By now, he has learned that death is never permanent. Yet it does not take away the way something painful, something agony inducing, fractures its way through his heart.
It feels like it takes forever to slash the roots holding Sanemi up. Maybe it takes hours. Maybe it takes only seconds. He'll have to resharpen the blade later. That doesn't matter. He'd snape the damn thing in two if it meant being able to get his friend down faster.
He pries Sanemi from the grasp of those roots, but he can see that fragments remain. Somehow, that's the worst part.
How long he sits in the rain, clutching that body, he does not know. He wonders if the corpse will disappear before long, as so many seemed to do. Maybe it would be better, if it did. Certainly, Kyojuro does not want Genya to see this.
[ Unfortunately for Kyojuro, the corpse does not disappear. In fact, long after he has been cut down from those intertwined roots, Sanemi stirs. It is the second time he has been roused seemingly from beyond the grave, even if he can only recall this particular instance. It takes a gargantuan effort to even force his lungs to draw in breath, let alone peel his eyes open.
When he does, his body seizes in vivid, unfamiliar discomfort. It is as if there is one too many bodies tucked beneath his skin. The open shirt of his uniform does remarkably little to conceal the vines curling out of the center-most point of his chest. A single bloom sits, fragile as he now feels, just above the space where his heart lies.
A part of him is disappointed. Another part of him takes rare solace in the warmth Kyojuro emanates, even in the rain. ]
... I feel like shit. [ And his voice sounds it, brittle and barely above a hoarse whisper. ]
[Kyojuro is not sure if Sanemi drawing breath is a good thing or a bad thing. Good, in that he returns, bad in that something else moves with it. He watches the coil of something disturbing beneath his skin, and in turn feels something twist within his gut. He's seen a number of horrific things in his line of work, but nothing like this.
Some part of Kyojuro thinks to reach forward and rip it out. Instinctively, he knows it to be a terrible idea.
Instead, he puts his hands to work by cradling Sanemi closer. He angles his arm just enough to use his haori to block out at least some of the rain, preventing the other man from getting splattered in the face.
He does not laugh at those words. No, he looks grim indeed.]
You have been through a great ordeal. It is no surprise that you are in pain. [Kyojuro tries to keep himself steady. Surely Sanemi needs that comfort.] Give me just a moment, and I will get you to the clinic.
[He isn't sure that they'll be able to do anything but... It would be worth trying, right?]
[ Sanemi is no stranger to pain. The sheer volume of scars clustered across his body was a testament to that. This – unfamiliar discomfort, this not-quite-pain, sets him ill at ease from the moment his brain sluggishly acknowledges it. There is the sensation of never truly being able to draw enough breath. It is as if something is blocking his lungs, or coiled so tightly around them that each inhale is pinched. His brow furrows.
And then there is the sound: some distant rumbling in the back of his mind, threaded so deeply it is nearly impossible to differentiate it from his own stream of consciousness. His eyes unfocus as they peer upward, into the twisting mass of roots above. He isn’t sure how long he stares for, or what he is even looking for.
Eventually, he wrangles his brain to focus back on Kyojuro. He must look as shitty as he feels, given the expression on that face. A crackling laugh leaves Sanemi before he can quite bite it back. ]
Fuck. I must look like shit. You should see the look on your face.
[Should the laughter relieve Kyojuro, or set him thoroughly on edge? The sound is assuredly Sanemi, right down to the bleak humor of it all. Whatever vestige had taken root in him, it was not so far developed to take his friend from him. And yet the man sounds so fragile in this moment, like he's still just inches from the brink.
Perhaps understandably, Kyojuro does not laugh alongside Sanemi.]
You ought to save your breath. You have been delivered from the edge of death, but you are still healing. [He tries to keep his voice stiff, to maintain the illusion of an unshaken Hashira.] I am going to stand now, it may hurt.
[And so he does. Sanemi is not a small man, but Kyojuro is not weak. It might take some deeper breathing, but he powers through. The clinic isn't terribly far. He can do this.]
What happened to you? Tell me, so that I may rip its head from its body for harming you.
