cutting daisies

Dororo looks at Hyakkimaru’s back a lot lately.

It never bothered him before, not like it does now. Hyakkimaru went, and Dororo followed. That’s just the way it was. Dororo never thought to question it.

But then Dororo started getting scared. When he looked at Hyakkimaru’s back, he couldn’t see his face. And more and more, Dororo grew uncertain of what he would see when his companion turned around.

Then Itachi came, and all of Dororo’s worries, his fears, none of that mattered when it came to the thought of never seeing Hyakkimaru again. In a lot of ways, Hyakkimaru was like a child, stumbling his way through a world that didn’t want him. He’d been fine before they met, but Dororo didn’t know how Hyakkimaru was going to find him.

Did he think Dororo had run off? Abandoned him? His experience with those things wasn’t good, and Dororo shuddered at the idea of his big brother looking at him like he had his papa when he’d called him a demon.

And, well, maybe Dororo had run off, but he’d always planned on doubling back. Stupid Itachi had made that impossible, and Hyakkimaru had no way of knowing. The thought that Hyakkimaru might not come looking for him was worse than anything Dororo had experienced in the months since they’d met.

Would Hyakkimaru even miss him? Thoughts like that plagued Dororo when he was tied to a tree around a fire almost every night. It was hard to sleep, and Dororo waited, hoping Hyakkimaru would appear out of the dark and take him back; without killing anyone, hopefully.

It never happened. But then things went from bad to worse, and Hyakkimaru did come for him, hobbling on his wooden leg, just as Dororo had left him.

But he was… different. Dororo noticed almost immediately. It would’ve been hard not to, with Hyakkimaru stepping closer than he ever had before, taking Dororo’s face in his prosthetic hands, and pressing their foreheads together.

He was warm, Dororo noted, warmer than anything he’d felt in a long time. But nothing, nothing, was better than Hyakkimaru looking at him and saying, “I came for you,” like that had always been a given.

For a while after that, things were good. Better, even. Hyakkimaru smiled more. He asked questions and listened to Dororo’s answers with an intensity he usually reserved for battle. He stopped and listened to nature in a way he hadn’t before, getting distracted by small creeks, cawing crows, the crunch of leaves beneath their feet.

Watching Hyakkimaru like that was probably the best thing ever, Dororo thought. Every little thing that made him smile made Dororo smile, too, and he was all too happy to tell Hyakkimaru about the things he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel.

Maybe that was where everything went wrong. Maybe all the stories, all the sensations, made that gaping hole in Hyakkimaru’s chest worse, made his hunger for a body all the more unbearable. If Hyakkimaru’s capacity for gentleness grew, then so did his savagery. If anything, all his gentleness was now reserved solely for Dororo, and he grew evermore weary and hateful of those around them.

When Hyakkimaru makes that last attempt for Daigo’s land, Dororo again feels fear. Fear of what this will do to Hyakkimaru, to his family, to his mama who loves him and his little brother who had desperately wanted to know him. Dororo doesn’t blame Tahomaru for what he’s been doing, not exactly. He can only imagine what Daigo’s been telling him, and Hyakkimaru hasn’t exactly making any relationship between them easy.

Dororo could easily hate Hyakkimaru’s family, but what good would that do? Hyakkimaru seems to hate them enough for the whole world, and that hate makes Dororo worry.

If they go into Daigo’s land, Dororo isn’t sure they’ll come out who they were before.

He has to try, one last time, to make Hyakkimaru see reason. Dororo knows his brother wants a body more than anything. He wants to see with his own eyes, feel with his own hands, and Dororo can’t blame him for that. He understands that. Dororo thinks he’s the only person in the entire world who understands Hyakkimaru, and maybe that’s why he’s let this go on for so long.

But Dororo also isn’t going to let someone else get themselves killed over pride. Not again.

Despite his attempts, Hyakkimaru keeps walking forward, keeps his back to Dororo. Nothing he says reaches him, and Dororo stares up at Hyakkimaru’s squared shoulders, throat tight and stomach in knots.

“I’m scared,” he blurts out. With anyone else, that admission would’ve been impossible.

Dororo doesn’t expect it to change anything. Which is why his shock is palpable when Hyakkimaru stops walking. That familiar back seems to waver, and then Hyakkimaru is turning to face him.

His face is unreadable. “Scared?” he repeats faintly. “Why?”

“Why?” Dororo bites out. “There’s a war here. Everyone hates us here. There’s only two of us, and Daigo has an entire army.”

“I’ll protect you.”

“I know you will,” Dororo replies, watching as Hyakkimaru’s brow furrows. “But who’s gonna protect you? Tahomaru will be there, and his servants, and – and – “ Dororo’s voice cracks as he sits there, defeated in the dirt. He turns his face away from Hyakkimaru as his eyes begin to blur. “I can’t watch you die. I can’t watch you die, and I’m scared, Aniki.”

Hyakkimaru is quiet as Dororo sniffles, scrubbing an arm over his wet eyes feverishly. “Dororo,” he says, “is it wrong of me to want a body?”

Dororo shakes his head. “No. It’s yours, you have every right to want it. But… is this the right way to get it?”

“Right way,” Hyakkimaru says slowly, like he’s trying to figure out the words. “What is the right way?”

Dororo’s shoulders slump as he shrugs them, defeated. “I don’t know. I – I don’t.”

Hyakkimaru makes a small sound, one he’s never made before. It’s not his curious grunt, or his irritated one. It’s something altogether different that gives Dororo pause. He thinks he understands what it meant when he looks up to find Hyakkimaru standing over him, hair falling over his face that’s too sad to fathom.

He offers Dororo his hand, and Dororo takes it, eyes averted to the ground.

Hyakkimaru leads him away from Daigo’s land.

Hyakkimaru is sad for a while. He doesn’t say much, but Dororo can tell. He tries to make up for this change in his brother’s demeanor, because he knows it’s his fault. Somehow, his words were what turned Hyakkimaru away from his goal, and it’s his responsibility to make sure Hyakkimaru doesn’t regret it.

They walk and walk, as they did before their first encounter with Daigo Kagemitsu. They meet people, hear their stories and help with their problems. Hyakkimaru fells a demon or three, but he doesn’t gain any body parts (maybe Hyakkimaru was right, and his body was in Daigo’s land), nor does he fight with the same savage intensity as he did before.

Dororo can’t help but feel relieved, even if he hates himself for it. He still thinks turning away from Daigo’s land was the best decision, but he hadn’t expected for Hyakkimaru to apparently give up on his body completely. To say anything about it now would make Dororo a hypocrite, so he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, yet again.

There’s a lot to do around the country, more than Dororo had realized. Demon plagues aside, there are people who need honest work done, and they don’t care if two vagabonds are the ones to do it.

Hyakkimaru doesn’t do most of the hard labor, since his arms are prone to pop off if he tries. Dororo is delegated to what physical labor his growing body can handle, while Hyakkimaru does housework with the wives and daughters of the villages they pass through. They seem to love him, making Dororo more than a little weary – the incident with Okowa still fresh in his mind – but it becomes clear they mostly see Hyakkimaru as a son or little brother.

Dororo thinks he understands that. For all his rough edges, Hyakkimaru still experiences the world with wonder, like a child, and no sadness over his missing limbs can curb that. They aren’t fighting anymore, but Dororo still thinks they have purpose. He just wishes he knew what Hyakkimaru thought about it all.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They’ve traveled for over two months since leaving the outskirts of Daigo’s land, and the village they stop in just as the weather starts turning cold is one of Dororo’s favorites. The men haven’t been drafted to war, far enough from any major Lords to be overlooked, and their wives and children are euphoric with it all.

The villagers throw parties almost every night, dancing and drinking until the moon is high in the sky. Dororo takes the sake offered to him because Hyakkimaru doesn’t know any better and no one else cares how old he is, and he drinks it, even if he doesn’t really care for it.

It never once crosses his mind, how the sounds of activity might attract undesirable attention. And Dororo is warm and drowsy by the time the demons show up, sending a group of small children scattering as they descend with sharp teeth and drooling mouths, abruptly ending the party.

Dororo barely has time to process what’s happening before he’s being hauled up by hands under his armpits, his cup falling from his hands and into the fire below. “Dororo,” Hyakkimaru’s voice hisses in his ear, “go with them.”

Dororo has no agency to fight as he’s passed off to some other person, one of the elders who had welcomed them to her village with a gap-toothed smile and a voice like sugar and honey. It’s not what Dororo wants, because Hyakkimaru hasn’t fought a demon without Dororo in weeks, and Dororo doesn’t want his brother slipping into bad habits.

The chaos doesn’t subside for a while, as Dororo lies huddled with some of the villagers in the elder’s home. He hears yelling, the demons’ screeches, maybe the slick sounds of blades on flesh if he concentrates hard enough. Dororo starts to cry at some point, calling for Hyakkimaru, and the elder shushes him, rocks him in her weathered arms.

No one dies that night. After the fighting stops, Hyakkimaru comes with some of the men, all of them bloodied but smiling. “We sure took care of them,” someone crows as Hyakkimaru picks his way through the room, inching his way closer to Dororo. “You should’ve seen Hyakki, Hana, he was like a real samurai.”

“Aniki,” Dororo says weakly as Hyakkimaru crouches beside him, reaches out to touch Dororo’s forehead with his cold fingers. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Hyakkimaru shakes his head. “They were weak.”

The elder laughs. “They come every few years or so. Scares the young ones straight down to their bones.”

Dororo coughs, pumps a fist into the air. “Can’t wait for next time. I’ll get ‘em good, so good.”

The elder laughs again, and Hyakkimaru frowns. “No more of that stuff,” Hyakkimaru says, almost definitely meaning the sake, and Dororo laughs until he throws up.

…

Dororo thinks they’ll stay in that village for a while. Maybe forever. Everyone is so nice, and there’s no small amount of work that needs done. (Dororo now realizes that’s because the villagers spend most of their time nursing their aching heads after a night of drinking.)

He wakes up the morning after the demon attack in the small hut given to them when they arrived and finds Hyakkimaru already awake, sitting up on his futon and staring out into the quiet morning. Dororo groans as he rolls over onto his back, and Hyakkimaru twitches before turning his head to look at him.

“I don’t wanna move for the next year,” Dororo says, narrowing his eyes when Hyakkimaru cracks a tiny smile. Then he realizes what he’s seeing and bolts upright, definitely too quickly judging by how his head spins.

Hyakkimaru continues to look at him, unbothered. Dororo laughs at himself, rubbing his forehead. He can’t remember the last time he saw Hyakkimaru smile.

“Dororo,” says Hyakkimaru. “We should keep going.”

“Keep… going,” Dororo echoes. “Like, leave? Why? Don’t you like it here?”

“I like it,” Hyakkimaru replies. “I like it a lot.”

“So, why?”

“The people here fought the demons with me.” Hyakkimaru grips his left arm, fingers tight. “They were afraid, but they still fought. Most people run.”

Dororo stays quiet, unsure of where this is going. Hyakkimaru has gotten better at expressing his thoughts, but sometimes there’s still a disconnect, some chasm Dororo can’t cross to get to Hyakkimaru’s logic. “They didn’t need me,” Hyakkimaru continues. “But other people might, somewhere.”

Dororo’s mouth goes slack. “Aniki… ”

“I wasn’t fighting for anyone before,” Hyakkimaru says. “Just for myself. I don’t think I want to do that anymore.” He shakes his head. “I can still look for my body, if I fight the demons for others, but… this is the right way, I think.”

He shifts on the futon, rising up on his knees to maneuver himself so he’s facing Dororo, still staring slack-jawed. “I want to try.” Hyakkimaru is as serious as Dororo’s ever seen him, which says a lot. “Will you come with me?”

The answer is so obvious it takes Dororo a while to articulate.

The villagers are receptive to Dororo and Hyakkimaru’s departure, but they have some conditions.

“Here, a bottle of our finest sake,” one woman tells them, thrusting the jug into Dororo’s small hands. “Hyakki needs to let loose every once in a while. All that frowning can’t be good for him.”

“These coats belonged to me and my brother, they should fit you both. And if you wait a few days, we’ll have winter shoes prepared for you,” Natsume, the shoemaker, says. “You’ll need them in these mountains, let me tell ya.”

Dororo has never owned a pair of shoes, so it’s a new experience for the both of them as Natsume and his wife measure their feet. Hyakkimaru frowns during the entire experience and doesn’t move or make a sound, save for a jerk and a small, startled grunt when Natsume’s fingers brush his heel. “Ticklish, eh?” the man laughs.

Hyakkimaru blinks once before glancing at Dororo, who says, “It’s when someone touches you and you get squirmy. I tried to tickle you once, remember? You didn’t react then, so I guess you’re just ticklish on your feet?”

Hyakkimaru hums and wiggles his toes.

The elder, Hana, directs a few of the men and women to prepare food for them from their winter stores. Dororo tries to dissuade them, but they refuse to be told otherwise. “It’s the least we can do,” Hana says after waving Dororo off for the umpteenth time. “You boys are too young to be wandering around the country by yourself, but… well, these are the times we live in, I guess.”

“Won’t you need all this for winter? Aniki and I, we always manage somehow.”

Hana frowns, tying off a small burlap sack that Dororo watched her pack full of rice and herbs and other things he doesn’t have names for. He wonders how they’ll carry it all around, but like he said: they’ll manage. “I know you both can manage. Haven’t known you long, but I can tell that much. Just – ” She looks to Dororo then, offering him a thin smile. “Let us help you.”

It takes two days for the shoes to be made. “Would’ve been ready in one, but I made you two pairs, Dororo,” Natsume explains as the two boys try them on. “You’re still growing, and who knows when you’ll have an opportunity to get more. Should last you another year, two at most. Boys all grow so fast.”

The words make Dororo feel warm inside, and he swings his legs, admiring the shoes. Natsume had explained earlier that they were made of bearskin. Dororo had always envied bears for their thick pelts, and he was right to be jealous. He doesn’t think his feet have ever been this warm, and it makes the idea of winter seem more bearable.

“I love them,” he says, turning to Hyakkimaru. “What do you think, Aniki?”

Dororo lifts a hand to his mouth to smother his laughter at the expression on Hyakkimaru’s face. “They feel weird,” Hyakkimaru announces, looking as if he’d like to slice the shoes to tethers. He glares down at his feet despite not being able to see them. “I don’t like them.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Natsume laughs, knocking a gentle fist down on Hyakkimaru’s head. “Better this than frostbite, boy. You don’t wanna lose your feet, do you?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Dororo thinks, or maybe the right thing, judging by how Hyakkimaru’s expression smoothes over into something less irritated. “I’ll get used to it,” he says decidedly.

Another party is thrown the night before they leave, and Dororo makes a point of clutching his cup of water, refusing to let it go for anything. Some of the young women try to coerce Hyakkimaru into drinking, but he seems distracted by his shoes, which he’s refused to take off since the afternoon, as if he thinks frostbite lurks around every corner.

Few come to send them off the next morning, but Dororo had expected that. Hana comes, along with Natsume and his wife, and the woman who gave Dororo her jug of sake. A group of children come tumbling out of one of the houses with sticks and two yapping dogs in tow, and it takes a while to pull Hyakkimaru away from them, what with his adoration for all things furry.

“You watch out for your brother, you understand?” Hana says, smacking Hyakkimaru solidly between his shoulder blades and making him stumble. “You’re the oldest, so you better protect him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”

Dororo makes a show of rolling his eyes but tugs his hood down tighter over his head when Hana shoots him a look.

They depart soon after with the village at their backs, and Dororo returns their waves until they disappear from sight. “I’m gonna miss them,” he sighs, turning back around and gripping the straps of the bag he’s carrying. Hyakkimaru tilts his head in the way he does when he wants Dororo to know he’s listening. “They were nice people.”

“They were.”

“But what was Hana even talking about? If anything, I’m the one who makes sure you don’t do anything too stupid. She’s got our dynamic all wrong.”

“Not all wrong,” Hyakkimaru says. “I have to protect you.”

“For now,” Dororo insists. “When I’m older, we’ll see who’s the one protecting who.”

Hyakkimaru frowns like he wants to say something more, but he abruptly stops walking as his eyes get big. “What?” Dororo yelps, jumping to Hyakkimaru’s side and pressing against his back, glancing around wildly. “Do you sense something? Is it a demon?”

“Cold.”

“Cold? Of course it’s cold, it’s – ” Dororo glances up to find Hyakkimaru touching his cheek. He then watches as a small, white speck lands in his brother’s hair. “Oh, that’s snow.”

“Snow?”

Dororo nods, a smile on his face as he glances up at the gray sky. Nothing is falling in earnest yet, but Dororo imagines that by sundown, it will be coming down steadily. “It’s frozen water. It falls from the sky during winter. When there’s enough of it, it covers the entire ground like a huuuge, white blanket. It’s really pretty.”

Hyakkimaru is quiet, and Dororo worries that this is one of those things that will make him sad. “The world is really big,” says Hyakkimaru eventually. His voice is soft, and Dororo can’t gauge how he’s feeling. “I’m starting to see that.”

“And you’ll get to see it,” Dororo says. “One of these days. I know you will.”

Hyakkimaru nods, turning his head to look down at Dororo. He looks weird, engulfed in his borrowed coat that’s maybe two sizes too big, but Dororo probably doesn’t look any better. But he seems softer this way, younger, just like any other teenager as he smiles down at him in the way Dororo loves.

“I will,” Hyakkimaru agrees. “But until then, keep telling me stories.”

“I’ll keep telling them, even then,” Dororo promises, and they head off into the wilderness.

It feels good to be back on the move. One of the things Dororo and Hyakkimaru have in common is that sitting around just isn’t in their nature.

Dororo was traveling with his parents from his birth until they died, and even on his own, Dororo couldn’t afford to be still for very long; not unless he wanted those he stole from to catch up to him. With Hyakkimaru, Dororo knows he could sit and let his guard down and still be safe.

But Dororo feels better when he’s walking. He feels best when he’s walking with Hyakkimaru.

Hyakkimaru gets tired of the snow eventually. It’s too hard to walk in, he says, and Dororo – with his admittedly smaller legs – feels especially capable for all of two seconds before he trips face-first into a snowdrift.

“You’ll feel differently once you can see it,” Dororo says around a mouthful of snow. “That’s the real fun anyway.”

Hana told them the closest village is on the other side of the mountain. She directed them to a path that takes longer but doesn’t take them as high up the mountain, but after nearly three days of walking, Dororo kind of wishes they would have taken the more direct, more difficult path.

With nothing but trees and snow to look at, Dororo’s mind has been wandering. And for the past month or so, that’s exactly what he’s been trying to avoid.

He chews over it for a while. Hyakkimaru seems to be stable now, but some part of Dororo thinks that’s too good to be true. Dororo waits and waits until he just can’t anymore.

“Do you think they’ll come after us?”

Hyakkimaru keeps walking. “Who?”

“You know… Tahomaru and the others,” Dororo says slowly, carefully. “They seemed pretty determined.”

For a moment, Hyakkimaru says nothing. The sun is starting to set, and Dororo thinks they’ll have to stop and make camp soon. So far, they’ve managed to find caves or small outcrops in the mountainside to sleep in at night, but Dororo knows those were just lucky finds. He thinks they’d be fine sleeping out in the open what with the additional gear they’ve been given, especially since the harshest winter weather hasn’t yet set in.

“No,” says Hyakkimaru, making Dororo jump. “They won’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“That man said a war was coming. They’ll be distracted for now.” Hyakkimaru glances down at him. “That’s why we have to keep moving.”

“They’ll blame the war on you,” Dororo mumbles, reaching out to take Hyakkimaru’s hand. His brother doesn’t have much capability for small movements in his prosthetic arms, but sometimes Dororo imagines that Hyakkimaru is gripping back. “Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

“You know why,” Hyakkimaru says, and with anyone else, the words would have sounded bitter. And, yeah, Dororo does know. Daigo shoved his responsibilities as a lord off on Hyakkimaru, blaming him for the land’s loss of prosperity. Backing down would mean taking that responsibility back, and even if Dororo doesn’t know Daigo that well, he still understands that will never happen. “Until the fighting stops, they won’t chase us.”

“And after it does?” Dororo tightens his grip on Hyakkimaru’s hand. “What then?”

“They’ll come,” Hyakkimaru says with the same confidence with which he’d said they wouldn’t come. “But I’ll be ready. They can’t beat me.”

Dororo can’t help his answering giggle, even if his stomach is in knots over the situation. “I think you’re right. They sent so many soldiers after you, and you squashed them all.”

“Compared to demons, they’re easy. Tahomaru… ” Hyakkimaru trails off, glancing up to the darkening sky. Dororo’s often wondered why Hyakkimaru does that when he can’t see. For all Dororo understands the boy he’s come to love as a brother, Hyakkimaru is still a mystery sometimes. “Tahomaru didn’t want to fight me, did he?”

Dororo blinks in surprise. “No, I don’t think so. Not in the beginning, anyway.”

“Why?” Hyakkimaru asks, sounding frustrated. He stops walking, and this, at least, is consistent, the way he stops all function the moment he starts thinking hard about something. “He called me a demon, too. He’s just like Daigo.”

Dororo doesn’t know if he can explain this in a way Hyakkimaru will understand. Even he barely understands Daigo Tahomaru’s motivations, aside from that crap he was always spouting about protecting the people of his land, as if killing one boy would make all the suffering stop.

But unlike Hyakkimaru, Dororo saw Tahomaru at Fort Banmon’s ruins. He remembers the look on his face when Daigo explained what he’d done to Hyakkimaru. Whatever Tahomaru might feel for his older brother now, there was love and empathy there, once.

“I think… if Tahomaru was given another option, he would take it,” Dororo says at length. The snow is starting to fall again, just as it has been periodically throughout the day. Hyakkimaru still flinches when the flakes land on his face, but his attention is on Dororo. “He’d save you, because you’re his brother.”

“I’m not his brother,” Hyakkimaru retorts, stubborn as ever. “I’m yours.”

“You can have more than one brother, Aniki,” Dororo laughs. “I’m the best, obviously, but you and Tahomaru share a mama and papa. You’re connected, you know? And Tahomaru understands that. I think he loves you, but since he’s your brother, he’s too dumb to admit it.”

Hyakkimaru blinks, then narrows his eyes. “You just called me dumb, didn’t you?”

Dororo cackles, darting out of the way when Hyakkimaru lunges for him. “Well, maybe you guys aren’t dumb, you’re just stubborn. I’ve been trying to get you to talk it out, but nooo, no one listens to Dororo.”

Hyakkimaru stops trying to grab him – what he was going to do if he caught him, Dororo doesn’t know; Hyakkimaru doesn’t play very much yet – and when Dororo turns to face him, Hyakkimaru’s face seems sad again. “I listen,” he says sullenly, and Dororo feels awful, like he’s yelled at a puppy. “Maybe not then, but I am now.”

It hits Dororo then, that maybe this is part of the reason Hyakkimaru’s been prone to bouts of sadness lately. He’s been particularly forthcoming about his feelings, or what he understands of his feelings, when it’s just the two of them, and he seems hell-bent on reinforcing the things that tie them to each other.

Dororo knows he’s all Hyakkimaru has, just as Hyakkimaru is all Dororo has. Maybe they share the same fears in that regard, of doing wrong by the other and being left behind as a result.

“You still haven’t apologized,” Dororo sniffs. He clasps his hands behind his back and turns his head away as Hyakkimaru looks at him, somber. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you do.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Just say, ‘I’m sorry.’” Come to think of it, Dororo doesn’t think he’s ever heard an apology from Hyakkimaru’s mouth, not toward him or anyone. Not that Hyakkimaru has had anything to apologize for. Well, not much, anyway. “Mama always said those words are magical. They can fix anything you’ve done wrong.”

Dororo doesn’t think he believes that anymore, but the memory of his mother’s voice, telling him to apologize if he did wrong, makes him want to believe it.

“I’m sorry,” Hyakkimaru says. He pauses, and when Dororo spares a glance at him, he’s looking at the ground, kicking lightly at the snow. “I’m sorry, Dororo. I am.”

The warmth in Dororo’s chest could melt all the snow in the valley, easily. He takes a deep breath before darting forward and slamming into Hyakkimaru, wrapping his arms around his middle. Hyakkimaru stumbles only a little, hands landing on Dororo’s shoulders. “I forgive you, Aniki,” he says. “I’d forgiven you already, but don’t you feel better having said it?”

“Yeah,” Hyakkimaru says, sliding his hands around Dororo’s back in an answering embrace. “Yeah, I do.”

Dororo wakes up to the sound of shouting.

He bolts upright, gasping and disoriented in the dark. “Aniki?” he rasps, heart a thundering storm in his chest as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He struggles free from his bundle of furs – another gift from the villagers – and throws his arms out, looking for where Hyakkimaru had been curled up beside him when they fell asleep.

His hands plunge into the snow, but his right pinky brushes against something smooth and solid. He wraps a hand around it, but when he realizes what it is, his entire body starts to shake.

It’s one of Hyakkimaru’s arms. But… where is…

“Aniki!” Dororo cries, looking around wildly with the prosthetic arm clutched to his chest. “Where are you?”

“Dororo,” he hears a voice groan from across the clearing. The weight of Dororo’s relief knocks the breath out of him as he scrambles to his feet and heads toward the sound.

He finds Hyakkimaru hunched over in the snow, huddled with his back against a tree. Dororo can really only see the shape of him, so when he drops to his knees beside Hyakkimaru, he presses as close as he can, reaching out with a free hand to wrap his fingers in his brother’s clothes. “You’re not wearing your coat,” he says, breath leaving his body in a wispy cloud. “You’re gonna freeze, Aniki, what are you doing – ”

“Too hot,” Hyakkimaru pants. “Too much – It hurts – “

“Where? Where does it hurt?” Dororo demands, desperate to make this better, he’s never seen Hyakkimaru like this before –

He pauses. As his eyes slowly adjust, Dororo notices that Hyakkimaru… definitely has both of his arms. He’s clutching at the right one, as if trying to stifle whatever pain he’s experiencing.

Dororo glances down at the prosthetic limb in his hand.

“It never hurts this much,” Hyakkimaru says through gritted teeth, and Dororo thinks he sees red running down his brother’s arm, like the entire thing is covered in blood. “Not since… my back… ”

“Your back? What about your back?”

“Something grew there, when I killed a demon. You were – You were gone.”

Dororo swallows, hating the fact that Hyakkimaru suffered and he hadn’t been there. But there’s no time to dwell on that now. “Did a demon come through here?” Dororo asks. He can’t imagine how he would’ve slept through the entire event, but stranger things have happened. “Did you kill it?”

When Hyakkimaru shakes his head, his hair brushes against Dororo’s face. “It just… happened. It woke me up.”

Dororo nods slowly, thinking. “Okay… so, someone else must have defeated the demon with your right arm. I thought maybe you had to be the one to kill them for it to work, but… guess not?”

Hyakkimaru huffs, drawing his legs closer to his body and softly knocking his head back against the tree. The clearing brightens as the last of the clouds that brought the day’s snow pass the moon, and what Dororo sees makes his breath catch in his throat.

He’s never watched one of Hyakkimaru’s limbs grow back. He’s never really wanted to, honestly, but now that he’s here, Dororo can’t avert his eyes. What he’d thought was blood is just muscle tissue. He’s seen it before, back when he was with Papa and Mama and the others.

Sometimes one of the men would get hurt during a raid, and he’d come back limping or clutching a limb with blood pulsing out between his fingers. Mama always told Dororo not to watch, but he would anyway, watched as the men knocked back sake like water as Mama cleaned and dressed their wounds. Patches of skin would just be gone, leaving nothing behind but meaty flesh and grinding bone.

It made Dororo sick, but still, he would watch.

Hyakkimaru’s arm looks similar, just less grizzly. And as Dororo watches, flesh starts to creep down the length of it, starting at the shoulder and oozing down like water. Hyakkimaru sucks in a breath through his teeth as the sprouting flesh reaches his wrist, his knuckles, and finally the tips of his fingers.

Dororo can only stare. He can’t tell if he’s fascinated or horrified.

The tendons in Hyakkimaru’s hand bulge under pale skin as he flexes it, curls his fingers against his palm before loosening them again. He repeats this action multiple times, utterly silent, but then he abruptly stiffens. Dororo barely manages to avoid a hit to the face as Hyakkimaru whips his head toward him. “What?” he gasps. “What, Aniki, what is it?”

Hyakkimaru’s eyes, dark and artificial, are fixed on Dororo’s face. “Can I – ” He lifts his new arm toward Dororo, reaching for him, but he stops just short of making contact, his hand hovering in the air between them. He seems scared; scared and… something else Dororo can’t name.

But he thinks he gets it. Carefully, Dororo leans forward and into Hyakkimaru’s hand.

It’s warm, Dororo thinks, warm and smooth and new. Real. Hyakkimaru’s expression shudders as his palm fits against Dororo’s cheek. He looks like how Mama did right after Papa was killed. “You’re cold,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I’m cold.” Hyakkimaru’s eyes widen as Dororo’s face moves under his hand. “It’s winter, and we’re sleeping outside, Aniki.”

Hyakkimaru huffs out a small sound that might be a laugh, and Dororo is all at once overwhelmed by the situation. He wants to pull away but only so he can latch onto Hyakkimaru and hide his face in his worn kimono. But he wouldn’t dare, not when this is the first time Hyakkimaru’s felt another person like this.

So, Dororo kneels there in the snow and lets Hyakkimaru touch his face, his hair. “You feel small,” Hyakkimaru says eventually.

“How does someone feel small?” Dororo demands, but despite his indignation, he can’t help but smile. “That’s really all you have to say, Aniki?”

Hyakkimaru shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “I can’t… I don’t know how to… ”

Dororo reaches up and pats Hyakkimaru’s hand to placate him. “It’s okay, I’m just kidding.”

“But I want to tell you.”

“You can someday,” Dororo says, because Hyakkimaru’s speech improves everyday. Nowadays, they spend most of their time together talking back and forth, as opposed to Dororo talking and Hyakkimaru listening. Someday, Hyakkimaru will be able to explain what goes on inside his head, what it was like to be born at sixteen. “I’ll wait.”

It’s another few days before they reach the next village. Dororo suspects it would’ve taken longer, given Hyakkimaru’s new desire to touch everything new they come across, but since it’s winter, and most of their surroundings are either snow or dead trees, they were able to maintain a steady pace.

The sun has just begun to set when the first couple buildings come into view, and Dororo can almost taste his relief. He can’t wait to sleep with a roof over his head, and he’d feel better if they found actual gloves for Hyakkimaru so that he doesn’t have to use one of Dororo’s extra shoes.

But a sword smith is on the top of their list of things to find. Dororo couldn’t figure out how to extract the blade from Hyakkimaru’s prosthetic arm (whoever made it sure knew what they were doing), and Hyakkimaru insists on finding a second sword as soon as possible. It makes sense; that’s the fighting style he’s been using all his life, and amidst everything else, yet another change is something Hyakkimaru probably doesn’t need.

