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Aoi wrings out the sheet she’s washing and takes a breath of the cooling autumn air. She’s done this task so many times since coming to the Butterfly Mansion that her mind is able to wander as she hangs the heavy, damp cloths on the tall bamboo poles. Lately, her thoughts keep falling back on a certain trio of demon slayers just a little younger than herself. For the most part, Aoi doesn’t feel like she remembers the slayers who come to the Butterfly Mansion for care between their visits. But these three are different. For one, their medical stays tend to be longer, their injuries more severe than the average slayer. But they also come to the mansion for more than just treatment, continuing to train with Kiyo, Naho, and Sumi as their coaches, to the girls’ great delight. They each have strong personalities and are so infinitely different yet manage to complement each other perfectly.
Tanjiro: the gentle boy with the most calming presence she’s ever met. He’s kind to a fault and she often has to shoo him away from helping with her chores, even when he’s still on the mend.
Zenitsu: the loudmouth who complains about every medicine and spends his nights talking to Tanjiro’s demon sister as she scratches at her box in response. He’s the first in all her time assisting at the Butterfly Mansion to get a rise out of her and make her break out of the calm mask she puts on for work.
Inosuke: the brash and impulsive wild boy who wears a boar’s head as a mask and runs around the mansion stealing food and aggravating his own wounds no matter how often she reprimands him. He frustrates her in a completely different way but there’s a layer of childishness under it that she can’t help but find somewhat endearing.
Even when they go on separate missions, their visits to the infirmary often overlap by a few days. Tanjiro had been the first to stop by just for a quick visit, traveling between reported demon sightings. Of course it had been him. Aoi and the young nurse trio were more than happy to put him up for a night and hear about his latest travels over dinner. The blue-eyed woman even let the little girls stay up past their bedtime to play with his demon sister Nezuko. He’d left early the next morning, but somehow even that short reconnection had invigorated Aoi.
They’ve only been gone a handful of days on a mission to Yoshiwara, the red light district near the heart of the city. It was the only place she could think of that matched the Sound Hashira’s description of their destination. I wonder if they’ll be able to see the Imperial Palace, she thinks, shaking the wrinkles out of the sheet as it hangs. It feels like just yesterday that they were still healing from the fight on the Mugen Train. Aoi feels a smile tug at her lips as she remembers the morning she had to rescue Tanjiro from his swordsmith. The poor boy had lost his weapon in the battle and his assigned smith was notoriously harsh on the slayers he worked for. It was apparently already Tanjiro’s third sword despite being in the corps for less than a year and the man chased him down in a fury.
Aoi managed to sneak Tanjiro into a side door along the mansion’s outer wall and the smith ran past just after she closed it behind them. Aoi racked her brain for some way to quell the danger and felt three small hands tugging at her apron. The young trio told her they’d overheard a couple slayers talking about using food as a peace offering with their smiths after chipping their swords and apparently his favorite food was mitarashi dango. Ushering Tanjiro back into the large house, she went to the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients from the pantry. She’d scalded her fingers a bit when adding the hot water to the sweet rice flour, trying to make them as quickly as possible. She made just a couple of skewers and before they even had a chance to cool she was back out at the gate, waiting for the masked man to run by again.
To her surprise, it worked, and the smith took the dango daintily from her hands. She made them for him again later that day and the next, each skewer turning down the flame of his wrath a little more until finally his dark mood lifted. Tanjiro thanked her profusely and promised to bring her something in return the next time he went on a mission. Aoi dismissed his gratitude, saying she was just doing what little she could. As the boys recalled the encounter while they ate lunch the next day, she found herself smiling at Inosuke’s loud demand for dango of his own and promised to get him some later.
Aoi feels a little heat come to her cheeks and wonders why she started to remember that small moment. It wasn’t much different from their usual routine when all three boys were present, but the clarity with which she recalled his voice surprised her. It isn’t the first time she’s been surprised to find herself thinking of the boar headed slayer but it is the first time she’s blushed because of it.
Before she can examine those thoughts any further, a caw echoes out of the sky above her. She blinks and Shinobu is beside her, a hand outstretched to the sky for the bird to land on.
“Injured slayers incoming,” it squawks as it circles closer. “Injured slayers en route; estimated time of arrival, one hour and thirty minutes. Three injured slayers from the Yoshiwara district.”