[ Kyojuro is right about one thing. Though it had been merely discomfort while he was lax in the man's arms, it quickly substantiates into pain the moment Kyojuro starts to stand. The sensation is an alien one: being jostled seems to wind something tighter in his lungs, curtailing his already ragged breathing. His next exhale is barely an agonized wheeze, eking out between his grit teeth.
Has his body ever felt so wooden? Though he makes a token effort to aid in shifting upright, it is almost as if his limbs are not his own. He barely has the strength in either of his hands to grip the fabric of Kyojuro's uniform.
It doesn't stop him from scoffing, weakly, at Kyojuro's question. The sound tangles with a cough that comes from deep within. His body flexes, as if trying to expel something. He flexes his fingers into the cloth of that fiery haori. It takes a herculean effort to keep his own head level. ]
Tells me to – save my breath, then asks me what happened. Shit.
[ He tries to think. Why is it so terribly hard to think? It feels as though cotton has been shoved into his body, strung up through his ribcage and into his skull. ]
Don't know for – certain. Something happened in the fucking – the fucking, labyrinth. Guess we fucked up.
You can explain without laughing - [Kyojuro's words are more stiff than stern, but there is something of a chiding tone in those words all the same. Maybe under better circumstances, he would be amused.
But more than anything, he is afraid. He has not witnessed corruption directly, but he has heard enough about it. This would prove to be a dangerous development for all of them, if it was not dealt with.
Not that Kyojuro knows where to begin. Hence, the clinic.]
We? Were you not alone?
[His gaze studies the trees once more, but a body does not immediately avail itself. The roots are wound too tightly for that.]
[ Fuck, it's uncomfortable to breathe. He can practically feel his heartbeat in every inch of his body, vivid and wild, like his pulse was trying to breach through his skin. The sensation ebbs and flows every time the blossom nestled in the midpoint of his chest is jostled.
At the question, Sanemi sobers near instantaneously. The energy seems to sap out of his body, all at once. Was he truly the only one they had cut down from the trees? He would rather they have left him in favor of saving the others – at the very least, Tengen had far more to live for. ]
No. It was – Uzui and I. Least, last I remember. The memory's, blurry. Both our good hands were the ones shackled.
[ His voice thins from fatigue. ]
I still had – some fingers, at least. Should've been enough.
[Something cold runs through Kyojuro. He glances back over his shoulder, studying the distant tree once more. He was certain no one else had been there. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before he arrived.
Or perhaps the Forest had decided to keep a plaything for itself.
Without realizing it, Kyojuro's steps quicken. His pulse rabbits, a number of awful thoughts begin to curl within his mind. He should have kept a closer eye on them. Even if it meant being captured instead, it would have meant an additional hand. How unfair, to pit them together like this.
Surely it was not much of a game, to watch something like this.]
You did all that you could. I trust in that. [What else can he say?] You and Uzui will recover quickly enough. There are - cures these days, for what currently ails you.
[Has Sanemi realized what lurks beneath his skin? Kyojuro isn't sure. He also isn't sure he wants to mention it any further, lest Sanemi try to pluck it out. Surely that would be more dangerous than anything else.]
[ All at once, anger twists like a serrated knife in Sanemi's gut. The fact he had been the one wrenched free of death's embrace over someone far worthier for what feels like the hundredth time in a row is a bitter draught he’s not certain he can stomach anymore. What cruel hand of fate kept twisting the odds in his favor when he could have begged for anything but?
He misses his fucking family. And the sole one alive – how much use was he to Genya? He'd shoved him away his whole damn life. Having Sanemi's shadow hanging over him now would be nothing but oppressive. He feels this with a clarity sharp enough that his chest aches.
Kyojuro's arms around him feel suffocating. Abruptly, he plants his hand against the man's shoulder and shoves, hopefully hard enough to dislodge him. He doesn’t give a damn how much it'll hurt if he’s dropped. ]
Go back and check again. I’m fine. I can walk my own damn self there.
[Though Sanemi shoves hard enough that Kyojuro can do little to keep the man from squirming away, he at least manages to adjust his body enough to keep from outright dropping him. He makes a face, but there is no surprise in those features, nor any anger, for that matter.
