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It’s Hawks who insists on training him.
Fumikage doesn’t see the point, honestly. It’s not like he could ever fight like the other slayers; what could Hawks teach someone who can’t even use a breathing technique? It’s a waste of both their time.
But Hawks insists, citing his need to take a successor to keep the Commission off his back.
And training with Hawks is… different from the attempts others made with him.
The wind pillar is known for his speed above all, often leaving Fumikage stumbling behind. It’s frustrating, to say the least, but he can tell he’s getting faster just out of desperation to keep up. Hawks can’t teach him to use the sword without a breathing technique, so he encourages Fumikage to hone his demonic transformation abilities instead, something his previous trainers shied away from.
The sun is a couple hours from rising when Hawks takes him into the forest. Fumikage lags behind, purposefully for once.
“Hawks, it’s too dangerous for me to do this at night. It’s too difficult for me to control.”
“Aw, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t think I’m strong enough to handle you!”
Fumikage startles, rushing to correct his impoliteness. “Of course not! I just—”
“Then there’s no need to worry!” Hawks cuts him off, leaning too close to his face. “You’re with the youngest slayer to be named a pillar in the history of the Demon Slayer Commission, kid. I may not look like much compared to your demonic transformation, but believe me when I say I’ve handled a lot scarier demons than your Dark Shadow.”
His eyes pin Fumikage to the spot, daring him to disagree.
So, after Fumikage swallows the bit of demon flesh Hawks carved out for him from a demon they ran across the previous day, he doesn’t hesitate to attack.
Hawks laughs when he lunges, spinning to the side and tapping his sword lightly against Fumikage’s new beak. “Too slow, demon boy. How is it that you’re faster un transformed?”
Fumikage growls, the anger he buries so deep inside of him pulling the sound out as he’s easily batted aside again. “Stop playing with me!”
“Stop letting me!” Hawks calls back, and Fumikage roars and tackles him. The claws on his hands pin Hawks to the ground, digging deeply enough into his shoulders that Fumikage can feel warm blood on them, but he still can’t stop himself. He snarls into Hawks’ face, teeth bared like he wants to take a bite.
And Hawks laughs.
“Finally! Look what you’re capable of when you stop holding back!”
Fumikage shudders back into control of himself at Hawks’ words and scrambles away. His hands leave red streaks on the grass and when Hawks sits up, Fumikage can see the blood slowly trickling from his shoulders down his arms.
Monster!
Hawks cocks his head to the side and stares as Fumikage struggles to force air into his chest. “For someone who claimed they couldn’t control it, you sure did shift back quickly.”
“It’s not easy,” Fumikage says, trying to breathe in through his mouth instead of his nose so he doesn’t smell the blood, but he just tastes it instead, the tang of iron thick on his tongue. “If I was really in control, you wouldn’t be bleeding right now. I would’ve stopped myself before I hurt you.”
“Kid, I’ve gotten injuries that nearly killed me while training before. You think any of the slayers went easy on the fourteen year old that joined them? This is barely a scratch compared to those.” Hawks groans and stands up from the ground. Fumikage wipes his hands on the grass again, trying to remove the rest of the red with the dew that’s collected on the green. “There’s a stream a couple minutes’ walk from here that we can rinse off in. Care to join?”
Fumikage takes the hand Hawks offers to help him up—he winces when he sees how the blood has smeared across Hawks’ tan palm, but Hawks brushes off his apology with a wave. A line of red slowly snakes its way down towards Hawks’ elbow. “We’re slayers, Tokoyami. I didn’t take this job expecting I wouldn’t have to get a little dirty sometimes.”
Months after Tokoyami has finally managed to pass his slayer test and start taking missions on his own, he notices something new about Hawks.
He looks exhausted.
Not in the way that all slayers look, fresh off difficult missions that always end in thinned ranks, only to grow again as more slayers pass the initiation test and become cannon fodder for the next missions.
No, it’s a different kind of tired. His shoulders slump uncharacteristically, and his face is serious—scary, almost—without his trademark smile. But when Fumikage tries to ask, Hawks just brushes him off.
Maybe Hawks isn’t as attached to their relationship as he’d previously thought. But that’s okay. Fumikage shouldn’t expect more than the wind pillar has already given him.
Even if it’s hard to watch as Hawks’ eyes became more and more sunken. Even if he keeps coming back from mysterious missions with injuries he hides from Fumikage. Even if he snaps at him when Fumikage tries to ask again.
“I know there’s something going on with you! Why can’t you trust me with it? I want to help you, Hawks!”
“What kind of help could a half-baked slayer give anyway?” Hawks sneers. “You need to drop it already. I’ve warned you before that this shit isn’t cute. I don’t need some kid chasing after me all the time.”
His words sting.
“Maybe I can’t help much,” Fumikage mutters, head bowed because he can’t make himself look Hawks in the eye right now, “but I could try. I’ve never seen you like this before.”
Hawks is quiet for a moment, and all Fumikage can hear is the rush of wind through the trees, leaves rustling as they brush against each other. He feels like he’s on the precipice of something, like whatever happens now will decide what the future looks like for them.
Hawks sighs. “I told you already, Tokoyami. Nothing’s going on. Try not to be such a worrywart.” He smiles, and it’s nothing like the grins full of laughter he usually has.
