Chapter Text
TW: Ableism, Child Abuse
Tenth Kata: Thunder Beckons, Met with Flame
“You know, I was thinking - Agatsuma. Maybe what you need to drum up more support for you in the corps is some kind of catch phrase!” Uzui announced, as the four gathered Demon Slayers and Slayers-in-training gingerly finished the last of their evening meal. Given how pleasant the day had been, they had elected to have their supper outdoors, out in the gardens further afield from any training ongoing.
They had settled themselves directly beneath a budding Cherry Blossom tree, on a large tatami mat that Uzui himself had managed to provide for them. He was fairly certain the Kakushi wouldn’t mind. It had already been out drying anyway, and he would return it later. Besides, the whole purpose of such items were to be used were they not?
“Oh no…” Agatsuma groaned, frown quick to crawl across his features, hands clasped tight around a cup of warm tea. “Why do I have the feeling I’m about to be insulted?”
“Now now. Ye of little faith.” Uzui smirked, leaning himself up to casually rest on an elbow. “No need to fear! I, the Great Sound Hashira - Tengen Uzui swear upon all that is flashy and cool that I will help you Agatsuma Zenitsu come up with an amazing, awe-inspiring catch phrase guaranteed to raise public opinion of you out of the odorous latrines they currently reside!”
“Yep. There it is.”
“Besides!” The Sound Hashira continued. “Making up something lame or mean-spirited would be just no challenge at all given the plethora of options in the source material, and I loath tasks without any semblance of challenge.”
“... You know, you can stop talking anytime you want right? RIGHT? I’m literally right here, Tengen-san. I have feelings too, you know. And you’re killing them, killing them Tengen-san! Murdering them right in front of me!”
“As such!” Sitting up fully then, Uzui turned to address their other remaining dinner mates, happily noting two pairs of dancing red eyes looking on almost indulgently at an indignant Agatsuma across the way, gesticulating wildly. “To counteract all the dullness literally oozing out of you at any given moment, we must ensure that this associated saying has enough flash and bravado to overshadow the subject in question!”
“I swear, just stab me already Tengen-san. Kill me! I mean, clearly you want to!”
In the corner of his eye, Uzui watched as Kyoujurou promptly raised his hands and clapped them together, large smile growing across his lips. “I have one! What about ‘ Never give up, never - .”
“WHAT!? I can’t believe you Kyoujurou-san! Why are you helping them hurt me like this? Is this revenge for calling you lame earlier!?”
Kyoujurou crossed his arms and met the other’s gaze head on, back straight and proud, eyes wide and full of vigour. “But of course! Did you truly think I would take such a statement lying down Agatsuma?” the older Rengoku laughed. “Now this is your just desserts!”
And Agatsuma recoiled as if struck, falling back dramatically across the mat to face away from the group, a nearly palpable cloud of tragedy manifesting atop his form. Honestly, it would have been a pretty convincing reaction if not for the absolute slightest trembling of his shoulders that Uzui could see, and the ever so quiet tune of laughter he could hear beneath his breath.
Pretty decent acting chops, he would acknowledge. Clearly, there were more layers to the Wailing Hashira than Uzui had previously realized. Quite the good sport too, given how quickly they had seemingly embraced being the butt of the joke for the time being, or maybe they could just tell that despite Uzui’s words there was no real judgement in his tone. After all, he didn’t exactly hide the fact that he thought most people were dull and boring by default, or the fact that he enjoyed just giving people a hard time.
He knew of the rumours of course. In fact, he prided himself in being aware of most things going on with the Corps as any effective shinobi would, for knowledge was a weapon that never dulled. And that was perhaps why he was so perplexed by their newest pillar. For despite the rumours that circulated, some grounded in reality, most not - there was really nothing fully concrete that was known about Agatsuma Zenitsu.
Most of his missions he took alone, so no one amidst their pillar rankings had ever seen him fight. That is, when he himself wasn’t on some self-directed venture that Lord Ubuyashiki would simply just allow, which was also out of the ordinary - as generally the Master of the Corps tended to prefer his strongest pieces to be in consistent communication with HQ in case of emergency.
Uzui had even elected to try and pull his personnel file. Or track down those that he had fought most recently alongside of prior to his promotion to Hashira rank. In the end, he was met only with redacted material and a plethora of Hinoe and Kinoe ranked slayers who had been sworn to secrecy by Lord Ubuyashiki himself.