They are slayers. Looking out for one another is simply what they do. If there was a chance Tengen was still strung up, then of course Sanemi would want him found. Kyojuro also wants that.
But doing so at the expense of abandoning someone else? It is a difficult pill to swallow.]
There was no one when I looked. And I did look, Shinazugawa. At least let me ensure you make it to the clinic before I go back. [And before Sanemi can argue:] Uzui will not forgive either of us if I do not ensure your safety first.
[ Always so fucking conscientious. Of course he hadn’t managed to pry out a mistake from Kyojuro Rengoku. Of fucking course he was unwavering on his commitment to guiding the pitiful downtrodden to a safe haven prior before throwing himself back into the fray. Every quality of Kyojuro's that he admired embittered him in equal measure. At this moment, nearly nauseous with shame, that acknowledgment is like acid in his throat.
He isn’t helpless, he wants to argue. A poor argument to make, after he'd lost his life in the labyrinth. Spitting accusations about being the more unimportant between the two endangered individuals in question felt so unbearably pathetic he can hardly even fathom it as an option.
His mouth twists around an anger seated so deep that it feels as intimately intertwined with his lungs as the roots budding from his skin. He gnashes his teeth. Takes in a handful of furtive lungfuls of air. Valiantly, furiously ignores the heat building behind his eyes, because what is he, a fucking child? ]
You did your due fucking diligence. I’m alive. I can walk my fucking self to the clinic. I’m not some sniveling civilian that you need to lay out the red goddamn carpet for. You’ve got more important business to attend to in the opposite direction. Or, what? Were you hoping for tearful gratitude?
[On edge as he is with the revelation that not one, but two of his dearest companions have lost their lives tonight, Kyojuro takes those words a bit harder than he might normally. He recoils visibly, eyes going wide for a moment before he seems to remember to school himself.
This is no different than any other hashira meeting. Sanemi was known for being heated, and Kyojuro could remain unflappable. Even if he wants to take the man by the shoulders and shake him, to scold him for being cruel in the face of care, he does not.
He gives Sanemi a once over. His blade rests in its sheath. His breathing is ragged, but it's steady enough. He is in one piece. Kyojuro could be forgiven for turning away.
And yet he does not.]
Regardless of your thoughts on the matter, I have a duty to fulfill. [Without another word, he reaches out to grip Sanemi by the collar, and begins dragging him forward toward the clinic.] Cooperate, and I will be able to ascertain Uzui's whereabouts far sooner than not.
[ That cruel, cultivated part of him curls with vicious satisfaction at the abject shock on Kyojuro's face. That was far preferable to the unwavering, aggravating smile. To the stern adherence to duty. To his commitment to remaining utterly unswayed by whatever manner of abuse or vitriol Sanemi slung into his face, or dropped at his feet like rotted carrion.
And then the moment fades. The Flame Hashira stands before him: changed for his circumstances, assuredly, but as reliable as he had ever been. An ugly, indecipherable emotion wells up into the pit of Sanemi's stomach, ballooning outward until his whole body feels rife with it.
He had always been a diseased piece of meat. He poisoned whatever well he touched.
Kyojuro snags him by the collar, citing duty, and that wretched feeling twists like a physical shard of glass in his ribs. A wild instinct scrabbles at his skin. His hand falls to his sheathed blade, fumbling at the hand guard as if he had forgotten how to wield it entirely. His voice ekes out, strung so tight that it is hardly a surprise at how tremulous it sounds. ]
[Primed as Kyojuro's senses are, he picks up on Sanemi's attempts to grab his weapon almost instantly. He lets go of the man's collar, and instead leaps forward, attempting to take hold of his wrist and wrench the weapon away. His efforts, however, are mistimed, and he instead overshoots.
Hand now revealed, Kyojuro can only back away, eyes narrowing on Sanemi. His hands are far from his own sword for the time being, but it remains to be seen if that's a wise decision or not. Sanemi, after all, is fast — dangerously so.
But the last thing Kyojuro wants right now is a fight.]