As they near the village, Dororo sees a young boy step out of one of the houses. He has shoulder-length brown hair pulled back from his face by white cloth. There’s a straw basket almost as big as he is on his back, and he’s winding a thick, purple scarf around his neck when Dororo and Hyakkimaru approach.

“Excuse me!” Dororo calls, and the boy startles, coughing into his gloved hands as Dororo and Hyakkimaru stop before him. “Sorry,” Dororo says sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” the boy says, waving him off as he clears his throat. Once he seems to have regained his bearings, he smiles at the both of them. “We just don’t see a lot of travelers this time of year. My name’s Reo. Can I help you with something?”

“I’m Dororo, and this is my brother, Hyakkimaru,” Dororo says. “We’re just passing through, but we were wondering if there was a tailor or anything around here?”

Reo nods, pointing down the road to the north. “We don’t have an actual tailor, but Mitsuba-sensei sews things for everyone sometimes. She lives in the house between the well and the paddy fields. I’m sure she’d be willing to help you guys out.”

“Awesome!” Dororo grins up at Hyakkimaru. “You can finally stop wearing my shoe, Aniki.”

“I was wondering about that.” Reo laughs, but it isn’t unkind. Hyakkimaru inclines his head toward the sound, just listening. “Did you lose your gloves on the way up here?”

“Something like that,” says Dororo. “Oh, yeah, do you guys happen to have a sword smith? We’re looking to get a new sword, too, something that can really take a beating, you know?”

All at once, Reo’s friendly smile seems to wane. He coughs again, reaching up to scratch at his cheek. “Um, I’d suggest talking to Mitsuba-sensei about that, too. I don’t know if she can help you right now, but… yeah.”

“Oh,” Dororo says, quirking an eyebrow as Reo shifts his weight. “Well, okay.”

“Sorry, I gotta go collect wood before my mom starts yelling at me,” Reo says, dipping his head slightly before stepping around Dororo, heading in the direction they’d just come from. “Maybe I’ll see you guys around?”

Dororo waves him goodbye before turning back to Hyakkimaru. “Was it just me, or was he being weird there at the end?”

Hyakkimaru nods, rolling his shoulders as he adjusts the bag on his back. “He was nervous.”

“Wonder why,” Dororo muses, leading Hyakkimaru down the road. “You think it’s demon related?”

“I don’t sense anything.”

“Probably for the best. I’m too tired for any surprises.”

The sound of a sheep or goat sounds in the distance as Dororo and Hyakkimaru approach the house Reo had described. The shutters over the windows are closed, and there’s no smoke coming from the chimney. If Dororo didn’t know any better, he’d think no one even lived there. Some part of him doesn’t expect a response when he raises a fist and knocks on the door, but it isn’t long before the wooden door swings open.

Dororo has to tip his head back to take in the woman standing before him. She’s bare-footed and dressed in a dark purple kimono with white birds sewn into the fabric at the bottom. Her skin seems lighter than the snow, exaggerated by her stark black hair, which is pulled up into a thick knot atop her head. Her eyes are dark and thin with suspicion as she stares down her nose at Dororo.

“Travelers, huh?” she says, and her voice carries despite the raspy quality of it, like she hasn’t used it in quite some time. “What do you want?”

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” Dororo replies with a grin. His years spent thieving made him adaptable, and he’s grateful for that now. Going from Reo to this lady would probably give anyone else pause. “My brother and I were passing through, but we need some new gloves, and we hear that you’re good with a needle.”

The woman, presumably Mitsuba, quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, did you now? And who did you talk to, exactly? Reo, I’m assuming.”

“How did you know?”

“That boy,” Mitsuba grumbles but otherwise ignores Dororo’s question. “You need pairs for the both of you?”

Dororo shakes his head. “No, just him,” he says, pointing to Hyakkimaru.

Mitsuba glances at each of Hyakkimaru’s hands, and Hyakkimaru shifts beside Dororo, as if he can feel her gaze on him. “Let me see,” she mutters to herself, leaning out of the doorway to scoop up Hyakkimaru’s right hand in her own. She pulls off the shoe he’s been using as a makeshift glove and tosses it in Dororo’s direction, which he scrambles to catch. “Yeah, I can probably have them done by tomorrow morning. You sure you don’t want just one? The pair will cost more.”

“No, the material his prosthetic is made of doesn’t do well in the cold,” Dororo says, praying to every minor god he knows that Hyakkimaru doesn’t make some comment letting on that he has no idea what Dororo’s talking about. “We try to cover it up with whatever we can, so a glove for the hand will be useful. We can pay for a pair, don’t worry.”

“You never know these days,” Mitsuba says, releasing Hyakkimaru’s hand. “It’ll be four silver pieces. That doable?”

Dororo tips his head to the side, feigning thoughtfulness. “That seems a little high.”

Mitsuba shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. “Gotta make a living somehow, kid. Times are tough.”

He believes her, somehow. Something about her just seems impossibly tired, and Dororo doesn’t have the heart to haggle. “Okay, that makes sense. Um, Reo also mentioned that you’d know something about a sword smith? We’re looking to get a new sword forged.”

Just like with Reo, at the mention of a sword smith, Mitsuba's demeanor changes. She straightens back up and puts a hand on the door, stepping back into the dark of her home. “We don’t have one of those here,” she replies. “You’ll have to go to another town. Come back in the morning, I’ll have your gloves.”

“Wait, just another question!” Dororo yelps, and Mitsuba pauses, though her hand never leaves the door. “Has anything weird been going on around here?”

The woman stares down at him, eyes wide. “Weird?”

“Yeah, like… bumps in the night or people going missing? My brother fights demons, you see – that’s why we need the sword – and we just wanna help out where we can, so I figured I’d ask.”

She’s quiet for a while, staring at Dororo like he suddenly turned into a dog or sprouted three more heads. “No,” Mitsuba says tightly. “Nothing like that happens around here.”

She slams the door in their faces before Dororo can get another word out. “Well,” Dororo sighs, “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Her hands were rough,” Hyakkimaru says, and he’s staring down at his palm when Dororo turns to him. “And cold.”

 …

They wander around town for a bit before finding an old man who’s willing to let them sleep in his barn for the night, free of charge. “So long as you don’t mind my horse,” he says, and Hyakkimaru’s already gone before Dororo can thank the guy. “She’s good with strangers, but try not to scare her.”

“What is it with you and horses, Aniki?” Dororo asks when he enters the barn. Hyakkimaru is standing in front of the horse’s stall, running the fingers of his right hand down her face. The horse tolerates it with little more than a snort and a swish of her tail.

“I like them,” says Hyakkimaru, entirely absorbed even as Dororo grunts with effort trying to close the heavy barn door behind him. “We should get one.”

Dororo laughs, shrugging off his bag before flopping down in a pile of hay that he thinks – hopes, prays – is clean. It feels good, regardless, like sinking into a mostly comfortable bed. The odd stalk pokes into Dororo’s skin, but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers. “Maybe someday. Hey, once you get your body back, maybe we can get a house and a farm and breed horses or something! Think of all the money we could bring in just from selling a couple, we’d totally be set.”

“We can’t sell them,” Hyakkimaru says, almost indignant, offended on behalf of their nonexistent horses.

“Okay, okay, we won’t sell them.” Dororo laughs again, linking his arms together behind his head and squirming around until it feels less like he’s being gently stabbed, settling in while Hyakkimaru amuses himself.

It isn’t long before his thoughts drift to Reo and Mitsuba and their reactions to his questions. By now, he’s used to people acting weirdly around them, but he can’t tell just from one afternoon if the strangeness is demon-related or not. Hyakkimaru doesn’t seem to be bothered, so Dororo thinks this might just be a people problem, which isn’t really their thing.

Still, Dororo thinks as his eyes drift shut. It’s strange.

…

Dororo wakes up sweating. For a moment, he’s disoriented, wondering if that’s what woke him up, but then the barn door groans. He tries to sit up, but Hyakkimaru is wrapped around him, dead asleep and entirely too heavy. “Aniki,” Dororo groans, shoving at the arm around his middle. “Get off, you’re squishing me.”

“Um…” Dororo squints as a bright light inches toward them. For a moment, he thinks it might be a spirit or demon of sorts, but it becomes clear that the light is just a paper lantern, and it’s being held by Reo, who pulls his purple scarf down to uncover his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you both up.”

“It’s okay,” Dororo says while Hyakkimaru rolls onto his back, splayed out like a star as he sighs and stares blankly up at the ceiling. “Did you need something?”

Reo shuffles closer, dropping into a crouch before Dororo and settling down in the dirt, setting the lantern down between them. “I heard earlier from Old Man Oda that you were staying here for the night, so I wanted to talk to you guys.”

The horse shifts around in her stall, probably just waking up from the light and noise. Dororo crosses his legs and settles back into the hay, laughing quietly to himself as Hyakkimaru finally pushes himself up, shaking hay from his hair. “Sure, we’re all ears.”

“Well… it’s about Mitsuba-sensei,” Reo begins, rubbing at his neck. “She came by earlier and chewed me out for sending you guys to her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to get you into trouble.” Dororo glances at Hyakkimaru. “We didn’t think it was that big a deal?”

“No, no, she wasn’t really mad about you guys needing gloves or a sword, just… ” Reo stares down into the lantern, not meeting Dororo’s eyes. “She mentioned that you’re demon-hunters?”

“Uh, he is,” Dororo says, pointing at Hyakkimaru.

“Did you come here to slay a demon?”

“We didn’t really come here for anything, we’re just passing through,” Dororo explains. “Why?”

Reo takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before speaking again. “Mitsuba-sensei used to be the sword smith here. I was her apprentice, up until this past summer.”

“Why did she quit?”

“Her daughter, Kyouka, died,” Reo explains, pain apparent in his voice. “She was only five. Mitsuba-sensei took it really hard, and she closed her forge and told me to find another trade.”

Hyakkimaru leans forward slightly, frowning as he stares at Reo. “What does her daughter dying have to do with her work?”

“She’s grieving her daughter, Aniki.”

Reo shakes his head. “It’s more than that. Kyouka-chan was always weak, even before… everything.”

“Everything?”

“Kyouka-chan started acting funny before she died. She was always sickly, but it started getting worse out of nowhere. She’d have these fits whenever Mitsuba-sensei and I were working, and she’d always say that a smoke monster was attacking her.”

A smoke monster? That sounds about how Dororo would imagine a child describing a demon. “And? Was it a monster?”

“Mitsuba-sensei and I never saw anything,” Reo explains. “She thought Kyouka-chan was just imagining it since she was sick, but then she died and… I don’t know. Mitsuba-sensei stopped making swords after that.”

Dororo crosses his arms over his chest, staring down at the lantern in contemplation. “Not everyone can see demons,” Hyakkimaru says. “Kyouka probably saw something you two didn’t, and it killed her.”

Reo screws his eyes shut, mouth drawn in a thin line. “I’ve been hoping it was just her sickness that took her. If… If it was a demon… and we didn’t listen to her… ”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” Dororo says quietly. “Sometimes things happen. If you couldn’t see what was attacking her, what were you supposed to think?”

“If I feel this guilty, imagine how Mitsuba-sensei must feel,” Reo says, wretched. “She loved her work, and she was amazing at it, but Kyouka-chan was everything to her. She’s like a ghost of herself now.”

“Do you want us to convince her to let us look around?” Dororo asks. “I mean, we probably will anyway, but… ”

Reo nods. “Mitsuba-sensei worked hard for her reputation. Her father was a samurai back in the day, but he was blinded in one eye during a battle and couldn’t fight after that. But he became a renowned sword smith. He even made blades for the previous Asakura lord and his sons.”

Dororo feels Hyakkimaru stiffen beside him, but his brother says nothing. They’ve traveled far, but not far enough to escape reminders of what Hyakkimaru had to leave behind.

“He was a bit of a – a bastard,” Reo continues, stumbling over the word like he isn’t used to using such language. “He didn’t want Mitsuba-sensei to take over after he got sick because she was a woman. He died a few years back, and Mitsuba-sensei was finally able to make the kind of swords she wanted to. I hate watching her hold herself back from what she fought so hard for because of her guilt.”

Dororo instantly hates this man he’s never met. He knows he had something special with his own papa and mama, however short-lived their time together was, but seeing how some other families work just makes Dororo all the more thankful that he had them at all.

“We have to go back in the morning,” Hyakkimaru says to Dororo. “We can look around then.”

Dororo nods, turning back to Reo. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure out what’s going on, if something is going on. It may not even be a demon, you know. And if it is, killing it may not be enough to make Mitsuba change her mind.”

“I think the not knowing is what upsets Mitsuba-sensei most,” Reo says. “If you can clear up what happened, then maybe she’ll feel better. Honestly, I don’t care if she doesn’t go back to making swords. I just – She’s done so much for me and my family, and I hate to see her like this. Please, help her if you can.”

After Reo leaves, taking the light with him, Dororo turns to where he thinks Hyakkimaru is in the dark. “Do you really think it’s a demon? You said you didn’t sense anything earlier.”

“Nothing strong, but… something was off about Mitsuba’s house. I didn’t see anything, but when she opened the door, I felt even colder.”

Dororo tries to remember if he’d felt an added chill when they were at Mitsuba’s house but comes up with nothing. He trusts Hyakkimaru’s judgment regardless. He’s the demon expert and all.

“Well, we’ll see what happens in the morning,” Dororo says, falling back into the hay. “And don’t fall asleep on me again, Aniki, it’s way too hot when we both have our coats on.”

“I don’t mean to,” mumbles Hyakkimaru, and they both settle in, letting the comfortable silence between them lull them to sleep.

They wait a couple hours after sunrise before making the walk back down to Mitsuba’s house. They pass a few villagers who offers them smiles and quick greetings, but Hyakkimaru has his demon hunting face on and can focus on little else, which is just fine with Dororo. He wants to figure this whole thing out and give Mitsuba and Reo peace of mind as quickly as possible.

The real problem is whether or not Mitsuba will even let them help.

She doesn’t answer the door as quickly as she did yesterday. And when she does answer, she appears infinitely more haggard, hair falling in a dark curtain around her face. Mitsuba looks like a ghost, and now that he knows the truth, Dororo can see that she’s a grieving mother. “Come in,” she says before vacating the doorway. It gives Dororo pause; he hadn’t expected her to let them into her home without some serious convincing.

Dororo steps into the house ahead of Hyakkimaru, and the hairs on his arm rise instantly. He’s not sure if it’s because of a supernatural presence or just because it’s freezing in Mitsuba’s house. He can’t believe she doesn’t have a fire going, or that she’s not wearing shoes or socks, just like yesterday.

The only light comes from the open door, though Hyakkimaru blocks some of it as he follows Dororo inside. Mitsuba is in the far corner of the room next to a wooden chair and a basket full of colored wools and yarns. There is a single lantern hanging from the ceiling above the chair, but as Hyakkimaru closes the front door behind him, it barely provides any light. Probably enough to sew by and not much else.

Dororo’s gaze is drawn to the forge at the wall to his right. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen an unlit forge at a sword smith’s before, although he’s only ever been in two, admittedly: Munetsuna’s just recently, and then one he’d stolen from a year or so before he met Hyakkimaru.

He feels almost unnerved as he stares into Mitsuba’s forge, although most of it is probably in his own head.

“Here you go,” Mitsuba says, approaching Dororo and Hyakkimaru with the gloves. “You have the silver?”

Dororo nods and hands over the four silver pieces to her. She gives the gloves to Hyakkimaru, who utters a quiet, “Thank you,” and tucks them into his kimono.

“I just made them black,” Mitsuba says to Hyakkimaru. “You seem to like black.”

“We appreciate your help,” Dororo says, eyes darting to the dark forge again. “Uh, I thought you said this village didn’t have a sword smith?”

Mitsuba blinks, then turns her head sluggishly toward the forge. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah, I guess I did tell you that.”

Dororo bites his lip. She seems so much more out of it, nothing at all like how she’d come off yesterday. But Dororo knows this is what grief does to people. He’s seen it before, too many times to name. “We spoke to Reo again,” he says, deciding to just go for it. “He told us about your daughter.”

Mitsuba is frowning when she turns back to him. “And? You want to offer your condolences or something?”

“We want to help,” Dororo explains while Hyakkimaru nods wordlessly. “Reo said your daughter talked about a smoke monster before she died. We want to see if there really is a monster and kill it for you.”

Her nostrils flare as she takes in a deep breath, glaring down at Dororo. “I told you,” she growls. “Stuff like that doesn’t happen around here. My daughter was sick, end of story. She was from her birth until she died.”

“Don’t you want us to just check?” Dororo demands. “Reo said Kyouka was sickly but that she’d never acted like that before last summer. Maybe you guys couldn’t see what she saw, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist.”

“You both need to leave,” Mitsuba says, some clarity returning to her eyes as she takes a step forward. “I don’t have to – to explain myself to you. Kyouka was my daughter, I – ”

She makes a grab for Dororo’s arm, and he doesn’t move a muscle, is prepared to let her throw them out; but she seems to change her mind halfway through the motion, letting her arm fall limply to her side.

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything; but gradually, tears begin to build in her eyes. “I thought the smoke was making her worse,” Mitsuba says at length. “I’d send her outside whenever Reo and I worked, but it didn’t help. I tried, but – she – ”

“She still died. You tried, but it wasn’t enough.”

Dororo gapes up at Hyakkimaru, who’s staring at Mitsuba with a hard look on his face. She seems just as shocked as Dororo feels, but that shock is quickly replaced by anger, white hot. “Excuse me?”

“Aniki… ” Dororo says nervously, shifting his weight. Mitsuba was a sword smith, so he can only imagine what’s hiding beneath her kimono. Dororo wholeheartedly believes she could snap the two of them in half without breaking a sweat, and here Hyakkimaru is, provoking her beyond what Dororo was willing to.

“Kyouka is dead, but she deserves to be listened to,” Hyakkimaru insists. “She tried to tell you, and you wouldn’t listen. You’re her mama, you’re supposed to protect her.”

“Aniki!”

Mitsuba inhales sharply and presses her lips together, hands tightening into fists at her sides. Dororo doesn’t know what to do, caught in the middle in every sense of the word. He knows Hyakkimaru isn’t doing this to be cruel. He knows. But Mitsuba is still grieving the loss of her daughter, and it’s obvious she already feels guilty enough without Hyakkimaru carelessly weighing in.

Dororo’s close to just punching Hyakkimaru in the stomach when Mitsuba says, “You’re right.”

“He is?” Dororo squeaks.

Mitsuba looks away, eyes wet as she glares at the unlit forge. “Kyouka tried to tell me something was wrong so many times, and I never believed her. If… If you guys are right, and there really is something going on here, then I as good as killed her myself.”

“The demon killed her,” Hyakkimaru corrects before Dororo can say anything. “So take revenge. Let us help you.”

She takes another deep breath before nodding, scrubbing at her tear-streaked face and shaking out her hair. “Okay,” she says to herself. “Okay… ”

Dororo watches from Hyakkimaru’s side as Mitsuba reaches up and tugs at the front of her kimono, loosening it so she can pull it down off her shoulders. Dororo’s first instinct is to cover his eyes, but he catches a glimpse of something that makes him hesitate.

Her arms are thick and strong, and they flex with every small movement she makes. It’s no doubt that her work is labor intensive, and everything about her seems to reflect that. But what really catches Dororo’s attention is that her chest is wrapped up with bandages. She must do that herself, just like Dororo and Hyakkimaru do to their arms and legs.

Even though he knows he shouldn’t, Dororo can’t stop staring.

“Are you hurt somewhere?” he asks, cautious.

“No,” she replies, though she’s barely paying attention to them anymore, walking to the pile of firewood in the corner to grab a single log. She tosses it into the coal furnace before reaching into a barrel and pulling out a fist full of kindling, which she spreads carefully over the furnace. “They just get in the way, so I wrap them.”

“… Oh.”

“Are you boys ready?” Mitsuba asks, dusting her hands off before reaching for two smooth stones beneath the worker’s bench. “Kyouka always started reacting when the smoke was heaviest, and that was either when I lit the forge or when I put a piece in.”

Hyakkimaru is quick to remove his arm, and Dororo moves to take it out of habit. But Hyakkimaru resists, shaking his head as he steps forward. “Get behind me,” he says, tossing his arm into the corner of the room. Dororo rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. “Run if something tries to get you. 

“Sure,” Dororo agrees despite having no intentions of doing so, but Hyakkimaru seems to know that, if his suffering sigh is any indicator.

Mitsuba glances at them before turning her focus back to the forge. Her hands shake as she lifts the stones and leans into the forge, striking them against one another, once, twice, three times before Dororo sees the tiniest of sparks. She steps back, dropping the stones to the floor and letting them land wherever they happen to fall. “Okay,” she says again, voice shaking just as her hands had.

It takes a while for the fire to really catch. It starts small and builds with each passing minute, illuminating the darkened house mostly likely for the first time in months.

Dororo takes in the room, cold and dark and closed off from the rest of the world. And in the center of it stands Mitsuba, the growing light from the forge illuminating the sunken angles of her face, the fear in her eyes as she waits for the something that might have killed her daughter.

At the first wisps of smoke, Dororo tenses against Hyakkimaru, who readies himself in response, blade held close to his chest while the other finds the top of Dororo’s head.

If Dororo didn’t know what to look for, he would’ve missed it. With all the windows shut tight, the air is stagnant, and all the smoke billows out from the forge, lifting toward the ceiling in a slow-moving, singular cloud. But another cloud inexplicably breaks out from the rest, wafting in the air closer to Mitsuba.

Dororo holds his breath and studies it, because it could be nothing. But the cloud doesn’t move. It hovers above Mitsuba’s head, seemingly waiting. Watching.

He lifts a finger. “It’s there, Aniki! Some smoke broke away from the rest, it’s above her head.”

Mitsuba jumps, ducking away as if she expects Hyakkimaru to come swinging. The smoke stays where it is, giving him a depressingly clear shot, but Hyakkimaru doesn’t move. “Aniki?” Dororo presses, tugging on Hyakkimaru’s kimono. “It’s right there, don’t you see it?”

“No,” Hyakkimaru says tightly. “I can see Mitsuba, but there’s nothing around her.”

“But – ”

“I don’t see anything either,” Mitsuba says, eyes darting around the room. “Just the smoke coming from the forge.”

A shiver races down Dororo’s spine, his mouth running dry with sudden fear. He wonders if this is how Kyouka felt, the only person able to see something so obviously unnatural. As Dororo watches, the smoke seems to solidify, darkening and thickening into a less transparent cloud.

And then it moves.

Dororo can’t help but scream as the smoke lunges toward him and Hyakkimaru. There’s nothing he can do as it descends, phasing through Hyakkimaru completely and slamming directly into Dororo’s chest.

He can hear Hyakkimaru shouting his name as he’s flung back against the wall, but it’s background noise, completely secondary to the ringing in his ears, the pounding of his heart. Dororo’s hands fly to his own chest, though they scrabble helplessly, touching nothing but his clothes.

It’s not like he can grasp his own heart, hold it in his hands and physically keep it still, but he desperately wishes he could. It pounds against his chest so hard it hurts, like it could easily crack his chest wide open, and Dororo can’t breathe, can’t even throw up –

Never, a voice whispers in his ear. Never.

“What’s wrong?” Hyakkimaru demands, on his knees beside Dororo, holding him upright even though all Dororo wants to do is curl up on the ground and wait for the pain to stop. “Dororo!”

“It’s like what happened to Kyouka.” Mitsuba is suddenly there, eyes wide and afraid as she kneels beside them. “If it’s happening to someone else, then… ”

Dororo screws his eyes shut and coughs and coughs and coughs until the pressure in his chest starts to loosen, and he can finally suck in a breath. “I – I’m okay,” he croaks despite being anything but. “It’s a demon, Aniki, I’m telling you… ”

“Where is it?” This is as panicked as Dororo has ever heard Hyakkimaru. He’s gone deathly pale as he looks wildly around the room, though he remains mindful of his left arm, making sure to keep it away from Dororo and Mitsuba. “Why can’t I see it?”

Dororo doesn’t know. He coughs and blinks through the tears in his eyes, looking around the room for the smoke cloud. He finds it near the forge again, hovering above the bench. It doesn’t move, just watches like it did before. As the only one who can see it, Dororo tries to think of a solution, even if he doesn’t know what he’s dealing with.

Why doesn’t it care about Aniki and Mitsuba? Why Kyouka? Why me? Think, think!

In the end, he just can’t. The pain in his chest is too much of a distraction. But he does know one thing, and that’s that the demon is focused on him; he just hopes that’s enough to give Hyakkimaru a chance to kill it.

“It came for me specifically,” Dororo says, pushing himself shakily to his feet. Hyakkimaru and Mitsuba rise with him, both varying levels of frantic. “It didn’t care about either of you.”

“You need to leave,” Hyakkimaru barks out. “I’ll figure it out, I’ll – ”

“Mitsuba, can you go stand by the forge?” Dororo asks, ignoring his brother. “Just to the right of it, please, make sure you’re between it and the door.”

Mitsuba seems bewildered but does as asked, pushing herself up and hurrying over to the forge. “What are you doing, Dororo?” Hyakkimaru demands.

“I’m gonna make a break for the door,” Dororo explains. “It’ll follow me, I know it will. It’s just above the forge, to the left of Mitsuba. It moves really fast, but its path was straight. It went right through you and hit me in the chest. You’ll have to be quick, but you should be able to get it right as it hits me.” 

Hyakkimaru’s eyes widen. “You want it to attack you again?”

“It was solid, just in the moment when it collided with me,” Dororo says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. It certainly felt like a physical object when it collided with him, but it had passed through Hyakkimaru like he wasn’t there. He doesn’t know if it will manifest itself enough for Hyakkimaru to cut. 

But it doesn’t matter how uncertain Dororo feels. With Hyakkimaru truly blind in this situation, Dororo needs to make a clear path for him. Hyakkimaru may be hindered, but he's smart; he'll be able to visualize the route the demon will take from Mitsuba’s position to Dororo’s. It’s just down to luck if Hyakkimaru’s sword will land, and he seems to know it. “What if I miss?” Hyakkimaru asks, sounding unsure. “Will you be okay?”

“We’ll try it however long it takes.”

Hyakkimaru says nothing, and the doubt and worry never leave his face. Dororo wishes he could reassure him, but more than anything, he wants this done with. He wants what killed Kyouka and made Mitsuba fearful of her passion to get what’s coming to it, and that, more than anything, gives Dororo the strength to stay on his feet.

“Wait for my signal, okay?” Dororo says. “Imagine it’s Tahomaru, it probably moves as fast as he does. Strike him when he gets to me." 

“Okay,” Hyakkimaru grits out, obviously hating everything about the situation and the fact that he’s powerless to change it.

Dororo glances from the door to the demon and back again. A strong part of him doesn’t want to move, and he hates that, utterly despises it. He’s never been afraid when fighting demons before, but they’ve never targeted him before, either. Believe in Aniki, he thinks, taking a couple deep breaths.

“I’m going,” he says, and then he bolts.

He sees the smoke move from the corner of his eye, but he keeps his focus on the door, on placing one foot in front of the other. The floorboards creak as Hyakkimaru makes a move behind him, but Dororo can’t watch, won’t watch, as both his brother and the demon lunge for him.

When the demon hits him, Dororo is braced for it. It doesn’t stop the pain in his chest, or the way his throat tightens up, but it keeps him from falling. In the next moment, Dororo hears the telltale swish of a blade being swung just by his left ear, and the pain just… dissipates.

It doesn’t change the fact that Dororo was hit. He slams into the door shoulder first, and he bites his lip to keep from crying out. He spares a glance over his shoulder and finds exactly what he’d hoped to see: Hyakkimaru, crouched post-swing, and a thick cloud of smoke, cleaved neatly in two.

Mitsuba doesn’t seem to be reacting, eyes darting back and forth between Dororo and Hyakkimaru, so she still can’t see the demon. And as Hyakkimaru rights himself, he hurries to Dororo’s side, grabbing him by the shoulder and asking, “Did I get it?”

Dororo is quiet. He’s the only one who sees as the smoke cloud billows and grows, stretches into the silhouette of something more familiar but no less unsettling.

A man is standing before Dororo. His form is dark and blurred, like he’s submerged in murky water, but Dororo can still tell that the entity is a man, old and weathered. He has a slash mark down the middle of his body, a parting gift from Hyakkimaru.

What stands out, though, more than anything, is the man’s clouded eye, a milky beacon amidst the gloom.

His mouth moves, and Dororo stiffens. “Never,” the entity whispers. “I’ll never let her ruin my legacy.”

Then he just fades away, like smoke in the wind.

Dororo releases a shaky breath and sags against the door. But Hyakkimaru is there, taking him by the shoulder and drawing him close, silently urging Dororo to let him bear both their weight.

“Well?” Mitsuba demands after an extended silence. She winces like she regrets her tone, but the look in her eyes is just as urgent as she watches them. “Did you – Is it gone?”

Dororo can’t look at her. “Yeah. It’s gone.”

…

Mitsuba trips over herself to offer to make Hyakkimaru a sword in exchange for their help, though Dororo thinks she’s just itching to get back to work.

He can’t exactly blame her. Dororo doesn’t really have a passion like she does, but he imagines some impossible scenario where he’s too scared to face Hyakkimaru, mentally separated from him by some tragedy or another, and thinks he understands well enough.

It takes two days for Mitsuba to finish the sword, even with Reo’s help. Two days is a long time with nothing to do, but it’s worth it to see Hyakkimaru’s tiny smile when he grips the hilt of a sword in his bare hand for the first time. They’ll probably have to get another in the future, but Dororo doesn’t particularly like the idea of carrying around something they don’t yet need.

“Thank you for everything,” Reo says when he and Mitsuba come to see them off. He bows to them while Mitsuba stands off to the side, arms crossed over her chest. When they’re together like this, Dororo can tell that Mitsuba’s kimono and Reo’s scarf were made from the same material. “Kyouka-chan couldn’t have rested easily if it weren’t for you.”

“Thank you, boys,” Mitsuba adds. She still looks tired and wane, but her smile isn’t forced as she looks at them. “If you ever need another sword, or you lose your gloves again, I’ll be here.”

Dororo returns her smile but says nothing. “Thank you,” Hyakkimaru replies, and they set off.

They’ve barely made it ten minutes out of the village before Hyakkimaru breaches the silence between them. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Dororo shrugs, though Hyakkimaru can’t see. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Don’t lie, Dororo.”

“Fine, I just – ” Dororo glances over his shoulder. Mitsuba and Reo have long since disappeared from view, but he still feels like he needs to hide, like Mitsuba will be able to see the truth in his face. “The demon you killed… it was Mitsuba’s papa, I think. He had a blinded eye, like Reo said.”

Hyakkimaru hums but stays quiet, waiting for Dororo to continue.

“I just don’t get it,” Dororo says quietly, averting his gaze to the ground. He kicks lightly at the snow as he walks, padded down and not as deep now that people have been walking through it for the past few days. “Why would he haunt his family? Why’d he kill his own granddaughter?”

