Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky is dark, stars freckled across its expanse. The moon is near winking in the black void above. The cold air is wet on the lungs, not yet ready to release dew drops onto grass and leaf in the changing warmth of the coming dawn.

This is the hour which Dororo awakes.

A small girl, looking to be near nine (though she would loudly proclaim herself ten) stretches and yawns in the night’s dim hours. Her auburn hair is a mess of tangles, a few locks and whisps barely tickling the curve of her bony shoulders. About her small weedy figure is a simple light green nagagi spun of worn cotton. The dye is faded in places, while the hem is notably shredded and mud splattered. Suffice to say, her clothing is ill prepared to keep her warm against the chill of late spring night.

The girl notices this fact immediately when her blanket shifts off of her. Dororo immediately finds herself shivering against the cold forest air, the silver light of the slivered moon does little to cast pin or bow in a warm light that might trick the mind into feeling cozy, but in the caves depths the chill is even greater.

Dororo tugs her blanket tightly around her shoulder, huddling in for warmth. Rubbing at her still sleepy eyes, she looks around the cave, noticing immediately the dead embers of the fire.

“Aww come on, bro. Why’d you let the fire die?” the girl grumbles. Her voice echoes strangely against the rough stone of the mountain crevice she took shelter in. The human vocals were even more unfit among the peaceful silence of the forest night around her.

Shuffling closer to the coals, Dororo starts to try and revive the fire, the coals still carrying leftover heat.

“And why didn’t you wake me.” She says into the darkness. “It’s the middle of the night. I should have been awake hours ago. Weren’t we gonna check that demon rumour out in the village tonight?”

The world does not reply to the girls questions. All she receives is silence.

“Bro?” The girl takes her gaze off the slowly awakening fire, the meger light casting orange glow about the cave. “Hyaniki?”

No answer.

The girl stands, the fire strong enough now to show her what she feared. The cave is empty.

Panic climbing up her throat, Dororo rushes to the edge of the cave and whistles out a pigeon call. It is a deep coo that stretches out into a haunting hoot sound, The call echoes out across the dark forest.

No response.

“Stupid big brother!” She growls, stomping her foot in frustration. “He left without me! The jerk!”

The girl pulls on her dark, pine green hoari, stuffs her feet into her sandals, and grabs out her knife all with the air of someone very put out.

“Idiot! Overprotective brother! I knew it! I knew he would do this. As soon as they said only the children were disappearing from the village, I just knew! But did I listen to my instincts? No. I trusted my bro not to be a numskull and go on without me. Stupid! Of course he would do this! Of course this would happen! It’s really irresponsible of him, ya know? Just leaving his lil sis out in the middle of the woods, with no way to protect herself! I mean, what if she got attacked by wild wolves or stumbled into a den of thieves, or marched her way right into a possible demon hunting ground just to give her brother a good talking to!!! Why, when I get my hands on- oof!”

Dororo stumbles back from the force of unexpectedly hitting into a barrier full force. Her foot slips on a loose stone and suddenly she is falling backward.

A grip tightens around her forearms, halting her fall with their presence. Her small hands automatically grasp at the stability. Callous hands press against the grained texture of wood that has been sanded smooth. Fingers far too rigid and hard to be made of bone and flesh press into the muscle and skin of her arm.

Dororo’s gaze snaps up, taking in the figure that now stands above her.

Her instincts blaze, fear crawling up her back, hairs rising on her neck. Her body tells her she is in danger, that the person before her is predator and she is prey.

The fires dancing flames flicker ribbons of light and shadow across a white painted mask. Two large eyes, outlined in black and painted a beautiful auburn brown with black painted pupils that are closer to slits then circles, are masterfully crafted upon the wooden mask. Black lines paint two thin arches for eyebrows and one slight and straight line for a mouth. There are signs of use and wear along the mask’s edge, places where the wood has chipped or the paint has been scraped off. One such chip in the wood along the mask’s jaw reveals the hint of a server scarring.

There are no holes in the mask. No way to breathe through it or see past it.

A mess of dark brown, unkempt bangs falls over the mask, nearly covering the whole of the left eye. The rest of the person's impractical long hair has been pulled back into a high top ponytail, an outdated hairstyle for young men from the Edo period…. Or maybe even farther back in time.

Looking past the face, the strangeness of the person continues. The person is tall and thin in the kind of awkward way that suggests his body was recently stretched into adulthood and not of someone who is starved.

He wears a rich violet kimono of chirimen silk. The stitching of the embroidery shows such craftsmanship and dedication to detail that no commoner could hope to pay the time and effort it must have taken to hand stitch such a garment. Wisteria and Japanese pine trees grow along the banks of the twisting river, all done in dark and light golden threads. There are four golden cranes among the trees, a rather disconcerting combination considering the deadly symbolism of four and the longevity meaning of cranes.

One crane is stepping carefully into the river, another stands upon the knotted roots of a wisteria. Two are in flight, one among the branches of the bows of a pine, another flying up into the curling golden clouds, though its neck is arched downward as if to fly back down to earth- never to reach the heavens.