I am trying to help you. You are corrupted, Shinazugawa. You are not thinking straight. You need medical attention, immediately. [He keeps his tone even.] You were dead when I found you. Do you realize that? Whatever was down there killed you, and could do the same to you.
Let me see you to the clinic. Do not ask me to abandon a comrade when he needs it. [The idea of doing so feels so abhorrent that he almost cannot stomach it.] I promise, I will search for Uzui the moment I see you through those doors.
[ Kyojuro attempts to disarm him and rather than retaliating, Sanemi flinches away like an injured, fearful animal.
His nerves are frayed. Each breath feels increasingly laborious, heaved out through his clenched teeth through Herculean effort, and he is uncertain how much of it is from the entangled roots and how much of it is from the tangle of his emotions. He remains at a distance, strung so tight that his body shakes from the tension.
He never truly draws his sword. He cannot recall why he thought to do so in the first place, or if he had even truly considered it. Dead when I found you, Kyojuro says, even-keeled, and the weight of loss that instills feels so utterly monumental that Sanemi's breathing halts entirely for longer than he can discern.
He had known, of course. Told in no uncertain terms that death here was impermanent, and that they would assuredly be dragged back from the brink. So why did it fucking matter? What was the point – of the echoing voices of his family, of his snarling mother, or the point of even trying to string him back together? A useless, wasted fucking effort. ]
I don’t want your fucking help. Don’t you get it? Get it through your oblivious fucking skull, or I really will kill you. This has all been a waste of your precious goddamn time. The last thing I need is your pity, or your goddamn, annoying fucking handwringing.
[ The heat behind his eyes suddenly stings. The hand curled loosely around his sheath flies to his face, shoving against his eyes so violently that stars bloom behind his eyelids. ]
[Once again, Sanemi lashes out. A lesser person might have faltered. Indeed, the thought briefly crosses his mind. He should be trying to find Tengen, not fighting a battle that the other slayer does not want him to win. But he knows what Tengen would want from him, and it aligns what Kyojuro knows in his heart.
He must help. Sanemi needs it.
Without flinching, Kyojuro takes a step forward. Then another. He lays his hands on Sanemi's shoulders as a warning, then pulls him in. He knows that despite his anger, despite the flurry of words, the sword would not come out. Not in a way that would truly be lethal.]
I do not pity you, Sanemi Shinazugawa. [His voice is warm and sturdy.] I care for you. And that is why I cannot leave you in the cold like this. Just as I know that if the roles were reversed, you would do the same.
[He squeezes Sanemi as tight as he can.]
Be as angry as you wish. Fight me if you want later. But let me do this now. If not for you, for him.
[ He fucking hates this. He hates this, he hates this, he hates this. But as much as he fucking despises this, feels like a weak, pathetic idiotic – there is something that Kyojuro is right about. For all his ranting and raving, he is stealing away precious time. Always so fucking selfish. Childish.
Wildly, he wonders how many pieces Kyojuro has had to pick up. The thought remains at the forefront as he reels him into an embrace. Sanemi is stricken so dumb by the act that he freezes. He stands, still as stone, in the enveloping warmth of Kyojuro's arms and feels incredibly, wretchedly small.
For a single, shuddering second, he wraps his fingers up into the fabric of Kyojuro's uniform. He holds on so tightly that his knuckles creak from the effort, then tremble in protest. Then, he lets go. ]
... fine. [ The vitriol had left his voice as quickly as it had drummed up. In its place, that earlier fatigue drapes so heavily that Sanemi sounds uncharacteristically lifeless. ]
[Kyojuro does not know the question that sits within Sanemi's mind. But if he had to answer — more than he cared to admit. For the honor of his father, for his family, and now for his own integrity, when even his allies doubted him. But he would do it, and keep doing it. The alternative, getting spitting mad and making things worse, would have never gotten him anywhere.]
Good. [He steps away, but keeps one arm around Sanemi's shoulder. It's a companionable embrace, but also an offer to shoulder some weight if necessary. It isn't much further to the clinic, but he doubts his friend is doing all that well.] Come now, just a a bit longer.