Aoi gasps and even Shinobu’s eyes widen a smidge. Three? Only three? But which one won’t be with them, she wonders, her heart pounding in her chest.
The crow, now perched on Shinobu’s wrist, continues to croak out bits of information. “Agatsuma, Zenitsu: low priority, injuries primarily to legs. Kamado, Tanjiro: middle priority, extensive injuries largely stabilized by kakushi. Hashibira, Inosuke: high priority, poison and internal bleeding.” Without another word, it takes flight.
Aoi’s breath catches in her throat. What did the bird mean by extensive injuries? Poison and internal bleeding, nothing they didn’t deal with on a near weekly basis at this point, so how bad must it be to count as high priority? And what about the Hashira? The bird hadn’t mentioned him at all. Was it possible that these three survived where a Hashira couldn’t? It had happened once before.
Her mentor, the Insect Hashira, catches her eye and nods. Shinobu turns toward the house and walks quickly inside, calling for the young nurses. They scamper out of the hallway to her and she instructs them to prepare three intensive care rooms at once. Aoi follows the older woman numbly, the rest of the dirty laundry forgotten on the lawn. She goes to the pharmacy and helps ensure the instruments are sterile while they prep trays for each room with the medicines they may need. The trays are identical despite the crow’s priority list.
It feels like it takes an eternity for the first couple kakushi to appear with Zenitsu on a stretcher. He’s in and out of consciousness with some cuts across his face but otherwise looking more worn out than battered. The kakushi confirm that he’s in stable condition, offering to stay with him while the ladies attend to the other two in case he takes a turn for the worse. Shinobu nods her assent and they go to one of the prepared rooms. Inosuke is next, carried on the back of another kakushi. This masked man is frantic, saying they couldn’t get him to lie still on the stretcher for long enough to transport him safely on it.
“Aoi,” Shinobu’s calm but firm voice breaks through the panic that Aoi hadn’t realized was gripping her throat. “Go to the room with him and get started, I’ll wait to confirm Tanjiro’s status first.”
Aoi nods and follows to the second intensive care room. Naho, Kiyo, and Sumi have been waiting outside the rooms they prepped to receive the patients. Aoi calls for Naho to join her and Kiyo, leaving Sumi to wait at the third empty room for Shinobu and Tanjiro. The young woman helps the kakushi lay the injured slayer in the bed that’s been pulled to the middle of the room for maximum accessibility and listens as he recounts what he knows. The Yoshiwara district was all but leveled when the kakushi arrived. A massive fight between what must have been all five of them, including Nezuko, and a demon of obviously high caliber. She jots down the teen’s vitals while she listens, her writing nearly illegible from the trembling of her hand. Naho and Kiyo grab rags from the mountain on the bedside table and start to dab at his torso, but the blood never seems to completely wipe away. His breathing is shallow and ragged, not at all the healing breaths the slayers are trained to take.
Then, Aoi sees it: a cut on his chest, nearly on top of his heart, seeping thick blood. A growing stain on the mattress implies there’s a matching wound in his back. Her heart beats heavily in her throat as she imagines him being stabbed completely through. She grabs the prepared needle and suture thread, roughly pushing past Kiyo to start stitching him up when she feels a small, firm hand on her wrist.
“Don’t rush,” Shinobu’s voice is in her ear. “Work quickly, but carefully.”
Aoi takes a shuddering breath and nods. She sets the needle down, completely having forgotten to sterilize the wound first in her rush.
“Tanjiro is out of immediate danger,” she hears Shinobu telling the young girls. “But go help Sumi. He has a cut through his jaw that needs cleaned and stitched up, under his tongue and chin. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, miss!” they chant together before rushing out of the room.
Shinobu takes a place on the other side of the bed while Aoi dabs the disinfectant at the oozing cut, wiping it away again with a damp cloth to try to get past the blood. The older woman has pulled some tall, standing hooks out of the corner and starts to hang up IV vials with antidote and painkillers mixed in, specifically chosen based on their history of treating the resilient young man.