It was truly quite the puzzle. Though there was one consistent thing he managed to glean from the warriors he most recently associated with. He recalled one encounter in particular, a Hinoe just barely an adult, straight black hair, black eyes, pale face. Honestly someone Uzui wouldn’t even deign to remember - normally.
But he had an intensity to him that stuck with The Sound Hashira when had asked about his fellow teammate. A conviction that rang true with the undertone of deep belief and dare-he-say perhaps even devotion, much akin to the same awe and loyalty most of the slayers associated only with Lord Ubuyashiki himself. The kind of belief in a person that could only really be borne through deep personal resonance.
“He’s-He’s strong Lord Hashira. He’s so strong. And so good. Don’t believe what anyone else says. If there’s anyone who deserves to be in that circle alongside you, it’s him. He - He saved us all.”
Murata. That was the Hinoe’s name.
A little boring, but Uzui would commit it to memory anyway. With that thought, the shinobi turned to take in the sight of the three blonds scattered before him, the light of the setting sun casting all their forms in a halo of gold that caught in their hair and in the corner of their eyes, tracing their faces with shadows that only served to highlight the glow they seemed to exude, laughing, smiling and cringing all the same.
Damn. Now that was a flashy sight. If only his wives could have been here to see it too. Now that would have made it perfect. He did so enjoy being surrounded by beauty.
“Tengen-san! What do you think about this one?” Senjurou piped up. “‘ Never fear! For Lightning is here ’!”
“That’s pretty good!” Uzui replied. “But with two lines you lose a little bit of substance. You also can’t integrate it as easily into an awesome monologue as well haha!
“... I’m actually dying over here…”
“Oh! ‘ Saved in a Flash!’ ” Kyoujurou jumped in. “Or for when you’re fighting an opponent - ‘ Don’t blink.’ ”
Uzui grinned. “Oooooh I like those! Short and sweet - likely very memorable! Well done Rengoku!”
“Do you have any suggestions, Tengen-san?” Senjurou spoke, turning expectant eyes towards the lone shinobi. Which, of course he did! He would never have even suggested the exercise if he hadn’t come already pre-prepared. Uzui was certainly no amateur.
“But of course!” He bellowed loudly, grinning wide as he pushed out his chest and crossed his arms. Fushchia eyes seeking doe, as he waited a beat to ensure all attention was gathered towards him.
“Now it’s two lines, so as mentioned before, a little harder to use. A little harder to time, but we make up for it with IMPACT and simplicity.
‘Hear my soul. Roar like - THUNDER’ ! HAHAHA! ”
“Whoaaaa!”
“Impressive!”
“... I would rather die…”
雷に二度打たれた
“Oh yeah! That reminds me!” Agatsuma spoke, just as they caught sight of their estate emerging from around the bend, lit faintly by moonlight, exterior lanterns dark and swinging softly in the breeze. Which was expected, as only him and his older brother would bother lighting them at this point.
“The instruments in the music room that I’m staying in.” The tawny blond continued, increasing his pace beside them just ever so slightly so as to be able to face them both directly. “Now I'm not saying I’m the greatest or anything, but Senjurou-kun mentioned that maybe you could be open to me putting something together with those and playing something for you folks in the next little bit? It’s been ages since I’ve had the chance to play haha.”
Senjurou watched then, as his brother slowed in his walk, a pensive - melancholic sort of look slowly shifting across his face. He closed his eyes and turned his head skywards, clearly in the midst of some sort of inner debate. And Senjurou couldn’t help but feel just the slightest twinge of guilt slowly start to coil in the pit of his stomach.
Though not explicitly stated, the instruments were very important to the family, particularly to his father and older brother. They were a tangible final memento of their late mother, who had been an esteemed musician herself during her earlier years, Senjurou had been told. And though not necessarily the most expensive things in the estate, they were very much likely the most emotionally important items that resided on the grounds.
Senjurou could recall vividly just the sheer magnitude of the argument that had occurred merely voicing the idea of even housing Agatsuma in their mother’s old music room. If it wasn’t for the plain fact that they simply did not have any other space available and that Agatsuma’s visit had come ordained by Lord Ubuyashiki himself, Senjurou was uncertain whether anyone would ever have been allowed back into that room ever again.
The loss of Rengoku Ruka had been devastating.
It was the reason why his brother fought as hard against Demons as he did now. It was the reason his father gave up the fight against the Demons entirely. For while Kyoujurou had been there during her final moments, their father - their father had not been so lucky, and that day…
… that loss when he had first discovered her passing. It ruined him.