It is a beautiful kimono, or at least it once was. Since then it has gone through much abuse. The garment is ripped and burned along hem and sleeve and dirt has been mashed into the very weave of the fabric in some places. Not to mention both kimono and mask, such beautiful examples of workmanship, are worn by a bedraggled and probably horribly scarred teenager.

At best the teen is a survivor of a tea ceremony that went up in flames and left him without a single coin. At worst he is a thief who stole a costume from a Noh theater and his dangerous criminal lifestyle has led the clothing to be utterly mangled.

All of this would be slightly concerning if it were not overshadowed by the young man’s hands and arms which hold Dororo. They are wood. Not covered in wood, but actual wood. Like the arms of a puppet, but no rods are attached to the arms for a puppeteer to manipulate and move them.

Yet these arms move. The fingers tighten around Dororo as they lift her back to her feet, then let go. One hand rises up to pat Dororo’s head while another dust off her hoari. A third holds a string with two fish hung on it, the thread passing through their gills. The fourth takes Dororo’s hand to start walking her back into the cave.

Oh yeah. The teen has four arms.

This boy is a demon.

Dororo smiles in relief, “Hyaniki, you came back! I thought for sure you were off to find that demon yourself.”

The teen, called Hyaniki, warbles a whistle in greeting. He gently nudges her to sit next to him near the fire, then twists to lift an unfamiliar wooden box off of his back and into a corner. Other than that, he keeps the mask pointed away from her and does not respond.

Dororo squints in suspicion, “You did go off to find the demon without me, didn’t you?!”

Hyaniki fumbles in stabbing one of the fish through with a stick, dropping the meager meal into the fire. A wooden hand dives in quickly, snatching the meat out of the coals. Smoke curls off of the soot covered scales and slightly burnt wooden fingers.

That display of uncharacteristic clumsiness is answer enough for Dororo. Oh he so went to fight that demon without her.

“Idiot!” Dororo chastises, slamming a fist against his head (to which he barely flinches- stupid indistructable brother). “We’re a team! You can’t just leave me behind on a demon hunt! I’m supposed to help you!”

Hyaniki huffs out a hiss like growl, smacking her fist away and fixing her with his mask’s painted eyes while making a gesture. So now he wants to talk with her? Pah!

Her brother places a hand on either side of his forehead, one finger pointing upward to make horns. Then the lower two arms snap out at her, curling his fingers like claws and chomping them at her.

The girl rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “So? Demons always try to eat me. You never put up a fuss with me helping before.”

Hyaniki shakes his head, making the sign for the demon again. One lower hand stays in its chomping position. The other lower hand points two fingers down in a sign she knows means people, before changing so the pointer and thumb are pinched close together with little space between them. Then he levels a glare at her.

Dororo frowns. She thinks she gets his point. Travelers coming out of Tanohata have spoken of an orphanage that constantly pulls orphans from other provinces, yet never seems to be full. Marketplace whisperings from towns nearby tell of a tense atmosphere within the village, of shifting eyes and rigid postures. If Dororo and Hyaniki’s assumptions are right (which they most definitely are) there is a demon in Tanohata and it is targeting children.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to tell him her plan of using herself as bait. Yeah. That is probably what has Hyaniki so upset.

“Fine. We won’t go with my plan-” her brother hisses at the mere mention of it, “-but you gotta include me in the hunt too! I am not just gonna sit by and do nothing while you are in danger.”

Hyaniki huffs, turning away from her.

“Oh no you don’t!” Dororo marches to stand in front of her masked friend and begins poking him in the chest. “Remember our deal! You can only use my family’s katanas if I’m there to make sure you are using them right!”

Hyaniki bristles for a moment more, but he must read something off of her (she still doesn’t quiet understand how his demon sight works) that causes him to back down. He slumps his shoulders in deference to her. One hand pokes at the fish cooking over the fire as if his wooden hands can feel when the flesh is properly cooked. The other fiddles nervously with his bangs, pulling them further across his mask to hide his face. The bottom two arms are tucked close to his side, the fingers fiddling with the fabric wrapping the katanas’ handles.

Dororo nods decisively and sits down next to Hyaniki, happy to have that all taken care of. That’s when she remembers the wooden box, now timidly hiding behind her brother's long shadow.

“What’s this?” She leans over him to poke at the box. “Where’d you get this, bro?”

Hyaniki points outside.

“You’re purposely trying to be difficult! Well fine. If you won’t tell me…” Dororo scrambling across his lap to get a closer look. Her knee digs into his thigh and her heel may knock his mask askew, all on accident of course. Dororo is just trying to get to the box, after all. Not continue to punish him for leaving her without saying a word. Not at all.

Focusing on the wooden box, the girl marvels at its make. The box is a real piece of sturdy work, she can tell. Nice solid wood, all expertly put together to eliminate seams. And the metal work! Three bars along the side for reinforcement, the corners capped in iron, and the door is reinforced at the corners too. It is a really, really nice box.