They’re pointless questions. Dororo knows exactly why. He remembers what Reo told them about Mitsuba and her relationship with her father, and he heard what the demon had to say before he faded into nothing.

Mitsuba’s father couldn’t do anything about her taking over his business, but he made sure she’d be the last to do so.

Five people came into contact with the demon, but Kyouka and Dororo were the only ones to see it for what it was. And although Dororo is in the dark as to why, he does have a sneaking suspicion, one that makes his stomach feel like it’s full of rocks.

“Papas are cruel sometimes,” Hyakkimaru replies. “They don’t make sense.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dororo says with a sigh. “I was right not to tell her, wasn’t I? It would’ve broken Mitsuba’s heart to hear that her papa killed Kyouka.”

“I don’t know if it was right,” Hyakkimaru says honestly, and Dororo looks up as a white bird flies overhead, chirping happily as it disappears into the snow-capped trees. “But it was something you decided.”

Dororo hates the next town they stop in. It’s small, smaller than the other villages they’ve visited in recent memory, and the townspeople obviously don’t like outsiders. No one is outwardly hostile, but no one goes out of their way to speak to or even look at them, either.

But it’s not the lack of hospitality that gets under Dororo’s skin. No, it’s another issue altogether.

“So, what brings you here? I can’t imagine this place being interesting enough to attract someone like you.”

Someone like him, Dororo thinks, throwing a rock at the unfrozen lake with as much force as he can muster. It skips twice before sinking; his personal worst. Someone like him? What does that even mean?

“We’re traveling,” Hyakkimaru says, and when Dororo risks a glance over his shoulder, Hyakkimaru doesn’t really seem to be paying much attention to the situation. He’s staring out over the lake, nonplussed as usual.

The local girl doesn’t seem to take the hint. She latched onto them just as they were getting ready to leave the town and hasn’t let them escape since. She introduced herself to Hyakkimaru as Umiko, barely sparing Dororo a glance, and he’d known exactly what her game was from the start. Hyakkimaru seems none the wiser, just tolerates her chatter with an occasional hum or vague response.

Dororo turns back to the lake and throws another rock. At least Okowa respected his relationship with Hyakkimaru and backed off when it became clear Hyakkimaru wasn’t interested.

“Oh, yeah?” Umiko says. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes… ”

“You should stay here for a bit!” Dororo hears the sharp slap of skin on skin, like Umiko clapped her hands together. “My parents wouldn’t mind if you stayed with us, we have the room.”

“Are there demons here?”

“Demons?” Dororo snickers at the bewilderment in her voice, but she seems to recover quickly. “No, we don’t have any problems with… demons.”

“Then we don’t need to stay.”

Dororo inwardly cheers, but Umiko is going down fighting. “Oh, don’t be like that. At least come hang out with me and my friends for a bit. There are barely any people our age here, so a new face in our group is exactly what we need. It’ll be fun, I promise!”

Just say no. Just say no, and we can walk away, Dororo thinks, but unfortunately, Hyakkimaru’s response is an unsure, “Okay.”

Part of Dororo wants to scream, but he shoves it down through sheer force of will. He tells himself that for all his quirks, Hyakkimaru is just a normal guy. The only people he’s met his own age have either died or tried to kill him.

Even if he can’t say so, Hyakkimaru’s probably curious about other people, about what it’s like to have friends, to forge healthy bonds with people. Dororo does what he can, but he knows he doesn’t fall into that category in Hyakkimaru’s life.

And Dororo can’t be mad about that, even if he is irritated with Umiko.

His ruffled feathers are soothed somewhat when Hyakkimaru calls for him. “Let’s go, Dororo.”

“Coming,” Dororo says, throwing the last of his rocks into the lake.

“Oh… you can leave her here, can’t you? If you’re traveling, you guys are together all the time, surely your sister can be without you for an hour or two.”

It feels like being attacked by the shadow demon all over again. Dororo freezes, and his tears are immediate and warm as they slide down his face. He can’t make sense of his reaction, doesn’t understand why it hurts so badly.

“Sister,” Hyakkimaru echoes, and Dororo wants to throw up, he never ever wanted to hear that word come from his brother’s mouth in regards to him. Dororo stares down at the water, meets his own eyes and registers the fear in them.

Dororo bolts. He turns, and he runs, and he doesn’t look back, not for Hyakkimaru’s voice, calling after him, not when he slips and falls in the snow; he just gets up and keeps on running and doesn’t stop for anything.

The small clouds his breath creates as he runs fly back in his face, and Dororo tells himself that’s why he’s crying. It’s cold, the bitter air hurts his lungs, and he’s running through the pain of it, that’s why he’s crying. He leaves that awful town behind and doesn’t look back, tearing through the snow and into the densely packed trees like there’s a demon at his back.

He doesn’t know if Hyakkimaru follows. And frankly, he doesn’t really care. It never once crosses his mind until later, when he’s run as far as his legs can carry him, and he’s leaning against a tree, palms braced against the wood and head hanging between his shoulders as his legs shake and he catches his breath.

Dororo stares down at his own feet, gulping down breath after breath no matter how much his throat and lungs burn. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, tears leaking out and streaming down his cheeks. “Dammit,” he chokes out. “Dammit, dammit.”

“Dororo!” He hears Hyakkimaru calling for him. But his voice is distant, so distant Dororo has to strain to hear, and for the first time since they met, he doesn’t feel compelled to answer. “Dororo, where are you?”

Aniki’s blind, Dororo reminds himself, as if he even needs reminding. He’s blind and he can’t find you unless you answer him.

But if Hyakkimaru finds him, he’ll want to talk. He’ll want to ask questions, and Dororo doesn’t want that.

So, he stays quiet and lets Hyakkimaru’s voice echo through the trees.

…

Dororo doesn’t know how much time passes as he sits there, huddled in the snow. He hasn’t moved from his tree at all, and most of his body has gone numb. Hyakkimaru’s calls stopped a while ago, and Dororo feels like a baby, hiding in the woods and letting his brother worry about him.

But the fear in Dororo’s heart when Umiko called him Hyakkimaru’s sister was more intense than anything he’s ever felt before. What about him had she seen? No one else has ever made a comment like that, so why did she?

He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t hear the footsteps in the snow. None of it registers until he hears a soft, strained, “Dororo.”

Hyakkimaru is standing there with Umiko when Dororo lifts his head. They’re holding hands, but Hyakkimaru lets go as he stumbles forward, dropping to his knees before Dororo and drawing him into his arms.

Dororo blinks owlishly, the lower half of his face buried in Hyakkimaru’s left shoulder. He can still see Umiko like this, and he doesn’t know what to make of her red, swollen eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says with a bow, and then she turns and hurries back toward town.

Neither of them speak for a while. Hyakkimaru is shaking, his grip around Dororo iron-tight. His warmth settles something inside Dororo, though he’s still too scared and overwhelmed to hug Hyakkimaru back.

Dororo reaches up to tap Hyakkimaru’s shoulder. “Hey – ”

“Apologize,” Hyakkimaru interrupts. His grip only tightens. “We’ll feel better if you do.”

Dororo sniffs, eyes beginning to well up again. “Aniki – ”

“Say them!” Hyakkimaru insists, voice hoarse, and it’s horrible, trying to imagine what face he must be making. “Say the magic words.”

“I’m sorry,” Dororo wails. He throws his arms around Hyakkimaru and buries his face in his shoulder as he cries. And once he starts, he can’t stop, crying harder than he thinks he ever has, harder even than when his mother died. He sits there and sobs while Hyakkimaru pets his hair, body shuddering like he wants to cry, too, but can’t.

It takes a while for him to calm down, and even then, he feels worse than before. His head and body ache, and his entire face is wet with snow and snot and tears. It could be worse, as he pulls away and sees that most of it has been wiped into Hyakkimaru’s coat.

Hyakkimaru startles at his movement, but he still won’t let Dororo go, not even enough for Dororo to pull back and see his face. “Aniki, it’s okay,” he rasps. “You can let go now.”

He’s kind of surprised when Hyakkimaru actually listens, pulling away but keeping his hands on Dororo’s shoulders. “Don’t… do that,” he says at length. “Don’t run away like that. Please.”

“I won’t,” Dororo promises, wiping his face clean with the sleeves of his coat. “That was – I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to… ” He trails off. Didn’t mean to… what? Run away? Refuse to answer Hyakkimaru when he called? Those were all conscious decisions Dororo made, and he feels wretched when he sees the lingering devastation on Hyakkimaru’s face.

Hyakkimaru closes his eyes and says nothing. Dororo just looks at him and wonders how they got here, when it became impossible for them to separate. Hyakkimaru wasn’t always like this, but then again, he was different when he came to take Dororo back from Itachi.

Whatever happened to Hyakkimaru while they were apart, it couldn’t have been good, if this is what happens when Dororo leaves now.

“Why?” Hyakkimaru asks, sounding impossibly small. He doesn’t need to elaborate. Dororo knew this was coming, but he’s no less prepared.

He doesn’t know how to explain what happened. He barely understands it, even if “it” has always been there, ever since he was very little. Hyakkimaru has such a limited grasp of the world outside of his experiences with Dororo, and Dororo knows something like this has never come up before.

Will Hyakkimaru get it, if he tries to tell him? Dororo doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t.

“I – ” Hyakkimaru sits back at the sound of his voice, hands slipping off Dororo’s shoulders. He sits at attention, just like he always does when Dororo starts in on one of his stories. “I didn’t like it… when Umiko called me your sister.”

Hyakkimaru nods. “Because you aren’t. You’re my brother.”

“Okay, but,” Dororo huffs out a breath, wishes he had someone to help him with this. Mama always understood, although Dororo doesn’t think he felt this strongly about this particular topic back when she was alive. It’s something that grew with him, something he’s always carried. Dororo just hadn’t realized how big it had grown until this moment. “Do you know what that means, Aniki? To be a brother?”

Hyakkimaru is silent, but his brow furrows as he thinks. “… It means you’re related to someone.”

“Yeah, but you and me, we’re not related. What makes us brothers?"

“It means you’re family,” Hyakkimaru amends. “You don’t have to be related to be family. You told me that.”

“So, you do listen when I talk,” Dororo teases, trying to lighten the mood, but Hyakkimaru just looks worried again, like he’s about to insist that he always listens. Dororo continues before he can. “A brother is the same thing as a sister, really, but brothers are boys, and sisters are girls.”

Hyakkimaru says nothing, just takes it all in. He’s processing, Dororo realizes, since he usually has something to add to what Dororo says nowadays.

“Tahomaru is your brother because he’s a boy. You’re his brother because you’re a boy. I’m… ” Dororo might throw up this time, he really might. Why is this so hard? Why does it suck so much? “I’m not a boy in the same way you guys are. I’m different.”

“Different?”

“I don’t have the things that make you two boys. I’m more like… like Mio,” Dororo says, hating how Hyakkimaru’s eyes widen in dawning comprehension. “Does that make sense?”

“So, you’re a… girl,” Hyakkimaru says, and he’s just trying to understand – Dororo knows that – but it still makes tears build in his eyes again. Dororo swallows down his despair and hopes Hyakkimaru doesn’t notice. “And girls are like Mio.”

“And our mamas. Mamas are girls, too. Papas are boys.”

“Okay,” Hyakkimaru says, but he’s still frowning. Normally he’s proud when he figures something out or tries something new. “But you said you didn’t like being called my sister.”

“I don’t,” Dororo says fiercely. “I hate it. I may not be like you or Papa, but I’m a boy.”

Hyakkimaru does something unexpected, then. He takes Dororo face between his hands and leans forward to rub their foreheads together. That’s nothing new, it’s basically his calling card now; but the way he sighs in relief and smiles when he does it, that’s definitely new. “You’re just Dororo,” he says, proud, like he’s figured it all out. “And you’re a boy. You’re my brother, and I love you.”

Dororo’s eyes widen. He can’t move, can’t even speak for a moment. He’s never heard Hyakkimaru say that he loves anything before, not Mio, not horses, and certainly not him. “You… Do you even know what love is?”

He hates himself for his impulsive question, as if Hyakkimaru is something inherently other that has limited capacity for love. Dororo knows Hyakkimaru loves, he’s seen it dozens of times now. He just hadn’t realized it was something Hyakkimaru had a word for.

“Umiko said it,” Hyakkimaru explains. “I lost you in the trees, so I asked her to help me. She followed your footprints.” Dororo owes Umiko an apology, though he didn’t really do anything to her. “She said I was shaking a lot, and that I must really love you. I didn’t know what that meant, so I asked her.”

“And? What did she say?”

“When you love someone, you always want to be with them,” Hyakkimaru says, obviously repeating what Umiko told him. “You don’t want anything bad to happen to them, you want them to be happy, and you’d do anything for them. The people you love are the most important people in your life.”

Dororo can’t help it. He laughs, and returns Hyakkimaru’s nuzzles while he laughs, and he laughs and laughs until his sides hurt. “It’s that simple, huh?” he says. “She isn’t wrong. I don’t think I could’ve explained it any better.”

“I know I still don’t understand everything,” Hyakkimaru mumbles, inadvertently soothing the lingering ache in Dororo’s chest. “But I’m trying. I’ll get there, so that I don’t hurt you anymore.”

“You don’t hurt me. You couldn’t,” Dororo says, and it’s the truth. Things were precarious between them for a while after they met, and then Hyakkimaru started acting unstable, but things are good now. Not perfect, but good, and improving all the time. “And I love you, too, just so you know. You’re my most important person, Aniki.”

Hyakkimaru’s answering grin says everything and so much more.

When spring comes, Hyakkimaru sheds his shoes and coat like an animal losing its winter pelt. He grew to like the shoes over the winter – or maybe he just got used to them – but Dororo knows Hyakkimaru enjoys being barefoot. Now that the legs he stands on are his own, Hyakkimaru would rather have nothing between him and the earth.

Almost immediately, they make some adjustments with their baggage. They pack all their winter gear into Dororo’s pack while Hyakkimaru carries their food, money, and the bottle of sake that they still haven’t touched. The distribution is easier on Dororo, who just isn’t as strong as Hyakkimaru no matter how much he gripes about it. The ache in his back Dororo developed over the winter starts to dissipate, though, so Dororo can’t really complain too much.

The next town they come across is the largest so far, reminding Dororo of one of the first places they visited together, when the possessed sword tried to make Dororo attack Hyakkimaru. There’s a market district, restaurants, and even a few brothels that Dororo has to drag Hyakkimaru away from.

Not because Hyakkimaru even knows what those places are or wants to go there. The proprietors take one look at him, notice his fake arm and vacant stare, and see an easy target. And Hyakkimaru’s intelligent, but he’s still kind of gullible when it comes to society; and no one’s taking advantage of his brother on Dororo’s watch, nuh uh, so he steers Hyakkimaru in a different direction.

One thing Dororo notices is that there’s a clear distinction between the rich and the poor here. The town is cut in half by a small river, connected by a well-maintained bridge, and the difference is stark when crossing from one area to the next.

There are a lot of beggars in the poor district. People sitting listlessly in the dirt, children with growling stomachs stumbling around in clothes either too big or too small. The rich district is where all the markets are, and the people walk around smiling and laughing with clothes that fit.

Dororo would rather avoid the rich district altogether, but their coin purse feels light these days, and he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth and say, “Thanks but no thanks.” So, when he’s hustling Hyakkimaru away from brothels, he’s steering him in the direction of the nicer part of town. They need to pass through there to leave the city anyway.

But if Dororo was hoping for an easy score, he ends up disappointed. The crowds milling about seem to be hyperaware of them, as if they each carry signs that read, “We don’t belong.”

Dororo sighs, pushing his bangs out of his face. Maybe he’s just losing his touch. He hasn’t stolen anything in a long time, and it used to be so easy before. No one ever suspected him of wrongdoing until word of a child thief began to spread; then Dororo would just move on and hit the next unsuspecting jerk.

Maybe it has something to do with Hyakkimaru. Dororo suspects that he probably looks more threatening when his companion is blind, has a prosthetic arm, carries a sword, and whose default expression is a careful balance between angry and bored. But Dororo doesn’t really know how to fix that, so he’s got to get creative.

As usual, Dororo’s plans go awry.

When he and Hyakkimaru leave the crowded shopping districts and peel off onto a vacant side street, Dororo hears a voice calling out to them. “Excuse me! Are you a samurai?”

Dororo turns and finds an older man hurrying up to them. He’s grown wary of such things and steps closer to Hyakkimaru, just in case. “No, I’m not,” Hyakkimaru replies. He’s gotten this question before and has had Dororo explain samurais to him. Now, the mere word makes him frown, as if he’s thinking of his estranged family and the soldiers in their employ. “Sorry.”

“But you carry a sword,” the man pants. “You’re good with it?”

“He’s better than good,” Dororo pipes in, because this man seems to want something from Hyakkimaru, and maybe this is the opportunity he’s been waiting for. “He’s actually a demon hunter, you know. There’s pretty much nothing in this world Aniki can’t cut.”

Hyakkimaru huffs out a quiet laugh as the man’s eyes light up. “Oh, thank the gods. Would you be willing to help me? I can pay.”

Sometimes they just make it too easy.

…

The man’s name is Eichi, and he breeds dogs for a living. What for, Dororo doesn’t really know. All Eichi says is that his dogs “are the best, they’re in high demand, even the runts sell for high prices,” so Dororo tunes him out after a while.

He takes them a ways out of the city and to a sizable patch of land with a house, a barn, and a shed that could easily serve as a second home. “We breed our dogs in the barn,” Eichi explains as they walk up. “Once they’re old enough, we move them to this secondary building, here, and from there they go on to their new homes.”

“Do you ever keep any of them?”

“No, not usually. I had to replace my breeding pair a few years back, so we held back a female and bought another sire. Most of the puppies get snatched up before we can get attached to them.”

Eichi laughs, and Dororo tries his best to withhold a sigh. Hyakkimaru does a quick survey of the area before turning to Eichi. “Why are we here?” he asks.

“Well, we had an issue with our summer litter,” Eichi explains, wringing his hands together, suddenly nervous. “All of them died just a month or so after they were born. But they were all perfectly healthy.”

“And?” Dororo presses, because there has to be more to the story.

“We buried them out back – my wife insisted – but – ” Eichi shudders. “A few days later, the puppies dug themselves out. Their fur had turned white, and their eyes were blood red. They tried to attack my wife and son, but they barricaded themselves in the house, and eventually, the dogs ran off into the woods. That was almost six months ago, and we haven’t seen them since.”

“Inugami,” Hyakkimaru says in realization, and Eichi nods fearfully.

“What’s that?” asks Dororo.

“A dog demon,” Eichi explains. “I don’t know why, but all seven of the puppies from that failed litter died and came back as inugami. And they were angry.”

“How do you know about inugami, Aniki?”

“I’ve heard someone talk about them before,” Hyakkimaru says, though Dororo can’t imagine where or when, since they’re together all the time.

“Why do you need us, if they all ran off?” Dororo asks, turning his attention back to Eichi. “You don’t really expect us to hunt them all down, do you?”

Eichi shakes his head. “No, the ones who ran off are long gone, I have no doubt about that.” He seems unbothered by this fact, as if creating seven new demons and letting them loose into the world is something that doesn’t concern him. “But one of them stayed behind. We’ve had it locked up in the shed there for six months, now. We haven’t been able to find a way to… dispose of it.”

Dororo glances at the shed. There hasn’t been so much as a peep from that area since they got here. Is there really a demon inside? “Shun!” Eichi cups his hands around his mouth and shouts toward the house, making Dororo jump. “Shun, come out here and bring the shed key with you!”

Hyakkimary starts toward the shed, and Dororo is quick to follow him. “Do you sense anything?” he asks. “Is he telling the truth?”

“There’s something there,” Hyakkimaru replies. “But… it seems different.”

“Different how?” Dororo asks, but he never gets an answer.

A boy comes out of the main house, twirling a thin, iron loop with a key attached around his finger. Hyakkimaru goes still as he watches the boy approach, and Dororo quirks an eyebrow, confused. “This is my son, Shun,” Eichi says, patting the boy on the shoulder as he joins the three of them. “He’s the one who caught the inugami and locked it in the shed.”

“It wasn’t hard,” Shun says, smiling at both Dororo and Hyakkimaru, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m glad Dad found someone who can finally kill it, though.”

“We’ll see,” Hyakkimaru replies.

Shun moves forward and places the key in the lock. All at once, Dororo hears a low rumbling sound from within the shed, but Eichi’s son seems unbothered as he twists the key and the lock clicks. The door creaks as it inches open, and the low growling rises into a full-blown snarl. Dororo nervously glances up at Hyakkimaru, but his brother strides into the shed without pause.

Dororo almost doesn’t want to follow, but his legs carry him forward regardless of the nervous patter of his heart.

He enters the shed just as something white lunges toward Hyakkimaru; but it doesn’t even come close to reaching him, held back by a short, thick chain that tethers it to a wooden post in the far corner of the room.

At first glance, it looks like any other dog. It’s small and white with a tail that curls up into its back, and one of its ears is folded over while the other stands straight. What sets it apart from a normal dog is its fangs, which are bigger and sharper than any Dororo has ever seen, white and glinting in the gloom as it continues to snarl at them.

“Nasty little thing,” Eichi says from behind Dororo. “It was supposed to go to a woman in town as a birthday present for her daughter, but that’ll have to wait until the next litter. “

At the sound of his voice, the inugami tries to rush forward again, straining against its chain and snapping its jaws, red eyes wide and furious. It kicks up the hay on the floor as it thrashes, and Dororo shifts closer to Hyakkimaru, but the inugami doesn’t even register his movement. It’s staring at a spot beyond him. It doesn’t seem to really care about him or Hyakkimaru at all.

“You,” Hyakkimaru turns and points toward Eichi and Shun. “Go outside and shut the door.”

Eichi seems surprised. “Are you sure – ”

“Now.”

Eichi trips over himself to follow Hyakkimaru’s command, taking his son by the arm and pulling him from the shed, slamming the door shut behind him. “What’s gotten into you, Aniki?” Dororo asks, but then he realizes that the room has gone quiet.

The inugami isn’t snarling anymore. As soon as Eichi and Shun are gone, it becomes a completely different animal, quiet and composed as it settles down in the hay, watching the two of them with intelligent eyes. “Wow,” Dororo whispers. “That was fast.”

“It’s reacting to them,” Hyakkimaru says. “Its soul is calm now. It doesn’t care about us.”

Dororo cocks his head. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Hyakkimaru does that thing where his brow furrows and his eyes narrow as he tries to think of a way to communicate his thoughts to Dororo. “Its soul was bright red and angry when the two of them were here. Now it’s not.”

The fact that Hyakkimaru can explain himself even that much is amazing to Dororo. The only colors he has words for are red, green, and white, given to him by the traveling blind man with the biwa, who sees the world just as Hyakkimaru does.

Dororo remembers a time when Hyakkimaru would’ve descended on a demon regardless of the state of its soul, no questions asked. Not all of the demons they’ve encountered have wanted to do harm, but almost all of them met their ends at Hyakkimaru’s blades.

Hyakkimaru doesn’t seem to be on edge at all, hasn’t even put a hand on the hilt of his sword as a safety precaution.

Maybe it’s a dumb idea, but Dororo starts to inch closer to the inugami, keeping his steps small and slow so that he can react if the demon gets defensive.

It doesn’t move at all, doesn’t even blink as it watches Dororo.

Hyakkimaru isn’t telling him step back, so Dororo keeps going until he’s standing before the inugami, who only looks up at him curiously. He slowly stoops down and reaches out, but the inugami lets him pet it with only a slow blink of its eyes. “There, there,” he says softly. Its fur is so soft, softer than any blanket Dororo’s ever felt. The image of this gorgeous and quiet creature, stuck on a chain thicker than its legs, makes Dororo impossibly sad. “You’ve had it rough, huh?”

The inugami looks at him with wide eyes, and this close up, Dororo can tell that it’s a female. He also realizes that the demon’s eyes aren’t red anymore. They’ve dulled to a pale pink, the color of his mama’s favorite flower. Dororo swallows past the lump in his throat and continues to pet her. “Do you have to kill her?” Dororo asks. “She doesn’t seem to want to attack anyone aside from Eichi and his family.”

“If I don’t, we won’t get paid,” Hyakkimaru says, as if he knows that was why Dororo was so eager to take this job. Was he really that transparent? “It’s up to you.”

Dororo contemplates their options as he stares down at the inugami, and she returns his gaze for a few long moments.

Ever so slowly, her tail begins to wag.

Dororo grins over his shoulder at Hyakkimaru. “You know, Eichi doesn’t seem like the brightest person around.”

Hyakkimaru tilts his head to the side, curious.

…

“Did you kill it?” Eichi demands when they finally exit the shed.

“Yes,” Hyakkimaru says, and Dororo adds, “Its body disintegrated after Aniki killed it. You won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Eichi breathes a long sigh of relief, glancing down at his son. “Thank the gods. I was scared to try and produce another litter while it was still around. I didn’t want it to curse any new puppies.”

Dororo shrugs and holds out a hand. “Can we have our money now?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Eichi says, turning toward the house. “Stay with them, Shun, I’ll only be a moment.”

He hurries off, leaving his son alone with Dororo and Hyakkimaru. His father has barely been gone ten seconds before Shun asks, “Did it fight you?”

“Um, kinda,” Dororo replies. “But it couldn’t really reach Aniki because of the chain, so it didn’t get a chance to do much.”

“Oh,” Shun says. His expression is unreadable. “I see.”

Eichi comes back before Dororo can start thinking too hard about Shun and why he’s so off-putting. Eichi plops a small bag tied off with a blue ribbon into Dororo’s hand, offering him a big smile. “There’s fifty silver pieces in there,” he says. “Your brother earned it.”

Dororo tries to keep his expression neutral when internally he’s absolutely losing his mind. He never got this much when he was scamming people on his own, not by a long shot. “Thank you,” Hyakkimaru says before grabbing Dororo’s arm and leading him away from the property.

“They totally bought it,” Dororo says once they’re back at the main road. “Oh my god, we actually pulled it off.” Hyakkimaru nods, hefting his bag higher up on his shoulders. “Is it too heavy? Should we take it out?”

“No, wait until we’re in the forest,” Hyakkimaru says. The inugami was surprisingly docile when they put her in Hyakkimaru’s bag after breaking her free from her chains. Even now, she’s totally quiet. Even Dororo wonders if she’s really in there. “It might try to go back and attack them.”

Dororo frowns. “So, it is dangerous?”

Hyakkimaru shakes its head. “Not to us or anyone else. But to Eichi and his son… ”

“Was it just me or did Shun seem… off?” Dororo asks as they walk. “I thought maybe he was the possessed one at first, but I guess not.”

“He wasn’t a demon, but… ”

“But?”

“He was red.” Hyakkimaru taps a finger against his own chest. “Right here.”

…

The inugami jumps out of Hyakkimaru’s bag as soon as he loosens the tie, jumping to the ground and immediately kicking into a full on sprint, running in wide circles around Dororo and Hyakkimaru so quickly that she’s just a white blur.

“Well, she’s definitely happy,” Dororo laughs. “I guess I would be, too, if I spent six months locked in a shed.”

Hyakkimaru hums, head turning this way and that as he tries to keep up with the inugami’s movements. “We should keep her.”

“Yeah, total – ” Dororo cuts himself off. “Wait, what?”

“She isn’t hostile,” Hyakkimaru explains. “And she doesn’t seem to want to hurt humans aside from that man and his family.” He turns to look at Dororo, a soft sort of smile on his face. “Your soul looked happy when you pet her.”

Dororo feels his face heat up. “How does a soul look happy?”

Hyakkimaru shrugs. “I can just tell.”

“Okay, well… I wouldn’t be opposed,” Dororo drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. “What if she doesn’t want to stay with us, though?”

“I think she would’ve run off by now,” Hyakkimaru says, and the inugami suddenly turns and runs back to them, like she knows they’re talking about her. Her tongue is lolling out of her mouth as she pants for breath, staring up at them with shining, pink eyes. “And her soul looks happy, too.”

Dororo nods, slowly dipping into a crouch before the inugami. She watches his movements intently, jumping down into a crouch as if she expects him to start chasing her. “You wanna stay with us?” he asks. He has no idea if she can comprehend human speech. She seems like any normal dog aside from the eyes, but she is a demon. Her abilities probably far surpass a normal dog’s. “I promise we won’t lock you up or treat you badly.”

The inugami doesn’t move for a long time, but when she does, it’s to dive straight for Dororo. He falls back on his butt with a startled grunt, but it isn’t long before he’s laughing with a lap full of squirming dog demon. “Okay, okay, I get it, that’s a yes,” Dororo giggles as the inugami licks all over his face. Demon or not, she’s definitely still a puppy. “Ew, stop, don’t lick my mouth!”

She calms down after a while, though she seems perfectly content to sit in Dororo’s lap and let him pet her. Her eyes go half lidded and her tail wags as Dororo runs a hand down her back.

“We should name her,” Dororo says. “Any ideas?”

Hakkimaru hauls his bag back onto his shoulders. “Horse.”

Dororo smacks a hand to his forehead. “Aniki, we’re not naming our demon dog ‘Horse’, that’s stupid.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Hyakkimaru replies, almost petulantly.

“Horse, I can’t believe you – ” Dororo stops. He glances up at Hyakkimaru, eyes wide. “Wait, was that supposed to be a joke? Did you just make a joke?”

Hyakkimaru huffs and turns his face away, glaring out into the surrounding forest. He says nothing, but Dororo’s answering grin could split his face. He gently pushes the inugami away and gets to his feet, rushing to Hyakkimaru’s side and throwing his arms around his waist. “Aww, Aniki, you made a joke,” Dororo coos, and the inugami barks before going back to running circles around them. “I’ve never been more proud.”

“Stop,” Hyakkimaru grumbles, but he pats Dororo on the head, so he’s not too mad.

“I think we should call her Ghost,” Dororo says excitedly. “Because she’s white and came back from the dead.”

“If that’s what you want,” Hyakkimaru replies, and the two of them watch Ghost run around until she tires herself out.

“I wonder why she didn’t run with the others,” Dororo muses, smiling to himself as Ghost trots back to them and dumps herself on the ground at Hyakkimaru’s feet, panting. “Maybe she knew we were coming.”

It’s a nice thought, even if Dororo doesn’t believe it. Six months ago, Hyakkimaru was rampaging across the country with a singular goal in mind, and Dororo was just along for the ride. Even if she had seen them coming, surely Ghost’s instincts would have made her steer clear of them.

Still. It’s kind of weird to think about how much has changed since then.

“Maybe she did,” Hyakkimaru says. “Inugami can see the future. But only a little.”

“Wait, really?”

“No.”

“Aniki!”

It takes a little less than two full years of distance from the situation for Dororo to come to the conclusion that he hates Hyakkimaru’s family.

