered the ground. The punch hurt so much that even breathing was hard but he did not think he was seriously injured, at least not externally, who knew what was actually going on inside of him. He did not know how the demon slayers stood right back up after a bad hit but they did and if they could do that it meant that Senjuro could do it too so he spit the blood out of his mouth to the ground, somehow managing to dodge his kakushi mask, and pushed the floor to stand up again just like his father had advise him to do.
Fast enough he saw the demon approaching him with terrifying speed, a hand closed into a fist rising in the air, ready to strike again and punch his head into oblivion, probably thinking that once he was dealt and done with he could devour the ‘better meat’ without more complications. But Senjuro was not going to give up so fast and readjusted his grip over the katana to take a deep breath in.
He could not sustain total concentration breathing constant, he had been working on it but was unsuccessful to say the least. He had, nevertheless, managed to master the first four forms of Ember Breathing so he felt no hesitation whatsoever when he swung his blade bottom to top just in time to slash the offending first that was flying towards his face with nothing but the goal to turn his brains into mush.
“Ember Breathing, Second Form: Burning Blaze,” he thought with something akin to relief. He could remember his breathing stances and he could choose almost instinctively which one was better to use in which situation. He decided that he was getting the hang of it, he was understanding what fighting was supposed to be like in real life without the safety that the training grounds granted.
There were real stakes in that fight, it was not a sparing match against Genya, who always won, it was not a constant repetition of movements for Giyuu and Obanai to correct his posture, it was about survival, it was about the lives of people he was not willing to give over to the demons just like that, without even a little resistance; it was about people that he was not willing to let down.
He was either going to end that demon or that demon was going to end him but whatever the result was he was dead set on giving a good fight, the best fight he had ever given. There was not a single possibility that he would allow that demon to take any life before his own, over his dead body would that demon sink its stupid claws on anybody else, it had already done more than enough damage to his uneducated opinion and if Senjuro was going to do something it was not to willingly surrender any of them. No. Like his father before him and his father’s father he was ready to lend his life in order to protect others, that was the legacy he wanted from his family, not their breathing technique but their spirit and he had always had that spirit in him, that everlasting, undying flame inside his heart that he would let be all consuming to the benefit of others and his own damnation, that flame that had left coal behind, coal that he had slowly managed to revive with Giyuu’s attentive care and guidance, that cold coal that had turned into soft burning fire.
His fire was not the same as Kyojuro’s; his brother’s fire would burn everything and anything that stood in his way in order to save others while Senjuro would burn himself to the ground. It was true, Kyojuro had burned himself before, he had misstepped or his enemy had been to great or he had gotten tired, but his style was offensive, he went up for the collision head on while Senjuro tried to avoid conflict as much as he could but the same fire burned in their hearts, they just showed it out differently.
He would make his family proud: his father, his mother, who was looking over him from the other side, his ancestors, all praised swordsmen, he would make them all proud of him that night even if he had to pay with his life for it.
He was naturally kind and gentle, everyone knew that, and he would give his life for the people he loved, burning himself to the ground if that would shed light into others, but after that moment he would have done a good deed, just like his forefathers, he would have no reason to doubt if his mother was proud or not of him, he would know. She would be just as proud of him as she was of his brother, just as proud of him as he knew Giyuu was.
“Ember Breathing: Fourth Form: Flickering sun,” he thought, changing his stance and moving his arms with a precision that would make Iguro silent for a second. The first slash cut off the right arm or the demon, the second barely nicked its neck. He would have got it had the demon not jumped back, he could have been better, he should have been better, he thought.
“Do not talk about yourself with such cruel words,” Giyuu would have chided him, he did not like it when he was not kind to himself, and maybe he was right, nothing good could come from him putting himself down. He was good enough, everyone was good enough so why would he deny himself some price? He was fending off a demon for the first time, he was helping out, he was doing something instead of shrinking into a corner and waiting to be rescued.
He had grown and changed so much since he had first left the Flame Estate. He was sure that the child that had run away would not even recognize him. Giyuu was not keen on highlighting that kind of thing, maybe because he did not wanted to make him feel self-conscious about it, maybe because he did not noticed the change since he had been there every step of the way, but Senjuro did notice: he found himself voicing his opinion more often than not, he found himself making friends and even putting his foot down when he needed to even when he was with his father.
That was something he also had learned to appreciate: his father was actually changing and even if from time to time he found a little resistance in Shinjuri about the changes, he always took the time to calm down and reflect about it before doing something he would regret. Most arguments with his father had been through letters which meant that both of them had been rather respectful but they had disagreed on person and his father had neither raised his voice nor his hand which gave Senjuro a lot of hope.