Stabilizing Inosuke is a long process and both women are worn out by the time Naho returns to his room with Sumi. One of the kakushi from earlier is sitting in a chair at the head of the bed, an IV line connecting him to the young slayer as a blood donor. Even after these long hours, they’ve only just managed to deal with the upper half of his body. His deeper cuts are stitched and the broken bones set, but he can’t control his breathing, his body shaking all over, and Shinobu tells Aoi the poison is still circulating.
“What about…” Her blue eyes turn toward the IV.
The doctor shakes her head. “If it were working, there’d be color along these veins,” she trails a thin finger along his arm where the medicine is dripping in. There are thin white lines along the inside of his elbows instead of the usual pale blue. “I know he doesn’t take medicine as easily as the others, but this…” she can’t even finish her thought. It’s a brand new situation for them both.
“Sumi, Naho,” she begins, snapping the girls to attention. “Go check if any of the other kakushi or slayers currently here are a blood type match for Inosuke. He needs more than he can get from one person.” They nod and rush back out the door to look for a second donor.
Shinobu’s hands pull the deerskin waistband off the unconscious teen’s hips, checking for additional injuries under the bulk. Aoi joins her without a word, untying his black hakama pants and pulling them gently down his legs, bringing the bearskin leggings with them. The skin under them is covered with early bruising and there’s an obvious bulge in one thigh, though they can’t confirm if it’s a broken bone until they touch it.
Suddenly, her vision blurs and her face feels wet. Once again, Shinobu’s voice pulls her back. “…fine work,” she says. Aoi blinks her vision clear. “I’m proud of you,” the woman says, her voice even and bright like usual. “I can manage here, go check his head.”
Aoi nods, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. His mask is still in place. They haven’t touched it yet, fearing neck injury and needing to address the most urgent wounds along his torso first. She hurries to the head of the bed, walking around the IV stands and kakushi, and her hands fall on either side of the mask. It’s oily again, like the first time she touched it, and she can feel cracks as she gingerly pulls it along under his limp head.
She stops after a few inches, exposing his neck. There’s bruising but it’s not as bad as what the spider demon inflicted on him months ago. She feels his skin – it should be warm from the damage but it’s cool under her fingers – and checks for potential breaks in his spine. Satisfied that nothing is broken, she reaches into the mask with one hand and lifts his head an inch or so, slipping the mask off completely. Congealed blood drips onto the bed when she tilts it and his face is covered with the dark brown and red substance. His lightly closed eyes don’t even react as the bright light hits them but, when she peels open his eyelids, the pupils constrict. A good sign.
She reaches for another rag, their stockpile nearly depleted, and wipes the thick grime from around his mouth and nose. She breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes his face is unscathed but for a single shallow cut, the blood all from his internal injuries. “All clear,” she reports.
“Good. Come take over these sutures,” Shinobu requests. Aoi drops the rag into the pile and returns to his legs. The Hashira had to cut into the bulge to drain it and stitch up an internal wound and is now securing the skin back together. Aoi takes the needle from her and finishes the last few. Shinobu leaves without a word, presumably going to check on Tanjiro again for the first time since he arrived.
Just then, Naho returns with another slayer, one of the rare women in the corps. She had come to the Butterfly Mansion for a broken ankle and it was nearly healed. “I found a match, Miss Aoi,” the young girl reports.
“Thank you, Naho,” Aoi responds, exhaustion tingeing her voice. “Did Naho explain what we need?” she asks the woman.
“Yes, blood donation,” she replies.
Aoi nods. “Naho, go grab some rice crackers from the kitchen for me.” She turns as the young girl does what she’s asked and helps the kakushi remove the line from his arm. “Stay here for a moment and have something to eat. Thank you for helping.”
The kakushi waves a hand dismissively. “Just doing my job,” he says. “We have to support the slayers however we can.”
Aoi nods, agreeing.
Shinobu returns after Aoi finishes setting up the new blood transfer, the woman slayer sitting by the bedside now.
The Hashira waves Aoi out into the hall with her. Aoi hesitates, afraid to leave the trembling teen alone for more than a moment. But she can’t disobey. She walks around the bed and up to the door.
“I need you to stay with him,” her mentor says suddenly.
“Eh?”