Another winter has come and gone, and it hits Dororo one day, when he’s sitting in a patch of flowers, eating a piece of cheese and watching Hyakkimaru walk through a field of tall grass with Ghost. The grass twitches and sways as Ghost darts this way and that around Hyakkimaru, and sometimes she jumps high enough so that her head is visible. Despite the distance between them, Dororo can see the smile on Hyakkimaru’s face as he watches her.

The scene is a common one. Hyakkimaru and Ghost have been exploring the world together ever since they took her in. They were similarly isolated for most of their lives, and freedom isn’t something they take for granted. 

For some reason, on that particular day, it just makes Dororo angry. There’s so much Hyakkimaru would’ve missed out on if he hadn’t been plucked from the river as an infant. He came so close to death, and Dororo thinks it’s a miracle that he’s still here.

He wouldn’t be, though, if Daigo had his way. And Dororo despises him, that man with the forehead scar that he hasn’t even seen in over a year. He hates Tahomaru, who somehow managed to push through the horror of what was done to his older brother.

He even hates Hyakkimaru’s mama, for not even trying to save him.

Dororo once thought that hating the Daigos wouldn’t accomplish anything. Hate had turned his brother into someone Dororo didn’t recognize, and that was enough to make Dororo afraid of that feeling.

Now, though… now, Dororo sees Hyakkimaru smile, and hears him whisper to Ghost at night when he thinks Dororo’s asleep. He sees the person Hyakkimaru is becoming – the person he would’ve been if his family loved him a sliver as much as Dororo does – and Dororo can’t remember why he ever thought the Daigos deserved anything less than his scorn.

He isn’t ashamed.

“Dororo.” Hyakkimaru comes back to him with the wind at his back, dark hair blowing and obscuring the sun from Dororo’s view. Ghost trots up alongside him, shaking out her fur before lying down next to Dororo. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing really,” Dororo replies, holding up one of the white flowers that he’d been worrying between his hands. “Here.”

Hyakkimaru takes it with his right hand, holding it up to his face and sniffing. “What is it?”

“It’s a daisy.” Dororo holds another flower out to Ghost. She leans forward to sniff it curiously and lets out a soft sneeze. “They’re probably the first ones to bloom for the spring.”

“They smell nice.”

“You say that about every flower.”

“Can’t they all smell nice?”

Dororo laughs, and Hyakkimaru sits beside him, still holding the daisy to his face. “We’ll probably reach Kyoto soon,” Dororo says. They’ve been sidetracked lately by demons popping up all over the countryside. They doubled back toward Daigo’s territory for a few brief months after getting Ghost, but they never saw or heard from any of the Lord’s men. Everything was… quiet. Dororo never trusted that quiet for a second and nagged and nagged until Hyakkimaru finally agreed to head back east. “I’m kinda excited. I’ve never been to such a big city before.”

Hyakkimaru rubs the flower’s stem between his fingers. “A bigger city means more demons, though.”

“Hmm, I’ve heard Kyoto has a lot of temples and shrines. Maybe they ward demons away?”

“I hope so,” Hyakkimaru says with a sigh. He does that a lot now. Dororo thinks there’s something on his mind, but Hyakkimaru hasn’t been forthcoming about his thoughts lately. Dororo isn’t worried, exactly, but he does think about it often. “It’s getting cold. We should find somewhere to make camp for the night.”

Dororo nods but doesn’t move. “Hey, Aniki… ”

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t given up, have you?” Dororo asks. At Hyakkimaru’s silence, he presses, “On your body?”

Hyakkimaru frowns, glancing over in Dororo’s general direction. “Why do you ask?”

“You got your right arm back almost two years ago, and none of the demons you’ve killed since then had your left arm or your eyes,” Dororo says. “But you don’t really… I don’t know, you don’t seem that bothered.” He glances down at the flower in his hands. “I was just wondering.”

“It’s always bothered me,” Hyakkimaru says quietly. Ghost lifts her head off her paws at the sound of his voice, and Dororo watches morosely as she crawls on her belly toward Hyakkimaru to rest her head on his leg. Hyakkimaru lifts a hand and scratches her behind her ear absently. “I still think the rest of my body is where Daigo is, but… ”

He glances up at the sky, and Dororo shivers as a cold wind bears down on them. “We could always go back,” Dororo says, but the words are hard to get out. He thinks of Hyakkimaru, screaming in frustration and covered in blood; of Tahomaru, clutching his blinded eye and cursing his older brother’s existence; of their mama, plunging a blade into her own stomach; and of Daigo, watching it all with a gaze colder than ice.

Dororo still has nightmares of that time, of that place. That land and the blood soaked into every inch of the ground terrifies him more than any demon he’s ever seen, and Dororo would do anything – anything – to protect himself and Hyakkimaru from it.

“No,” Hyakkimaru says immediately. “We’re not going back. Even if I don’t go, the demons will come for me. I know they will, because I got away.”

What gives Hyakkimaru that confidence, Dororo doesn’t know. Hyakkimaru hadn’t even personally killed the demon that had his right arm, and none of the ones they’ve faced seem to be any that Daigo made his deal with eighteen years ago. Each day that passes is just another day where Hyakkimaru is denied what he’s due.

Forget Daigo and his cursed land. The uncertainty over what will happen once Hyakkimaru decides he’s tried of waiting is what scares Dororo most.

“You’re getting too big to carry like this.”

“What was that, Aniki?” Dororo scowls as he leans forward to tug at Hyakkimaru’s ear. “By all means, put me down if I’m too heavy.” Dororo shifts like he’s preparing to slide down Hyakkimaru’s back, but the arms underneath him only tighten, preventing him from really going anywhere. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Hyakkimaru grumbles under his breath, but Dororo only laughs. He does feel kind of bad that Hyakkimaru has to carry him up the mountain like this, but a couple hours ago, Hyakkimaru had insisted and wouldn’t take no for an answer. And it’s not like Dororo isn’t having fun observing the world from his brother’s back. He’s never been this tall in his life, so he’s going to enjoy it while he can, even at the cost of a sprained ankle.

“This is partially your fault, you know,” Dororo calls at Ghost, who’s trotting along a ways ahead of them as usual. As she’s grown in size, her confidence has grown alongside her. Everyday it seems like she strays more and more from their sides, but Dororo isn’t too worried. She always comes back to them. “I can’t keep up with your demon playing.”

“No one told you to play chase with her this high up the mountain,” Hyakkimaru says, and okay, noted.

It definitely wasn’t Dororo’s brightest moment, but it’s hard to ignore Ghost when she begs. He hadn’t considered the incline of the land and the rugged terrain to be too much of a problem at the time, at least not until he put his right foot down in the wrong spot and immediately went down.

Hyakkimaru came running with both swords drawn, panic etched into every feature, but that had turned into exasperation when he realized what had happened. That’s probably why he’s being so grouchy, now.

“You think we can find a room in an inn for the night?” Dororo asks, changing the subject. If the travelers they passed were to be believed, they should reach Kyoto before nightfall. Dororo can’t wait to take a bath in something that isn’t a creek or river and sleep in a real bed; even a futon would be enough, just something other than the ground. “We have enough money after that thing with the snake demon.”

Hyakkimaru nods, humming thoughtfully. “We’ll have to find one that lets dogs in.”

“Ghost can sneak in,” Dororo says. “She’s like a thief in the night. The most covert dog-demon that’s ever lived.”

Hyakkimaru huffs out a laugh, probably imagining the noises Ghost makes when she’s chasing squirrels in the forest, and Dororo’s mentally high-fiving himself for lightening the mood when he hears a blood-curdling scream that stops Hyakkimaru and Ghost in their tracks.

Dororo can’t tell if the screaming is human or animal or supernatural. He’s never heard anything remotely like it.

Dororo’s skin crawls, and the fur along Ghost’s spine and legs stand on end. She’s quick to turn and hurry back to them, eyes flashing from pink to crimson. Hyakkimaru isn’t still for long, moving to the edge of the path and stooping down, encouraging Dororo to slide off his back and helping him settle against a tree.

“What are you doing?” Dororo demands, grabbing onto Hyakkimaru’s sleeve. “You’re not leaving me here.”

“You’re hurt,” Hyakkimaru says shortly, though he doesn’t pull away from Dororo’s reaching hand. “You’re staying here with Ghost.”

Dororo gapes at him. “Did you hear that thing? You can’t go alone, what if something happens?”

“You’re injured and can’t even walk on your own. What will you do if you’re there?” Hyakkimaru demands, and it stings a little. Yeah, he can’t fight like Hyakkimaru and Ghost, but he’s never not been there, not for almost two years. Hyakkimaru is overly anxious where Dororo’s safety is concerned, but he’s never tried to leave him behind before either. Hyakkimaru pushes their foreheads together, and Dororo stays still even though all he really wants is to pull away and keep arguing. “I can’t worry about you right now. I’m sorry.”

Dororo lets go of his sleeve, equal parts wounded and furious. “Stay. Don’t let anything close,” Hyakkimaru says to Ghost, and she whines but acquiesces, taking up post at Dororo’s side while he silently fumes.

Hyakkimaru’s sightless eyes slide to Dororo briefly before he turns and runs off in the direction of the sound, leaving both Dororo and Ghost behind.

This is the first time, Dororo realizes as he listens to Hyakkimaru’s retreating footsteps. The first time Hyakkimaru has left him behind intentionally. It happened a lot when they first met, back when Hyakkimaru didn’t care one way or another if Dororo was behind him. They’d get separated during demon hunts, but that was no fault of Hyakkimaru’s own.

The only other time they were apart was when Itachi came. So, this is a first; another of Hyakkimaru’s many. And Dororo hates it.

“Ghost,” he finds himself saying, and she turns immediately at the sound of his voice. “We have to go after him. I know you don’t like being left behind either.”

She whines as she gets to her paws, though she seems unsure, caught between Dororo’s and Hyakkimaru’s differing wishes. For as long as she’s been with them, she’s never not been at Hyakkimaru’s side during a fight either. She’s been key to a lot of Hyakkimaru’s victories, holding a demon in place or at bay while Hyakkimaru searches for the best means of dispatch.

Ghost stands on level ground with demons in a way that Dororo and Hyakkimaru don’t, and she seems to know that.

“Please,” Dororo beseeches her. “You have to take me there. We can’t let him be alone!”

Ghost bares her teeth with a low growl, but then she begins to grow before Dororo’s eyes. He’s only seen her do this a few times, and the sight is just as unsettling as the first time. There’s no way to be sure, but Dororo thinks this is her true form as an inugami: red-eyed and whiter than snow, tail uncoiling from her back like a whip, teeth and claws elongated and sharper than any blade.

She’s as big as a horse in this form, maybe larger, and Dororo would probably be unnerved if he didn’t know what she looks like when she sleeps, on her back and with her tongue out. He’s spent months loving this creature, and he couldn’t be scared of her, no matter what form she takes.

Ghost lowers herself down to her belly, giving Dororo the opportunity to climb onto her back. He tries to go slow and be mindful of his ankle, and he mostly succeeds, save a slight sear of pain when he first stands from the ground.

Dororo situates himself atop Ghost before grabbing two handfuls of fur around her shoulders. “Go,” he says, and as if released from a cage, Ghost flies.

Ghost streaks through the trees with such force Dororo’s eyes start to water, and he tucks himself low against her back, letting her head and shoulders break most of the wind.

The screaming picks up again as Ghost runs, though Dororo thinks he hears something else accompanying it, something more human. It isn’t Hyakkimaru’s voice, and that’s the only reason Dororo doesn’t panic.

Ghost stops running at a pond, but the screaming has ceased by then. The water is still and quiet, but when Dororo looks closer, he thinks he sees a red tint to it. He looks around wildly. “Aniki!” he shouts, sprained ankle forgotten in an instant as he slides off Ghost’s back. She tries to lower herself to the ground, but Dororo has already fallen to the dirt by then, pain erupting up his leg. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries again. “Aniki!”

Ghost snarls as the trees sway and snap and part in the distance – but getting closer, and fast – and a human form barrels out of the trees on the other side of the pond. It’s Hyakkimaru, and he’s bleeding and panting.

There’s a child under his arm, Dororo notes, but that’s secondary to the look of pure fury on Hyakkimaru’s face. He splashes through the pond toward them, the child dead weight under his arm. Dororo watches, wide-eyed, as Hyakkimaru descends on them. Even Ghost steps back, hovering behind Dororo with her tail between her legs.

“What are you doing?” Hyakkimaru snaps, stooping down to lay the child on the ground beside Dororo. It looks like a little girl, half of her hair done up in a pigtail while the other hangs freely in her face. There’s blood all over the front of her yellow kimono, and her eyes are wide open. Dororo can see that she’s still breathing, but he never would’ve guessed that just from a glance. “I told you to stay by the trail!”

“You…” Dororo begins but trails off, fingers tightening unconsciously around his ankle. “You needed Ghost, and I couldn’t just – ”

“I need you safe and out of my way,” Hyakkimaru hisses, glancing back over his shoulder where the trees still roar. “Why can’t you just listen?”

Dororo’s cheeks puff up as he tries to keep himself from crying. Hyakkimaru’s scolded him before for little things, like leaving their clothes out in the rain or forgetting to remove the burs Ghost always gets caught in her fur, but he’s never been genuinely mad before. “Sorry for caring about what happens to you!” he snaps, even though this is definitely not the right time. “Stupid Aniki!”

Hyakkimaru opens his mouth to reply but stiffens before he can, spinning around on a knee to face the direction he’d just come from, extending his arm and the sword clutched tightly in his hand in an effort to protect Dororo, Ghost, and the girl.

Whatever it is oozes out of the tree line, slowly but with enough force to knock down the foliage in its path. It’s obviously a demon, but unlike any Dororo’s ever encountered with Hyakkimaru. It reminds him of slime, of human and animal waste in the roads.

It’s unnatural. Ugly. And it has faces, human and animal faces, gurgling up out of the sludge like bubbles in mud. From behind Hyakkimaru, Dororo can see that the mouths of the faces are moving, but he can’t hear anything coming from them.

But gradually, slowly, the whispers start.

“Give her back.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“You damn demon.”

“Mama… Mama, help me.”

“Where am I? Is this Hell?”

The whispers turn to shouts, and the shouts into feral, primal screams that Dororo can no longer make sense of.

Hyakkimaru tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword.

Ghost snarls, so close to Dororo’s ear it rattles his bones.

And through at all, the little girl stares up at the sky, eyes glazed over and unseeing.

Long, whip-like tentacles burst forth from the demon’s back as the faces’ screams of despair begin to taper off. They stretch high, reaching for the treetops, and for the first time in his recent memory, Dororo actually considers the possibility of death.

If Hyakkimaru is having similar thoughts, he doesn’t show it. He stands to his full height, even if all Dororo can do is quietly shake and stare at his back. “Protect them, Ghost,” he says, and then he’s off.

The faces watch Hyakkimaru as he bolts to the left, racing through the shallow edge of the pond to draw the demon away from them. He’d clearly faced the demon before Dororo and Ghost showed up. For the first time, Dororo notices that his kimono is torn at the shoulder, exposing pale skin and a gash wound that still oozes blood.

He catches sight of one half of Hyakkimaru’s face as his brother dips and weaves around the tentacles, leaving them to crash into and shake the ground, kicking up grass and dirt and water. A thin trail of blood trickles down the left right half of Hyakkimaru’s face, stemming from a wound that must be obscured by his dark hair.

This is the worst Hyakkimaru’s looked in a long time, but he fights like normal, keeps his cool. Maybe he’d feel differently if he could actually see the demon.

Hyakkimaru spins out of the way of the tentacle reaching for him and manages to catch one of the demon’s faces with an abrupt, downward swing of the sword Mitsuba made for him. Blood spurts from the resulting wound, and the demon’s entire body seems to freeze in place.

Dororo can only watch, horrified, as all the faces littered around the demon’s body open their mouths and scream, an awful cacophony of pain and rage and despair. It’s the scream they heard earlier, the one that prompted Hyakkimaru to run off and leave Dororo behind.

Hyakkimaru springs back, shaking his head as the screaming continues, but Dororo can tell he’s disoriented and doesn’t notice the incoming attack. “Aniki!” he screams in warning, but it’s too late. A sweeping tentacle catches Hyakkimaru in the side, blowing him across the clearing. He probably would’ve sailed further, but he slams shoulder first into a tree and hits the ground with a solid thunk.

He doesn’t move, and Dororo wants to run to him, but he’s physically incapable. Ghost shoots out from behind Dororo, making a move toward Hyakkimaru’s side, and Dororo almost cries in relief.

But the moment is short lived as the demon and all its faces stop screaming. The face Hyakkimaru managed to slash retreats back into the main body with a sickening, suction sound, and the remaining eyes – dozens, hundreds, thousands – roll toward Dororo.

When the tentacle starts reaching for them, Dororo doesn’t think. He throws himself over the girl Hyakkimaru saved and screws his eyes shut. He knows it’s impossible, but Hyakkimaru is down, and he and the girl can’t run. There’s nothing he can do as a cold, slimy mass wraps around his sprained ankle and pulls.

Dororo shrieks in pain and fear as he’s upturned and lifted into the air. Ghost halts her mad dash for Hyakkimaru and tries to lunge for Dororo but is smacked away by another of the demon’s massive tentacles, and there’s a loud splash as she lands in the pond. “Dororo!” he hears Hyakkimaru shout – he’s up! – but he can’t see him.

No matter how much he struggles, there’s no getting free from the demon’s grip. And Dororo knows that Hyakkimaru is here, that his odds of survival aren’t entirely abysmal, but there’s still fear, deep in his heart, a breathlessness that reminds Dororo of the time he almost drowned.

Dororo expects to be swallowed, devoured. But that isn’t what happens. He hears Hyakkimaru give a roar of pure rage, hears the slice of his swords in the air. He must make contact with something, because the demon gives another inhuman screech and just… lets go of Dororo.

But it doesn’t just let go. It throws him, and the only thing Dororo remembers is the savage swoop in his gut as he approaches the ground.

…

He wakes up screaming.

“I’m sorry.” Aniki. He’d know his voice anywhere. But Aniki sounds terrified, and he can’t move; he’s being held down, and it hurts. “Dororo, I’m sorry.”

“Hold him still, boy, or this won’t work.”

“Ani – ki – ” he tries to say, but then all he knows is pain, white-hot.

…

The sky is dark when Dororo rouses again, the only source of light coming from a crackling fire beside him.

He blinks lethargically at the sky.

“You’re finally awake, I see,” a voice pipes up from the other side of the fire. Something about it strikes Dororo as familiar, but he just can’t place it.

He hears movement and turns his head toward the fire, trying to see who it is, but the flames block his view from this perspective. He sees the biwa first, but recognition is still slow to come.

Dororo’s tongue feels heavy when he speaks. “You’re… ”

The old man kneels down between Dororo and the fire, casting a shadow over him. “Don’t try to move too much. You had a nasty encounter with a demon.”

It all comes back to Dororo then, being left behind, ignoring Hyakkimaru’s wishes, the sludge demon grabbing him by the leg and –

The man shushes him, and it’s only then Dororo realizes he’s having trouble catching his breath. “Aniki,” he calls, voice wobbling and weak. He waits, but there’s no answer. His right hand twitches, painfully empty. “Where is he? Where is he?” 

“He’s off blowing steam,” the man replies, and something about that strikes Dororo as wrong, very wrong, but he can barely think. “He’ll be back for you, don’t worry.”

Dororo tries to choke back tears, but they fall down his cheeks regardless. Everything hurts so much, his head and his arm and his ankle, and the one thing he wants, the only thing that can make it better, is gone. “Is he mad at me? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Aniki, I have to tell him – ”

A hand reaches out, and cold fingertips brush over Dororo’s pounding forehead. “It’s alright, boy. Just sleep now. Your brother will be here when you wake up again.”

He doesn’t want to – he wants Hyakkimaru – but he can’t keep his eyes open. So, Dororo sleeps.

Dororo wakes periodically throughout the night, feverish and gasping with pain. The blind priest is never far, encouraging Dororo to drink a foul tasting liquid that he has no strength to expel.

Hyakkimaru is never there.

When he wakes for good, he almost wishes for unconsciousness again. His body is one giant nerve, throbbing at even the slightest hint of movement. It hurts to breathe, and Dororo can barely twitch without whimpering in pain.

“Try to stay as still as you can,” the priest says somewhere to Dororo’s left. “You took a nasty hit.”

“Hit to where?” Dororo croaks. “Everything hurts.”

“Does it hurt to breathe?”

“Yes.”

“You likely have bruised or even broken ribs, then,” the man sighs, appearing in Dororo’s line of vision. He seems tired, though Dororo doesn’t know him well enough to have a frame of reference. “The fall dislocated your shoulder, and you knocked your head pretty good. There was some blood, but we managed to stop it quickly. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a concussion, so take it easy.”

Dororo listens with the air of someone who’s never been hurt like this before. He doesn’t know what most of that means, but it all seems synonymous with the pain he’s feeling. As his grogginess dissipates, he realizes his left arm is bound against his chest, and the itch around his forehead probably means he’s wearing bandages.

He hates this feeling of immobility, but he forces his breathing to remain even to keep the pain to a minimum. “Where’s Aniki?” he asks, sullen and quiet. “Why isn’t he here?”

The man sighs again, deep and long-suffering. “I’ll tell you all about it after we get you situated.”

It takes a while, but the priest helps Dororo struggle into a sitting position. From there, he binds Dororo’s chest and torso – Dororo only manages to keep from panicking because the man is blind – and fashions a sling for his arm out of a white cloth that he pulls from the burlap sack he carries. He also changes the bandages tightly bound around Dororo’s sprained ankle, which he had honestly forgotten about since that injury pales in comparison to what came after.

Once Dororo has his back settled against a tree – no position is truly comfortable with the amount of pain he’s in – he takes a deep, rattling breath and says, “Sorry, but… I don’t really remember your name.”

The main chuckles, sitting cross-legged in front of Dororo. “I don’t have much of a name, anymore,” he says, almost reminiscent. “You can just call me Biwamaru.”

“Biwamaru,” Dororo echoes. “What happened?”

“I was on my way to Kyoto when I heard the commotion,” Biwamaru explains. “You were already unconscious by the time I got there. You were fighting against a very powerful face-stealing demon. The extent of your injuries was light, considering.”

That explains the hundreds of faces, then, victims caught in a never-ending cycle of grief and confusion, their lives tragically cut short. Dororo feels sorry for them, but they’d all probably been dead for a long time. “We had to find its true face in order to kill it,” Biwamaru continues. “It took a while. Your brother wasn’t especially focused.”

Dororo can’t help but sigh, not even bothering to hide his wince. “I can imagine.”

“It had his left arm,” Biwamaru says, too casually for the weight his words carry. Dororo stiffens in shock and gets caught in a series of painful, full body spasms, one triggering another in an endless wave, like ripples on water. “Easy, now, easy.”

“How?” Dororo gasps. “We’re so far from Daigo’s territory. If it was one of the thirteen demons, what’s it doing out here?”

Biwamaru’s expression darkens. “That deal has been over for a long time, now. Hyakkimaru regained most of his body before fleeing with you. That land has long since fallen to ruin, and the demons left, looking for new opportunities.”

Dororo is speechless. All this time, he’d been fearful of a family and a dynasty that had already collapsed. “And the war?”

Biwamaru shakes his head. “The futile struggles of lords don't concern me. I left before the fighting could truly begin. I could sense that I was no longer needed.” He smiles then, sightless eyes seeming to bore into Dororo’s very being. “And looking at your brother, I can see that I was right.”

“What do you mean?”

“His soul is less corrupted,” Biwamaru explains, which makes no sense to Dororo. Despite everything he remembers about how his brother used to be, it’s hard for Dororo to reconcile the person he adores with something corrupted, dangerous. “As it stands, he no longer runs the risk of turning into a demon. It’s truly a relief. That boy has suffered for far too long.”

Dororo stills. “A – A demon? Aniki would have turned into a demon?”

“That was the path he was walking. Anger and hate and desperation were warping him. Surely, you saw it?” Hesitant, Dororo nods. “His decision to leave his body behind more than likely saved his life. I certainly never expected that to be the choice he would make, but I guess you’re never too old to be surprised.”

The old priest laughs, and Dororo just watches him, tears building in his eyes. Some part of him had always known that he’d come close to losing Hyakkimaru back then. He thinks that’s where his desperation sprang forth, that day he convinced Hyakkimaru to turn his back on Daigo.

He couldn’t explain it at the time, but something deep inside Dororo told him that he’d lose his brother if they continued moving forward; and to hear that he was right, after all this time…

Dororo doesn’t know what to say, so he just changes the subject. “Where’s Aniki? And the girl he saved? And Ghost?”

Biwamaru points to his left, and Dororo is startled to see Ghost lying not too far away. She’s reverted back to her normal form and is completely still as she sleeps, as she always does for a few days after tapping into her demonic capabilities. “Oh,” Dororo says, relief making him feel especially weak. “She’s okay.”

“She’s certainly the most tame demon I’ve ever come across,” Biwamaru chuckles. “Almost took my arm when I tried to touch you, though.”

Dororo ducks his head slightly, feeling guilt on Ghost’s behalf. “Sorry. She’s normally really sweet.”

“I can tell just by looking at her. Her soul is very content. Hasn’t moved or made so much as a peep for the past three days.”

“Three days?” Dororo yelps, hand drifting to his aching ribs as Biwamaru shoots him a warning glance. “I’ve been out for three days?”

“You became feverish after the first night. In and out of consciousness, babbling nonsense. I had to have Hyakkimaru remove himself from the situation for a bit. He’ll be back soon, he wouldn’t have gone too far.”

“Was it… bad?” Dororo asks hesitantly. He knows how Hyakkimaru gets when it comes to his safety, but Dororo’s never been hurt this badly before. The closest he’s come to true harm was when he almost drowned, and Dororo’s memory of that event is fuzzy at best.

“Not at first,” Biwamaru explains. “We had to reset your shoulder, and you woke up during the process. He was distraught, of course, but he calmed down once your wounds were treated and you were asleep again.”

“And then?”

“We gave the little girl to a group of travelers coming up the path. She was in shock – probably saw a loved one get eaten by the demon, but we couldn't find a body – and we couldn’t risk moving you to take her to Kyoto ourselves. Later that night was when you started getting feverish. You said some things that upset Hyakkimaru, I think, and I saw his soul start to waver. I told him to leave, for both of your sakes.”

You had no right, Dororo wants to say, but the old priest might’ve just saved their lives – has saved their lives more times than Dororo probably knows – so he keeps his mouth shut. But he refuses to believe separation was the best course of action. “What did I say?” Dororo asks instead.

Biwamaru frowns. “It was hard to make out. You were crying quite a bit. But you were asking him not to abandon you. Over and over again. You were… inconsolable.”

Dororo feels like throwing up, and he comes close, swallowing back bile as it blazes a trail up his throat. “Oh,” he says, barely audible.

He can feel Biwamaru’s sightless stare on him, and Dororo feels exposed, helpless. He wants Hyakkimaru. “I can tell you two have been through Hell together,” the old man says at length. “I’ve rarely seen a stronger bond. But I can’t say it doesn’t concern me. Is the idea of separating for even a moment really that awful to you both?”

The answer is inherently yes, though for some reason, Dororo is hesitant to give voice to it. He’s never once been made to feel weird or uncertain about his relationship with Hyakkimaru, and he isn't sure how to defend himself.

Papa always used to say that without family, there was no making it against the world. Dororo learned that lesson intimately in the years after his mama’s death, and meeting Hyakkimaru changed him just as much as it changed Hyakkimaru. All they have in the world is each other. What’s so wrong about wanting to stay together?

“I’m not saying this to scold you. That isn't my place,” the old man says at Dororo’s extended silence. “I’m genuinely curious. As far as Hyakkimaru was concerned, the world ceased to exist as soon as he called your name and you didn’t answer.”

“He needs me,” Dororo says, voice hoarse. “Without me, he’s… he’s not himself.”

“And you?” The priest asks. “Are you yourself when you’re not with him?”

Slowly, Dororo shakes his head. “I don’t really… I can’t go back to how I lived before Aniki came. I won’t.” He shakes with the truth of it. Who was he before all of this? Without anyone to return to, had he even existed? No one would’ve known or cared if he died back then, alone and cold in the back roads. Dororo had nothing, and then came Hyakkimaru. “I need him, too. Maybe more than he needs me.”

“I think even you two underestimate the power you have over one another,” Biwamaru says gravely. “It’s saved you many times in the past. But for every strength, there is a weakness. Depending on one person so much cannot be sustainable. Like a double-edged sword, there is going to be backlash.”

Dororo sniffs, trying to hold back sudden, angry tears as he snaps, “And what do you suggest we do, huh? Take a vacation? Go our separate ways?”

“Just be careful,” Biwamaru replies evenly. “Love is a frightening thing.”

Dororo’s entwines his fingers in the grass below him and pulls. “Good thing Aniki and I aren’t afraid.”

Dororo learns what it truly means to be impatient as he waits for Hyakkimaru to return.

He tries to hide his restlessness and unease from the priest, though his efforts are probably in vain – the man is scarily perceptive. But there’s no chance of calming down until his brother comes back, Dororo knows.

The sun has just started to set when Dororo hears movement in the brush. He stays still, watching Biwamaru to see how he’ll react; but the priest seems unbothered as he pokes at the fire between them.

Hyakkimaru appears like a storm cloud in a drought. The unease that sits like a solid weight in Dororo’s chest dissipates, and for a moment, he forgets about his injuries, his insecurities; because Hyakkimaru is here.

His brother gravitates to him like a moth to flame, saying nothing. He looks just as haggard as Dororo feels, and a small sound of… something works it’s way out of Dororo’s tight throat as Hyakkimaru comes to kneel beside him.

Biwamaru watches them, silent.

“Are you okay?” Hyakkimaru asks, voice hoarse. He reaches out to touch Dororo’s face, and Dororo sees that Biwamaru was right – the last of Hyakkimaru’s prosthetic limbs is gone. His skin feels smooth and warm, just like it did when he got his right arm back two years ago. It’s slightly paler than the rest of his body, and Dororo can see the blue of his veins in the waning light. “Does anything hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” Dororo replies, not bothering to sugarcoat it. Hyakkimaru makes a gutted sound, like he’s the one in pain. “You got your other arm, Aniki.”

Hyakkimaru doesn’t smile as he withdraws his hand and settles back on his legs. He glances down at the appendage only briefly before returning his focus to Dororo. “It took me a while to notice,” he says simply. 

Dororo glances at Biwamaru, who seems to sense his attention and grins as he gets to his feet. “I’ll go and stretch my legs a little, now that you’re back, Hyakkimaru,” he says. “Make sure Dororo doesn’t move around too much.”

“I won’t,” Hyakkimaru says gravely, while Dororo scowls and says, “I’ve been sitting here for hours, my butt hurts.”

Biwamaru laughs as he walks off, waving to them. “Perhaps a change of position will help.”

He’s long gone by the time Hyakkimaru manages to help Dororo stand. “I just wanna walk around a bit,” Dororo says, and Hyakkimaru nods, maneuvering his arm around Dororo’s shoulders to help support his weight as he hobbles around.