But he wanted to keep that hope somewhere inside of him in respect to his brother too and if he did not finish that demon off or if he could not fend it off at least until sunrise all hope would be in vain, crumbling into the ground like the burned remains of the firewood of a fire that has already gone out, disappearing into thin air.
Giyuu never spoke about Kyojuro unless Senjuro asked him directly, which he did not do often because he knew his haha’s opinion on his brother as it was, but even when he did, Giyuu swallowed down his blunt opinions and restricted his comments to ensure Senjuro’s wellbeing which was more than a little rare since he had not known his haha to not be blunt. But since he did not seem to be able to get Giyuu’s honest opinion he had asked his father what he thought about getting back in touch with his brother and he had gotten a different point of view that had proven rather hopeful for the future. Kyojuro needed time to change just like Shinjuro himself had needed it, he had promised Senjuro to help his brother through it but he assured him that the wounds Kyo had inflicted were still too fresh and they both needed to heal and change before they could get their relationship back but he gave him hope, hope that Senjuro was not willing to risk that night… or any other night, to be honest.
The demon continued its attack relentlessly, kicks and punches seemed to fly in Senjuro’s direction and he barely managed to deflect them with his katana, he cut through meat and bone over and over again but he never quite reached the neck and eventually, one punch sent him flying to the side. But Senjuro knew what to do and he caught himself before it was too late: he changed his stance in mid air just like Kanroji had taught him and twisted his body to change directions, he landed on his feet with questionable balance not too far away from the demon and took a breath to readied himself for his next move.
“Ember Breathing, Third Form: Scintillating Coal,” Senjuro thought. He had been in the defensive long enough, it was high time for him to take a more active role in the fight or he would exhaust himself before morning arrived and then all would be for nothing, an absolute waste of time. Waste of time for him, waste of time for Mitsuri, waste of time for Iguro, for his father, for Giyuu who had trained him and listened to him and helped him make a new Breathing Style from scratch.
Giyuu who had never thought that anything he did was a waste of time, even when what he was doing was simply resting or having a little fun, Giyuu who valued his opinion and gave his feelings a lot of thought, maybe because he could not understand them, maybe because he was not sure how to react to them. Giyuu who had valued him with nothing else attached, who he called ‘haha’, who loved him regardless of everything like his haha would. He could not lose that fight, he would not leave his new found family, not without a proper goodbye, not without at least leaving something that was worth it behind him as a legacy, not without succeeding, even if he had to pay for that success with his life.
“I should run,” he thought, a vague memory of Giyuu giving him that advice came to his mind easily and his body responded to the suggestion rather quickly, almost instinctively maybe thanks to his relationship with his haha, to the trust he had placed in Giyuu, or maybe thanks to the repetitive motions he had practice to death. Whatever the reason was, Senjuro took up running, swirled around once and slashed the demon’s head in halves but not it’s neck, he had missed the neck again and was way too close to the demon to make a correcting swing, he would not slash it before he got punched.
He could feel the dread seeping into his body as he noticed his mistake. He could see the fist coming right at him, almost in slow motion, straight to his face. He somehow knew that the next one would be into his stomach, a punch that would go in from his front and out of his back, literally through him. A punch he would not survive.
He was done. That was it, a not very long life with no long lasting dreams and no achievements to be proud of, no everlasting footprint on the world. Nothing. The feeling of finality and powerlessness was terrifying and liberating at the same time. Senjuro did not wish to die, that thought had never crossed his mind, but there was little to nothing he could do to avoid the distinct path that awaited him unless that demon in particular was keen on forgiving the lives of those who begged. There was nothing he could do but watch.
In one second he had given up, in the next one his body was twisting away from the demon in the last moment possible. There was something, a distinct twinkle in his heart that had flickered and pushed him into action yet again. A fighting spirit? Maybe; he was not sure. An all consuming desire to help, to protect.
He had never succeeded before and he was not sure why he thought it was a good idea, even though some could argue he had not been thinking at all, but his body had jumped backwards and to the side and the punch that was going to send him straight to his next life had missed its mark and the only reminder of how close he had been to his own death was a bloody scratch in his temple and a bruised cheek.
The kakushi mask stuck to his face uncomfortably, thick and warm blood kept gushing out of his mouth. His breathing was a mess, irregular and painful, and coming out in little puffs out of his mouth. His arms hurt and his side hurt too but he had not let go of the grip over the nichirin sword, he was not sure if there was something he could do but if he could stay alive long enough… maybe he could stop the demon from consuming his brother, maybe he could hold on a little bit longer.
