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imu-chan · 2 years ago

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Part 2. of ‘What Happened to Tomioka’

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On principle, Giyuu never slept well, but he especially never slept well after being throttled half to death by demons. Once he had woken up from his initial, classic battlefield collapse, his body had seemed to want to avoid returning to sleep more than anything. He supposed that was normal, and reasoned that anyone even attempting to sleep with as many tubes and devices connected to his vital organs as he had would find the night a worthy opponent.

Still. Never had his pains been so strong that he couldn’t so much as close his eyes without risking spinning, bright colors flashing in his vision. This was now the fourth day since he first awoke, and he hated to admit that he was desperately close to begging Shinobu for some kind of horse tranquilizer.

He had become irritable, and grumpy beyond anything he had experienced before, and loathed the idea of anyone other than the butterfly workers and Shinobu attempting to interact with him. Not that anyone was looking to interact with him in the first place.

Not that he wanted anyone to visit him.

He already knew he wasn’t exactly a delightful person even at his best, so he wouldn’t wish his current mood on even the likes of a Twelve Kizuki. Well, maybe he would. Migraines were a bitch.

That aside, while his mindset was presently bleary with medication and sleep deprivation, he supposed that his current horrible temperament wasn’t as fearsome as it usually would be. That wasn’t for lack of trying, although he could barely do that either. His arms and hands had been involuntarily clenching and curling for some time now, so at least he wasn’t losing any muscle mass yet. None of this compared to his actual injury, though.

This was exactly why he wasn’t fit to be the Water Hashira, he thought. Maybe now the Master would see that Giyuu was meant to be temporary. He could take someone more qualified, maybe someone with a completely different breathing style. He recalled that the former Thunder Hashira, Kuwajima-san, was believed to be training a few young slayers. It might be nice for the Corps to have more powerful techniques. Or perhaps just a more powerful wielder. He had plenty of free time now to endlessly contemplate all the ways he had messed up on his mission in order to end up here.

He remembered breathing heavily as he fought, chasing after the demons fleeing for the dark of the forest. Sunrise wasn’t far off, and he was eager for this fight to end. He got what he wanted. He didn’t anticipate an ambush, not with such a flimsy group of weaklings like this.

While the fight started with nearly fifteen child-sized demons, Giyuu had whittled them down to what he believed was five. Apparently his counting skills had gotten a little rusty. As he crossed the threshold of the woods, his blue blade almost humming in the dark, two more of the demons leapt upon him from above, managing to knock him down.

This group wasn’t particularly dangerous, at least not on the surface. Their claws were dull and round, their speed was average at best, and even their teeth were mostly ground down into flat nubs. They seemed to mainly target children, being the closest in size and more vulnerable.

Thankfully, Giyuu had kept them far back from the villages as possible, so since he’d shown up there hadn’t been any casualties. He still approached the situation with caution. There had to be a reason this pack hadn’t been defeated so easily. He observed their power soon enough.

These demons’ main weapons came twofold; their Blood Demon Art was a paralytic gas of some sort, (which had taken Giyuu two frustrating days to find a solution for; when in doubt, try wisteria) and they had overly large, powerful fists, with enough force to level a tree. Again, not exactly out of the ordinary, but the paralytic mist and the size of the initial group was troublesome enough that a Hashira was needed to weed out the little pests. Then again…perhaps the Master should have sent a true Hashira.

Upon attack, Giyuu had grunted and rolled onto his back, using the motion to slice one of the fists in half, which had then slowly begun to regenerate. Before he could continue, the sting of the paralytic flooded his nose, the sheer, cloying strength of it making him dizzy.

The wisteria chain around his collar disintegrated. The rest of the remaining group had circled back to their comrades, and, to his disliking, began to merge into one large, multi-armed, heavy demon, with its main set of hands digging their claws into he flesh of Giyuu’s arms. With a crunch, he felt his shoulders slam into the ground, and felt the dirt and rocks on the ground dig into his flesh.

His haori— it must have torn— gave way to blood-slick mud, which entered into the punctures in his arms. That meant his arms were literally pinned into the ground by the suddenly quite sharp talons of the demon. Their bodies fusing— this must have increased their physical abilities, as well as the power of their blood demon art breathing.

Dread pooled quickly in Giyuu’s gut when his sword was wrenched from his frozen grasp, the force of it pulling his wrist with a sickening pop. He couldn’t move. His sight blurred into fuzzy shapes against his will. All he remembered after that was so, so many hands covering his vision, a crushing pressure, the smell of copper, and a paralyzing blackness that left him helpless in the care of the Insect Hashira.

Speaking of, Shinobu, ever enduring, had been mainly focused on the seemingly impossible tasks of keeping him from choking on his own saliva and on him making it through the night without dislodging the tangle of tubes and pumps forcing his airway to work as intended. It seemed any sudden movement, even a cough, could turn a delicate system of machines into a pile of parts, which wasn’t pleasant for any of them to deal with.