[His fingers remain clutched against the fabric of Sanemi's uniform. A silent reminder that he is still here. That there is no anger.]
[ He feels sick. The nausea runs nearly as deep as his exhaustion.
The pain his body is in, the discomfort, hardly matters in the face of what he's pulled. He had wasted precious time throwing a tantrum. He had allowed his emotions to get the better of him, had shown his vulnerable underbelly, and for what? To be chided, and then consoled? He didn't deserve that.
He allows himself to be led. He does not collapse to his knees in humiliation, or in shame. He bites back the burning heat prickling behind his eyes, because to cry in this moment would be even more shameful than losing his temper had been.
He keeps silent for the remainder of the short trek. ]
[At the end of the day, Kyojuro knows that he cannot even begin to fathom whatever runs through Sanemi's mind. He knows only pieces of where he had come from, and fragments of what had just befallen them. What he does know is that the hashira are family, even outside of their more physical and romantic entanglements.
To know that one of their own was lost was surely unimaginable. Kyojuro himself had never suffered such an experience. He'd died before it had happened. This was the closest he had come, and Sanemi still drew breath in the end.
Some part of him did want to break down about it all. To rage uncontrollably. But he did not have the freedom to do so. Someone needed to, in the face of his friend's own grief. Perhaps it's that complex array that keeps him quiet.
Or maybe he just doesn't want to run the risk of another fight.
He only parts from Sanemi when the reach the clinic. He holds open the door and shouts for attention. Only then, does he finally find words for the other man.]
I will find him. I will make sure he makes it back to us.
[ In a more improved state of mind, perhaps Sanemi would have felt more than his own suffering. Perhaps he would have considered how Kyojuro might feel for more than a moment. But the weight of bearing his own sins, his own complications, proved far too heavy for him to even question the possibility of bearing another's.
Besides: his own perception of selflessness had damned all that were close to him. Extending that kindness to Kyojuro would surely have the same effect. Better to lash at him with misplaced cruelty and grief than to bring him down to Sanemi's level. Better to allow him to remain in that uplifted place, closer to those who deserved it.
... for all his raging, he can only manage a single, hoarse sentence when Kyojuro passes him off into the clinic. ]
[Kyojuro does not offer more. He knows that Sanemi does not want it. Only actions would suffice. The best he can do now is return with Tengen in tow, and make sure the two would be reunited.
He turns away, haori crackling from the motion. He does not look back as he sprints into the fog once more.]
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sticksandbones2026-05-01 12:05 pm
iii. you know what this is
Strung up.
Unbreathing.
Dead.
By now, he has learned that death is never permanent. Yet it does not take away the way something painful, something agony inducing, fractures its way through his heart.
It feels like it takes forever to slash the roots holding Sanemi up. Maybe it takes hours. Maybe it takes only seconds. He'll have to resharpen the blade later. That doesn't matter. He'd snape the damn thing in two if it meant being able to get his friend down faster.
He pries Sanemi from the grasp of those roots, but he can see that fragments remain. Somehow, that's the worst part.
How long he sits in the rain, clutching that body, he does not know. He wonders if the corpse will disappear before long, as so many seemed to do. Maybe it would be better, if it did. Certainly, Kyojuro does not want Genya to see this.
Time continues to pass. He does not let go.]
YIPPEE! CW body horror
When he does, his body seizes in vivid, unfamiliar discomfort. It is as if there is one too many bodies tucked beneath his skin. The open shirt of his uniform does remarkably little to conceal the vines curling out of the center-most point of his chest. A single bloom sits, fragile as he now feels, just above the space where his heart lies.
A part of him is disappointed. Another part of him takes rare solace in the warmth Kyojuro emanates, even in the rain. ]
... I feel like shit. [ And his voice sounds it, brittle and barely above a hoarse whisper. ]
CW body horror
Some part of Kyojuro thinks to reach forward and rip it out. Instinctively, he knows it to be a terrible idea.
Instead, he puts his hands to work by cradling Sanemi closer. He angles his arm just enough to use his haori to block out at least some of the rain, preventing the other man from getting splattered in the face.