Left him the shell he was now, angry and bitter at the world. Unhappy, unsatisfied - it left a hole inside him that not matter what he or Kyoujurou tried to do, they could never seem to fill. And though it hurt Senjurou immensely to constantly be rejected and rebuffed by his own father, he could only begin to imagine how much such hurt his brother felt, having lived long to know both their parents - the warmth in their home before the fires grew cold.
Senjurou had seen the pictures, saw the notes and drawings that alluded to a softer, kinder time. But perhaps, perhaps he had taken it a step too far moved, too fast. He should have asked his brother first before opening his big stupid mouth.
He just, he just wanted to give a little bit of that time back if he could, and maybe even - for just a little while, experience something close to it himself.
“I… I uh, just thought it would be something nice to do Onii-sama.” He said shyly then, coming to a stop himself as he turned to face the ground. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first.”
“Oh shit.” Agatsuma gasped at his side, the sound of rustling fabric quick to follow as the blond dipped into a humble bow before both siblings. “Uh - actually nevermind! It was all my silly idea anyway and I am deeply sorry for making things uncomfortable.”
And slowly, softly, Senjurou heard his brother laugh. Not the loud and boisterous kind like he normally did, but softer - laced heavy with some emotion that the youngest blond couldn’t immediately recognize.
“I think that would be a great idea, Senjurou, Agatsuma. They’re probably all out of tune by now, but they were all very well taken care of and made to last so they should more than suit your needs.”
“Wait, really?!” Agatsuma cheered. “You’re not mad? Or Offended?”
Kyoujurou shook his head, a faraway look in his eyes. “No. Not at all. I am a little nervous, I will admit, about hearing them again. But I think it will be good for me, perhaps even for our father.”
“Okay, but that’s just suddenly like - so much pressure all of a sudden?” Agatsuma’s voice began to shake.
“Oh nonsense.” Kyoujurou spoke, starting forward once again, just as they reached the gate of the estate. “You’ll just be playing on instruments that I spent my entire childhood listening to, and haven’t at all established an immense emotional connection with while simultaneously playing originally composed music written by my late mother.” He smiled brightly.
And Senjurou could tell that if he could, Agatsuma would have sunk further into the earth with each word out of his brother’s mouth.
“But I’m certain you’ll do amazing Agatsuma.”
All he got back was a gurgle of groans in response, just as the three of them threw open the gates and crossed the threshold into the dark of their home, bickering all the while.
All in all, Senjurou thought, today had been a good day - training at the corps and then just spending time with his brother, Agatsuma and Tengen.
Certainly, it had been one of the better, if not the best one over the past couple of weeks, leaving him feeling both tired but satisfied. Which of course, in karmic fashion, meant that as soon as they slipped the doors open into the main house of the estate, the figure of their father slumped forth, emerging from one of the pitch black hallways, hair falling across his face, but his eyes sharp and narrowed. The scent of alcohol suddenly overpowering, causing Senjurou to almost stagger back.
“And where have you two been all day?”
“Slayer business.” His brother answered smoothly, staring at his father head on. “Recovery measures after it was found that some of our records in the archive experienced some terrible accident.”
“Is that so? So then why did you need him ?” And Senjurou knew, his father was talking about him. “That one’s not a slayer. Can’t even wield a sword properly, or take a punch. I would know.”
And the youngest blond watched as both his brother and Agatsuma tensed at the words, his own left flank flaring just at the memory. Senjurou didn’t even remember what it had been about, only that he had been glad it was just a glancing blow.
Features set in a uncharacteristic scowl, Kyoujurou pushed past the darkened figure, light suddenly awash in the home. “Senjurou. It’s late. Up to bed. Agatsuma, please go with him.”
“Are you-.”
“Yes. Please Agatsuma.”
A single deep calming breath. “Okay. If you’re sure.” And a hand was slipping softly intro Senjurou’s own, rough and calloused, but so very warm. The next thing he knew, he was being ushered to bed, body numb as wet began to gather in the corner of his eyes, Agatsuma sitting sentry by the foot of his door - the sound of yelling and breaking glass echoing like a twisted discordant tune all throughout the home.
Today had been a good day.
雷に二度打たれた
It was starting to grate on his nerves.
