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Demons are particularly unfriendly creatures, Tanjiro decides as he limps down a well-trodden path. They don’t seem to like people very much, no less members of the Demon Slayer Corps. The only thing they are interested in when they see humans is the flesh that they can consume. Most of them, anyway.
Tanjiro breathes evenly as he keeps pace with his friends. They both sport their own scars from the battle they had mere hours ago, but neither of them appears as hurt as Tanjiro feels. He can’t hide the favoring of his leg; there is a deep gash that painfully crosses his ankle thanks to the ugly fighting pattern one particular demon had. However, that limp is all he’s willing to show. If his friends can power through without panting for breath or having to stop, then he won’t either.
Zenitsu has already asked a few times if they need to stop on account of Tanjiro’s leg, and Inosuke has also expressed his concern in a more individualistic way, but Tanjiro kindly declined their offer both times. He’s glad they are looking out for him, but he’s fine, really.
Even if he occasionally wonders if his Total Concentration Breathing is the only thing keeping him moving.
In the box strapped to his back, Nezuko sleeps soundly. He can barely hear her soft, even breaths. She spent an extensive amount of energy assisting Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke against the monsters. They had taken his group by surprise — all they wanted was to sleep in a stable kindly offered by a rural farmer. He even fed their group before he bid them goodnight.
The demons showed up not too long after they had all drifted to sleep. It had been Nezuko who protected them until they all snapped out of their drowsiness to focus on the fight at hand.
Demons rarely work well together, much less congregate in groups as large as theirs. There had to have been thirteen or fifteen of them. While none possessed great power or Blood Demon Art, their sheer size in numbers was enough to cause a grueling and long fight. Not to mention that they were all still exhausted from the full day of travel they just completed.
It was impossible to escape without scars, but it’s okay, Tanjiro thinks. His wounds aren’t that bad.
The sun blazes down on the three as they make their way into a small village. It’s not their destination; they have to head further west to a large lake that “they would know the sight of” or so the bird said. They need to stop to purchase food for lunch and for the upcoming dinner they would likely be spending in a makeshift shack or cave.
His breathing labors when he eats. It’s hard to keep up Total Concentration Breathing: Constant when he has to stop breathing in order to swallow. It causes his side to flare up in excruciating pain, and his body feels warmer than it had before. Even the heat of the day doesn’t match the sweat pooling on his forehead and hands.
When he tries to turn and face his friend closest to him, Zenitsu, his vision swarms for a brief second. His world becomes static and disconnected.
Then he sees Zentisu looking at him with worried eyes. “Tanjiro, are you alright? You look terrible!”
Inosuke thrusts himself back so he can take a look at Tanjiro himself. He doesn’t wear the boar head when he’s eating. Tanjiro once found Insouke to be discomforting, both wearing the boar and out of it. The girlish face looked strange on his otherwise extremely male body. However, Tanjro now relaxes in his presence. If there is something truly wrong with him, Inosuke would be the first to lay it down on him thick. Not that he doesn’t trust Zenitsu, of course, it’s just that he can be a little dramatic at times.
“Oh, yeah. I wouldn’t even want to take you in a fight right now,” Inosuke grunts and shoves meat into his mouth. Tanjiro felt the words like a stake through his heart.
“No,” he says, and he pushes the stool he’s sitting on in order to get up. He’s not done eating, but he wants to prove a point. There is nothing for his friends to worry about. Tanjiro is fine. “See? I can—”
As soon as he steps on the ground, shooting fire sears up his ankle all the way to his side. It explodes at his side like a pulsing heart bursting in his chest. He doesn’t have time to think of what to do before his legs give out, lands square on the box Nezuko sleeps in, and his vision goes dark.
—
Tanjiro wakes up slowly in an unfamiliar bed. The sheets are white and tucked around his body, and the comforting warmth is almost enough to convince him to fall back asleep. He knows better, though. There is never a time when Tanjiro fully lets down his guard anymore.
He turns his head to the left to find Zenitsu and Inosuke both sleeping next to each other. Well, it’s more like Inosuke is spread out over two chairs and Zenitsu, and Zenitsu is hunched over, drooling all over Inosuke’s abdomen. It’s a familiar sight, one that painfully reminded him of their experience on the Mugen Train.
Sometimes, he stops and thinks he’s still trapped in a dream. It’s worse then to see the pitying look on Zenitsu’s face and Inosuke go uncharacteristically sullen when they catch him trying to slice his neck open. Tanjiro wonders, then, for a second. His sword is propped up against his bed, and it takes every amount of his willpower to reach for the hilt.
His breathing comes easier to him. Tanjiro feels the bandages wrapped around his stomach and ankle, and he smells the healing ointments radiating off of them. His pain isn’t gone entirely, but it’s better than before. His side burns with flickering fire.
Zenitsu wakes first, and he wastes no time in throwing Inosuke off of him and falling down at Tanjiro’s bed. “Tanjiro! Tanjiro! I was so worried! I’m so glad you woke up! I knew you couldn’t just die like that, but they said the infection is really bad and they are beautiful ladies so I have no reason to distrust them!”
“Are you okay, Zenitsu?” Tanjiro asks gently, and his friend looks up at him with bewilderment.
“Am I okay? Tanjiro, you bastard!” The lightning-breather got up and started shaking Tanjiro by the shoulders. “You are the one who collapsed on us! Why would you ask if I was okay?”
Tanjiro recalls his last memory. He hadn’t known how he ended up in an infirmary, but it wasn’t so hard to guess with his track record of getting injured. “Oh,” he says a little belatedly, “one of the demons must’ve gotten my side.”
Zentisu sinks to the floor at that. He whispers: “You are hopeless.”
A boar head finally pops up from the ground. Inosuke stands up and leans over Tanjiro’s bed with his fists planted firmly into his sides. “I know you’re not stupid, Shinjoru,” he remarks with an accusatory tone. Tanjiro deflates at the name. “Hiding an infection like that? That’s rule number one in surviving the woods. Infections kill.”
The water-breather stares at him and wonders how he managed to mess up this badly. Inosuke rarely has sympathy, and even rarer does he express himself in a serious manner. This is some sick mixture of both, where Inosuke feels so many things and it comes out in a coagulated mess.
It’s just like when Tanjiro tries to escape a “dream”.
He grabs the top sheet with his hands and curls in tightly. Instead of meeting the twisted boar eyes, he bows his head deeply. “I’m sorry for causing you two to worry. I didn’t know the extent of my injury.”
Before either of them can respond, the tell-tale squeak of a door makes them all turn their heads to the other side of the room. It’s the most shaded area of the room — Tanjiro wonders which one of them told the women of the village’s infirmary about the box’s “conditions” — and Nezuko travels alongside the darkness until she joins the rest of the group.
She looks at him like she had on the Mugen Train. Like she’s scared to lose her only remaining family member.
To her, Tanjiro painstakingly leans over and wraps her in his arms. “I didn’t mean to, Nezuko. I promise.”
Inosuke tsks at that, and Zenitsu wails, but Nezuko only returns his hug with equal strength. Tanjiro. Tanjiro believed it when Zenitsu and Inosuke expressed their worry and contempt over his infection, but Nezuko’s reaction is what really breaks the dam.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’s not apologizing for getting injured while fighting demons. He’s sorry that he can’t promise them that he won’t hide his injuries again in the future. He doesn’t know why he does it, sometimes; to perhaps cause the least amount of stress in the group, or to not slow them down. Whatever the case, he knows it’ll happen again.
They don’t have to accept his apology. They never have, and they never will. And that’s okay, Tanjiro thinks, because they’ll always stay with him when he has to recover.