He does not laugh at those words. No, he looks grim indeed.]
You have been through a great ordeal. It is no surprise that you are in pain. [Kyojuro tries to keep himself steady. Surely Sanemi needs that comfort.] Give me just a moment, and I will get you to the clinic.
[He isn't sure that they'll be able to do anything but... It would be worth trying, right?]
CW body horror
And then there is the sound: some distant rumbling in the back of his mind, threaded so deeply it is nearly impossible to differentiate it from his own stream of consciousness. His eyes unfocus as they peer upward, into the twisting mass of roots above. He isn’t sure how long he stares for, or what he is even looking for.
Eventually, he wrangles his brain to focus back on Kyojuro. He must look as shitty as he feels, given the expression on that face. A crackling laugh leaves Sanemi before he can quite bite it back. ]
Fuck. I must look like shit. You should see the look on your face.
CW body horror
Perhaps understandably, Kyojuro does not laugh alongside Sanemi.]
You ought to save your breath. You have been delivered from the edge of death, but you are still healing. [He tries to keep his voice stiff, to maintain the illusion of an unshaken Hashira.] I am going to stand now, it may hurt.
[And so he does. Sanemi is not a small man, but Kyojuro is not weak. It might take some deeper breathing, but he powers through. The clinic isn't terribly far. He can do this.]
What happened to you? Tell me, so that I may rip its head from its body for harming you.
CW body horror
Has his body ever felt so wooden? Though he makes a token effort to aid in shifting upright, it is almost as if his limbs are not his own. He barely has the strength in either of his hands to grip the fabric of Kyojuro's uniform.
It doesn't stop him from scoffing, weakly, at Kyojuro's question. The sound tangles with a cough that comes from deep within. His body flexes, as if trying to expel something. He flexes his fingers into the cloth of that fiery haori. It takes a herculean effort to keep his own head level. ]
Tells me to – save my breath, then asks me what happened. Shit.
[ He tries to think. Why is it so terribly hard to think? It feels as though cotton has been shoved into his body, strung up through his ribcage and into his skull. ]
Don't know for – certain. Something happened in the fucking – the fucking, labyrinth. Guess we fucked up.
CW body horror
But more than anything, he is afraid. He has not witnessed corruption directly, but he has heard enough about it. This would prove to be a dangerous development for all of them, if it was not dealt with.
Not that Kyojuro knows where to begin. Hence, the clinic.]
We? Were you not alone?
[His gaze studies the trees once more, but a body does not immediately avail itself. The roots are wound too tightly for that.]
no subject
At the question, Sanemi sobers near instantaneously. The energy seems to sap out of his body, all at once. Was he truly the only one they had cut down from the trees? He would rather they have left him in favor of saving the others – at the very least, Tengen had far more to live for. ]
No. It was – Uzui and I. Least, last I remember. The memory's, blurry. Both our good hands were the ones shackled.
[ His voice thins from fatigue. ]
I still had – some fingers, at least. Should've been enough.
no subject
Or perhaps the Forest had decided to keep a plaything for itself.
Without realizing it, Kyojuro's steps quicken. His pulse rabbits, a number of awful thoughts begin to curl within his mind. He should have kept a closer eye on them. Even if it meant being captured instead, it would have meant an additional hand. How unfair, to pit them together like this.
Surely it was not much of a game, to watch something like this.]
You did all that you could. I trust in that. [What else can he say?] You and Uzui will recover quickly enough. There are - cures these days, for what currently ails you.
[Has Sanemi realized what lurks beneath his skin? Kyojuro isn't sure. He also isn't sure he wants to mention it any further, lest Sanemi try to pluck it out. Surely that would be more dangerous than anything else.]
Suicidal ideation CW
He misses his fucking family. And the sole one alive – how much use was he to Genya? He'd shoved him away his whole damn life. Having Sanemi's shadow hanging over him now would be nothing but oppressive. He feels this with a clarity sharp enough that his chest aches.