Almost 2 weeks to the day. Just how long did this shrill little gnat plan on leeching off of them? It was one thing to simply invade the sanctity of their space, but to occupy it to such an extent? The indignation roiled inside of him.
“What are you still doing here?” The words out of his mouth just as the thought crossed his mind, features already shifting downward into a deep set scowl as he laid eyes on his children’s seemingly ever present guest as of late. Choppy hair, plain of face, medium build and deceptively lean despite how scrawny they looked beneath that superfluous ugly yellow haori.
They said they were here to help uncover some mystery regarding the progenitor of all Demon Slaying, to find some key to piece together the core form that all other breathing styles descended from, because clearly, all paled in comparison to the mighty Sun. He could already feel the sneer crawling its way up to his lips, shifting his gaze to look down upon the parasite still toiling about in his home, eating his food and poisoning the minds of his children.
Not that there was much left to poison. His foolish progeny had so fully bought into the thought that they were part of something grander than they were, that they leapt at the thought of hastening their own obsoletion without even realizing, without even a second - nay perhaps without even a first so long as that cripple back at slayer base told them to.
The Demon Slayers were using them. All of them. Every single one of them - merely a tool to be used to its limit and then discarded for something better, faster, stronger. And he would know. It’s what happened to him.
As soon as his missions started to drag on for longer, as soon as the first cracks started to show, the moment he could no longer effectively swing his sword - in the way they wanted him to - for their utterly futile cause, they forced him to retire and cast him away.
His sons thought that the yellow one was here to help them?
Ridiculous.
Like a fly to dead meat or a buzzard to dead men. The Corps had only sent this scavenger here to take advantage of the very last vestige of usefulness the Rengoku clan had to offer. The tomes in their library, and the eventual life of one last foolish stupid son.
Oh how glad he was that Senjurou was a failure. At least then, that meant he had at least one legacy that had a chance to last.
Blinking up at him, brown eyes widened comically at his approach. Like a deer, staring down the length of a musket. Was this really what they took for Hashira material nowadays?
Pathetic.
“Uh. I-I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. What are you still doing here? Haven’t you already taken enough from us?” Shinjurou glowered, peering down upon the shorter slayer from where he stood in the main hall.
He watched as the boy swallowed thickly, slowly rising to his feet from where he sat in the main room, what seemed like music sheets scattered all around him. Then, upon taking a breath, the blond raised their gaze to meet Shinjurou’s own - open but firm.
Huh. Surprising. A backbone after all.
“I’m not taking anything from you Rengoku-san. I’m just doing my job and seeing a mission through.“ Was the eventual reply, even toned, and lacking the signature shrill that Shinjurou had been subject to for the past several days over the duration of their stay. “My apologies if my presence bothers you, but I intend to stay until the job is done.”
“And when would that be? When you’ve officially replaced us with your Sun-breather wannabes? Or when you’ve stolen the remainder of my children from me?”
“I will repeat myself Rengoku-san. No one has -.”
“Are those what I think they are?” Shinjurou cut them off, his blurry vision only now just clearing enough to note a closer look at the music sheets scattered across the space. That handwriting, those notes and as he shifted to the side, he took in the image of a lone dark wood shamisen sitting delicately in the corner. He could recognize immediately, the faint traces of wear along the neck, and the ever so faint seam of wood glue that bound the pluck back together.
After he had broken it by accident the first time - years ago.
“Who gave these to you?” He whispered, a blossom of something growing inside his chest. Tight and hot, like a heat that seared his very soul. Images flashed across the forefront of his mind, phantom noises heard in the distance, her face - so poised, so resplendent as she played, the wind in her hair, music all around them, a smile only for him settled softly upon her lips. Before came that horrible, wretched cough.
“No-No one. I just-.”
“Don’t you dare lie to me!” Shinjurou cut him off, body moving of its own accord as he moved to tower over the other, sake sloshing across the space from his uncorked gourd.
“Not here. Not in my own fucking home.” He hissed. “All you people do is take and take and take. You’ve already taken all the good years of my fucking life, brainwashed my oldest into giving the same. The least you could do is give us some fucking peace, but you couldn’t even do that.
And now. Now you even want to take one of the last tiny little reminders about how I was ever happy ?!”
“Otou-san!” A voice cut in, a shadow at his back and a weight landing heavy upon his shoulder.
“Stay out of this!” He heard himself roar, body moving instinctively, vision blurring as he threw out an arm, the pounding in his ears rising to a zenith. A thundering CRACK echoed throughout the space, time slowing to a crawl as took in the image of his misguided older child and his ignorant youngest just past the threshold.
