#rengoku lyojuro

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Yeah so I had this idea to write a Senjuro as a Spider Demon AU (inspired by this/ty to some1 on discord for finding the link for me<3), sooo I had to write it haha- This is from Kyojuro’s POV! I’ll write little extra things for Senjuro when he was a demon, this is just random angst for the AU / and thank you to @asamiutsuki for helping me edit<3

Word count: 2.5k words aprox.

Rui had been watching Senjuro from a distance for a while now and had seen how great of a bond the Rengoku’s had. And he wanted it. Eventually, an opportunity arose. Kokushibo came with him.

Senjuro, for a while now, had felt as though he’d been being watched. He played it off as paranoia, however. His father was getting worse and he hadn’t seen Kyojuro in months now. One day, after his father had been particularly explosive, he went out for a walk at night. He was approached by demons.

Nobody heard of him since then.

Nobody knew about Senjuro being persuaded by Rui. The offer of having a good family, a better life, standing in front of him, just in his reach. The idea of escaping his father who berated him for simply breathing too loudly, the chance to have no reason to worry every second about his brother. Nobody knew that Senjuro took the mirage splayed in front of him, made it reality, chancing the offer that formed in the shape of blood. He molded himself into it, swallowing the red in his cupped hands and then picked up by a demon with six eyes and carried away as the change began to form him.

Shinjuro quickly sent word to Kyojuro, asking if Senjuro was with him when, the following day, he was nowhere to be seen. When nothing came of it and Kyojuro had searched without success for Senjuro, the worst was assumed. Kyojuro’s fear heightened as they made no progress, day after day. Both Rengoku’s searched when they could and, in this, Shinjuro ended up pausing his addiction to Sake, worried sick for his youngest (which took him a while to admit).

Naturally, after months of dead ends, Senjuro was proclaimed dead. It was, of course, to Shinjuro and Kyojuro’s devastation. It was more than just the loss. It was the knowledge that Senjuro could’ve run away and his fate had met him, the guilt of thinking they could’ve protected him if they had only known where he was. It was the unknown part of the death that sent them both spiraling in grief.

Kyojuro took it better than Shinjuro, however, deciding that Senjuro would’ve wanted him to keep being a Hashira and not follow in his father’s footsteps. So he continued on, but not without a sort of emptiness that haunted him.

He was sent on a mission, as always, one night. It was late, however. Apparently he and Giyuu would be sent together, there were demons on a mountain that were killing every slayer that had passed for months now. Hashira were required.

He entered the mountain without hesitation, swerving through the trees and trying not to look too hard at the corpses that were strewn along the branches. Were the demons simply killing for fun, then? It was much worse than when they were hungry, they couldn’t help that. But if these demons had enough time and energy to go about and killing people then leaving them to rot as they pleased, it had to be of the 12 kizuki.

He and Giyuu split up and then Kyojuro was running straight into some bushes. He had noticed peculiar strings, silvery and thin, like a spider web, only stronger. They were all closing in through the bushes where he was heading. Instantly, he sensed that he was approaching a demon and unsheathed his katana.

He burst through, ignoring the leaves that scattered around him. Then he froze, arm raised with his katana in front of him. Before him sat a demon, skin pale as the moon, red dots in a demon pattern scattered on his cheeks. And his hair, oh, his hair. White with the tips red like Kyojuro’s. Like a white fire. Pulled back in a small pony tail, just like… Senjuro.

Kyojuro’s mind worked it out in a split second. Yet it took him another to process ot all. This was Senjuro. Not just a look-alike. Senjuro had turned into a demon.

Senjuro seemed to have recognized him, too, eyes wide and hands shaking. Neither moved for a moment, stunned silent. Then Kyojuro spoke. His voice was quiet and utterly calm. The contrast to his usual self scared Senjuro.

“Senjuro…?” he asked, his voice cracking. He didn’t know what to say. How was Senjuro alive? No, that was obvious. Perhaps he had been attacked by a demon but the blood had entered a wound? Or… had it been by choice? He hesitated, unsure what to say. Then—“Have you killed anyone? Eaten a human?”

His intention was clear. If Senjuro hadn’t eaten anybody, hadn’t killed anyone, there was a chance he could follow in Nezuko’s steps. Maybe they could go back to how they were before, in some ways. They could ask Tanjiro for a bit of help then they could go back to before Senjuro had ‘died.’ And yet.

And yet Senjuro averted his eyes, lowering his hands. He said nothing.