Kyojuro's arms around him feel suffocating. Abruptly, he plants his hand against the man's shoulder and shoves, hopefully hard enough to dislodge him. He doesn’t give a damn how much it'll hurt if he’s dropped. ]
Go back and check again. I’m fine. I can walk my own damn self there.
Re: Suicidal ideation CW
They are slayers. Looking out for one another is simply what they do. If there was a chance Tengen was still strung up, then of course Sanemi would want him found. Kyojuro also wants that.
But doing so at the expense of abandoning someone else? It is a difficult pill to swallow.]
There was no one when I looked. And I did look, Shinazugawa. At least let me ensure you make it to the clinic before I go back. [And before Sanemi can argue:] Uzui will not forgive either of us if I do not ensure your safety first.
no subject
He isn’t helpless, he wants to argue. A poor argument to make, after he'd lost his life in the labyrinth. Spitting accusations about being the more unimportant between the two endangered individuals in question felt so unbearably pathetic he can hardly even fathom it as an option.
His mouth twists around an anger seated so deep that it feels as intimately intertwined with his lungs as the roots budding from his skin. He gnashes his teeth. Takes in a handful of furtive lungfuls of air. Valiantly, furiously ignores the heat building behind his eyes, because what is he, a fucking child? ]
You did your due fucking diligence. I’m alive. I can walk my fucking self to the clinic. I’m not some sniveling civilian that you need to lay out the red goddamn carpet for. You’ve got more important business to attend to in the opposite direction. Or, what? Were you hoping for tearful gratitude?
no subject
This is no different than any other hashira meeting. Sanemi was known for being heated, and Kyojuro could remain unflappable. Even if he wants to take the man by the shoulders and shake him, to scold him for being cruel in the face of care, he does not.
He gives Sanemi a once over. His blade rests in its sheath. His breathing is ragged, but it's steady enough. He is in one piece. Kyojuro could be forgiven for turning away.
And yet he does not.]
Regardless of your thoughts on the matter, I have a duty to fulfill. [Without another word, he reaches out to grip Sanemi by the collar, and begins dragging him forward toward the clinic.] Cooperate, and I will be able to ascertain Uzui's whereabouts far sooner than not.
no subject
And then the moment fades. The Flame Hashira stands before him: changed for his circumstances, assuredly, but as reliable as he had ever been. An ugly, indecipherable emotion wells up into the pit of Sanemi's stomach, ballooning outward until his whole body feels rife with it.
He had always been a diseased piece of meat. He poisoned whatever well he touched.
Kyojuro snags him by the collar, citing duty, and that wretched feeling twists like a physical shard of glass in his ribs. A wild instinct scrabbles at his skin. His hand falls to his sheathed blade, fumbling at the hand guard as if he had forgotten how to wield it entirely. His voice ekes out, strung so tight that it is hardly a surprise at how tremulous it sounds. ]
Let me the hell go.
no subject
Hand now revealed, Kyojuro can only back away, eyes narrowing on Sanemi. His hands are far from his own sword for the time being, but it remains to be seen if that's a wise decision or not. Sanemi, after all, is fast — dangerously so.
But the last thing Kyojuro wants right now is a fight.]
I am trying to help you. You are corrupted, Shinazugawa. You are not thinking straight. You need medical attention, immediately. [He keeps his tone even.] You were dead when I found you. Do you realize that? Whatever was down there killed you, and could do the same to you.
Let me see you to the clinic. Do not ask me to abandon a comrade when he needs it. [The idea of doing so feels so abhorrent that he almost cannot stomach it.] I promise, I will search for Uzui the moment I see you through those doors.
Suicidal ideation CW
His nerves are frayed. Each breath feels increasingly laborious, heaved out through his clenched teeth through Herculean effort, and he is uncertain how much of it is from the entangled roots and how much of it is from the tangle of his emotions. He remains at a distance, strung so tight that his body shakes from the tension.
He never truly draws his sword. He cannot recall why he thought to do so in the first place, or if he had even truly considered it. Dead when I found you, Kyojuro says, even-keeled, and the weight of loss that instills feels so utterly monumental that Sanemi's breathing halts entirely for longer than he can discern.