“I was already thinking this might be the case, but the kakushi with Zenitsu confirmed it for me. Inosuke was stabbed by an upper rank demon. The poison is stronger than anything we’ve dealt with before and it’s a miracle it didn’t go straight into his heart. I can’t be sure if that’s the reason he hasn’t started using recovery breathing but, either way, he’s in danger until it’s alleviated. We don’t know how long it will take to run its course. I’ve already asked a couple of the kakushi to stay here and help with your normal duties while you watch him.”
“But-“
“I trust you, Aoi.” Shinobu turns and walks away without another word.
Aoi turns back around and returns to his bedside. Despite the infusion of warm, untainted blood he’s still trembling. Aoi touches his hand and it’s icy cold. Her eyebrows set together and she pushes through her fatigue. She returns to the door and calls for one of the girls. Sumi answers first. “I couldn’t find any more donors,” she says, her voice quavering.
“It’s alright for now. Please let the others know to ask everyone who comes in about their blood type until further notice. We may need more.” Sumi nods and Aoi continues. “Can you girls bring me a basin of hot water and a few more rags?”
With another nod, the young girl rushes away. The basin comes first, carried by two kakushi. The water steams and almost hurts to dip the few clean rags into. She lays them down across his skin, allowing them to soften the grime that’s left on his skin and warm him up. She replaces them as she washes him down and they cool.
Just as she soaks the final clean rag in the dirtied water, the girls slide the door open and bring her a few fresh ones that they say are all they can find, taking away as many of the dirty ones as they can carry. Aoi thanks them off-handedly as she pulls the IV from the lady slayer, having reached the limit of what the woman can safely give. The slayer walks gingerly to the door, grabbing the remaining rice crackers off the bedside table they’d pushed into the far corner of the room. “Good luck,” she says as she leaves.
The bed is wet and dirty under his battered body but Aoi is too tired to lift him and try to change the sheets. She sits in the chair by the bedside and looks over him once more. Only two parts of him remain unwashed – his hair, caked and matted with blood, and what little is covered by his fundoshi.
Aoi’s eyebrows draw together as she realizes she’s blushing again. Why? It’s not the first time she’d have to bathe one of the men from the corps, typically due to arm or back injuries that render them unable to do it themselves. But she can’t make her feet move down to the far end of the bed. Instead, she picks up a rag and soaks it, though the water is now just warm and tinged with brown, and places it gently on his head. His breathing is still harsh, but it’s coming in deeper gasps now, which she feels is a good sign.
She lets the warm rag soak into the clotted blood near his scalp and grabs a second one to wipe down his cheeks again. They squish under her touch and she’s reminded just how young he really is. Her face softens again as she looks at him and before she realizes what she’s doing, her hand is on his other cheek. She sighs and shakes her head, forcing herself to frown and furrow her eyebrows again, hoping it will help her stay professional. She can’t take the time to reflect on the feelings that itch at the back of her mind. Especially with his life still so close to the precipice of defeat.
She drops the cloth onto the pile and works on his hair now. There’s no shampoo and she doesn’t want to bother the young nurses, who are probably also tired from dealing with the other two, to get some for her. Instead, she dunks her hands into the basin of dirty water and runs her fingers through his hair, working out the dried muck and tangles. She tries not to look at his face past his eyebrows and keeps an ear on his breathing.
The water is too dark to see the bottom of the basin now but she’s able to pull her hands through his hair without them getting covered in flakes of dry blood. Only one thing left. Aoi squares her shoulders and closes her eyes, marching around the side of the bed. With one last deep breath, she grabs the strips of fabric that cling wetly to his hips and pull the garment down and off, tossing it in the direction of the pile of rags. Her eyes still closed, she walks back to the head of the bed before opening them, facing away from him for a moment longer. She picks up the last of the clean rags and debates if the water is too dirty to dip into. She sighs, unsure what to do but then remembers the wet rags lying across his arms and legs. She's barely used them and they would still be damp even if they’ve cooled off by now.
Finally, she returns to the side of the bed, grabbing a cloth off his arm as she walks, and does her job. His body is too wracked by injuries for even unconscious reactions, thankfully. She wipes gently at his skin and hair until the only remaining dark spots are caused by bruising, then gathers the rest of the now-cold rags from his body and wrings them out, like she was doing to the sheet just before getting the alert that they would be arriving. Was it really just this morning? She looks to the window, surprised at the darkness. Despite her fatigue and the aches throughout her body, it feels like almost no time has passed at all and like a lifetime ago all at once.