It was enough of an answer already. Still, Kyojuro repeated himself, shouting now. There was an edge to his voice, he sounded like he was struggling with himself. “HAVE YOU? HAVE YOU KILLED…—“ he sucked in a shaky breath, then let it out. “I’m sorry.”

Senjuro had flinched at the sound. He had always been terrified when Shinjuro shouted. Even now, he was still scared of yelling. Kyojuro’s heart ached at this, put it wasn’t the time to feel sad. Despite his brother seemingly coming back to life as a man-eating demon, he had to keep his composure.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I… Senjuro. Senjuro, can you tell me if you’ve killed or eaten…?”

Senjuro let out a shaky breath. He seemed to be crying. “I’m sorry,” he echoed quietly. “Sorry, sorry, sorry—I’m sorry!” His words were scattering now, repeating himself and sobbing. “I’m so, so sorry… I didn’t- I wanted- I’m sorry—Kyojuro, please, I’m sorry…!”

When his name was spoken, Kyojuro broke. The hand with his blade lowered, though he did not offer his attention the same freedom. He would never let down his guard again—not since Senjuro had disappeared. He risked a step forward, leaves crunching dully under his feet.

Senjuro’s shoulders shook as he resisted tears that flowed freely nonetheless. His chin was tucked down to his chest as he avoided Kyojuro’s gaze. He looked up slowly, eyes teary, salty tracks dancing around the red dots on his face. He inhaled sharply, gulping for air, trying to calm himself but succeeding horribly. He opened his mouth several times, trying to deliver a cohesive response. In the end, he managed to whisper, “I… I did.”

Kyojuro’s world seemed to tip over from the two small words and he staggered slightly. The answer had been obvious enough but Senjuro confirming it made it… so much worse. He raised his katana again, gripping the handle tightly to try and calm his nerves—which was practically impossible.

Senjuro seemed to grasp what was happening and lowered his head again. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice tight with regret.

“I’ll tell father you said that,” Kyojuro murmured. “And I’m sorry too. For not doing enough to keep you safe.”

Then, before he could have second thoughts, his katana went slashing down. He was careful to use a gentle form, hoping it would give Senjuro even the slightest bit of relief before he was sent to hell. They both knew there was no going back for him.

And, as Senjuro slowly disintegrated, the two brothers gazed at each other, emotions stirring between both of their eyes.

“I love you,” Senjuro mouthed, blinking tears from his eyes. He wanted to look away, to not see the betrayal that was written so clearly now in Kyojuro’s eyes. He was gone before Kyojuro could respond.

There was a moment in which Kyojuro simply stood there, arms slack. Then he let out a stifled sob, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as he turned to proceed with his mission. It was like he was grieving all over again, in a million different ways. God, what had become of him? Of Senjuro? Why?

As he ran through the forest, Giyuu intercepted his way. “Rengoku. The demons are dead, there is only the matter of—“ he paused, eyes widening by a fraction when he saw the mess Kyojuro was. “…is everything alright? Are you hurt?”

He received no response and, concern increasing as he noticed that Kyojuro seemed to be shaking slightly, he tried again, “Rengoku?”

Kyojuro appeared to have just noticed him and looked up, offering a tight smile, appreciating the concern. “I’m alright. I apologize for being little help in the mission, but I’m glad you’ve managed well. Have you sent the crow to get the Kakushi?”

Giyuu nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing slightly. He clearly didn’t believe Kyojuro, but let it go. He wouldn’t be of help to Kyojuro emotionally, so he figured he would let the Hashira work it out himself.

“I have,” he confirmed. “Our work is done, now.”

Kyojuro nodded back. “Okay. Thank you.”

Giyuu gave him one last look before turning and leaving him alone.

The first thing he did after making sure everyone was alright—putting on the best smile he could to not worry the Kakushi—was to head home at once. Shinjuro was possibly worse than ever, not having allowed Kyojuro to console him after Senjuro’s supposed death and the months after. Now he sat in Senjuro’s room for the third time that week, legs crossed and eyes closed. Dark circles rimmed under his eyes, making him look all the more older. He was sitting in front of Senjuro’s bed, the whole room looking untouched and dusty after a year.

That was how Kyojuro found his father in the light of early dawn. At once, Shinjuro perceived that something was wrong. It wasn’t the fact that Kyojuro had come home unannounced, nor the time in which he’d arrived. It was the troubled look on Kyojuro’s solemn face, the absence of a smile.