They don’t speak as they walk, all their concentration on making slow, small circles around the fire. Hyakkimaru has a look of pure concentration on his face when Dororo glances at him. The arm around his shoulders is firm yet cautious, as Hyakkimaru tries to keep his body away from Dororo’s injured shoulder.

The shoulder is really the least of Dororo’s problems, the searing pain from when it was put back into place dulled to a slow, lulling throb. He doesn’t think Hyakkimaru needs to be that careful, but he also knows nothing he says will curb his brother's protective streak.

Dororo decides enough is enough when the pain in his ankle starts to become more than just uncomfortable. Hyakkimaru takes him back to his tree and settles him back down, hands hovering nervously as Dororo makes himself comfortable again; or tries to, anyway.

“Thanks, Aniki,” Dororo sighs. “All that sitting around was making me go crazy.”

“You need to learn to rest,” Hyakkimaru points out, a hint of his earlier exasperation bleeding into his tone. Dororo is suddenly reminded of their argument from before, but he figures it probably doesn’t matter now. “You push yourself too much.”

Dororo swallows down an indignant huff, because he distinctly remembers Hyakkimaru stepping on fire after he acquired the ability to feel pain. But Hyakkimaru hadn’t known any better back then, so Dororo can’t really bring that up in good conscience. “Fine, fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Hyakkimaru nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer. Dororo peers at him through the fall of his own bangs – he really needs a haircut after everything calms down – and musters up the courage to say what needs to be said.

“I think we should… talk,” Dororo begins as Hyakkimaru settles down in the grass in front of him. “About before.”

Hyakkimaru’s expression seems to shudder, becomes more closed off and aloof. And Dororo hates it, because Hyakkimaru isn’t like that with him and hasn’t been for a long time. “What about it?” he replies tersely. “There’s nothing to say. I killed the demon, and you’re awake now. Everything’s fine.”

“Don’t be like that, Aniki,” Dororo pleads, and Hyakkimaru’s jaw flexes as he glances away. “I know you’re upset. Do you want me to apologize, because – ”

“You already did that,” Hyakkimaru interrupts. “Too many times, when you were sick. I don’t want to hear it again.”

Dororo nods. “Okay, I won’t. But only if you tell me what’s wrong. Otherwise I won’t stop apologizing.”

Hyakkimaru sighs, shoulders sagging and curling inward as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “I guess I’m just… angry. With myself.”

Dororo doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “Why? You didn’t do anything.”

“I always – I thought – ” Hyakkimaru shakes his head, clearly agitated; and there’s nothing Dororo can do about it. “I thought if I got my body back, I’d be able to protect you better. But I can’t. You were in pain, and I couldn’t help you. If the priest hadn’t found us… ”

He trails off, and Dororo frowns as he gazes at his brother, tries to make sense of what Hyakkimaru is saying. “You can’t always keep bad things from happening,” Dororo says hesitantly. “Having your body would never have changed that.”

“I know that now,” Hyakkimaru says, voice almost a growl. “For so long, I wanted my body because it was mine. But then you came, and I thought… maybe if I was whole, I could protect you better. I couldn’t do that before. You almost drowned, once, and if the priest hadn’t come then, I would’ve lost you. But nothing’s changed since then, Dororo, nothing.”

“You’ve always been whole,” Dororo retorts, uneasy for reasons he can’t begin to comprehend. He’s never heard Hyakkimaru talk about himself like this before; but maybe he’s always felt this way and just didn’t have the means to articulate it before now. “Lots of people have prosthetics, Aniki – ”

“Lots of people weren’t sacrificed to demons by their parents,” Hyakkimaru says, and Dororo shuts up. “Not everyone was born without skin or any of their senses, without eyes, without limbs. I wasn’t a human. I wasn’t a demon. I wasn’t – I wasn’t anything, Dororo. Not for most of my life.”

Dororo wants to throw up. He wants to cry, wants to scream, but Hyakkimaru looks devastated, like he’s just given voice to something that’s bothered him for a long time, so Dororo does none of those things. “You’re wrong,” he says instead. “You’re wrong, and I’ll prove that you’re wrong, once I’m strong enough to punch some sense into you.”  

Hyakkimaru smiles, but it’s small and subdued. “I think,” he says, “that we should stop.”

Dororo hesitates, thrown off by the conversation’s shift, before saying, “… Stop?”

Hyakkimaru nods. “Stop moving, stop running. I don’t – I don’t want this for you. You deserve better.”

“Better than what?” Dororo asks, on edge because he doesn’t know where Hyakkimaru is going with this. “I like my life as it is, Aniki.” Hyakkimaru shifts his gaze to the ground, and he looks so sad and exhausted that any feelings of frustration or defensiveness Dororo has just melt away. “What about you?” he asks, softer. “What do you want?”

“I’ve always wanted what other people have,” Hyakkimaru replies, brow furrowed. “Maybe that makes me selfish, but I don’t care. I want a home, with you and Ghost. I want to go somewhere and just… stay.”

All the previous weeks of contemplation and quiet suddenly make sense to Dororo. It had never occurred to him that the fire in Hyakkimaru might burn out, but that seems to be exactly what’s happened. No wonder Hyakkimaru’s been quiet lately, if all this is what’s been on his mind.

“I still want to fight demons and help others,” Hyakkimaru says. “It’s what I’m good at. But demons are everywhere, and I’m only one person. We can’t move around like this forever, and these past few days have just proven to me that I’m not strong enough to keep going like this.”

Moving around is all Dororo knows, all he has known since he was very small. But he can’t say that Hyakkimaru’s idea is an unpleasant one. “A home,” Dororo repeats, voice quiet. It makes his chest ache, his eyes burn, and okay, maybe Hyakkimaru is onto something. “That sounds… nice.”

Hyakkimaru tips his head down, bangs falling in front of his face so Dororo has trouble seeing his eyes. “You’re not lying, are you? You aren’t just agreeing with me?”

Dororo shakes his head. “I don’t really care where we go or what we’re doing so long as we stay together.” As Dororo says it, he knows it’s not entirely true. There is one place he wouldn’t want to go, one place he’d fight to stay away from. “Maybe Kyoto can be a new start for us?”

“Maybe,” Hyakkimaru says. “And if it isn’t, we’ll keep looking.”

Dororo glances to Ghost, still sleeping peacefully a few feet away. He worries if they’ll run into trouble trying to assimilate Ghost back into society. She hasn’t been around people aside from the two of them in months, and the last thing Dororo wants is to open up old wounds or accidentally push her into snapping.

She’s still a demon, even if she’s goofy and clumsy and rambunctious. As much as Dororo trusts her, he can’t say for certain that the life Hyakkimaru wants will be good for her.

“Are you worried,” Hyakkimaru asks suddenly, sounding small, “that I’ll leave you behind?”

Dororo stills. He’d forgotten about what Biwamaru told him, about the things he’d said when he was feverish and in pain. “No,” Dororo says immediately. “Yes? Ugh, I don’t know.” He reaches up to push his hair out of his face, being careful to not disturb his bandages. “It’s not something I think about all the time, but…”

Hyakkimaru waits patiently as he always does, gazing solemnly in Dororo’s direction. “I worry, too,” Hyakkimaru admits. “I worry that you’ll disappear, or go somewhere I can’t find you. I wish I didn’t, but it’s not something I can control.”

The knowledge that they both carry this weight is of little comfort to Dororo. You’d think the years they’ve spent together would reassure them that neither of them plans on going anywhere, but apparently, it’s not enough.

It makes Dororo feel tired and sad, frustrated with himself and Hyakkimaru. They made it out of Daigo’s land alive. Hyakkimaru has almost all of his body parts back. They’re doing good for so many people, and it’s no longer the two of them against the world now that they have Ghost. Why can’t they just be content with that?

“I know you won’t leave me,” says Dororo, “because I won’t let you. You’re stuck with me, Aniki, whether you like it or not.”

Hyakkimaru’s shoulders bounce once as he huffs out a startled laugh. “And you’re stuck with me,” he replies. “Someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed chasing Ghost through the mountains.”

“We’re eternal hostages,” Dororo says before bursting into a fit of giggles. And it hurts, but Dororo doesn’t mind so much, not when Hyakkimaru looks at him like that, as if Dororo were something special, precious.

And that, more than anything, makes Dororo decide to save a discussion of the issues Biwamaru presented for another day.

…

Biwamaru seems to sense that the storm has passed by the time he returns, just after nightfall.

Dororo and Hyakkimaru are wide-awake, trying to encourage a lethargic Ghost to come to them. She obviously wants to, whining quietly as she tries to muster the energy to get up and answer their cooing, but her one attempt at standing ends in her toppling down to the grass almost immediately.

Hyakkimaru is quick to get up and hurry to her, then, picking her up with some effort and carrying her back to where Dororo is. Despite her obvious fatigue, she manages a tail wag as Hyakkimaru positions her between them.

“What is her story?” Biwamaru asks as he ambles up to them. “It’s not everyday you find a domesticated inugami.”

“We don’t really know,” Dororo says, scratching behind Ghost’s folded ear as he speaks. “We took her from a breeder to the west. He said all the puppies in her litter died and came back as inugami. The others ran off, but she stayed behind.”

Biwamaru hums, rubbing a hand over his face as he settles down next to the fire. “Perhaps she doesn’t harbor as much hate for humans as her siblings.”

Hyakkimaru frowns as he rubs a hand down Ghost’s spine. “She only hated the humans who raised her. They must’ve done something.”

“It’s hard to know for sure. You certainly lucked out with her, I’ll say that much. Has she shown any signs of growth or mutation?”

“Not really?” Dororo offers. “I mean, she’s been growing like a normal puppy so far. She’s just super strong, and you saw her transformation. But she’d been chained up for six months before we found her, and it didn’t seem like she was capable of transforming then, otherwise she could’ve just escaped on her own. So, we don’t really know what her deal is.”

Biwamaru nods thoughtfully. “It’s likely she’ll grow stronger with time. Just be watchful and continue to treat her right, and I doubt you’ll have problems with her in the future.”

Ghost huffs, almost in indignation, and Dororo and Hyakkimaru laugh.

The priest asks for stories of their travels, and Dororo and Hyakkimaru give them to him in turns. It’s been so long since they’ve been able to just talk to another person, someone who knows about the world they live in and their particular circumstances. 

It helps that Biwamaru is knowledgeable, absorbing the tales he’s given and offering his own speculations about the demons they’ve faced. “Sounds like an enenra,” he says when Hyakkimaru tells him about Mitsuba and Reo. “It looked like smoke, you said?”

“Yeah, but it packed a punch,” Dororo grumbles, none too fond of those memories. “It was like someone dropped a boulder on my chest.”

“I see,” Biwamaru muses. “From what you’ve told me, that spirit sure sounded like a real piece of work. It likely would’ve continued to attack children if it remained unchecked. Only the pure of heart can see enenra, or so the story goes, so children are much more susceptible to its attacks.”

This catches Dororo’s attention in particular. He’d thought maybe the demon showed itself only to him and Kyouka because it perceived them both as little girls, but now that he knows otherwise… it feels like a weight Dororo didn’t even know he was carrying has been lifted.

Hyakkimaru doesn’t even react to the implication that his heart is impure, though Dororo knows he’s absorbing everything Biwamaru says. He hopes it's not one of those things that Hyakkimaru internalizes or agonizes over in silence. Dororo can picture him using it in a later argument when Dororo tries to convince him that the circumstances of his birth didn't make him less human.

The three of them talk well into the night, and Dororo doesn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knows, he’s waking up slumped against Hyakkimaru’s shoulder while his brother quietly snores.

It takes another few days before Dororo feels like he can stand to be moved farther than a few feet. The plan is to continue on to Kyoto, and Hyakkimaru insists on carrying Dororo himself instead of having Ghost transform and spend another three days comatose.

Biwamaru helps Hyakkimaru pack up their things while Dororo watches, and he’s quick to clamber onto Hyakkimaru’s back when he crouches down for him. The pain in Dororo’s ribs definitely sucks, but it’s mostly tolerable as Hyakkimaru straightens up.

Ghost watches from the ground, tail wagging and looking absolutely ridiculous with their bags situated on her back. She’s just big enough to manage them both without increasing her size, but they’ll probably be ridiculed for animal abuse or something as soon as they reach the city. Dororo’s seen Ghost take down a bear with just a swipe of her paw before, though, so he doesn’t feel too bad.

“You two be careful,” Biwamaru says. He said he wasn’t accompanying them to Kyoto because he had no business there. Dororo had asked why he was even up this way, if that were the case, but the priest only smiled at him without elaborating. “Don’t let your guard down just because Daigo fell. His pride will make him come for you.”

Dororo tightens his grip around Hyakkimaru’s shoulders and just barely catches one side of his brother’s faint, answering smile. “We’ll be ready for him,” he says, “if he does.”

Someone is waiting for them on the path into Kyoto.

Dororo barely has time to take in his surroundings – the town before them that stretches further than he can see in every direction, even up into the hills – before he notices him.

He doesn’t look much older than Hyakkimaru, but that’s all Dororo has time to think before the boy notices them and starts running. “Excuse me!” he calls. “Are you Hyakkimaru-san?”

Ghost emits a small, nearly inaudible growl that makes Dororo wince. But Hyakkimaru turns his head and says, “Easy,” and Ghost quiets down. “I am,” Hyakkimaru replies, stopping on the path as the boy runs up to them. “Why?”

Dororo peers at the stranger over Hyakkimaru’s shoulder. He looks exhausted.

“My name is Ushio,” the boy says. “You saved my sister. The men who brought her back told me about you.”

“Is she okay?”

Ushio nods, but he seems tense, can’t stop shifting on his feet. “She’s awake now, but… our father was eaten by that ghoul up in the mountain. She’s still in shock. My mother and older sister have been sitting with her.”

“I’m sorry about your papa,” Hyakkimaru says morosely. “I couldn’t save him.”

Ushio shakes his head. “He was a miserable bastard,” he says, and it almost startles an awkward laugh out of Dororo, “but he loved Ritsuko. The fact that she came home safe, it – it means the world.” Ushio straightens up to his full height then, almost eye-to-eye with Hyakkimaru, before dipping into a bow so deep Dororo isn’t sure how he doesn’t fall over. “I’ve waited here everyday in order to thank you. So, thank you, for saving my little sister.”

Dororo grins, leaning forward and pressing the side of his face to Hyakkimaru’s, warm and proud and soft. They can’t always help everyone, but at least some good comes out of these terrible situations.

Hyakkimaru tilts his head gently into Dororo’s. “You really waited here that long?” Hyakkimaru asks, because he still can’t properly respond to the thanks of others. He says it’s embarrassing, but Dororo knows he’s pleased. “How did you know we’d come this way?”

Ushio’s face is only slightly red when he straightens back up, and his dark eyes dart around, landing anywhere but them. “Well, I kind of just… hoped?”

Dororo does laugh then before he can help himself, pushing past the slight grind of his ribs. “You’re sure persistent,” he says while Ushio scowls. “And maybe more than a little lucky.”

“Mom always says to pay respects to the ones who help you,” Ushio grumbles. “She and Aneki would definitely be here, too, if Ritsuko were well.”

Dororo thinks he remembers his mother saying something similar, but his memories of her are hazy at best nowadays. It feels like he had her another lifetime ago, and his mood dampens the slightest bit as Ushio mentions his own mother.

“You should definitely stay for a while,” Ushio insists. “Ritsuko will want to thank you, too, when she’s better.”

“Hmm, maybe we will,” Dororo allows, as if resting in Kyoto hadn’t already been the plan. “Any good inns around here?”

“Eh, maybe.” Ushio crosses his arms over his chest as he thinks. “They’re kinda pricey, if you’re planning on staying for a while.”

“We’ll figure it out,” says Hyakkimaru. They definitely have enough money, although Dororo hopes he’s not underestimating how expensive these Kyoto inns are. “I’m not worried.”

“You don’t worry about anything aside from me, Ghost, and every horse we come across, Aniki.”

Hyakkimaru shrugs, and Ushio laughs. “Our house is up there,” Ushio says, gesturing to the north where Dororo sees a cluster of buildings leading up into the hills. “If you need anything, you can just head up there and start asking around, you’ll find us eventually. Although you guys seem pretty capable, if you were able to take care of the Face Eater.”

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Dororo says. “I thought maybe Kyoto wouldn’t have problems with demons? Because of all the shrines and temples?”

“We never really see them in the city proper,” Ushio explains. “The further away you get from the city, the more you start seeing them.”

Dororo nods, though he can’t help but wonder why Ushio’s father and sister were so far from the city if demons are pretty common in the area. They really were lucky Dororo and Hyakkimaru had happened upon the attack when they did.

“Even near our house,” Ushio continues, “there’s this estate that’s been abandoned since my mom was really little. There’s a bunch of ghouls there, but the head priest of Fushimi Inari blesses the area pretty often, so they’ve never ventured off the property.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Supposedly a samurai used to live there, but he and his family packed up pretty quick when the ghouls showed up.” Ushio rolls his eyes. “Some warrior, huh?”

Dororo gazes up into the hills, intrigued by Ushio’s story. “So, no one can get close to the house?”

“Not really. Some of the younger kids like to do tests of courage there, but they all come running back scared out of their wits.”

“Hmm,” says Hyakkimaru, and Dororo can only sigh. 

…

The haunted and abandoned estate, as it turns out, isn’t all that haunted or abandoned.

It’s home to a demon or two, sure; they resemble monkeys and are probably as big as Dororo, but they take one look at Hyakkimaru and Ghost and turn tail before things can even get good.

Dororo sighs from Hyakkimaru’s back as he watches the demons hop into the treetops and disappear. “That wasn’t even fun,” he says. “They’ve kept people from this place for decades and ran at the first sight of a boy and a dog? Lame.”

Ghost doesn’t even bother chasing after the demons as she usually does. She only sneezes and breaks off from Dororo and Hyakkimaru to explore, tail wagging slightly as she goes. “Can we go back now?” Dororo asks. He feels badly that Hyakkimaru’s had to tote him up and down trails and hills all day and wants to find an inn as quickly as possible. “A real bed is starting to sound better by the minute.”

Hyakkimaru ignores him. “What does it look like?”

“What, the house?” Hyakkimaru nods. “It’s a pretty decent size,” Dororo says thoughtfully. “It’s one story – busted as hell – but the roof’s mostly in tact, and the framework still looks good? Maybe those demons knew something about home maintenance.”

Hyakkimaru is quiet as he listens, nodding along methodically as if trying to conceptualize what Dororo is saying. “Maybe we could… take it?”

“Take it? For what?”

“For a home, Dororo,” Hyakkimaru sighs, as if it should be obvious, and oh.

Oh.

…

The house wouldn’t meet the standards of normal people. The roof leaks in places, there’s a constant draft, and Hyakkimaru’s broken through maybe six floorboards in just as many days. Ghost consistently finds small animals hiding in various nooks and crannies, and Dororo’s almost been knocked flat on his butt too many times as she races around trying to catch her latest victim.

But to Dororo, who’s never once had a place to call home and is used to sleeping under a canopy of trees, it’s perfectly livable.

Hyakkimaru does a lot of the work to clean up the place. For the first few days, he spent a lot of time wandering around, touching the walls and learning the layout of the house. Dororo sits on the outside stoop most days and watches Ghost run around while Hyakkimaru keeps himself busy, walking in and out, to and from, as he cleans out the debris and rotted wood.

Dororo helps a little, but he can only stand for short periods of time without assistance. After days of this, however, he starts to feel particularly useless and unhelpful. He knows his involvement would only stress Hyakkimaru out, so Dororo tasks himself with cleaning Hyakkimaru’s sword and sorting out their belongings.

“I’ve never unpacked before,” Dororo says into the air, to Ghost or Hyakkimaru or even to himself. “But I never really had much stuff before, either.” He glances over his shoulder into the house. Hyakkimaru is nowhere to be seen, but Dororo can hear him scuffling around somewhere. “How are we even gonna fill this place?” he murmurs. “Between the two of us, we couldn’t even fill an outhouse.”

He hears Ghost barking, but she’s nowhere to be seen when he shifts back around. “Ghost!” he calls. “Whatever you’re messing with, leave it alone, it probably didn’t even do anything to you!”

The barking stops, but Ghost doesn’t come loping back right away. Dororo isn’t too concerned, and he’s about to call her again when he hears a cry and a thud from somewhere in the house. Dororo whips around, wincing at the flare of pain in his neck and shoulder. “Aniki?” he calls. “Did something happen?”

Dororo really starts to worry when there’s no response, because Hyakkimaru never not answers when Dororo calls for him. He stands with some difficulty – he’s been sitting for so long his legs and part of his butt have gone numb – and carefully treads further into the house.

He finds Hyakkimaru in one of the back rooms. The wooden shudders are open and light streams into the room, bouncing off the hunched curve of Hyakkimaru’s back as he staggers back into a wall. Dororo is about to step forward and call for him when Hyakkimaru groans again and takes a halting step forward, accidentally kicking two suspiciously familiar balls.

Dororo watches the false eyes roll across the wooden panels and come to rest behind Hyakkimaru. He can’t speak, can’t move, as Hyakkimaru slowly lowers his hands from his face. Dororo watches as they shake, how Hyakkimaru himself shakes.

“Dororo,” he says, desperate.

And Dororo finds his voice, because he knows he’s needed. “I’m right here.”

Hyakkimaru is slow to turn. All the months, all the years, come flooding back to Dororo as his eyes begin to water; and he blinks them furiously away, doesn’t want to miss a single second of this moment.

Hyakkimaru’s eyes are… warm, the color of dark honey. Dororo often forgot his brother’s eyes were artificial, but he sees the difference now, takes note of every nuanced emotion that Hyakkimaru is feeling as they stare at one another.

There’s devastation in those eyes as Hyakkimaru stumbles toward him, a sort of raw disbelief that bleeds out of Hyakkimaru through his tears. Dororo stays still, tilting his head back as Hyakkimaru comes to stand before him.  

"Dororo, you - " Hyakkimaru hesitates. There are still tears in his eyes when he reaches forward with shaking hands to cup Dororo's face. "You're - "

Dororo laughs, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion he sees in his brother's eyes. He covers Hyakkimaru's hands with his own and closes his eyes. "Yeah. It's me."

He hears Hyakkimaru’s next breath, loose and rattling and infinitely fragile. “Dororo,” he says, voice a borderline sob, “you’re here.”

It means nothing, because of course Dororo is here.

It means everything, because of course Dororo is here.

Dororo beams up at Hyakkimaru. “I have so much to show you, Aniki.”

Hyakkimaru takes to seeing like he did to everything else – headfirst and unafraid.

The headaches he gets don’t faze him. Dororo wouldn’t even know Hyakkimaru gets them if he wasn’t so attuned to every minute change in his brother’s facial expression. They figure it has something to do with the amount of light, which Hyakkimaru is in no way used to, and that the pain will probably go away with time.

But Hyakkimaru isn’t going to wait in the meantime.

They track down Ushio and ask him to take them around Kyoto. Ushio is by no means unwilling, but his mother still practically pushes him out the door when they come calling. “After all they’ve done for us,” Dororo hears her hiss, but Ushio just rolls his eyes. Hyakkimaru watches all of this with an owl-like attentiveness, and Dororo is so incredibly fond.

They visit some of the local shrines, the biggest of which being Fushimi Inari, right at the mountain’s base. The head priest learns that they expelled the demons from the land he spent so many years blessing and nearly falls at their feet in reverence, shocking the shrine maidens and a group of elderly women who’d come to pray.

“It was my pleasure,” Hyakkimaru says, but he inflects like it’s a question, hands raised in front of him as if that’ll ward off the priest’s enthusiastic praises.

Ushio watches without raising a hand or saying a word, but Dororo can tell he’s trying to withhold laughter. Dororo can’t really judge him, since he’s doing the same from his perch atop Ghost. She’s increased her size just enough to be able to carry Dororo, and Ushio doesn’t seem to notice that she’s slightly bigger than the last time he saw her. They’ve certainly gotten a few weird looks, but it’s totally worth it; Dororo didn’t want Hyakkimaru to be distracted by carrying him when he has so much to take in.

They spend the whole day walking around and still don’t manage to see everything Kyoto has to offer. Ushio promises to take them out again when they part ways at the road leading up to Dororo and Hyakkimaru’s place. “Maybe Ritsuko can come with us next time,” he says, tone almost wistful, and something in that reminds Dororo of Hyakkimaru, even if he can’t explain it.

…

The following days are when it really hits Dororo. Hyakkimaru can see now. It startles him, when he walks across a room and always finds Hyakkimaru’s eyes with his own. Dororo is used to Hyakkimaru watching him, but it’s different, somehow.

Before, Hyakkimaru only observed, watching an object and its general area but never quite focusing. He’s stared at Dororo’s face before, but they’ve never made real eye contact, and when they spoke, Hyakkimaru always looked at a different spot.

Now, there’s an obvious, undeniable connection when Hyakkimaru watches him. And Dororo can’t tell if he’s making it up in his own head, or if there really is a difference in how his every move is scrutinized.

Even when he couldn’t truly see, Hyakkimaru was looking at Dororo more often than not. And Dororo always wanted to know how Hyakkimaru saw him, what set him apart from other souls that allowed Hyakkimaru to pick him out of everyone else in the world.

He used to feel so warm when Hyakkimaru’s focus was on him. But now… well, now, all Dororo wants to do is hide.

He can’t explain why. There’s no explanation for the way his skin crawls when Hyakkimaru looks at him too long; and Dororo hates it, hates how this was something the both of them wanted for so long, and now Dororo’s being weird about it.

And it’s not like Dororo has anywhere to escape. The house is big enough for the two of them to have their own room, but so far, Hyakkimaru and Dororo have been sleeping in the same one. It’s similar to how things were when they were traveling: Dororo will fall asleep on his own bedding only to wake up with Hyakkimaru and Ghost piled in around him, the air around them sweltering and sticky with their combined sweat and heat.

Dororo doesn’t mind this as much, not until the day he wakes up too hot and too uncomfortable and inexplicably miserable. “It’s too hot,” Dororo shouts, throwing the blankets off his body in a huff. “I swear, Aniki, I’m gonna – ”

It’s only then that he realizes he’s alone in the room. Dororo frowns, confused, reaches for his legs to wipe away the sweat and wonders why he feels so gross despite being completely alone…

“What did I do this time?” Hyakkimaru appears in the doorway, not quite looking at Dororo as he shrugs into his kimono, hair down and dripping at the ends like he’s just finished bathing. But he’s quick to freeze, mouth parting on an inhale so sharp it’s a surprise he doesn’t choke. “Dororo,” Hyakkimaru says with no small amount of horror in his eyes. “What is that?”

Dororo lifts his gaze to his brother, fingers red and trembling. He doesn’t have the words to explain.

…

The doctor takes one look at Dororo and defers them to his wife, who sequesters Dororo off into a back room; but not before forbidding Hyakkimaru from following, to which Dororo offers no protest.

“It’s something all little girls go through, sweetheart,” she tells him, and all Dororo can do is look at her blankly as she wipes the blood from his thighs. He can’t feel her touch. It’s like his body has ceased to be his own. “It just means you’re growing up, is all.” 

“When will it stop?”

“In a week or so, maybe a little more or a little less. It depends, but it happens every month.”

Dororo feels sick. This was something he’d never once considered, never thought to prepare himself for. He was too young to understand when his mother was alive, but he can’t remember ever seeing her go through this.

He can’t even think about what this means. His mind is completely blank.

“You poor things,” the doctor’s wife tuts. “Don’t even have a mother to explain any of this to you.”

Dororo throws up on her.

They leave after Dororo is given more information about his own body than he ever really wanted.

Hyakkimaru is frantic when Dororo and the doctor’s wife resurface, unable or unwilling to accept the doctor’s reassurances that everything is fine. It isn’t until he sees Dororo’s face again that he calms down, but even then, he remains on edge, unsettled by whatever he sees in Dororo’s expression.

Ghost jumps to her paws as soon as they step foot outside. She’s whining and wriggling around Dororo’s legs, making walking difficult, but all he can really manage is to not yank his hand away when she starts licking at his fingers.

The doctor’s house isn’t even out of sight before Hyakkimaru says, “Dororo, what – “

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dororo says, feeling hollow. He places his hands low on his stomach, just above where the ache is. He thinks he understands, now, why he didn’t want his brother looking at him anymore. “Not now, Aniki.”

…

There’s no going back to normal after that. Not for Dororo.

It’s not like the time with Umiko, all those months ago, before Dororo’s latest growth spurt began and he hadn’t yet begun to develop these differences. Something about the very core of Dororo’s foundation has shifted, and he can’t get his mind off of it, this new revelation that no matter what he does from now on, he’ll always be just that – different.

Dororo’s voice probably won’t get any deeper. He won’t be able to grow up and have a beard like Papa; and it’s not like Dororo even wants facial hair, but the fact that he doesn’t have the option bothers him. He’s going to bleed like this for the rest of his life – well, for the good majority of it, if the doctor’s wife is to be believed – and that alone makes Dororo want to cry himself to sleep every night.

Every month, he’s going to be reminded that his body is now foreign and alien to him.

Every month, he’s going to be reminded that he and Hyakkimaru are fundamentally different.

Dororo has trouble coping with it. He refuses to talk to Hyakkimaru about what happened, and the unclear air between them is suffocating. Ghost picks up on their moods and is more skittish than usual, sticking close to them no matter where they go. It upsets her when they aren’t in the same room and she has to pick someone to follow, so Dororo does his best to stay near Hyakkimaru, even if all he wants to do is hide himself away.

It sucks, because now that Dororo’s been forced to acknowledge his own body, he can’t stop noticing all the things about it that he’s been trying to ignore for months, the most upsetting of which being the slight itchiness and swelling around his chest.

The small changes probably aren’t noticeable to anyone else, but to Dororo, they’re inescapable. It doesn’t change how his clothes fit – not yet – but sometimes Dororo will glance down at himself and see that things aren’t the same.

He agonizes over it for a few days after his doctor’s visit before an image pops up in his head – Mitsuba in front of her forge, strong and beautiful and chest completely bound.

Dororo feels stupid for not remembering sooner, but he can’t bring himself to test anything out when Hyakkimaru is hovering around every corner. So, he bides his time, waits another day or two, and when Hyakkimaru seems occupied with cleaning his sword in the front room, Dororo seizes the opportunity.

And that’s how he finds himself sitting on the floor in their spare, empty room and trying to bandage his chest to the best of his ability. “C’mon, you son of a – oh, sorry, Ghost.” Dororo flashes his companion an apologetic look when he accidentally elbows her in the head. She’s opted to stay with him instead of sit with Hyakkimaru out in the front, and this is how he repays her. “I don’t suppose you can grow thumbs as part of your demon powers, can you?”

Ghost tips her head as she listens, uncomprehending, and Dororo sighs. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Dororo?”

Dororo freezes. He hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps in the hall, and by the time Hyakkimaru appears in the doorframe, it’s too late. They stare at one another, Hyakkimaru’s eyes lidded in confusion while Dororo’s fingers tremble around the bandages’ loose ends.

