[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
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]