“What is it?” he asked irritably, despite the premonition.

“Father,” Kyojuro started, kneeling outside the room. He bowed his head, fiery strands slipping over his shoulders. “Senjuro says he’s sorry.”

It took him a moment to understand. But when he did, Shinjuro’s head shot up as he stared at his son, perplexity and a bit of hope lining his expression. “What? What’re you talking about? He’s dead.”

Kyojuro flinched at the word. Despite having used it to refer to his brother for the past year, he found that it rung differently now. It was his own fault that Senjuro was dead, even if he hadn’t really had a choice. He let out a breath.

“I know. I killed him,” he said. He delivered the words calmly, somehow, trying to level his voice. But right after, he found himself at his breaking point once more.

Shinjuro looked utterly lost now, the hope disappearing, replaced by shock and more confusion. “Are you delusional? Have you been drinking?”

Kyojuro opened his mouth to respond, but only a strangled sob left his lips as tears struggled from his eyes. He had cried once they had announced that Senjuro had died the first time. He had cried alone, many times before as desperation took over when Senjuro could not be found. And he cried now, knowing full well that there wasn’t the slightest hope of Senjuro coming back, that he had killed his own brother and that Senjuro hadn’t fought back in the very least.

And strangely, this was the only time Shinjuro found it in himself to comfort him. He opened his arms, as he had done time and time again before when Kyojuro was younger. Instinctively, Kyojuro crawled towards him, burying his face in his father’s shoulder and letting his grief overtake him. Perhaps it was because he didn’t understand what was happening, perhaps it was because he was tired, or maybe something else altogether, but either way, Shinjuro’s arms wrapped around Kyojuro, rubbing his back gently and soothing him with the quiet hum of his voice.

Eventually, the story poured out of him. At first in stuttering words—“Senjuro… He- He was- I was on… Mt. Natagumo. For… a mission? He was… there.”—and then stronger, clearer, slowly raising himself from the embrace and drawing his gaze up to his father’s—“He kept… apologizing. I do think he regretted it, but I don’t know what it was. I don’t know why he turned into a demon in the first place. Supposedly it was by force… but he seemed clear minded, not under the influence of the demonic sense like other demons.”

Shinjuro listened patiently, not interrupting though he made several attempts at first. Though he didn’t intercept, his expression contorted several times—in anger, in confusion, in disappointment, and something else Kyojuro couldn’t percieve. When he finished, Kyojuro had settled back into his father’s lap, despite being basically the same size as him. Shinjuro hadn’t said anything yet and simply gazed down at their intertwined hands, mostly in disbelief.

Then he looked up.

“Kyojuro?”

“Yes, father?” Kyojuro was still, naturally, wary of him. Yet he did his best to hide it, not wanting Shinjuro to lapse back into his previous self.

“I’m sorry, too,” Shinjuro said. He spoke calmly, enunciating every word. But he looked away in shame, for having to be saying this at all.

“What?”

“I’m sorry for treating you both how I did. It was probably why Senjuro left to turn into a demon. You weren’t able to help him and I was useless, feeding onto his… what? Fear? Anger? Whatever drove him to become a demon,” Shinjuro concluded, quietly now.

There was a beat of silence. And then a sudden flash of what could’ve been comparable to thunder, splitting the quiet in half. A stinging pain on Shinjuro’s cheek followed, almost as an afterthought, and he turned his head back to his son, eyes wide.

Kyojuro was glaring at him, the hand he had slapped him with still held up. “Don’t say that! It’s not your fault. Even if he did go willingly, it was his own choice. We all make mistakes, no matter how drastic, and he was young and under pressure with a brother constantly in death’s hand and a father who was still grieving over his deceased wife. I’m not saying he made a good decision, I’m saying that his reason was not, even if you took part in it, solely because of you. Okay? I don’t want you going back to how you were before. Senjuro’s death—or his becoming of a demon—wasn’t your fault! Mother’s death wasn’t your fault. If—when—my death comes, it will not be your fault!” Kyojuro snapped. He was close to raising his voice and, in the tranquility of the morning, his last words echoed briefly in the room.

Shinjuro remained staring at him, stunned, unable to respond for a couple faltering moments. His hand had reached up to cup his injured cheek but it fell to his lap now as he stumbled to reply. “I… sorry,” he mumbled, caving. “I’m so sorry.”

Kyojuro sighed and hugged his father tightly. “Me too. I’m sorry, too.”