“What are you doing?” Hyakkimaru asks when Dororo stays quiet. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No… ” Dororo says at length, watching sullenly as Ghost gets up to greet Hyakkimaru. “I – I was just… ”

It’s only Hyakkimaru, he reminds himself. Dororo’s brother, his entire world at this point. He doesn’t need to be ashamed. Not here, in this home they found together.

Dororo takes a shaky breath before saying, “Can you help me? I can’t tie these off by myself.”

Hyakkimaru steps forward like he was waiting to hear those exact words. He’s slow and careful as he slips behind Dororo, Ghost trailing him like a shadow, and Dororo releases his hold on the bandages when he feels Hyakkimaru’s fingers brush his own.

They’re both quiet as Hyakkimaru works, tying off the bandages with practiced ease. Dororo takes a deep breath when he’s finished, pulling his kimono back up over his shoulders and retying the belt. “Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes fixed to the floor.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on, now?” Hyakkimaru asks quietly. “You haven’t been yourself in days.”

Dororo reaches out to place a hand in Ghost’s fur before saying, “Remember when we met that girl Umiko?” Hyakkimaru is silent, but Dororo knows neither of them will ever forget that day. “It’s kinda like that. I’m just… going through some stuff, with my body, and I don’t really like it.”

Hyakkimaru says nothing, and Dororo’s afraid to turn around to face him, so he doesn’t. He just focuses on petting Ghost, watches her eyes fall closed as she tilts her head into Dororo’s scratches. “I didn’t really understand back then,” Hyakkimaru says eventually, “what you meant about the differences between boys and girls.”

“I figured,” Dororo sighs, though he isn’t trying to be mean. “It’s okay, I know you were trying your best.”

“But I get it now,” Hyakkimaru says, and just by his tone – like he thinks he’s about to admit to something that will get him into trouble – Dororo knows he probably won’t like what comes out of his brother’s mouth. “I went back to the doctor and asked him. He laughed at me, but he was still pretty helpful.”

“Dick,” Dororo grumbles.

“Yeah, he told me a lot about those.”

Dororo whips around so fast his own ponytail almost smacks him in the face. “He did not use that word.”

Hyakkimaru’s actually smirking, and it looks so odd and foreign on his face that Dororo’s momentarily distracted. “No, he didn’t. But I’ve heard people use that word before. A lot of things actually make sense, now.”

“Who are you even hanging out with?” Dororo yelps. “Is it Ushio? I’m so gonna punch him the next time I see him.”

“The point is,” Hyakkimaru stresses, “I know what it means to be a boy, or what kind of body a boy is supposed to have. But I still don’t think it matters.”

“You… don’t?”

Hyakkimaru shakes his head. “I didn’t have a body for most of my life. Was I still human?”

“Of course you were,” Dororo says immediately.

“So, it didn’t matter what parts I had, or how people saw me. A lot of people called me a demon, but I was still human on the inside.” Hyakkimaru smiles, then, as he gazes down at Dororo, eyes shining with warmth. “You taught me that."

Dororo stares up at his brother. He feels cold yet warm, grounded but aloft, scared and relieved despite it all. “But… the bleeding is – ”

“Everyone bleeds. It doesn’t matter where from,” Hyakkimaru says, and Dororo’s tears are sudden and overwhelming; but they’re warm, just like Hyakkimaru’s presence beside him. “This doesn’t have to change anything. You’re still not a girl.”

Dororo doesn’t know why he waited so long to talk to his brother about this. For all the gaps in his understanding of social conventions, Hyakkimaru always knows just what to say to make Dororo feel better.

Only one person’s thoughts have ever mattered to Dororo, anyway, and Hyakkimaru’s acceptance was never in question.

“I want new clothes,” Dororo says before he can lose his nerve. “Something that’ll hide the bandages, at least.”

“Whatever you want,” Hyakkimaru replies easily. “We both need new clothes, anyway. We’re outgrowing what we have.”

He places his hands on his knees as he prepares to stand, but Dororo reaches out before he can, grabs hold of his brother’s right hand. “Thank you, Aniki,” he says, and they’re perhaps the heaviest words he’s ever spoken, coming from a place within Dororo that’s been wandering and unsettled for far too long.

Hyakkimaru smiles again, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Dororo allows his own to fall shut as Hyakkimaru leans forward to press their foreheads together.

“I’ll always be on your side,” Hyakkimaru murmurs. “Remember that.”

Mornings have become slow in a way they’ve never been before.

Even before Hyakkimaru, Dororo had grown used to startling awake at the slightest sound. He was constantly on the run from those he’d stolen from, and later – when Hyakkimaru came – they could barely make it a night without stumbling into a den of demons. They never had a chance to be, to slow down and take a moment for themselves without worrying about their safety.

Dororo can’t really explain why he notices the change, or why he’s so pleased by it. It’s just another one of those things that is, something that happened methodically and completely under his nose.

Force of habit has Dororo startling awake while it’s still dark, but he has nowhere to be now, nothing to do, and most of the time he can just curl into Hyakkimaru or Ghost and doze off again. Later, Hyakkimaru rises with the sun (he isn’t quite used to light and can’t sleep through it like Dororo can), and he quietly lets Ghost out to run through the woods before returning to their combined bedrolls.

Things are quiet in their corner of Kyoto. Sometimes Dororo and Hyakkimaru can even lay around for an hour or two before any number of their neighbors comes knocking in ever-increasing droves.

Dororo blames Ushio and his family, who have taken the safe return of their youngest daughter and turned it into some kind of life debt that can never be repaid. Hyakkimaru doesn’t see the need for thanks or reward beyond what is necessary, and Dororo has come to agree with him. (He’s left the thief’s life behind for the most part; just seeing people happy is enough of a reward for him. God, when did he become such a sap.)

But Ushio, his mother Natsuki, and his older sister Kanao, vehemently disagree. They come knocking every few days with baskets of rice or some new thing to spruce up the old samurai’s estate. They finally meet Ritsuko, who’s recovered enough to leave the house but still carries the dark look of someone who’s stared evil directly in the eye. But she smiles a lot and is fun to be around, and she and Dororo sit outside and throw sticks for Ghost to chase while Hana and Kanao boss Hyakkimaru and Ushio around inside.

And they aren’t the only ones to come. Slowly, their other neighbors start appearing, the elderly Yamadas; Natsuki’s younger sister with her husband and twin sons; even the old priest from Fushimi Inari comes to pray over the land again. Everyone brings something with them, from food to old kitchenware. And they must spread word of how little Hyakkimaru and Dororo have, so the next person who comes brings more than the last.

Hyakkimaru even finds someone willing to make them new clothes for cheap. Hyakkimaru seems to like his current wardrobe, anchors and all, and doesn't ask for much variation. Dororo, on the other hand, wants his to be modeled after his brother's. He's still pretty partial to the color green, but he asks for a longer kimono, one that falls a little below his knees. The seamstress puts a single anchor on both sleeves as instructed, and Dororo feels kind of silly for all of a few hours before Hyakkimaru sees them and gets a little misty-eyed.

Soon enough, the house begins to feel more like a home, one that’s been lived in for years and has seen generations’ worth of life and laughter.

In that way, things become very loud, but Dororo doesn’t really mind. It takes him back to the days of his early childhood, when he was never alone and didn’t have to rely on his wits to survive.

For Hyakkimaru, who’s never had anything remotely like this, it’s like regaining another stolen limb. He doesn’t know what to make of all the people inquiring after them with genuine interest, and he looks to Dororo for direction a lot in the beginning. But he slowly becomes accustomed to being looked after, and he seems distant and uncomfortable less and less.

If Hana’s village was Hyakkimaru’s starting point, then this tight-nit farming community in Kyoto is their end goal.

They can stay this time, and they can be happy. Dororo believes that.

…

Dororo is hauling a bucket of water back to the house when the man comes.

Hyakkimaru is in the back chopping wood – Dororo only feels slight hesitation leaving him unsupervised – but Dororo doesn’t think to call for him when he sees the figure walking up the path toward the house. They get visitors all the time, at all hours of the day, and Dororo doesn’t feel alarmed as he stops to set the bucket down, dusting off his hands and fixing his face with a carefully polite smile as the man walks up to him.

“Excuse me,” the man says, “I was wondering if you could help me find someone.”

For some inexplicable reason, a shiver goes down Dororo’s back. “Kyoto’s a big place,” he replies after a long moment, smile dropping from his face.

The man offers him a wane smile, thin and borderline morose. “Perhaps. I’m looking for a boy… a man named Hyakkimaru. I was told he lives around here.”

Dororo regards the stranger coolly, though on the inside, he’s deeply troubled. The man carries a large pack and a gnarled, wooden cane, like he’s a traveler; Dororo isn’t sure how someone who clearly isn’t from the area would come here looking for Hyakkimaru.

An old, phantom emotion washes over Dororo as he and the man stare at one another. It’s a remnant from a time in his and Hyakkimaru’s life that undoubtedly would’ve ended in tragedy if they hadn’t changed course.

And Dororo is scared, scared for the end of this life they only just found, for his brother’s safety.

In the end, Dororo doesn’t have time to act. He’s still debating whether or not to lie through his teeth when the man’s eyes move to a spot beyond Dororo’s shoulder. The changes in the man’s expression are nearly imperceptible, but to Dororo, who’s spent the better part of his life keenly observing the people around him, they’re clear as day.

The stranger looks… relieved. Desperate. Tired, like he might fall over if not for the support of his cane.

“Dororo,” he hears over his shoulder. “Who is that?”

“He said he was looking for you, Aniki,” Dororo says, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he turns. Hyakkimaru approaches them from the back of the house, Ghost trotting along beside him.

Neither of them seem concerned. Hyakkimaru is sporting that small, placating smile he reserves for strangers while Ghost sniffs around curiously. Maybe Dororo is just worrying over nothing; he certainly hopes that’s the case. “Can I help you with something?” Hyakkimaru asks when he comes to stand beside Dororo.

The man seems stunned into silence as he gazes at Hyakkimaru. The silence stretches, and Hyakkimaru’s smile is beginning to fall from his face when the man says, “Hyakkimaru... ”

As his name falls from the stranger’s mouth, Dororo feels more than sees the way Hyakkimaru stops breathing. When Dororo glances up, Hyakkimaru’s expression seems to shudder, taking on that pinched quality he gets when he’s about to cry.

Hyakkimaru doesn’t say anything – maybe he can’t – but it doesn’t seem to matter much. The man lurches forward, startling Ghost, who jumps back behind Dororo with a yip and accidentally knocks over the bucket full of water. Dororo takes a step back as well, though he instinctively fists a hand in Hyakkimaru’s kimono as he does.

His brother doesn’t move, firmly rooted to his spot as the man envelopes him in a hug that looks strong enough to break bone. “You’re as tall as me now,” the stranger chokes.

“Mama,” Hyakkimaru says, in a warbling voice fragile enough to snap.

The man laughs, wet and wild, and when he finally pulls back from Hyakkimaru, it’s only to take his face into his hands and peer down at him. “Silly boy,” he says, “didn’t we talk about this?”

“Papa,” Hyakkimaru amends, and then they’re both crying, and Dororo doesn’t know what to do.

“… Aniki?”

Hyakkimaru jerks like he’s been startled, but when he turns to look at Dororo, his smile is wider than Dororo’s ever seen it. “Dororo,” he says, “this is the man who raised me.”

The explanation seems simple and to the point, but to Dororo, who’s heard the story so many times, it means everything.

If this man raised his brother, then he’s responsible for everything Hyakkimaru was when they met. The clothing, the fighting prowess, the artificial eyes and limbs – they all came from this man.

Raising Hyakkimaru means pulling him from the river he’d been thrown into.

Dororo falls to his hands and knees before he can really think about it. He barely registers the shocked expression blooming on Hyakkimaru’s face before he bends over and presses his hands and forehead to the dirt, eyes screwing shut as they threaten to overflow. “Thank you,” Dororo gasps. He can feel the brush of Ghost’s fur on his legs as she skitters around him nervously. “If it weren’t for you, Aniki wouldn’t be – He never would’ve – ”

He can’t continue. There are so many things he wants to say, so many apologies he needs to make – this man is responsible for Hyakkimaru’s life, and Dororo was so rude to him – but he can’t give voice to any of them.

All he can do is grovel before the person who’d looked at an infant so obviously abandoned by the gods and given him a chance at life.

Dororo feels a hand on his back and immediately knows it’s Hyakkimaru’s. “Don’t cry, Dororo,” he says, sounding lost as he kneels in the dirt beside him. “Everything’s okay.”

Dororo shakes his head, chest heaving with sobs as Hyakkimaru hauls him out of his kowtow and gathers him in his arms. “Thank you,” he says again, overwhelmed by everything he has, the same things he could’ve lost if a stranger had made a different decision before Dororo was even born.

Hyakkimaru’s father shakes his head, and his smile is so kind and understanding, so far removed from how Dororo remembers Daigo Kagemitsu to have been, that Dororo is inexplicably, sickeningly thankful that the river took Hyakkimaru away.

Hyakkimaru has told Dororo about Jukai before, though mostly in abstract terms. For most of his life, Hyakkimaru didn’t know what to call the white haze at his side. He couldn’t feel its touch or understand its purpose, but in retrospect, Hyakkimaru admitted that its presence was warm.

Aside from the brief encounter they had when Dororo and Hyakkimaru were separated – which Hyakkimaru still hesitates to talk about – Hyakkimaru hasn’t spent much time with the man who raised him, and he hadn’t expected to ever get the chance again.

But parents, Dororo has come to realize, are nothing if not tenacious. Jukai came looking for Hyakkimaru, and he didn’t stop until he found him. “You weren’t too hard to track,” Jukai explains once Dororo has calmed down enough for Hyakkimaru to fix his attention on something else. “You both have certainly made a reputation for yourselves.”

Dororo doesn’t know how long the older man intends to stay. Jukai is a doctor by trade, and although Hyakkimaru and Dororo left one war behind, there will always be another somewhere else. Kyoto seems to be a peaceful place, and Jukai doesn’t strike Dororo as the kind of person to sit idle when he can be of use somewhere else.

He doesn’t know how long Jukai will stay, but he hopes it’s for a while. Hyakkimaru’s spent most of his starved for parental affection, and that void isn’t something Dororo can fill. Seeing Hyakkimaru eagerly show Jukai around their home and introduce him to everyone they know makes Dororo feel warm all over.

For all he loves exploring the world as it opens up to him, Hyakkimaru gets truly excited over so very little. As much as he’s opened up over the years, he still maintains a certain distance from everyone, and he only expresses his true thoughts and feelings around Dororo. Seeing his brother so happy and comfortable without another person is a precious gift, and Dororo doesn’t want to see that happiness dry up whenever Jukai decides to leave.

And since they don’t know why he came, they can’t know when he’ll disappear again. Dororo initially writes it off as Jukai trying to determine his son’s well being, but a few days after the man came to the estate, he finally discloses the reason he left on such a long journey.

The sun has just finished setting for the day, and the four of them are sitting around the table they usually eat at. Hyakkimaru is petting Ghost quietly while Jukai works on one of his prosthetics. Dororo curses under his breath when he pricks himself with the needle in his hand, shoving his finger in his mouth and glaring when Hyakkimaru shoots him an amused look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles around his finger, shifting the piece of fabric in his lap. “Sewing is hard, you have to be very precise.”

“I believe you,” Hyakkimaru replies. Dororo took up sewing upon Kanao’s suggestion, and Dororo agreed only because he has serious doubts about Hyakkimaru’s ability to be precise about anything. He was more likely to ruin his clothes than fix them, and it would probably be for the best if one of them knew how to sew. It’s actually kind of relaxing, aside from the moments when Dororo manages to draw blood. “I’m just surprised you have the patience for it.”

“I have so much patience,” Dororo scoffs. “I deal with you, don’t I?” Hyakkimaru scowls while Jukai huffs out a laugh. “I can’t fight with a sword, so I’ll just stab people with my needles instead.”

He jabs in Hyakkimaru’s direction a few times, and Ghost jerks like she thinks he’s trying to play. Hyakkimaru hauls her back, maneuvering her so she’s on her back in his lap and he can rub at her belly. “Calm down,” he says to her. “It’s quiet time.”

Jukai laughs again, shaking his head at Hyakkimaru though his eyes shine with mirth. “You are something else, my boy,” he chuckles. “I never thought I’d see the day you talked to animals like that.”

“He does it all the time!” Dororo exclaims. “I hear him talking and think we have visitors, but he’s only talking to Ghost. You should see him around horses, they’re the true love of his life.”

Hyakkimaru perks up. “Dororo,” he says excitedly. “We could have a horse now.”

“Where would we even put it? It’s not like we have a stable.”

Hyakkimaru’s brow furrows in the way it does when he’s thinking hard, probably trying to figure out the logistics of getting a horse into their home or something. “I’m building one,” Hyakkimaru eventually announces. “I’ll make Ushio help me.”

“Oh, good luck with that. You’d be better off asking Kanao.”

“You have the funds for a horse?” Jukai asks, quirking an eyebrow. It’s said in the tone of a parent who already knows the answer to his question, but it’s lost on Hyakkimaru.

“How expensive could they be?” he asks.

Dororo shrugs when Jukai glances at him. He’s long since stopped trying to explain currency and all its intricacies. “Depends on the horse,” Jukai replies. “Would you want a work horse, or a war one?”

Hyakkimaru frowns. “A war horse?”

“Samurai sometimes fight on horseback,” Dororo says. “War horses are bigger and sturdier. But they’re a lot more expensive.”

Predictably, Hyakkimaru doesn’t look like he enjoys the idea of horses being used in battle. He opens his mouth to say something, but as Dororo and Jukai wait, no words come out. The expression on Hyakkimaru’s face suddenly takes a turn for the complicated.

“The war… back West,” he says slowly, and Dororo carefully sets his needle and thread down when his hands begin to shake. “Did they use horses then?”

“Most Lords do,” Jukai replies. He doesn’t hesitate to answer Hyakkimaru’s questions like Dororo sometimes does. “Daigo had up to forty war horses, if I’m remembering correctly. Though most of them were taken away after everything was said and done.”

“What does that mean?” Hyakkimaru asks.

“The war with Asakusa ended a long time ago,” Jukai explains. “They seized a good bit of Daigo’s territory, along with a lot of resources, like the horses.”

Dororo spares a glance at Hyakkimaru, but his brother’s face is unreadable. “I’m sure Daigo blamed me for that, too.”

“Hardly anyone believed it. Daigo was a far cry from the Lord he was by the end.”

“By the end?” Dororo echoes.

“The end of his life,” Jukai replies evenly, perhaps perfectly aware of the bomb he’s dropped in the middle of their home. “The unrest grew to be too much for most people to bear. There was an uprising within a season of the war ending, and Daigo was killed.”

Hyakkimaru stills in his movements, and Ghost is quick to whine and push her head up into Hyakkimaru’s hand. “He’s dead,” Hyakkimaru says, and it would be a question if not for the fact that his voice is devoid of any emotion or inflection.

Jukai nods, eyes keen as he observes his son. “His son was rising to power when I left to search for you. I have no idea if he was accepted after everything that happened. The boy was barely sixteen at the time.”

“Tahomaru could do it,” Hyakkimaru says after a moment of brief silence. He goes back to petting Ghost, and his expression is unreadable in the low light. “He was better than Daigo.”

To Dororo, who’s rarely heard Hyakkimaru say anything positive about his birth family, it’s perhaps the most surprising development of the night. He’s never asked Hyakkimaru what he thinks about everything now that nearly three years have gone by.

Mostly they just ignore what drove them to wander in the first place. But when Jukai comes, Dororo has the stark realization that they can’t continue as they were.

...

In the days following the news about Daigo’s death, Hyakkimaru becomes quiet. Usually he’s muted in a way entirely unrelated to his past disabilities – that’s just his personality. But it’s more now, and no poking or prodding Dororo does can draw Hyakkimaru back out of his own mind.

Dororo doesn’t really think anything of it. He knows it’s a lot to process. Daigo was the person responsible for the sacrifice that ruined Hyakkimaru’s early childhood. He never got the chance to truly confront him, one on one, without Tahomaru and a legion of samurai at his back, or make him face the reality of his sins.

Dororo feels angry for Hyakkimaru. He generally doesn’t like the idea of revenge – he remembers what it did to Hyakkimaru in the past – but to lose the chance of retribution forever, after what his brother was forced to endure…

He’s glad Jukai is with them to serve as an added distraction. But even their combined efforts aren’t enough to keep Hyakkimaru’s thoughts from running wild.

It all comes to a head one night at dinner, a simple spread of soup, rice, and fish, brought to them earlier in the day by Ritsuko and her uncle after a day of fishing. Ghost is outside hunting for her own dinner, and even as he chews, Dororo listens for the sounds of her claws scratching the shoji.

He isn’t really paying attention, so it hits him like a demon attack when Hyakkimaru suddenly says, “I’m going back. To Daigo’s territory.”

“No.” It takes the combined stares of both Hyakkimaru and Jukai for Dororo to realize he was the one who’d spoken. “No, you… no.”

Hyakkimaru’s jaw clenches. His expression is stony, but his eyes look almost sympathetic as he gazes at Dororo, like he’d expected this reaction. “Dororo – ”

“You want to go back for… for what?” Dororo demands. Nausea rises like a poisonous cloud within him, and Dororo doubts he’d be able to stand even if he tried. “You have your body back, there’s nothing left for you there.”

Hyakkimaru takes a deep breath. “I can’t expect either of you to understand,” he says, and that probably hurts more than anything, more than the thought of Hyakkimaru leaving. They’ve lived and bled together for years. Dororo has seen Hyakkimaru at his best, but he’s also seen him at his worst. And Hyakkimaru has the nerve to say that he wouldn’t understand? “I just… I feel like I didn’t finish what I was meant to do there. I still have too many questions I want answered.”

“I can answer them,” Dororo spits, fear making him wild and impulsive. “They threw you to the demons for greed, and any guilt they felt was never enough to change their minds. They traded you for a decade’s worth of rice and rain and then blamed you when their stupid plan stopped working. Even your mama would’ve rather died than try to save you.”

“Dororo,” Jukai says, a quiet warning, but Dororo and Hyakkimaru are already locked on to one another, tempers rising in a growing storm.

“It has to be more than that,” Hyakkimaru insists, perhaps more stubbornly than he’s ever been about anything. “If Daigo is dead, then Tahomaru is no threat to me. Things are different now, I can – ”

“He tried to kill us, too!” Dororo shouts, voice splintering under the weight of whatever is happening to him internally. “Tahomaru would’ve tossed us to any number of demons if it meant saving their family’s stupid honor.”

Hyakkimaru’s expression darkens, and while Dororo is familiar with it, that look has never once been directed toward him. “Whether I like it or not, I’m part of that family,” Hyakkimaru says, and he’s gone cold. He’s somewhere far away, back in the place where they first met. Dororo feels an almost unbearable urge to vomit. “I’m going, and you’re staying here with Jukai and Ghost.”

“No,” Dororo says, his throat beginning to lock up, “you can’t – ”

“Everything will be fine, but in case something does happen, I can’t be worrying about you, Dororo. This is just something I have to do alone.” Hyakkimaru might say more, but Dororo isn’t listening at that point, lost in his own head.

What will he do if Hyakkimaru dies? Dororo can’t just see Hyakkimaru off knowing there’s a possibility he might never return. His last glimpse of his brother can’t be of his back, growing ever smaller as the distance between them grows. He’s lost so much already; Hyakkimaru dying wouldn’t just devastate Dororo, it would be the final straw that breaks him.

“That’s enough, Hyakkimaru,” a voice says, firm yet gentle in equal measure. “Everything’s alright, Dororo, just breathe. There you go.”

Hyakkimaru’s furiously determined expression is gone, leaving behind only guilt as Dororo struggles to catch his breath across from him. His thoughts are consumed by the events of years past: Papa run clean through, Mama pale in the red flowers, Hyakkimaru and his blank, glass eyes, all the demon blood spilled, Mio and her song, Itachi kidnapping him, Itachi dying, no one’s impervious to death not even Aniki –

Jukai slaps him.

The shock of it brings Dororo back. He fists a hand in his own kimono and takes a deep breath, one after another until his ears stop ringing and he feels less like passing out. “You both have valid points,” Jukai says, ignoring the slightly angered look Hyakkimaru shoots his way, “but we’ve gone beyond the point of talking about this rationally. I think it would be better if you went to bed and continued in the morning.”

Hyakkimaru is up and out of the house before Jukai even finishes speaking. Dororo watches him go quietly, still wheezing ever slightly. Jukai sighs, placing his chopsticks down in his bowl. “You two are far too similar,” he says in neutral sort of way that makes it impossible to tell if he’s being complimentary or not. “Brothers, indeed.”

“Am I wrong for not wanting him to go?” Dororo asks quietly. His cheek hurts, but the pain keeps him grounded, distracts him from the pain in his chest. “I barely got him out of there the first time.”

“There is no right or wrong this time,” Jukai says. “But I know that this needs to be dealt with sooner or later. Hyakkimaru can’t move on otherwise.”

Dororo knows better than anyone how obsessive Hyakkimaru can be. He knows this will continue to bother Hyakkimaru well into his life if he doesn’t return to the land where he was born. Dororo is distressed to find that, no, he can’t understand why his brother has to do this. How could he, when Dororo grew up with loving parents and a body to call his own, when he was never sacrificed for power?

No one in the world understands Hyakkimaru in that regard.

“When I last saw Hyakkimaru, he was… rattled,” Jukai begins at length. Dororo isn’t sure where the older man is going with it, but all he can really do at this point is listen. “He wasn’t the same boy I’d raised, and I couldn’t tell if he was better for it. But there was one thing he told me that stuck. He said he’d found someone who wouldn’t leave him, someone who would always stay.”

Dororo is too exhausted to cry. “Funny,” he says, “since he’s the one who’s trying to leave me this time.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be for long,” Jukai replies, beginning to gather the abandoned dishes. “You’re a family, you, him, and Ghost. He may leave, but he has somewhere to return now. He never had that before.”

Dororo watches as Jukai stands from the table, carrying the empty bowls to the kitchen. “I don’t feel right about it,” Dororo says once Jukai returns. “Nothing good can come of this. He’s going to get his heart broken again, and he’ll feel it more this time.”

Jukai smiles at he settles back down at the table, though he doesn’t look at Dororo. He looks just like Hyakkimaru had: distant, mountains away. “Perhaps.”

“I’m just supposed to let him do that?” Dororo demands. “You’re his papa, you’d really be okay with sending him off, knowing where he’s headed?”

“I sent him off once before,” Jukai replies, and Dororo is pinned under his solemn gaze. To Dororo, the older man has always seemed so put together and wise, but in that moment, he just looks tired. “I couldn’t do anything more for him as I was back then. I couldn’t make him human in any way that mattered.”

Dororo is stunned into silence.

“When I saw him again, he was more demonic than human, and I wondered if I made the right choice in saving him,” Jukai continues. “But seeing him now, with you, I know I made the right choice.”

“Hyakkimaru was worthy of life before he met me.”

Jukai nods. “We agree on that. What I mean to say is that I may have saved Hyakkimaru’s life, but he didn’t begin living it until he met you. You’re the one who’s driven him this far, and if he’s decided to leave, no matter what he may say to the contrary, he’s doing it for you. Of that much I’m certain.”  

…

Dororo and Ghost go to bed alone that night, but Dororo stays awake long after Ghost’s breathing evens out.

He lies flat on his back, listening to the ringing silence of the night. He hears everything when the front door slides open and shut, when footsteps make their way slowly down the hall, when their own bedroom door opens.

Dororo can barely see Hyakkimaru moving around in the gloom, and he keeps still and quiet as Hyakkimaru makes his way to his futon. No matter how angry and sick Dororo felt, he still laid it out for his brother before lying down himself.

He listens as Hyakkimaru gets comfortable, wonders if this is how things will be until Hyakkimaru leaves: the two of them silent and weary, right next to one another yet oceans away.

“Dororo,” Hyakkimaru says suddenly. Dororo feels Ghost twitch beside him. “Are you mad at me?”

Oh, Dororo’s mad, all right. He just doesn’t know who with. “No,” he says. “I’m scared.”

Dororo said the same thing almost three years ago. It worked on the person Hyakkimaru was then, simple and earnest and desperate to protect Dororo. But it’s been a long time since then, and even if he’s just as dead-set on protecting him, Hyakkimaru’s thoughts are heavier and more complicated.

Sure enough, Hyakkimaru replies, “That’s why I can’t take you with me. You’re better off here, with everyone else. I’m sorry for upsetting you, Dororo, I really am, but… I have to go.”

“Will you tell me why?” Dororo asks, turning his head to stare in Hyakkimaru’s direction, even if he can’t quite see him. “Is it really just because you have questions?”

“I think I’ll always have questions no matter what they tell me,” Hyakkimaru admits. “But more than anything, I can’t risk anyone coming to look for me. I need to end this fight forever, or I’ll never feel like any of this can last.” There’s a rustling sound as Hyakkimaru moves on his futon, perhaps rolling onto his side to stare into the dark like Dororo. “I can’t let anyone get hurt because of me. Not you or Ghost, or Ushio and his family.”

Jukai was right, then, or at least partially. Dororo doesn’t feel any better. He hates it when Hyakkimaru puts himself in danger for his sake. “We’re a team,” Dororo replies, feeling truly helpless for the first time. He slides a hand out into the empty space between their futons. “Why can’t we do this together?”

“We are a team,” Hyakkimaru affirms, and a warm weight settles in Dororo’s palm. Darkness has never stopped Hyakkimaru from finding him. “But this is my family’s burden. I want you safe and far away from it.”

“You’ll be gone for so long,” Dororo whispers, thinking of the years it took them to reach this place. It’ll only take Hyakkimaru a few months to get there if he doesn’t get side tracked. He could be back within a year, but that time feels insurmountable to Dororo.

Biwamaru was right when he said separation was their biggest weakness, but do they really have to conquer it this way?

“I’ll be back.” Dororo closes his eyes, hears the conviction in Hyakkimaru’s voice and holds it close to himself. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry for everything I said earlier, Aniki.”

“I know, Dororo. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

When Dororo wakes up in the morning, his hand is empty.

Ghost’s ears twitch, and she lifts her head from her paws, eyes flashing from pink to red and back again. Someone must be coming up the path toward the house, but Dororo stays where he is on the engawa as she barks and gets up to investigate.

He doesn’t know who it is, but he knows who it isn’t.

Dororo sees Ritsuko’s yellow kimono first. Next comes the ringing sound of her laughter as Ghost bounds toward her. Ushio walks behind her, arms stretched above his head and mouth wide in a yawn. Dororo watches them approach without saying a word.

“Good afternoon, Dororo.” Ritsuko greets him first. She smiles and dips her head slightly before becoming distracted by Ghost, who whines for attention at her feet. She crouches down in the dirt before Dororo to give the inugami just that, burying her pale fingers in the white ruff of Ghost’s fur with a murmured, “There, there.”