Shinobu had deduced that the demon specifically tried to flatten his windpipe, given that his whole neck was now made of bruised purple flesh. On all sides, the column that was once his neck was now sore and tender to the touch, crumpled like fabric, dark and rotten like a horrid, all-permeating sunburn.

His eyes stung constantly, making them water relentlessly and stream down his ashen cheeks, as many blood vessels had burst from the pressure, flooding the whites on his eyes with crimson splotches. Everything happening to him now was either from the actual physical force used against him, or a direct result of oxygen loss from his brain.

Strangulation… not only was it very unusual, but this methodology was also deeply baffling. Why would a demon bother with such a mighty effort? It didn’t spill any blood. It took prolonged force and strength. It would have worked, though, had sunlight not caught the demon off guard and scorched it from the Earth. Giyuu laid unconscious in the cool morning, breathing through a windpipe the size of a straw, for about a half-hour until the Kakushi came to his rescue.

He hadn’t been able to feel any sensations in his neck and lower jaw since then, which he supposed was a blessing. Everywhere else ached or bled. He couldn’t even swallow so much as a breath without assistance from some fancy device pumping the air for him. He couldn’t tell where his skin ended and the tubes began. He didn’t want to feel any of it.

“Ara ara. You’re not up in your head again, are you Tomioka?”

It took a surprising amount of effort for him to shift his damp eyes towards his comrade. Shinobu fiddled with the dial on the tube in his arm. Her purple eyes met his, and stilled.

“Then again…I’m not sure there’s anywhere else for you to be at this point, huh?”

The lack of ability, of control over himself, that was what was impacting him the most. Other than moving his legs, of which the worst injury was an infected slash on his thigh, he was able to make hand and eye movements only, for fear of upsetting the machines keeping him alive. Giyuu admittedly didn’t care for these new, technological deities, but even he wasn’t fool enough to defy them.

He winced as his left arm, the one with the sprained wrist, curled and spasmed as he attempted to use it. All of his focus was now on moving his fingers into what he hoped was the right sign.

“Need?” Shinobu guessed, staring at his trembling hand. “What do you need, Tomioka?”

Slowly, he moved his fingers into the shape of the first character. He didn’t know the sign for ‘kindly insert whatever forsaken substance killed Gauguin’, and he couldn’t remember what the damned medicinal drug was anyway, so he finger-spelled ‘mayuku’ as best he could.

Purple eyes crimped. For the first time since he woke up, Shinobu actually laughed, her voice like wind chimes. She tapped a teasing finger against her chin with a little smile.

“Alright, you’ll get your painkillers soon enough. Dinner first, which is in…ten minutes!”

Giyuu’s fingers were cramping and loosening already, so he had to be satisfied with sending Shinobu a withering look. ‘Dinner’ was just her exchanging his near-empty intravenous drip bag for a full one. It didn’t need time to prepare. She was just being a terrible doctor on purpose.

“Have you managed to sleep at all?” She asked in a more gentle tone, taking in the pallor of his face and the purple-gray swelling under his eyes. With his other hand, Giyuu managed ‘no’.

“Hmm. It might be a better idea to reroute the tubeage through the skin…it’s not any less irritating, but it might allow a bit more stability. You should find sleeping easier in that case?”

She phrased it as a question, but Giyuu was already trying to sign his consent. His fingers wouldn’t work with his brain. The frustration billowed within him, and he managed to use enough force to smack his injured wrist (metal splint and all) against the railing of his bed.

Shinobu clearly didn’t appreciate this tremendous display of raw power, as she pursed her lips and firmly wrapped one of her hands around his splinted arm. She threaded her small fingers carefully through his stiff ones.

“Ara ara, none of that. Squeeze my hand as tight as you can if you’d like me to try the procedure—ah. Alright, Tomioka.”

A swell of gratitude welled up in Giyuu’s sore chest, and, reluctant as he was to show it, he knew Shinobu had been especially attentive to him since he was brought in. She had barely even poked fun at him. He had concluded that she knew his wounds were deep, and she was making every effort to not only keep him alive, but to see him comfortable as he was treated. She wasn’t risking anything to help him, but she was helping him.

In all the time he had known the Kochos, he still never felt deserving of their innate kindness. He squeezed again, as tight as he could, and let his eyes lose their defensive edge. Although he couldn’t have denied help if he tried, he did allow himself to accept his…friend’s…offered hand.

He tentatively allowed himself to have a friend.

Shinobu’s gaze fixated on his still-wet and red eyes. She didn’t say anything for a few beats, just let his trembling fingers clench tight to hers. His grip began to loosen, and that was when she tightened her own hold on his hand. She squeezed back, face still open, calm as a garden breeze. Her hand was dry and warm. It was the most comfort he’d felt in days. He didn’t mind it at all.

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