A single streak of red falling to earth, as the gourd he had been holding splintered in his hand, edges jagged and sharp - the contents pouring out in a wave between his form and Kyoujurou beside him. A shock of cold crashing into his chest, just as his arm found itself caught by another, fire meeting fire as he locked gazes with his son of equal stature.
The fire bubbled inside of him. Dark and coiling, on the very edge of spilling out, of spilling over.
“Enough! Otou-san! Please stop this!” Kyoujurou cried, face caked in red, eyes unwavering. “Agatsuma has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment! I gave him the music sheet! I let him take the instrument!”
Shinjurou felt his eyes widen, a fraction of himself suddenly numb as he took in the words spoken.
What?
No.
No.
You? Kyoujurou?
Why? How could you betray your own mother’s memory like this? How could you still choose THEM, after everything they’ve taken from us!
Her memory was the one thing - the one thing they had left!
And the fire screamed, Shinjurou twisting his own arm before driving himself bodily into the other to break the hold. The desire to weep, and rage and hurt rising up like an inferno inside his chest, an acid in his blood. “HOW COULD YOU?! SHE WAS MY WIFE!”
“AND SHE WAS MY MOTHER!” Kyoujurou roared back, bracing his own feet as Shinjurou felt himself stagger back across the room, a familiar sort of heat blooming across his ribs. And the older blond smiled, twisted and pained and cruel.
“Well look at that. Looks like we aren’t so different in personality after all.” He whispered, shifting one hand against the growing bruise across his side, delighting almost in the way that Kyoujurou’s eyes seemed to widen in horror, the smallest trace of moisture gathering in his eyes.
“N-No. Never.”
“Oh my sweet stupid boy. Never comes sooner than you think.” Shinjurou continued. “Don’t you see! Look at me! Look at me! Look at what they’ve done to me! Look at what they’ll do to you!”
“You’re wrong Otou-san! The only one who's done anything to you is-.”
“They had me BURN OUT MY OWN HEART FOR THEM! Had me leave my own sick wife for them when she needed me most! They took her from me! They want to take everything from me!”
And Shinjurou grew silent then, hands clenching into fists at his side as he turned his back towards the main body of the room. His shoulders heaving, throat dry, embers cooling to a cold, frigid simmer. “They have taken everything from me.”
“And now. Now I have noth-.”
“Shut. Up.”
And the fire screamed once more.
“What did you just say to me?” Shinjurou whispered, swiveling on the spot to turn wide red eyes towards the impudent little parasite that dare speak to him in such a way in his own fucking home. A meeting of steel catching flame as the lone stranger in their midsts raised his head and had a gall to look down on him from the length of his nose.
“You talk too much Rengoku-san. For someone who says they’ve lost everything, you sure seem to think you’re still the boss around here. Tell me, can you still fight, old man?”
“What are you getting at? Of course I can still fight. I was a Hashira for longer than you’ve even been alive runt.” Shinjurou sneered, an inkling already of what the supposed Lightning Hashira would soon spout next. “I could gut you like a fish. Is that what you’re asking? You want to fight me? Is that it?”
And the tawny blond took a slow deep breath. Nearly three seconds before they loosed a long exhale
“Yep.” Was the eventual reply, an audible irritating ‘pop’ used to accentuate the end. “Consider this an official challenge. On your honour as a warrior.”
“Th-This is ridiculous!” Kyoujuro spoke then, only just now seemingly regaining enough composure to try and butt in. “You can’t fight him, Agatsuma!”
“And why can’t he?” Shinjurou spat. “Isn’t he also a Hashira? The best of the best? The strongest in all the Demon Slayer corps? Or are all the rumours about how utterly useless and pathetic the Lightning Hashira is, actually true?”
Off to the side, Senjurou gasped.
“That’s right,” Shinjurou continued, noting with building glee the doubt in his older son’s wavering gaze. “I may not be privy to everything, but I still have enough connections to know exactly what everyone thinks of you - Agatsuma Zenitsu. The Wailing Hashira. The Running Hashira. The Fainting Hashira. You think a failure like you could fight me?”
…
…
“Yeah. You’re right. It would be pretty unfair wouldn’t it.” Agatsuma replied, back straight and shoulders squaring. “Then I guess I’ll just have to challenge you too, Kyoujurou-san, at the same time to even the odds.”