When Hawks finally disappears, Fumikage waits at least three anxiety-filled days before requesting a rescue mission. When the Slayer Commission denies him, his worst fears are confirmed.
The Commission has something to do with whatever happened to him.
Months of patrolling what used to be Hawks’ territory has Fumikage jaded and exhausted, but he still searches through every house in the village until he finds the demon with red wings that’s been terrorizing them.
It ’s covered in blood and viscera, and Fumikage shivers at the rip of flesh being pulled from the bone. Black claws dig into the victim’s calf, sliding underneath the skin with ease, holding the twitching body as sharp teeth dig into the thigh. The stench of blood in the room is thick, along with the smell of human waste as the dead bodies evacuated themselves one last time.
Fumikage has trained for this, he’s supposed to know what to expect, but he still gags.
The demon giggles, tearing another chunk of flesh away. “Sick just from this, little slayer? Who is responsible for training you?”
The demon turns, and Fumikage freezes at the sight of his old mentor, alive and covered in the blood of innocent villagers. For a moment, it seems like Hawks—no, the demon—is frozen too, eerily golden eyes widening as they take him in.
“Midoriya and the others told me, but—” Fumikage cuts himself off before his voice can break. He can’t show weakness right now. Or, at least… not anymore than he’s already shown. Does Hawks even remember him? He knows memories can become clouded after a demon is turned.
“But, but, but.” Hawks mocks him, “Let me guess, you didn’t believe them. Still held out hope that your old mentor would come back, right?” He cocks his head to the side. “Or, wait, maybe you were actually hoping I was dead. Anything’s better than this, right?”
Hawks wipes a hand across his forehead, smearing a red streak of blood across it. Those black claws flex and relax. But the worst part is the feet. Fumikage can’t tear his eyes away from the rough brown scaling that makes up so much of Hawks’ legs now. His knees are reversed, unnaturally thin legs leading into long, clawed toes.
Hawks had always mentioned wanting to fly one day. But, looking at the dark red wings that fill up most of the room, Fumikage can’t imagine this is what Hawks meant.
“Was something wrong? Did I miss something that was happening to you?” Fumikage lets his voice break this time, too distraught to hold it back. Hawks had done so much for him, but Tokoyami hadn't helped him even when he knew something was wrong. He’d let his mentor down in the worst way possible.
“So self-important, Tokoyami. What makes you think you ever meant enough to me for your help to matter?” He smirks meanly. “You were just some kid the Commission made me teach. Nothing more than that.”
“Maybe I wasn’t anything to you, but you were—are—a lot to me. I’d have never been able to be a slayer without you.”
“How touching. Since you owe me so much, how about you just let me walk out of here without a fight? I’ll even spare you.”
The sun is due to rise any moment now. If he can hold Hawks in the house for long enough, he can trap him here so the other slayers can finish the job.
Fumikage reaches a hand down to the pouch at his waist, but Hawks is on him before he can open it.
“You really, really don’t wanna do this kid.”
The gunshot rings out loudly, and Hawks curses as the bullet pierces his shoulder.
“Wow, you’ve improved since I left, huh?” Fumikage doesn’t bother answering, using the free moment to shove a piece of demon flesh into his mouth before swallowing.
Hawks leaps at him, open wound hissing as the flesh knits back together. Fumikage aims the gun again, but Hawks is too fast now, sidestepping his aim before he can pull the trigger. Black claws slice through his hand as they bat the gun away from him. It slides across the floor, too far for Fumikage to make a run for it.
He dives for Hawks instead, using the beak that’s formed on his face to pierce the skin of his arm and grind against the bone underneath. Hawks snarls and lands a punch against the side of his head that makes him dizzy.
“I don’t remember you being quite this vicious before. Was it something I said?” Hawks quips before swiping at him with his claws again. Fumikage ducks and tries to sweep his legs, but Hawks just hops over him. “I’m a lot lighter on my feet nowadays.”
“I see,” Fumikage answers, and darts back before Hawks can grab him, barely snatching the gun off the floor before turning back to face the demon..
“You know, I always took you for the sentimental type,” Hawks says, pausing in his attempts to slice Fumikage’s stomach open to watch him. “Never woulda figured you’d be so set on killing your old mentor. Maybe I did manage to teach you something after all.” His bloodstained lips curl up in a grin that shows off sharp canines, glistening with the remains from the body laying on the floor.
Fumikage readjusts his sweaty grip on his gun.
“I’m doing this because I know you wouldn’t have wanted to live like this. I don’t know what was done to you, but I can’t allow you to keep using his body to kill others. My teacher would never have hurt others by his own will.”
Hawks—the demon, Fumikage reminds himself—looks stunned for a moment, a breadth of emotion that he’d never allowed Fumikage to see before he’d turned so clear on his face. Then he laughs, the sound high and unpleasant.
For a moment, Fumikage thinks he might be crying.
Hawks cuts himself off abruptly, and meets Fumikage’s gaze with those eerily golden eyes. “Maybe you don’t know your teacher as well as you think you do.”
“I wouldn’t have learned anything from a killer,” Fumikage replies, and the words feel right.
Something sad flashes across Hawks’ face. “You always did think a little too well of me.”
Hawks moves faster than a human eye can follow, Fumikage shoots wildly, and the world goes dark.