He had known, of course. Told in no uncertain terms that death here was impermanent, and that they would assuredly be dragged back from the brink. So why did it fucking matter? What was the point – of the echoing voices of his family, of his snarling mother, or the point of even trying to string him back together? A useless, wasted fucking effort. ]
I don’t want your fucking help. Don’t you get it? Get it through your oblivious fucking skull, or I really will kill you. This has all been a waste of your precious goddamn time. The last thing I need is your pity, or your goddamn, annoying fucking handwringing.
[ The heat behind his eyes suddenly stings. The hand curled loosely around his sheath flies to his face, shoving against his eyes so violently that stars bloom behind his eyelids. ]
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He must help. Sanemi needs it.
Without flinching, Kyojuro takes a step forward. Then another. He lays his hands on Sanemi's shoulders as a warning, then pulls him in. He knows that despite his anger, despite the flurry of words, the sword would not come out. Not in a way that would truly be lethal.]
I do not pity you, Sanemi Shinazugawa. [His voice is warm and sturdy.] I care for you. And that is why I cannot leave you in the cold like this. Just as I know that if the roles were reversed, you would do the same.
[He squeezes Sanemi as tight as he can.]
Be as angry as you wish. Fight me if you want later. But let me do this now. If not for you, for him.
no subject
Wildly, he wonders how many pieces Kyojuro has had to pick up. The thought remains at the forefront as he reels him into an embrace. Sanemi is stricken so dumb by the act that he freezes. He stands, still as stone, in the enveloping warmth of Kyojuro's arms and feels incredibly, wretchedly small.
For a single, shuddering second, he wraps his fingers up into the fabric of Kyojuro's uniform. He holds on so tightly that his knuckles creak from the effort, then tremble in protest. Then, he lets go. ]
... fine. [ The vitriol had left his voice as quickly as it had drummed up. In its place, that earlier fatigue drapes so heavily that Sanemi sounds uncharacteristically lifeless. ]
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Good. [He steps away, but keeps one arm around Sanemi's shoulder. It's a companionable embrace, but also an offer to shoulder some weight if necessary. It isn't much further to the clinic, but he doubts his friend is doing all that well.] Come now, just a a bit longer.
[His fingers remain clutched against the fabric of Sanemi's uniform. A silent reminder that he is still here. That there is no anger.]
no subject
The pain his body is in, the discomfort, hardly matters in the face of what he's pulled. He had wasted precious time throwing a tantrum. He had allowed his emotions to get the better of him, had shown his vulnerable underbelly, and for what? To be chided, and then consoled? He didn't deserve that.
He allows himself to be led. He does not collapse to his knees in humiliation, or in shame. He bites back the burning heat prickling behind his eyes, because to cry in this moment would be even more shameful than losing his temper had been.
He keeps silent for the remainder of the short trek. ]
no subject
To know that one of their own was lost was surely unimaginable. Kyojuro himself had never suffered such an experience. He'd died before it had happened. This was the closest he had come, and Sanemi still drew breath in the end.
Some part of him did want to break down about it all. To rage uncontrollably. But he did not have the freedom to do so. Someone needed to, in the face of his friend's own grief. Perhaps it's that complex array that keeps him quiet.
Or maybe he just doesn't want to run the risk of another fight.
He only parts from Sanemi when the reach the clinic. He holds open the door and shouts for attention. Only then, does he finally find words for the other man.]
I will find him. I will make sure he makes it back to us.
no subject
Besides: his own perception of selflessness had damned all that were close to him. Extending that kindness to Kyojuro would surely have the same effect. Better to lash at him with misplaced cruelty and grief than to bring him down to Sanemi's level. Better to allow him to remain in that uplifted place, closer to those who deserved it.
... for all his raging, he can only manage a single, hoarse sentence when Kyojuro passes him off into the clinic. ]
Be careful.
no subject
[Kyojuro does not offer more. He knows that Sanemi does not want it. Only actions would suffice. The best he can do now is return with Tengen in tow, and make sure the two would be reunited.
He turns away, haori crackling from the motion. He does not look back as he sprints into the fog once more.]