Last, she grabs the blanket from the floor at the foot of the bed and covers him with it. With perfect timing, the door slides open and Kiyo’s voice says quietly, “Can we come in?”
Aoi looks and sees all three of the girls peeking into the room. She nods and they come up behind her, looking at him with wide eyes.
“How’s Tanjiro?” Aoi asks.
“He’s asleep too,” Naho says.
“But he’s not as bad as Inosuke,” Sumi adds as Kiyo shakes her head.
“Can you girls do a couple more things for me?”
They nod and look up at Aoi.
“Bring me a few fresh blankets. And see if one of the kakushi can help you bring me a clean mattress. This one is filthy now.”
They nod again and rush to do as she asked. A kakushi comes by first, carrying a mattress from one of the other rooms. Together, they tuck the blanket under Inosuke’s trembling body and lift him onto the new mattress, remove the dirty one from the bedframe, and finally lift the clean mattress onto the bed with him on it. She thanks him as he returns to his post and the little nurses come in with a blanket in each of their arms. Aoi takes them but waits for the girls to leave before replacing the now damp blanket that already covers him. It’s easier to just keep him naked for now, so she can take care of whatever bodily functions he’s capable of over the coming days.
The IVs are running low now, but Aoi is afraid to leave the room to refill them. Thankfully, Kanao comes by with new fluids in her arms. She doesn’t say anything, but sets them on the table and leaves as quietly as she came in. As Aoi replaces them, the door slides open once more. She’s surprised to see the young trio again, carrying more blankets and a pillow. The same kakushi walks in behind them, another mattress in his hands.
“This is plenty,” Aoi tries to tell them, but the kakushi speaks over her.
“Miss Kocho said to bring you something to sleep on.”
“I know you don’t like us going in your room, Miss Aoi, but I brought your pillow,” Kiyo tells her.
Aoi’s shoulders slump with fatigue and gratefulness. “Thank you,” she says quietly. They lay out the bedding as she watches. She enlists the kakushi for one last change to the room – pushing the bed against the wall. Inosuke has been trembling the entire time and Aoi knows that there’s a possibility of more convulsions like the kakushi who brought him had mentioned. By moving the bed against the wall, she hopes to limit the risk of him falling out.
After they leave, she pushes the mattress they brought for her across the floor to sit just under the edge of his bed. She lies down and brings the blanket up over her head. Her body is too tired for the sobs that try to escape her and she cries silently into her pillow, guilt coursing through her. They’d volunteered for this mission to stop the Sound Hashira from taking her. They’d chosen to risk their lives over hers, not knowing what waited for them in the city. All three of them were returning from missions just then, none of them actually injured, just coming to visit as they always did, and instead of a rest they were all severely injured on her behalf.
“It should have been me,” she whispers into her pillow.
Just then, the bed starts to shake and a heavy weight falls on top of her. Just as she feared. Aoi stretches her arms out, trying to get the blanket out of her face. He’s not thrashing, but it’s more than just the trembling from before. She finally feels air around her hands and reaches up, trying to figure out where exactly he is. The blanket is heavy on her face, the fabric clinging to her wet skin. Suddenly, she feels skin under her fingers. She clings to him, trying to keep him from falling to the floor, hoping the IV lines don’t pull out.
Slowly, the shaking subsides. Carefully, she scoots across the mattress out from under his weight. She’s exhausted and his muscular frame is heavier than it looks, so she doesn't attempt to lift him back into the bed herself. She sits on the floor and looks at him. He’s tangled in both their blankets now, but his recovery breathing is finally kicking in. Every few breaths, he slips back into a ragged gasp, but it doesn’t last long. He shouldn't be on his stomach, she thinks.
Aoi uses the last of her strength to roll him onto his back, making sure he's in the center of the mattress they'd intended for her to sleep on and the IV lines are secure. Her pillow is wet under his head, a mix of her tears and the water from when she washed his hair. She stumbles to her feet and grabs the pillow off the bed. She puts it on the ground beside him and lays down, tentatively taking his rough hand in hers. She tells herself it's so she'll wake up if he starts to spasm again, but a little part of her just wants to hold it.