“Where’s Hyakkimaru?” Ushio asks in lieu of a proper greeting, peering into the open room behind Dororo. “Sleeping the day away?”

Dororo shakes his head. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Ritsuko pushes herself to her feet, wiping her hands off on her kimono. The look she fixes Dororo with is inquisitive. “What do you mean?”

“He… went back home,” Dororo replies. The words leave a sour taste in his mouth. “To where we came from. He had unfinished business.”

“You didn’t go with him?” Ushio asks. It’s an innocent question, though Dororo wishes the other boy knew how to read the atmosphere. “How long will he be gone?”

Dororo shrugs. “’Dunno.”

Ushio frowns, but Ritsuko jams an elbow into his side when he opens his mouth to say something. “Ow, Ritsuko, what are you doing?”

The younger girl kicks off her sandals before hopping up on the engawa next to Dororo. She’s careful as she eases herself to her knees and settles back, smiling at Dororo when he shoots her a glance. “Where are you both from? I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

“Far west,” Dororo answers. He doesn’t actually know where they’re from, or what it’s officially called. All he remembers are the burned remains of houses and temples, bridges angry farmers and merchants tried to hang him from, Daigo Kagemitsu and his soulless stare. “It took us a long time to get here. I don’t know, maybe he’ll be quicker without me slowing him down.”

Ritsuko makes a small sound in the back of her throat. Ushio stays quiet as he stoops over to pick up a stick Ghost likes to play with. Her tail starts to wag when she notices what he’s doing, and she’s quick to take off when he rears back and throws the stick with all his might.

“Whatever he’s doing must be important,” Ritsuko says as she watches. “But I’m sure he’ll hurry back.”

That, Dororo doesn’t doubt. It’s not that he thinks Hyakkimaru would’ve gone if he didn’t have a solid reason. It’s just… to leave before the sun even rose, without offering a single word of goodbye, was more than Dororo was prepared to deal with. He’d spent most of the morning being angry, but that quickly dulled to something Dororo can’t name.

Whatever it is, Dororo just feels broken. He can’t imagine living like this until Hyakkimaru returns.

“Jukai-san!” Ritsuko exclaims, making Dororo jump. She dips her head as the older man walks out of the house and settles down on Dororo’s other side. He carries a prosthetic arm with him, one that looks eerily similar to the ones Hyakkimaru had. “Good afternoon. It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Ritsuko-chan,” Jukai replies. Ushio offers a similar greeting as he continues to play fetch with Ghost. “Did you come to keep us company?”

“Oh, yes,” Ritsuko says, clapping her hands together. “I almost forgot. There’s a festival coming up. We all go to Fushimi Inari to pray for a bountiful harvest. We wanted to invite you all to come with us, but… well… ”

“Dororo and I would be happy to accompany you,” Jukai replies when Dororo stays silent. He’s the only reason Dororo didn’t have an even worse morning. When Dororo finally managed to drag himself out of his and Hyakkimaru’s room, Jukai had already opened all the shoji in the house. He’d said it was to air out the rooms – something Dororo and Hyakkimaru have never thought to do – and the extra sunlight made Dororo feel less like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. “And Ghost, as well. I can’t say I’ve had the time to enjoy a festival in recent years.”

Dororo tunes them out as they talk back and forth. A festival sounds like fun, but all Dororo can think about is that Hyakkimaru won’t be there.

Come to think of it, neither of them has ever been to anything like that, if one doesn’t count the nightly parties in Hana’s village. There was never a chance, before, and ever since they left Daigo’s land, they’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to embrace the culture.

They’ve always been moving, always running. Running away from their pasts and the many demons that pursue them. And now that they’ve finally found a place to settle, Hyakkimaru is off again. At least he’s running toward something this time. Dororo, meanwhile…

And that’s just it, isn’t it? All of this is happening because Dororo is still running away. Hyakkimaru’s problems with his family are a non-issue. Never mind Hyakkimaru slipping away like a thief in the night. If Dororo weren’t so terrified, then Hyakkimaru wouldn’t have left him behind in the first place.

Hyakkimaru didn’t take Dororo with him because he knew he was scared. Daigo’s land is stained by most of Dororo’s traumatic memories. It was where he lost his mother, where he became a thief, where he was tied up and beaten for stealing food. No other place makes Dororo feel as miserable, as small, as weak and starved and unloved.

But even so… Dororo found his brother there. They traveled Daigo’s land together and rid it of a great deal of evil. It’s where Hyakkimaru felt warmth for the first time, heard rain, pet a horse, smelled a flower.

They found each other, and Dororo doesn’t know if he believes in fate or destiny, but it was no coincidence. They had both needed something, even if they didn’t know it at the time, and in their darkest moments, they found each other. And no matter how bad things got, they stayed together. That was what made them strong. That’s probably why they’ve managed to stay alive this long.

So, yes, Dororo is scared. Terrified, even. He just loves Hyakkimaru more.

Ritsuko jumps when Dororo slaps both hands against his own cheeks. “Dororo?” she squeaks. “Are you… okay?”

Dororo drags his hands down his face, tips his head back and squints his eyes against the midday sun. “What am I doing?”

…

Dororo is thankful to have Ghost, who leads him through the streets of Kyoto with a focus she rarely displays.

Hyakkimaru has a good head start on them, but Jukai managed to save Dororo precious time by presenting him with a traveling pack as soon as Dororo gave voice to his decision. “I had a feeling,” Jukai told him, and Dororo knew he’d never stop thanking the man for as long as he lived.

It feels weird to pass the spot where they first met Ushio. Dororo’s never left a city from the same place he entered. He’s never had to retrace his steps. Looking back was a luxury he could never afford, and even now, with his mind made up, Dororo can’t believe he’s doing this.

They’re running back into potential danger, and it isn’t the kind Hyakkimaru can easily fight off. They’ve somehow become even more reckless, the both of them.

Dororo sighs as he runs behind Ghost. “This is so dumb,” he grumbles. He’s definitely going to punch Hyakkimaru when they catch up to him.

Ghost barks abruptly, startling Dororo, before taking off in a dead run. Dororo gapes after her before breaking into a run himself. “Ghost!” he calls as she disappears over a rise in the path. “Where are you going?”

She just keeps barking, and Dororo is both confused and annoyed, because there’s no way they’ve caught up to Hyakkimaru already, and distractions aren’t something they can afford if they don’t want to be chasing Hyakkimaru all over the country.

But when Dororo crests the incline, he understands why Ghost became excited, because Hyakkimaru is there.

He’s sitting on a rock right off the trail, staring up at the sky. It looks like he’s just… waiting.

He’s waiting.

Dororo breaks into a run. Hyakkimaru turns his head when Ghost lets out another bark, and he’s pushed himself to his feet and taken a few steps forward when Dororo reaches them. His brother only stumbles a little when Dororo launches himself into his arms.

“You – You – ” Dororo’s eyes burn, and he buries his face in Hyakkimaru’s chest. He doesn’t really feel like punching him anymore. He just breathes and lets Hyakkimaru pet his hair.

“Why didn’t you just come back?” Dororo asks eventually, voice muffled by Hyakkimaru’s kimono. “How long were you gonna wait here? What if I didn’t come after you?”

“I don’t know. I would’ve just gone on, I guess,” Hyakkimaru replies, voice achingly soft. “But the further away I got, the worse I felt. I made a mistake by leaving without a word, but I couldn’t make myself go back either. I’m sorry.”

“Stupid Aniki,” Dororo grumbles. “You don’t make any sense.”

“I’m sorry about that, too. But I knew you’d come if I waited.” Hyakkimaru pulls away, and the smile he gives Dororo is small and wobbly. “Because we’re a team.”

“We are!” Dororo replies, taking the opportunity to pinch Hyakkimaru’s arm and grinning when his brother squirms away from him. “You’re lucky I’m generous enough to forgive you. And make sure you apologize to Ghost, she spent all morning looking for you.”

Hyakkimaru glances down at the inugami at their feet, who preens under his attention. “I’m sorry, Ghost,” Hyakkimaru says, as sincerely as he’d apologized to Dororo, and Ghost barks, pink eyes wide and adoring. “Thank you for coming.” He returns his gaze to Dororo briefly. “Both of you.”

When they all start off down the path together, Ghost takes the lead as she always does. Despite knowing where they’re headed, Dororo almost feels at ease for the first time since he went to bed last night. “Thank you again,” Hyakkimaru says quietly. “For coming after me.”

Dororo says nothing, just takes hold of Hyakkimaru’s hand and holds tight.

Dororo doesn’t know what he’d been expecting.

A war-torn land, overruled by Asakusa samurai? Savaged by demons after their pact with its Lord fell through?    

What most surprises Dororo about the area is how little has actually changed. If he didn’t know any better, Dororo wouldn’t think this place was built upon the sacrifice of an infant. Nothing sets the Daigo land apart from any other place they’ve traveled through over the months.

Nothing, Dororo thinks, except its place in their memories.

Hyakkimaru doesn’t realize where they are. He’s never seen it before with his own eyes, and Dororo hesitates for days before saying anything. But they’re drawing closer and closer to the heart of Daigo’s – now probably Tahomaru’s – territory, and Dororo knows he can’t keep quiet forever.

They’ve been away from home for so long, and the sooner they confront Hyakkimaru’s family, the sooner they can return. Dororo knows this. It’s just that… even if there is a part of him that wants to get to Daigo’s estate as soon as possible, there’s another, smaller part that wants to call it quits and turn around.

Hyakkimaru knows something is wrong with him, but he knows better than to bring it up. In a similar way, Ghost picks up on Dororo’s mood and sticks close, no longer wandering off to explore for hours at a time as they travel the countryside. She knows something is happening, and she instinctively wants to protect him from it.

Dororo appreciates the sentiment, although this is something he’ll have to deal with himself.

Apprehension makes him impulsive, and Dororo breaks free their usual walking formation when he sees a farmer heading towards them on the path. “Excuse me!” he calls, practically feeling Hyakkimaru’s bewildered stare on his back. “Sorry to bother you, but can I ask you a question?”

“Make it quick,” the man says, face mostly obscured by the shadow of his straw hat, and yep, at least the hospitality of the locals hasn’t changed.

“My brother and I are looking for the Lord of this area,” Dororo says. “Aniki is a talented swordsman, you see, and he’d like to offer his services. We just aren’t sure where the estate is, so if you could point us in the right direction… “

The farmer narrows his eyes at Dororo before looking at a point beyond his shoulder, presumably where Hyakkimaru is standing. “You’ll reach it eventually if you keep heading down this road,” he says. “You can’t miss it. It’s the biggest structure in these parts by far.”

Dororo bows deeply. “Thank you so much. We really appreciate your help.”

“That boy is nothing compared to his father,” the farmer says gruffly, pushing past Dororo. “I’d pick a different Lord to serve if I were you, boy.”

Dororo rolls his eyes, turning to glare at the back of the man’s head as he walks away. He expects Hyakkimaru to be watching the man balefully, offended at the implication that Daigo could in any way be superior to anyone, but Hyakkimaru is looking at Dororo instead.

“We’re here?” he asks. “How come you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Dororo says with a wave of his hand. “Our goal is the estate, and we’re not there yet. That’s the only thing that matters.”

Hyakkimaru frowns, but he turns away from Dororo to look out over the landscape. He’s quiet for a long time as he takes in the area from a new perspective. Dororo watches pensively, reaching down to scratch at Ghost’s floppy ear when she presses against his legs.  

“I don’t know what I expected,” Hyakkimaru eventually says. “It all looks… normal.”

“Honestly, it looks better than it did when we left,” Dororo comments. “Most of the fields were barren, and you wouldn’t have seen people walking the roads freely like this. But I know what you mean, Aniki.”

Hyakkimaru turns back to him, mouth open like he intends to say something else, but he draws up short when he meets Dororo’s eyes. His expression becomes complicated, and Dororo frowns, tilting his head. “What is it?”

“I can go the rest of the way on my own,” Hyakkimaru replies, walking forward to place a hand on Dororo’s shoulder. Dororo glances down at his brother’s knuckles, almost taken aback by the gesture. In a small, distant part of his mind, he remembers Hyakkimaru used to have to hunch down to touch Dororo's shoulder like that. “You can take Ghost and set up camp somewhere. I’ll find you later.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dororo yelps, grabbing at Hyakkimaru’s hand when he goes to pull away. “Are you nuts? I’m not letting you go there alone, no way!”

“I can’t guarantee that things will be… peaceful,” Hyakkimaru says. “You really don’t have to get involved.”

“I’m already involved,” Dororo says defiantly. “You said this was your family’s problem, didn’t you?”

Hyakkimaru blinks in apparent surprise, shoulders flinching minutely when Dororo pinches the skin on the back of his hand. “I can't believe you sometimes,” Dororo grumbles, releasing Hyakkimaru and turning on his heel to stomp off down the road. Ghost jumps after him, barking like she does when they play together. “Stop wasting daylight, Aniki. I didn’t come all this way just to be turned away at the door ‘cause we didn’t get there ‘til sundown.”

His brother says nothing, but Dororo can hear his quick footsteps as he falls into step behind him. Dororo’s come way too far to hesitate now, and no matter how badly he wants to take the out his brother gives him, he won’t let himself.

They’re a team, for better or worse. It’s the truest thing Dororo knows, and if it kept them safe in this place before, then it surely will again.

…

Dororo doesn’t recognize the tip of the Daigo estate as it appears over the horizon. But as they keep walking, and as more of the building is revealed, Dororo knows that they’ve actually, finally made it.

The area is no busier than the farmlands in the hills below. Dororo had expected patrols, crowds, something to indicate that someone of great importance lived in the area. But as they approach the main gate, there are only two guards standing watch. One looks no older than Hyakkimaru while the other is beginning to gray at the temples, and the both of them watch coolly as Dororo, Hyakkimaru, and Ghost come to a stop before them.

“What business do you have here?” The younger man asks, eyes drifting down to the two swords strapped on either side of Hyakkimaru’s waist. “Do you have an audience with our Lord?”

“My name is Hyakkimaru.” The older of the two guards stiffens, hand flying to the hilt of his sword, strapped at his waist. Ghost bows her head beside Dororo, ears drawn back and eyes flickering red as she watches the man’s movements. “I’m not here to fight,” Hyakkimaru continues evenly. “I’ve come to speak with Tahomaru.”

The younger guard blinks in bewilderment. “Are you familiar with Lord Tahomaru? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Daigo is dead,” the older man says tersely, ignoring his companion. “You won’t find vengeance here.”

Dororo glares at the man, though he never once takes his suspicious eyes off Hyakkimaru. “I’m aware,” Hyakkimaru replies. “I told you, I’m not here to fight.”

“How can we trust the words of a demon?”

Ghost lets out a low growl, and Dororo clasps his hands together behind his back to hide how they shake. Hyakkimaru only sighs.

“What’s going on here?” A new voice says, and the fury festering low in Dororo’s stomach is quickly doused out by the jolting fear he feels. The little boy he used to be remembers that voice, and his body instinctively wants to run.

“Hyogo-dono.” The younger of the two guards turns to bow at Tahomaru’s retainer as he approaches, veering off from the path he’d been walking toward the main estate. “Uh, well, you see – “

“The demon child returned,” the other guard spits, and Dororo feels like this is all spiraling beyond their control quicker than Hyakkimaru had probably anticipated. “He says he wants to speak to the Lord.”

Hyogo comes to a stop just before Dororo and Hyakkimaru, and Dororo takes a step back before he can help himself. Ghost moves with him, and Hyakkimaru angles his body slightly to partially shield them from the man’s intense stare. “You came,” Hyogo says eventually. “My Lord thought you were gone for good.”

Hyakkimaru tips his chin up almost defiantly. He and Hyogo are almost the same height now – though Hyakkimaru is still the shorter of the two. Dororo looks between the two of them helplessly. There wouldn’t be much he could do if a brawl broke out between them as one so often did in the past. “Like I told these two,” Hyakkimaru says, “I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk to Tahomaru.”

Hyogo makes a vague noise of acknowledgment, eyes narrowing as he turns to the guards still lingering behind him. “Did you forget, Hisao?” he demands. “Our Lord made his instructions very clear, should his older brother ever return.”

The younger guard’s mouth drops open, and the older – Hisao, evidently – seems cowed, even if his eyes are still defiant. “Of course I haven’t forgotten,” Hisao protests. “But he can’t expect any of us to believe… after everything that happened – “

“Lord Tahomaru’s word is law in these lands,” Hyogo counters with an air of finality. “Hyakkimaru is a young master of this estate, and he is welcome here.” He turns to regard Hyakkimaru and Dororo once more, gesturing for them to follow. “Come. Your dog may accompany you as well.”

Hyakkimaru follows Hyogo without a word, and Dororo fists a hand into the loose fur on Ghost’s neck to keep her from lunging at Hisao as they hurry past him. “I’m just as shocked as you are, honestly,” Dororo says from the side of his mouth, though Hisao doesn’t appreciate his solidarity, if his infuriated expression is anything to go by.

The three of them follow Hyogo deeper into the estate, ignoring the prying eyes of servants and additional guards. Hyogo leads them to a room on the second level, sliding open the doors and stepping back to allow Hyakkimaru, Dororo, and Ghost through. “I will let Lord Tahomaru know you wish to see him,” Hyogo says. “Please wait here in the meantime.”

“Gotcha,” Dororo says under his breath, taking in the room.

He can’t remember the last time he was in the dwelling of a noble. Tatami mats cover the entire length of the floor, and the wall is decorated in ornate paintings. At the front of the room stands a suit of battle armor – Dororo thinks he saw Daigo wearing it back in the day, although he isn’t exactly sure. On either side of the armor sits twin floral vases that look like they cost more than Dororo’s life, and he makes a mental note to keep Ghost away from them.

Mostly, Dororo’s eyes are drawn to the plush cushions on the floor. They’re only big enough to kneel on comfortably, but he still feels the urge to dive onto one and sleep for a year.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Hyakkimaru says, voice hard, and Dororo turns to see that Hyogo is still in the doorway, watching them. “Get it out now, before your Lord comes.”

“Aniki,” Dororo hisses, but he’s promptly ignored.

Hyogo’s brow furrows, and the placid, neutral expression that’s been present on his face so far melds into something else entirely. For a moment, he looks more like the man Dororo remembers: indignant and angry over Hyakkimaru’s presence in the world. “I meant what I said before,” he says to Hyakkimaru. “Lord Tahomaru has made his opinion of you clear, and I’ll respect his wishes. But I still remember what you did to him and to us. If you make a move I don’t like, I’ll run you back out of these lands myself.”

Dororo can only see Hyakkimaru’s back, but he can imagine his brother rolling his eyes. “That’s fine,” he says, purposefully turning his back on Hyogo and walking toward Dororo and Ghost. “After today, you’ll never see us again.”

Hyogo nods stiffly – although Dororo is the only one who sees it – and slides the doors shut once more. Dororo lets out the breath he’d been holding and glares at Hyakkimaru as he settles down on one of the floor cushions. “Why are you being like this?” he demands. “Are you trying to piss him off?”

“Nothing I do will make him any angrier than he already is,” Hyakkimaru replies, leaning back on his palms and letting his head fall back against his shoulders. He stares at the ceiling, mouth twisted into an irritated frown. “I hate this place. Why did I want to come here?”

“Because you’re dumb and stubborn,” Dororo huffs, plopping down on the cushion next to his brother. Ghost moves away from them both, nose to the tatami floor as she sniffs out their new surroundings. “And you need answers, I guess, but I still don’t know what Tahomaru can say to make everything that happened suck less.”

Hyakkimaru is quiet for a moment as he stares up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t sound like he hates me anymore,” he says eventually. “Apparently I’m… welcome here.”

“Yeah, all that was really welcoming.” Dororo lays flat on his back, suddenly exhausted from all the stress. Ghost comes over to sniff him before licking his cheek and wandering off again. “I guess Tahomaru had a change of heart after Daigo died or something.”

Hyakkimaru lolls his head to the side to look down at Dororo. “I’ll try to make this quick,” he says gently. “I promise we won’t be here long.”

Dororo nods, meeting his brother’s eyes with a small smile. He can’t wait to be home and never have to think about this place ever again. Hyogo and Hisao and anyone else who still harbors ill feelings toward Hyakkimaru can rest easy knowing that this will be the last time the two of them grace their doorstep.

Good fucking riddance, Dororo thinks.

The sound of rapid footsteps outside startle the both of them, and Dororo quickly pushes himself back into a sitting position as trepidation settles low in his stomach. Ghost stops in her exploration and hurries back to them, taking up an alert position at Hyakkimaru’s side, and the three of them are staring at the door when it slides open with a sharp sound.

Tahomaru has changed very little since the last time Dororo saw him three years ago. He still looks at the noble and hates the traces of Hyakkimaru he sees there. But despite the familiarity, Dororo struggles to make sense of what he’s seeing, of the blatant, raw emotion in Tahomaru’s single eye.

“Aniue,” Tahomaru says. “You’re here.”

“I – Yes,” Hyakkimaru says as Tahomaru comes further into the room, Hyogo trailing after him. “I thought there were… things left unfinished.”

Dororo hasn’t heard Hyakkimaru sound this lost in a long time. This probably wasn’t the reception he’d expected from his younger brother, not when they’d been sworn enemies the last time they saw one another. Even Dororo is a little unnerved by the small smile on Tahomaru’s face as he kneels down on the cushion across from them.

After everything that happened, there’s someone who’s actually happy to see Hyakkimaru? Dororo can’t say he doesn’t understand the sentiment, but he’d never expected it in this place.

Tahomaru nods. “I understand. I just… never actually thought we’d see you again. You disappeared so suddenly.” The noble sighs then, gaze dropping to the tatami floor. “Although that isn’t to say that you didn’t have a good reason to do so.”

“I had someone to protect,” Hyakkimaru replies, and Dororo tries to ignore the way Tahomaru’s eye flits to him. “That was more important than getting my body back or confronting Daigo. Leaving wasn’t the only choice I had, but it was the best one.”

For a brief moment, Dororo thinks he sees Tahomaru’s expression darken. But he collects himself quickly, and Dororo doesn’t know what to make of it. “I can understand that,” he says. Dororo straightens his back as Tahomaru looks to him again and leans forward in a slight bow. “I apologize for my rudeness. I never learned your name before, and I’d like to properly thank you for being there for Aniue.”

Dororo’s head is spinning. He doesn’t think he’s ever been bowed to by a noble, let alone thanked by one. One doesn’t just spend their entire life on the edges of society and get praised for it. “His name is Dororo,” Hyakkimaru offers when Dororo remains silent.

“Sorry,” Dororo mumbles, cheeks burning. “It’s been a weird day. But, uh, you’re welcome?”

Tahomaru laughs as he straightens up again. “It is pretty weird,” he allows. “The last time I saw you both, we were all trying our best to kill one another.”

Dororo would argue that he was the only one who actively tried to stop them – their mama tried once, but her idea of stopping the madness involved both her and her eldest son’s deaths – but he’s nowhere near comfortable enough to say that aloud.   

“I see you regained your body,” Tahomaru continues, eye scanning Hyakkimaru appraisingly. “I really am happy for you, Aniue. You have our mother’s eyes.”

The noble’s tone is impossible to pin down, though Dororo doesn’t let it bother him too much. “I didn’t think I would, actually,” Hyakkimaru says, voice soft. “When we left, I thought I was leaving the rest of my body behind. But everything came back to me, eventually. It was more than I could’ve asked for.”

Dororo disagrees, and from the way Tahomaru frowns, he shares the sentiment. “You had every right to demand what you were owed,” Tahomaru says firmly. “Our father dealt you a terrible hand and refused to own up to his actions. I was complicit in that, and I’ll never be able to apologize to you enough.”

Hyakkimaru’s jaw is flexing when Dororo spares a glance at him. “I never… “ he trails off, apparently overcome by emotion, and Dororo desperately wants to reach out to him. But would he be throwing his relationship with Hyakkimaru in Tahomaru’s face if he does?

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what Tahomaru will think, because Hyakkimaru is hurting. So, Dororo reaches out and grabs hold of Hyakkimaru’s sleeve. Ghost bends her head and touches her nose to the same spot, and Hyakkimaru takes a deep breath.

“I never thought I’d get a chance to talk to you like this,” he says to Tahomaru, and Dororo withdraws his hand. “I thought that what I wanted, more than anything, was an apology, but hearing one from you now… we were both awful to each other. Your retainers’ arms… your eye… I did that to you.”

Tahomaru seems taken aback. “You were defending yourself. If I’d held to my convictions back when you returned to us, none of that would’ve ever happened. But I was too weak. You don’t have to apologize for wanting to live.”

“It’ll make me feel better,” Hyakkimaru presses. “I’m sorry, Tahomaru, I really am.”

"Well... I appreciate that," Tahomaru says. "And you're forgiven, obviously."

Maybe in Tahomaru's eyes, although it's been made perfectly clear that Hyogo doesn't share the sentiment. Now that Dororo's looking, he can see the difference between the man's real arm and his prosthetic one. It's clearly been made by a skilled craftsman, and with most of it obscured by robes, one wouldn't be able to tell that it's a prosthetic. But Dororo can see the difference at the wrist, can tell in how there's no curve of jutting bone. 

The past left its scars on them all, and it would be silly to assume them all scrubbed clean by an apology.

“I’m sure you have questions,” Tahomaru says at length, “about what happened to Father.”

“We heard he’d been killed,” Hyakkimaru replies, and Dororo adds, “In an uprising.”

Hyogo shifts behind Tahomaru for the first time. He seems uncomfortable, and he stares at the back of Tahomaru’s head. “My Lord… ”

“It’s okay, Hyogo,” Tahomaru says. “Aniue deserves to know what happened after he left.”

The tension in the room is palpable. Even Ghost shifts anxiously between Dororo and Hyakkimaru, though she isn’t whining. “Father was… not the man I thought he was,” Tahomaru begins. “That became more apparent when he realized you were still alive. When our patrols reported that you’d left the area, there was already so much going on. The Asakusa were invading, and sickness was spreading among our people. But Father spent most of our resources looking for you. He was convinced that the winds would turn in his favor if only you were captured and killed.”

Dororo feels the whispering of ancient fury in his chest. It’s been so long since he actually let himself think about Daigo’s transgressions against his brother. Now that Hyakkimaru has his body, the only evidence one can find of his past exists in his mind, or in the things he still struggles to understand about the world. He’s been healing, so Dororo just doesn’t let himself think about what led them to this point.

But even if the angry, lonely boy Hyakkimaru was three years ago no longer exists, Dororo’s heart still aches on his behalf.

“I let it go on for far too long,” Tahomaru continues. “I’d just lost my eye, and Hyogo and – and Mutsu had each lost an arm. My anger was directed at the wrong source, and I neglected to do my duty as one of this land’s protectors.”

Dororo notices Tahomaru’s hesitation, as well as the way Hyogo’s shoulders tighten the slightest bit behind him. It’s another thing Dororo hasn’t let himself think about since they got here: the absence of Tahomaru’s second retainer.

“Mutsu was… sick.” Tahomaru takes a long moment then, hands curling into fists where they rest atop his thighs. “She tried to hide it, but I made her stay behind while I took Hyogo and a patrol to pursue you on Father’s orders. I left her in the care of our physicians, and I didn’t – I never – ”

“Tahomaru… ” Hyakkimaru murmurs.

Tahomaru’s jaw flexes, eye beginning to mist over, and he looks so much like Hyakkimaru that Dororo has to avert his gaze. “Father had all the sick moved to a single village,” Tahomaru spits. “They went under the guise of stopping the sickness’ spread, and their families were all promised they would receive treatment. Mutsu was moved there as well, despite my orders to keep her in the estate. Father overruled my wishes on the matter. I still find myself wondering if he ever… if he thought for even a second – “

Hyogo drops to his knees beside Tahomaru to place a hand on the Lord’s shoulder, finally displaying some other emotion beside anger or discomfort. Their shared devastation is obvious, and Dororo doesn’t need to hear about what Daigo did to Mutsu and the other sick people.

Dororo remembers how Daigo and his people treated the sick and dying, and he’s intimate with the grief in Tahomaru’s and Hyogo’s expressions.

“He burned the entire village to the ground,” Tahomaru says haltingly, voice tight and gravelly. “Anyone who tried to escape was killed. By the time I gave up and returned nearly a month later, nothing remained but… ash.”

Hyakkimaru is shaking beside Dororo. His eyes are narrowed and dark with rage, but there’s nowhere to direct that anger. Ghost whines, sinking to her belly and nudging at Hyakkimaru’s arm. There’s a brief moment before Hyakkimaru breathes out an aggravated sigh and reaches over to start petting her. Dororo sends his quiet thanks to Ghost, because he can’t make his own body move.

“I hate to admit it, but that’s when I began to see Father for who he was, who he’d always been,” Tahomaru says. He rubs furiously at his eye, and he shares a meaningful look with Hyogo before the man retracts his arm. He doesn’t go back to standing, however, just kneels on the tatami beside Tahomaru. “I was so angry with myself for ignoring everything up until then.”

“He was your papa,” Hyakkimaru says, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. “You loved him. He was supposed to protect you.”

“He should’ve protected all of us. You, me, Mother… but we weren’t a priority. We never were. Everything else came secondary to maintaining power.”

Dororo finds himself nodding. There was a time, before Hyakkimaru, that he’d had the same thoughts about family. It never occurred to him that anyone could hurt their loved ones that way. Family was all anyone had in this world, and once Dororo lost his, he’d had nothing left. No one would go out on a limb for him the way his parents had, and Dororo hadn’t thought he’d find someone who would ever again.

But then Hyakkimaru showed up, and with him came a series of painful revelations about what someone could do for the sake of greed.

“Father had lost sight of his goals at that point, whatever they were,” Tahomaru says, disgust evident in his voice. “He couldn’t hide what he’d done from our people, and added to the famine, the coming war, and the rumors about what he’d done to you, they started to turn on him.”

“We heard he was killed in an uprising,” Hyakkimaru says. “Was it right after he murdered all those people?”  

Tahomaru is quiet for a long moment before he says, “Aniue… I don’t presume to know how you feel about me, but I trust you.”

Hyakkimaru seems taken aback. “I – Okay.”

Dororo would laugh at his brother’s awkwardness if it weren’t for Tahomaru’s grave expression. “And you, Dororo,” he continues. “I think you’re someone I can trust as well, and I don’t make that decision lightly.”

“Oh, okay,” Dororo replies, and wow, he’s no better than Hyakkimaru.

“What I’m about to tell you has to stay on these grounds,” says Tahomaru, and Hyakkimaru and Dororo nod but otherwise remain silent. “There was an uprising. Our people were angry, and a large group of them came to the estate to take revenge on Father for what he’d done. But they barely made it past the main gate before they were subdued and forced out.”

“So… what happened to Daigo?” Dororo can’t help but ask.

