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All their lives, it was always Tanjiro who stood in front. It was he who protected his siblings, the one who trudged down the mountain in the middle of a snowstorm to get medicine for Shigeru’s cough, the one who would lie awake into the long hours of the night rocking Rokuta to sleep.
He was the eldest. It was only natural for him to want to be there for them, to be the shoulder they cried on, to be the pillar that held them up. He had planned to be there when Nezuko would meet her first suitor, he had planned to teach Takeo their father’s Hinokami Kagura, he wanted to see Hanako and Shigeru and Rokuta grow up.
When they died, when they were taken from him, stolen from him, he swore he would honour their memory. He swore to his mother’s corpse that he would defend and protect Nezuko with his dying breath. He swore to Takeo, to Hanako, to Shigeru, to Rokuta, that he would find a way to turn Nezuko back into a human. He swore to himself that he’d never let anything harm Nezuko again.
He swore.
It was this promise that kept him going. Even with Urokodaki-san’s harsh training, even as his hands scarred and bled, even when the thin air on Mt. Sagiri seized him of his breath, Tanjiro kept going. Every day, he’d tell himself “It’s for Nezuko. I’m doing this for Nezuko.” and he’d have the strength to fight yet another day. He could keep going for just another day.
Tanjiro had already failed to protect his family once. He swore. He fucking swore to himself that he’d die before anything hurt Nezuko ever again. He fucking swore.
And yet.
For a second, Tanjiro forgot how to breathe. He couldn’t even if he tried.
Nezuko jumped out from her box and stood before him. She made herself into a shield to protect Tanjiro from the webs that would have torn him to nothing but fleshy ribbons. The sister whom he had sworn to protect, the sister he loved so dearly, risking her life just so Tanjiro wouldn’t be harmed.
The scream that tore out of Tanjiro’s throat was primal.
Nezuko’s blood was hot against his skin. He could see her kimono, her favourite kimono, tattered in places. One of her arms looked about ready to fall apart. She was groaning quietly in pain, her whole body shivering. She was so pale. She barely even moved when she slumped in Tanjiro’s arms.
His entire world, the reason he was even fighting to stay alive, the one person he swore to himself he’d never fail again, almost died because of him. Almost died for him.
Dear God, please let her live . Tanjiro carried Nezuko to the closest tree, taking cover as he assessed her bleeding body. He could see the bone of her arm. One of her legs was held together by a single strip of flesh and muscle. Please let her live. Please please please .
Tanjiro can’t lose anyone else.