The regulatory head covering long forgotten in the floor, a mess of fabric, sweat, blood and dirt that soiled the white linings and turned them brown. His hair stuck to his face, as fiery and wild as always but somewhat still contained in his high ponytail, swishing from left to right with the wind and the power of his movements. The uniform he had been so proud of stuck to his skin, saturated with sweat and blood that were not only his but that young demon slayer too, heavy and almost to the point of dripping. It all felt oppressive and difficult to work with. Even his own head felt too full, full of things he wanted to do, full of things he wished he had not done, full of things he wished to have done differently: he wanted to say goodbye properly, hug Giyuu harder, spend more time with his father get another drawing from Suki, listen to Aiko reciting a poem, hang out with Genya, share an ohagi with Iguro, have a second chance with his brother.
Instead of shrinking as he had done all those months ago, when he had run away from his brother, Senjuro watched the second punch approaching, breathing as deep as he could and readying himself to trust in his training and in his abilities. Every ounce of energy he had left was directed to his legs as he waited, he waited even when everything in his body told him to turn tail and run. It was actually a mare instant but it felt almost like a year as he watched the fist closing on him and right before the punch made contact with his stomach his feet left the ground.
He had never jumped that high and he had never been so elegant about it but for a second he felt weightless, he felt himself floating somewhere in between time and space as his body arched backwards using the demon’s body to push the ground farther away with his left foot and backflip away from its reach.
“Ember Breathing, Sixth Form: Inferno,” he thought.
The blade of his nichirin sword cut through air, flesh and bone from right to left, perfectly parallel to the ground. He was not sure if it had been easy, like slicing a hot knife through butter or if it had actually been as hard as one would imagine it would be to cut through a body with a blunt knife. The only thing he knew was that the katana had gone through the demon's neck and it had not chirped or broke on him.
Maybe he was finally safe, maybe his brother was finally safe just like the other two demon slayers and the kakushi. He had to see it through though, it would be too bad to pass out right then and there without seeing the demon disappearing first, leaving a slip of a chance for failure to happen. He was sure that he could hang on to his consciousness for a little longer and with that though he landed on the mud, dirt and blood mixing together at his feet… or rather at his knees, since his legs had given out upon the impact.
Senjuro stood up in unsteady feet and walked forward with clumsy steps. His legs hurt horribly, his arms felt heavy, a penetrating pain kept nagging his side, right where he had gotten punched and every time he tried to suck breath in he could feel an oppressive force fighting against his lungs.
He concentrated whatever energy he had left in his legs, in order to keep moving forward no matter what until a head with no features came into view. He stood over it, watching it disappear slowly in front of his eyes, hearing but not really listening to what it had to say, or what it had to scream, Senjuro was not sure if he could rely on his own ears at the moment.
But then the demon said something that he was not expecting to hear at all. He knew by Tanjiro's numerous recounts of events that some demons remembered their lives as humans before they passed on, he had imagined that much alike Tanjiro, he would be willing to listen and to give them some comfort before they left but, for once, Senjuro did not felt either the desire nor the need to give anything to a being that had taken and taken and taken and never given.
But it had said something that caught his ear so Senjuro listened for a moment.
"How can you have no fighting spirit at all?" It said, and Senjuro had no answer for him, he just did not want to fight, as crazy as it sounded, that was the truth and nothing but the truth, whether others liked it or not.
"I just want to go home," he replied, as if that explained it. And it somehow did because he found that he could not stop thinking about his family, both his blood family as his chosen family, he could not stop thinking about their encouraging presence, in their words of praise, in the way they taught him to love. Yes, his father was right, he did not want to fight nor did he want to die a hero, he wanted to protect those who needed protection, those he kept close to his heart, he just wanted to belong somewhere and he had finally found a place he wanted to belong to, a place where he was welcomed and appreciated.
Senjuro just wished to love and be loved in return, it did not seem as such a far fetched thing to ask for, it seemed rather fair, simple, even just human. He wanted Suki and Aiko, he wanted Genya and Nezuko, he wanted his father, he wanted his brother and he wanted Giyuu, more than anything he wanted Giyuu to hug him and tell him that everything would be just fine, that they would find a way out of it, that he had done well, that he had made him so very proud… and at that though he broke down crying and collapsed into his knees and hands, barely able to hold his own weight.
A gentle pair of hands held him up before he came crashing down face first to the ground, Senjuro was not sure to whom those hands belonged to but he was glad for them, they seemed caring and they seemed capable enough.
“The only thing left to do is rest now,” a gentle voice said. Senjuro thought that it might belong to the owner of the caring hands that were patching him up, and with that last thought he drifted off to sleep.