Tahomaru takes a deep breath before replying, “I was the one who killed our Father, for lack of a better word.” At Hyakkimaru’s and Dororo’s silence, the Lord goes on to say, “When I returned from searching for you, I began to amass a group of soldiers loyal to me instead of Father. I hadn’t the time to develop much of a plan, but amidst the chaos of the uprising, I had Father apprehended and confined to the cells below the estate.”

Dororo… doesn’t know what to make of that. Tahomaru always struck him as someone bound by duty – perhaps to his own detriment – and no matter how he speaks of the man now, the idea that Tahomaru would overthrow his own father is hard to fathom.

“I was the one who circulated the news that he died in the fighting,” Tahomaru says. “He’d proven to me that he was incapable of leading, and I thought it best that Daigo Kagemitsu fall under the hands of the people he wronged.”

“Whoa,” Dororo says faintly. “So, is he… down there?”

Hyakkimaru makes a low, vague sound, and Tahomaru shakes his head quickly. “Father is dead, I assure you,” he says. “He lived in the dungeons for two years, but one day, he stopped accepting food and water and just… Well, he went quickly after that.”

It’s almost poetic, how someone as narcissistic as Daigo died underground, all alone, a prisoner in his own home. Dororo doesn’t know if that’s preferable to Daigo facing retribution for what he’d done to his people and his family, but there’s no changing it now. If Tahomaru is to be believed, Daigo is gone and can’t hurt anyone ever again.

“When did he die?” Hyakkimaru asks suddenly. “Do you remember the date?”

Tahomaru frowns. “It was last year, just before harvest season. I don’t remember the date exactly. We didn’t have burial rites performed.”

Dororo looks to Hyakkimaru. “Aniki?”

Hyakkimaru returns his stare, brows furrowed in thought. “My eyes,” Hyakkimaru says, and all at once, Dororo understands. “I got them around then.”

Dororo’s mouth pops open. “You think… ”

Tahomaru looks back and forth between them, bewildered. There’s no telling for sure, but the timeline does seem to match up. Daigo died around the same time Hyakkimaru got the last of his body parts back, and that doesn’t seem like it’s just a coincidence.

“It would make sense,” Tahomaru says, apparently having made the same connection as Hyakkimaru and Dororo. “No normal man could do something like that to his own child. If Father traded your life and his humanity for power, even if unwittingly, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Can demons even die of starvation?” Dororo asks, and Hyakkimaru shrugs, though he glances down at Ghost.

Their inugami was locked in a shed for months with no food or water, and despite being small for her age, there had been no physical evidence of starvation. With Daigo, there was no telling how human he may have been at the time of his death, but he couldn’t have been very powerful if he couldn’t break free of his confinement on his own.

“It’s probably better left unanswered,” Tahomaru sighs. “He deserved what he got, in the end. Perhaps I should have made him stand trial for his crimes, but I couldn’t help but feel like he’d find a way out of it somehow.”

“You made the right call,” Hyogo says darkly, dropping all pretenses of propriety. “He deserved to rot for what he did.”

Dororo’s heart reaches out to the man. He recalls that Tahomaru’s retainers had been siblings, and he can’t imagine how it would feel if Hyakkimaru had died and Dororo hadn’t been there. Nothing would be able to heal that grief and regret.  

“I wanted you to know the truth, Aniue,” Tahomaru says. “I’m sorry that you can’t confront Father for what he did to you.”

Hyakkimaru shakes his head. “Nothing he could’ve told me would make it better,” he says. “I know now that there are some questions that just don’t have answers. I’ll drive myself mad if I keep wondering about it.”

Tahomaru nods in agreement. “I’ve also thought about what I could do, if there was anything I could do, to make up for what happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m free of responsibility.” Tahomaru stares hard at Hyakkimaru, and Dororo shifts on his knees, uncomfortable for some unfathomable reason. “You’re the first-born, you know,” Tahomaru continues. “This land… everything I have now is your birthright.”

Dororo understands, probably before Hyakkimaru does, where Tahomaru is going with this, and his entire body goes cold. This wasn’t the plan, he thinks, but Tahomaru isn’t done.

“If you wanted to take back your place as the heir of our Father’s legacy, I wouldn’t stop you.”

Silence greets Tahomaru’s declaration. Hyogo looks vaguely disgruntled – this is probably something he’s heard many times before – but says nothing. Dororo is too horrified to say anything, and Hyakkimaru just seems… confused.

“But you’re the Lord,” Hyakkimaru says slowly, like he’s working through a problem in his mind.

“Yes,” Tahomaru says. “But my legitimacy was always built on a lie. I know that you have a strong and noble heart, and you genuinely care about people. You obviously weren’t trained in the affairs of state or Lordship, but I think the two of us could rebuild this land’s previous prosperity if we worked together. If – If you decided to stay.”

Hyakkimaru says nothing, and the silence stretches on for so long that Dororo wonders if maybe he’s just gone deaf and can’t hear Hyakkimaru decline his brother’s offer. But Hyakkimaru just isn’t moving – not his mouth, not his hands, it doesn’t even look like his chest is rising and falling as he breathes.

Hyakkimaru is thinking. And Dororo…

Dororo thinks about Kyoto. About their house and the woods Ghost prowls through. About Jukai and his prosthetics, Ritsuko and her yellow hair ribbon, Ushio and how he constantly puts his foot in his mouth. None of those things can be found here, and Dororo never prepared himself for the possibility of leaving them behind. He never once considered that they were coming here to stay.

Because why would they? This place never wanted them, in fact it actively tried to kill them at every opportunity. The very land itself thrived off Hyakkimaru’s sacrifice, and it had been nearly inhospitable since day one. They aren’t wanted, were never wanted.

Except… that isn’t the case anymore. Hyakkimaru, at least, is wanted here. Tahomaru, the man in the highest position of power in the area, is offering him a place. All Hyakkimaru’s ever wanted is a place to belong, and why shouldn’t he find it here, with his mama and brother?

Dororo just… can’t do that. Not anymore. There hasn’t been a place for him here since he was very little. He isn’t noble or kind like Hyakkimaru. He doesn’t want to sit and watch the people who tormented him prosper while he remains miserable. Not when he remembers Kyoto.

He can’t do that. Not even for Hyakkimaru.

But Hyakkimaru still hasn’t said anything, so maybe Dororo is worrying for nothing. Maybe Hyakkimaru is trying to figure out the best way to turn his brother down.

It’s a possibility, however small. It’s hope, and Dororo grips it tightly so as not to panic.

“I’m sorry,” Hyakkimaru says, and Dororo almost cries right then and there. “I’m not what you think I am. I can’t do anything for your people.”

“Aniue… ”

“All I’m good at is killing demons,” Hyakkimaru continues, and Dororo disagrees, but he maintains his silence. “I can’t inspire loyalty like you or think my way out of problem like Dororo. I just… I want peace, is all, and I already found that somewhere else.”

Dororo’s overwhelming relief is foiled in Tahomaru’s obvious disappointment. “I understand,” the noble says. “I disagree, but I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Do you remember,” Dororo blurts out, startling the two brothers, “that island where we last fought?”

“Dororo?” Hyakkimaru asks hesitantly while Tahomaru says, “Yes, of course.”

“At the top of the hill, there’s a cave,” Dororo explains, ignoring Hyakkimaru’s wide-eyed stare. “It’s full of gold and jewels, like you wouldn’t believe. You can have all of it. Use it to help your people.”

“Dororo,” Hyakkimaru says again, quieter this time, “that’s your treasure.”

Yeah, that my papa stole, Dororo thinks but doesn’t say. “I don’t need it,” Dororo insists, “and it’s not like we can carry it all back to Kyoto. Who cares? Let Tahomaru have it.”

It’s the least Dororo can give. Hyakkimaru can’t be measured in physical wealth, but Dororo feels like he has to give something in return for this gift he’s been given. Now that he’s calmed down a little and is thinking rationally, there was never any real threat of Hyakkimaru choosing to stay here. But Tahomaru gave voice to the possibility, and that alone made Dororo realize just how lucky he is.

Dororo doesn’t need all that treasure Itachi gave his life trying to find, the treasure he’d honestly forgotten about until moments ago. He just wants to go home with his brother.

“If you’re certain,” Tahomaru says eventually. “I can’t – I can’t even begin to express how much that means to me. You have no idea how much that will help my people.”

Dororo waves the noble off, uncomfortable with the gratitude he sees in his eye.

“Dororo likes to pretend he isn’t kind,” Hyakkimaru says, tone impossibly fond. “He’s a true, hardened criminal, you see.”

“Why would you say that in front of a Lord, Aniki?” Dororo demands, thrusting his hands in Tahomaru’s direction. “Don’t listen to him, I’m an absolute angel, I’ve never done anything wrong in my life.”

Tahomaru has the gall to appear thoughtful. “I am curious as to how you acquired all this apparent wealth.”

“How about you just take it and don’t ask questions?” Dororo trills. “I didn’t steal it, but I have it on good authority that it was taken from people who didn’t deserve it. Probably.”

 Hyakkimaru laughs, and then Tahomaru is laughing, and it’s probably for the best that they’re going home soon, because Dororo absolutely cannot live like this.

"Mother,” Tahomaru gasps once his laughter has died down. “I almost forgot! She’ll want to see you, if… if that’s alright with you.”

Hyakkimaru sobers up quickly at the mention of his mother. This is a subject rarely touched, a wound that is probably just as raw as it was the day it was inflicted. They obviously haven’t seen the woman since she attempted to take her own life, and Dororo can’t imagine how this meeting might go down.

“That’s fine,” Hyakkimaru says quietly. “If that’s what she wants.”

Tahomaru nods, turning to Hyogo. “Would you escort him to Mother’s room? She should be in prayer right now.”

“Wait,” Hyakkimaru says, sounding vaguely alarmed as Hyogo gets to his feet. “Just me?”

“I think Mother would feel better if I weren’t there,” Tahomaru says, so matter-of-factly that even Dororo feels wounded. “Our relationship is… Well, it was never good, but it’s a bit more strained now with everything that’s happened.”

Hyakkimaru makes a small, humming sound before turning to Dororo. He looks uncertain, eyes flitting over Dororo’s face as if that’s where he’ll find the best path to take. And while Dororo isn’t necessarily comfortable with the idea, he knows that Hyakkimaru and his mama probably deserve a moment of privacy. “I’ll be waiting,” he says, offering Hyakkimaru an encouraging smile. “Ghost will keep me company. Take as long as you need.”

Ghost wags her tail, and Hyakkimaru looks between the two of them for a moment before nodding and getting to his feet. “I’ll be back,” he says, as if that even needs saying. “And then we’ll leave.”

Dororo nods, and he, Ghost, and Tahomaru watch as Hyogo and Hyakkimaru leave the room. The door has just barely closed when Tahomaru turns to Dororo with purpose in his eyes. “I apologize,” he says. “I wanted to get you alone, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Dororo replies. He’s too exhausted to keep up appearances. “Let me guess, you want to ask about Hyakkimaru.”

“I couldn’t possibly ask him,” Tahomaru says, “about everything he went through. Everything our family put him through. I gave up that right when I decided his life was less valuable than maintaining the status quo. So, I’d like to ask you to tell me, as his… ”

Tahomaru trails off, fixing Dororo with an imploring look.

Dororo returns it, recognizing the chance he’s been given. “His brother,” he replies. “I’m his brother, just like you.”

Tahomaru’s mouth does an odd, quivering thing. “Please,” he says quietly. “I would like to share in your burden, if you’d let me.”

And so, Dororo tells the story as he lived it. He doesn’t pull punches or sugarcoat the details. He just speaks to his memory, speaks of the blind rounin he met on the bridge so long ago, and not once is he interrupted.

Hours later, when the four of them reconvene with both Hyakkimaru and Tahomaru a little red around the eyes, no one says a word.

…

Tahomaru blanches when he hears that they intend to walk all the way back to Kyoto. Dororo doesn’t really know how else he would’ve expected them to get there, but he certainly isn’t turning down the noble’s solution.

“They’re both mares,” Tahomaru explains, completely unaware of the implications of what he’s just done. Hyogo returns with a stable hand, and on either side of the stable hand is a white horse – one with a gray mane, the other a pale yellow. “A mother and daughter. They’re very strong and have been well cared for. I think they’ll suit you both well.”

“Are you sure?” Hyakkimaru asks, though he’s already snatching the reins of the larger horse from the stable hand. His eyes are practically sparkling, and Dororo withholds a snort as Hyogo watches the man he once almost fought to the death coo over a horse. “You don’t need them?”

Tahomaru shakes his head, and Dororo steps up to take the reins of the second horse. She knickers when Dororo places a hand on her neck before she leans down to sniff at Ghost, who inches closer to investigate. The young mare nibbles on Ghost’s folded ear, and the inugami goes stalk still, like she isn’t sure what to do. Her eyes are so wide the whites are showing, and Dororo has to stifle his laughter.

“Her name is Chibi.” Tahomaru says to Dororo. “The mother is called Midoro.”

“Midoro,” Hyakkimaru echoes, almost reverently.

“Who named you?” Dororo says to Chibi, running his fingers through her blonde mane. “I hope you gave them a good kick.”

“Midoro is a bit older, but she shouldn’t have any trouble making it through the mountains,” Tahomaru says as Hyakkimaru hauls himself up onto the horse’s saddle. Dororo is pleased to find that he’s tall enough to climb up on Chibi without assistance. He isn’t often presented with evidence that he has, in fact, grown over the past three years. “Just be sure to let them rest.”

“Don’t worry, Aniki will treat them better than he treats anything else,” Dororo assures him. “Even me.”

Hyakkimaru shoots Dororo an annoyed glance but doesn’t try to refute it. Ghost barks, seemingly frustrated with how far away they are, as if she’s forgotten that she’s taller than any horse in her demon form and could easily get to them if she really wanted. Dororo’s thankful for it, however. He doesn’t really want to deal with explaining how they came to have a demon for a pet.

“You should… write,” Tahomaru says haltingly, shifting his weight as Hyakkimaru and Dororo settle in. He looks younger from this perspective, Dororo thinks, not so much the stoic Lord he is at ground level. “Especially if you don’t plan on coming back.”

Hyakkimaru and Dororo exchange a glance. “I can’t write,” Hyakkimaru says almost apologetically. “Or read.”

“I can, but only a little,” Dororo adds. “Jukai can probably teach us, though. You’ll get your letters, Tahomaru, just… probably not anytime soon?”

Tahomaru sighs, but at least he’s smiling. “That’s more than enough for Mother and me.”

They leave the estate easier than how they’d entered it. Hisao and the other guard are still standing outside, and Dororo can’t help but grin at the looks on their faces when they ride off on their beautiful white mares. It feels like justice, or something akin to it. Dororo could definitely get used to that feeling.

“We did it, Aniki,” he says once they’ve ridden in relative silence for a while, the only sounds being Midoro’s and Chibi’s hooves on the road and Ghost’s random barks as she struggles to adjust to their new companions. “We really did it. And we didn’t get stabbed once!”

Hyakkimaru snorts. “No one was ever going to get stabbed, Dororo.”

“You don’t know that! Hisao definitely wanted a piece of you, and Hyogo might’ve requested a duel if we stayed long enough.”

“I would’ve won.”

“The ego on this one, Midoro,” Dororo says, and the older horse angles her ear his way at the sound of her name. “Feel free to buck him off, teach him some humility.”

Midoro snorts, tossing her head, and Hyakkimaru rolls his eyes. Dororo settles back into Chibi’s saddle, feeling pretty pleased with himself and their circumstances.

They returned to their homeland, and the world didn’t end. Not a single drop of blood was shed, and although Dororo had to relive some… fairly painful memories, it wasn’t all in vain. They left the estate with Tahomaru understanding his older brother a little better, and there’s a line of communication now where there wasn’t before.

Maybe now Hyakkimaru can finally mend the broken ties between him and his family. Dororo hadn’t believed it to be possible before, but he’s never been gladder to be proven wrong.

“Hey, Dororo,” Hyakkimaru says suddenly, and the quiet joy that’s been present on his face since Tahomaru presented them with the mares is nowhere to be seen. “I know you want to get home as soon as possible, but… I’ve been thinking… ”

“Yeah?” Dororo asks, trying to keep his feelings of trepidation out of his voice. “It’ll take us months to get there anyway, Aniki. One more stop won’t kill us, if that’s what you mean.”

Hyakkimaru’s mouth sets in a firm line, and he lifts his head to meet Dororo’s gaze. And although Dororo doesn’t quite understand what he sees there, it penetrates deeply in his chest.

Hyakkimaru looks away, lifting his gaze to the sky when a flock of birds flies overhead. “I want,” Hyakkimaru says softly, “to see Mio.”

Hyakkimaru watches Dororo’s back as his brother pulls ahead of him, gently digging his heels into Chibi’s sides. As usual, Hyakkimaru copies his movements and marvels at the reaction he gets. Midoro lets out a snort and picks up the leisurely pace they’d previously set, trotting along the path after her daughter.

Again, Hyakkimaru finds himself struck by Dororo. He hadn’t even known Dororo could ride, though he supposes it’s never come up until now. Wanderers though they may be, most of their time is spent walking. It wasn’t a problem before – not one that needed fixing anyway – and it isn’t in Dororo’s nature to complain about things like that.

Dororo just doesn’t like to talk about his experiences before they met, and Hyakkimaru does his best not to push. But it’s moments like these that remind him there are still things he doesn’t know, and not knowing may be what Hyakkimaru dislikes most.

They stay quiet as they travel. Normally this doesn’t bother Hyakkimaru, but it’s different when the silence is caused by him. He looks at the tense slope of Dororo’s shoulders and understands that he’s the cause, and although Hyakkimaru feels guilty, this is just another of those things he feels he has to do.

And Dororo, as usual, asked no questions; only steered Chibi toward the sun and rode on.

Hyakkimaru surveys the land from Midoro’s back. It’s odd, he thinks, to see the world from this angle when he’s only just gotten used to walking on his own two feet. He doesn’t know what war looks like – only how it sounds, how it smells, how it made people’s souls darken – but he thinks he understands as he takes in Tahomaru’s land.

This place isn’t like Kyoto, where rice fields glow golden. There’s greenery here, but it’s sparse and small, like new growth after a long winter. The people they pass eye them warily, and not a single one calls out a greeting. Hyakkimaru doesn’t consider himself all that social, but he’d grown a tolerance to being flagged down and babbled at in the lands to the east.

Hyakkimaru can’t exactly know what makes this place different from others he’s seen, but he has an idea. He carries the same weight. He’s new and tender in all the same ways.

So absorbed is he in his thoughts that Hyakkimaru doesn’t notice when Dororo tugs at Chibi’s reigns, urging the horse to a stop. But Midoro is keen, and she slows so abruptly that Hyakkimaru is jolted forward on her back. “Aniki,” Dororo says, and Hyakkimaru feels himself flushing at the fond exasperation in his brother’s voice, “you really shouldn’t doze off like that. Riding a horse is a lot harder than it looks.”

“I’m awake,” Hyakkimaru replies evenly, ignoring Dororo’s soft laughter. “Why’d you stop? Are we… “

Dororo nods, tilting his head toward a long, stone staircase. Hyakkimaru stares up the incline, willing what little remains of his memory from his time in this place to return to him. The stones are cracked and overgrown with vines and moss. Hyakkimaru has seen the ruins of various places on their journey here, villages and temples razed by poverty and war, and he recognizes abandonment when he sees it.

“I thought I’d get lost, honestly,” Dororo says as he’s swinging a leg off of Chibi’s back and landing on the ground. Ghost rushes to him immediately, nosing at his hands and the backs of his knees, and Dororo just lets her. “But I guess… well, some things you just can’t forget.”

Hyakkimaru says nothing as he dismounts Midoro. Dororo is facing all sorts of past horrors, all for Hyakkimaru’s sake, so what can he say? “What do we do with the horses?” he asks instead.

Dororo reaches for Chibi’s reigns and guides her to a nearby tree. “They’ll stay put if we just tie them up,” he explains, wrapping the reigns around the slim trunk. Hyakkimaru follows after and does the same, making sure to tuck the loop between the coil of the reigns and trunk as Dororo had. “They’ll probably be fine by themselves, but… ”

With a slight frown, Dororo turns to Ghost. “Stay here and guard them, okay?” he says, and Ghost whines pitifully before skulking over to the tree. She sits down between Chibi and Midoro, and Hyakkimaru doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look more put-upon than she does in that moment.

“Good girl,” Dororo coos, leaning over to scratch behind her ear, and it’s with painstaking slowness that Ghost’s tail wags across the grass. “No one will steal them with you sitting here, looking all ferocious.”

“Someone would really take them?”

Dororo shrugs. “You can never be too careful,” he drawls. “But I probably would, if it were me.”

You wouldn’t, Hyakkimaru thinks but doesn’t say, and they leave their animals behind as they start up the stone steps.

As Hyakkimaru climbs, and as he and Dororo reach the very top of the incline, he feels something inside of himself snap into place. Hyakkimaru knows these stairs. He’s been here before.

He doesn’t understand the cold feeling within himself as he trails after Dororo. He doesn’t know how he can have this sense of familiarity when he’s never actually seen this place before. The courtyard looks no better than the stairs had, and all that remains of whatever structure once stood here is rotted wood. But Hyakkimaru looks at the ruins and remembers heat, both outwardly and within himself, stronger than anything he’d ever felt before.

Hyakkimaru knows now that that heat was fury. It had robbed him of almost everything, and only thin, shaking arms around his waist had brought him back from that place.

Dororo leads him to a series of flat stones, and Hyakkimaru intuitively understands that they’re different from the others, important. They stand apart from the rest of the ruins, and their placement speaks of order, deliberateness. Hyakkimaru’s chest tightens as he looks at them.

Dororo sinks to his knees before the stones, and Hyakkimaru mirrors his movements, settling down into the grass. “Usually you cremate the dead,” Dororo says quietly. Hyakkimaru remembers that word and what it means, even if he has no frame of reference for it. “But I couldn’t do it all on my own, and we were… well, there was never time.”

Something in his tone sets Hyakkimaru on edge, and it doesn’t take him long to realize why. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says immediately. Dororo’s guilt is rarely seen yet keenly felt, and Hyakkimaru despises it. “It was just the two of us, and I couldn’t help you.”

His brother says nothing, and when Hyakkimaru glances at him, his eyes are closed. He bows his head to the stone before him and presses his palms together just above his chest. Hyakkimaru feels distinctly helpless as he does the same without knowing why.

“Do you remember her?” Dororo asks after a long moment of silence. “You didn’t spend a lot of time with the other kids, so I don’t blame you if they’re a little fuzzier.”

It takes Hyakkimaru a while to think of a response. He wishes he remembered more of that time in his life, wishes he’d done more, cared more. Everything was so new and overwhelming, and at that point, being alive had become an inconvenience in a way Hyakkimaru never expected.

Everything just hurt all the time: his head, his chest, the very core of him that made up a person’s soul. Nothing made Hyakkimaru happy. Nothing made him feel good, and then suddenly, there was Mio.

The feeling Mio’s song brought Hyakkimaru isn’t something he’s been able to replicate since her death. It’s undefinable, and he still lacks the words to explain it to Dororo. It’s one of those things that’s bothered Hyakkimaru ever since they fled this land years ago, the final ghost of his past that Hyakkimaru had wanted to confront.

But kneeling before what he now understands to be graves, Hyakkimaru is no closer to knowing.

It’s another blow in a long, arduous day. Hyakkimaru felt similarly when he’d seen his mama for the first time, taken in the curve of her shoulder, her curtain of dark hair. Hyogo and his lingering hostility had been the furthest thing from Hyakkimaru’s mind as he approached the figure he’d only ever seen in darkness.

He couldn’t see her soul any longer, but when the woman turned to him, and their eyes met for the first time, Hyakkimaru sensed the same warmth he had all those years ago.

“Hyakkimaru,” she whispered, and he’d heard her voice before – just before her overwhelming light faded to almost nothing – but it still brought tears to Hyakkimaru’s eyes. “My son.”

Finally standing before the woman who’d given him life, Hyakkimaru found that the questions he’d been mulling over for years just… vanished. They seemed inconsequential in the face of her weeping, as she’d crawled to him on her hands and knees and dragged him down against her chest.

Dororo had said that nothing his family would tell him could make Hyakkimaru feel better, and as usual, he was right. Because in that moment, Hyakkimaru hadn’t needed answers, or even an apology like the one he’d received from Tahomaru.

It was enough to see how his mama looked at him in the same way Jukai and Dororo do. That told Hyakkimaru everything he needed to know.

The one who’d sacrificed his first-born son for power was gone. Hyakkimaru’s mama and brother were all that remained, and he had their love, despite everything. Hyakkimaru hadn’t considered that a possibility before, and in the face of it found that he didn’t need anything else.

“What did she look like?”

Dororo startles at Hyakkimaru’s abrupt question, though his extended silence is the only outward sign of it. “She was… small,” Dororo says at length. “Malnourished, but she couldn’t have been much older than you. She had long, brown hair, and her eyes were dark and tired, but… kind. I think the thing I remember most about her is her red kimono. It had flowers on it.”

Hyakkimaru tries to picture her, though he can only see his mama. “Mio worked so hard,” Dororo continues, sounding truly despondent as he reaches out and brushes his fingertips against the largest stone, “and they killed her for it. All she wanted… all any of them wanted was to live. To take care of themselves.”

The warmth of Mio’s pouch sits heavy against Hyakkimaru’s breast. He carries it with him everywhere, but he isn’t usually so keenly aware of it. His mind had been drawn to it earlier, when Tahomaru spoke of famine, of the state of his lands. Hyakkimaru had wondered, however distantly, if Mio’s seeds would be better suited elsewhere.

But the thought of parting with them… well, Hyakkimaru had ached at the thought. And Dororo – kind, wonderful, selfless Dororo – had offered every ounce of his papa’s wealth instead, saving Hyakkimaru from making an impossible choice.

There’s still so much Hyakkimaru doesn’t understand about the world, but there’s even more he doesn’t understand about himself. He doesn’t know why he carries Mio’s seeds but refuses to use them, or why he’d forgiven his family after meeting with them only once.

What Hyakkimaru does understand is Dororo, how he makes the not-knowing bearable. And Hyakkimaru hates how he’d tried to throw that away so many times in the past. If Dororo were any less stubborn, their paths would’ve diverged long ago, and Hyakkimaru hesitates to wonder where he would be.

Once, right before they’d reached Kyoto, Hyakkimaru caught a glimpse of what life without Dororo meant. The demon with many faces hurt Dororo worse than ever before, and with only his hands to guide him, Hyakkimaru hadn’t known how to save the person most precious to him.

The blind priest came to their rescue yet again, but Hyakkimaru spent the entire night listening to Dororo’s screaming, his cries and whimpers. That was Hyakkimaru’s lowest point, when he looked at Dororo’s pain-clouded soul and listened to his brother beg not to be left behind.

And Hyakkimaru promised, he told Dororo over and over, until his throat hurt, that they’d stay together, that Hyakkimaru may have tried to leave in the beginning but never would again. No matter what he said, however, Dororo wasn’t assured, and when he finally passed out, Hyakkimaru lost his anchor.

Hyakkimaru still remembers what the priest told him that night. “If you cannot be apart, then you shouldn’t be together.” It infuriated Hyakkimaru then, and it’s weighed on his mind ever since, although he’s no closer to finding a solution.

But more and more often, Hyakkimaru just finds himself not caring. The two of them have been through Hell, and if the solace they find is within each other, then so be it. Hyakkimaru is happiest when he’s with Dororo, and he’s confident Dororo feels the same.

It just works, and Hyakkimaru won’t try to change them again until that stops being the case.

“Aniki?” Dororo is watching him when Hyakkimaru comes back to himself. Hyakkimaru is inexplicably struck by how long his brother’s hair has gotten. Even when tied up, the ends fall down between his shoulder blades, and his bangs brush the edge of his jaw. “You okay?”

Hyakkimaru doesn’t know how Dororo looked back then. Like Mio, it’s an image Hyakkimaru can’t conjure. But Hyakkimaru is starting to understand that there are some things he’ll just never know, and that isn’t a bad thing.

“I’m happy,” Hyakkimaru says plainly, but he recognizes the tight, scratchy feeling in his throat, the warmth behind his eyes. “I’m grateful I met you, Dororo, and that you decided to stay.”

He struggles to place a name to the expression on Dororo’s face. Stricken? Horrified? “You can’t be serious,” Dororo says, but his voice is pinched as well, and he’s quick to divert his gaze. “Really, Aniki? You’re gonna hit me with that now, when I’m at my most vulnerable?”

Hyakkimaru huffs out a breath through his nose, though he’s smiling as he shuffles closer to Dororo, who doesn’t fight him as he wraps an arm around his shoulders and draws him close. “I just think,” he says, gently knocking their heads together as Dororo sniffles at his side, “that if anything good came from all of this, it’s that I got you as a brother.”

“Aniki,” Dororo wails, both in protest and distress, and Hyakkimaru only feels slightly bad.

Hyakkimaru has only cried a few times in his life, mostly due to Dororo-related incidents, but Dororo’s tears are even rarer. He holds himself pridefully, careful in the things he allows others to see. In this way, he could never hide from Hyakkimaru, who learned Dororo’s soul before anything else.

They huddle together for a while. Hyakkimaru recovers first, though he stays close until Dororo wipes the wetness from his cheeks. “Can we go home now?” he asks, voice tinged with petulance that’s almost certainly for show. “I let you drag me across the country, but I have to put my foot down.”

Hyakkimaru gives his answer by getting to his feet. But before Dororo can follow suit, Hyakkimaru crouches back down, throwing his brother a glance over his shoulder. “C’mon then,” he says at Dororo’s bewildered look. “I owe you, for making you cry.”

“I’m too old for this,” Dororo retorts, but he still jumps onto Hyakkimaru’s back with a delighted sound. “You sure you can carry me?”

“I’ll manage,” says Hyakkimaru, though he knows he’ll carry his brother on his back whenever he wants, probably for the rest of their lives. “Just don’t choke me.”

Dororo tightens his arms around Hyakkimaru’s neck in response, and Hyakkimaru straightens to his full height before turning and heading back down the steps. He can see the white forms of Ghost, Midoro, and Chibi in the distance. It doesn’t look like they’ve even moved, and Hyakkimaru hopes they’ve gotten at least some rest for the journey ahead.

“Hey, Aniki?” Dororo shifts on Hyakkimaru’s back, knees digging into the spaces between Hyakkimaru’s ribs. The fall of his hair tickles Hyakkimaru’s cheek as he leans forward to speak directly in his ear. “Can I tell you something?”

When Hyakkimaru makes a small sound of acknowledgement, Dororo hesitates for only a moment before saying, “I don’t know if I believe in fate or anything, but… if everything had to happen this way, if nothing could’ve been changed, I’d be okay with it since you were waiting at the end.”

And despite it all, Hyakkimaru finds himself smiling. Dororo always knows how to give voice to those nagging feelings Hyakkimaru has but doesn’t understand. “I know, Dororo. Me too.”