Aoi rubs at her red eyes, trying to stay awake until he’s able to breathe consistently but it’s the hardest she’s worked in months and soon it’s too much. She falls asleep to nightmares that she doesn’t remember in the morning but leave her nearly as tired as when she fell asleep.
In the small hours of the night, Shinobu slides the door open, looks in to check on Aoi, and sees her asleep on the floor, her hand on her patient's. The Hashira’s smile becomes a little softer, a little more genuine.
Once she wakes up, Aoi is overwhelmed by the continued activity of watching over the young slayer. Kanao stops by silently again, leaving more IV vials on the table once in the morning, once in the mid-afternoon, and finally once more in the evening, each delivery perfectly timed, taking the last batch of empty ones with her when she goes. A handful of kakushi come by after breakfast and take away the basin of dirty water and pile of dirty rags. Someone knocks when food is left outside the room for her but she never sees who. A couple more kakushi come by, saying they were summoned to be blood donors, and a rotation is established as they try to dilute the poison and replenish what he lost.
This becomes the routine for nearly two weeks. She pulls the mattress down off the bed and sets it up beside him, so she can hold his hand through the night as an alarm. She eats in the room, only leaving his side to clean the bedpan or use the bathroom herself. Sumi and Naho try to drag her out of the room to bathe after a week but Aoi refuses to leave, so instead they bring her a bucket of warm water, a few rags and a bar of soap. The girls stand guard to ensure no one goes in the room while she quickly washes herself then Kiyo brings her a towel and a change of clothes. Sometimes, someone comes in to see if she needs anything, but she only ever asks for clean cloths and water to wipe the sweat from his face or the weeping fluids from his injuries. At some point, a pile of books appears outside the door, but she can’t bring herself to read them, not wanting to get distracted and miss a change in his status.
Inosuke convulses several more times during that period, each growing weaker than the last. Aoi lays her body gently across his torso and holds his arms down when he does, to keep him from moving across the mattress, trying not to notice how his skin feels against hers. His breathing improves significantly by the fifth day, with no more ragged gasps by the twelfth. But still, Aoi is afraid to leave him alone for more than a few minutes. Almost overnight, he goes from freezing to burning hot before stabilizing a few days later. His skin still feels warm under her fingers, especially as the autumn nights continue to cool down, but the thermometer reads within a healthy range.
"You can go back to your own room now," she hears one morning as she finishes swapping out the blanket. Looking up, she sees the Insect Hashira at the door.
She hesitates, looking back down at him. "I..."
"You don't have to," the older woman says, interrupting her. "But you can. I knew you'd get him through."
Aoi decides to stay.
On the seventeenth day, she finally makes a request. “The next time someone goes to the market,” she asks quietly, “can they ask the furrier about sourcing some patches of boar pelt? His mask was damaged.”
Near the end of the first month, Kiyo knocks on the door and delivers the fur with a specialty sewing kit also purchased from the furrier. It’s not an exact match, but it’s only off by a shade or two. He’ll notice though, she thinks. The fur sits on the bedside table beside the mask for several days, until the need to do something with her hands is painful. The thread in the kit is thick and reminds her of the sutures they used on his torso and leg. The needle is much stronger than the ones she uses for sewing and pierces easily through the preserved pelt. She doesn't remember washing it and yet it's clean, the blood and oil gone. She works by the window, trying to get as much light as possible.
Finally, the IV line that’s still supplying the antidote to the poison looks different. It takes Aoi a few minutes of looking at his pale skin to realize the veins are light blue again, indicating that it’s finally doing something.
One night, after a month and a half by his side, Aoi awakes with a start, not sure why. Then she hears it. His voice. He’s still asleep, but he’s mumbling something. She falls on the floor in her haste to get closer, having moved his mattress slightly farther away after she started to sleep on the bed last week. “Hu-“ his voice trails off into a heavy breath. “Hungry,” he groans quietly and Aoi smiles for the first time since the crow warned of his impending arrival. She starts to laugh when she thinks of the soup they usually make for recovery meals, knowing he won't be satisfied with just that.
She leans her forehead onto his shoulder in relief, finally letting herself enjoy the feeling of his warmth against her. “We’re having tempura for a week when you wake up,” she promises.