The one thing she doesn’t get is how the latch works. There’s a western styled handle but no clear way how the door locks.

More pressing a question, why would her brother pick this up?

Dororo presses her ear to the polished wood, rapping her knuckle against the wood. Perhaps there is something inside. Out of the two of them, Dororo has been the only one who cares about money and has some understanding of objects' monetary worth. But who knows. Maybe her thrifty ways are finally rubbing off on her silly brother.

Something shuffles inside the box.

Dororo leaps back with a yelp, scrambling to hide behind her brother as the door to the box unlatches from within and swings open.

A toddler crawls out.

She is a cute little child, perhaps two or three years old. Her hair is long and black, the tresses held out of her face by a pink ribbon. Her eyes are a soft pink colour like cherry blossoms. The girl seems to be swaddled in light pink and dark brown fabric.

Dororo blinks at the toddler. The toddler blinks back. Hyaniki does not show the proper surprise at seeing a baby where there should be no baby. He just continues tending to the fish shish kabobs, turning the sticks to the other side gets cooked as well.

“EEEEEEH!” Dororo screams, grabbing the collar of her brother's kimono and shaking him. “HYANIKI! YOU STOLE A BABY?!!!!”

Hyaniki starts to shake his head, but freezes as if reconsidering his answer.

He nods.

“I can’t believe you!” Dororo snaps at her brother, pounding her small fists into his back. “Take this poor child back to her family right now!”

Hyaniki shakes his head.

“Nope!” Dororo stomps her foot on the ground. “This is not up for debate! You can’t just steal little children, bro. No matter how cute they are.”

Her demon brother shakes his head again. He points one hand at the baby, who has continued to watch them both with those large pink eyes. The other three hands are folded into fists, the first two fingers of each pointing downwards.

“Yeah, her family- or whoever she was with. Those three people. You gotta take her back to them,” Dororo says. She makes the same person sign with her hands, then pointing to the baby, and lastly pointing outside.

Hyaniki shakes his head, slapping a hand against the hard cave floor to demand her attention. He signs out her family again, but then follows the motion by gripping both of the nichirin blades with his lower hand. The upper right hand makes a slashing gesture as if to cut the toddler from shoulder to hip.

Dororo gulps and her brow knit together, “So her family was dangerous to her? They were… going to kill her?”

Hyaniki nods, whistling out a quick and harsh trill. His fingers grip the nichirin blades tighter.

Dororo gnaws at her lips. If this is true then surely the child would show signs of being abused or roughed up. The girl turns her focus to the small toddler.

The baby does not look starved. Her cheeks are round and where the blanket has slipped off one shoulder Dororo can see the toddler is not bony at all. But wait, those aren’t blankets. The toddler is dressed in a pink kimono and brown haori, both of which are several sizes too large for the small girl. Heck, Dororo thinks they would be too big on her! Why would a family dress a child in something obviously not made for them? It is not like the kimono is thread bare or poorly made either. It actually looked to be of good quality and make.

Did the child not have any clothing when Hyaniki rescued her? He must have used his demon ability to summon a bunraku puppet, take the puppet’s costume, and dress her in it. It would explain the kimono’s fine textile and the overly large size.

As a side thought, Dororo wonders if her brother can summon puppets of different sizes. She had only seen him summon life sized bunraku puppets. She just thought that was by choice since he used the puppets whenever he needed to replace his mask or an arm.

Dororo’s gaze is brought back to the child’s face, trying to see if there is the usual hesitance and fear that most abused children have.

Her eyes catch on the bamboo muzzle.

Dororo gasps. Her fists clench at her sides, a sinking feeling drops like a stone of ice in her stomach. The girl thinks she can put the story together now.

A child muzzled like an animal, stuffed into a box, and given nothing to keep her warm.

Dororo leans down and scoops the child up, stroking her beautiful long hair. The child hums out from behind the muzzle. Her eyes crinkle in what Dororo believes would be a smile if her mouth were not stuffed with bamboo.

“You poor thing,” Dororo coos, hugging the child close and nuzzling their foreheads together. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Guess my big bro did the right thing bringing you here, huh.”

Hyaniki huffs and clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, lightly pushing a fist against her shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” Dororo laughs. “Guess you deserve an apology. Sorry for assuming you have no common sense, bro. I’m glad you rescued the baby, but…”

The girl looks around the cave. A pile of sticks for the fire, a straw mat and blanket as her bed, a hunting knife, an axe, and an empty drawstring cloth bag. That’s it. That is all they have.

“Aaaaeeeeeh,” Dororo moans. “How are we going to take care of a baby? We practically live in the wild all the time. And feeding a baby is going to be expensive. We’re gonna need more furs to sell. Not to mention because of your demon condition, our sleeping schedule is way out of whack. It can’t be healthy for a baby.”

Hyaniki shrugs, seeming to think none of these problems are a big deal. Dororo takes issue with that response. She makes sure to show this by sticking her tongue out at him.

“We’re not keeping the baby,” she says decisively.

Hyaniki snaps his gaze to her, the painted eyes carrying the presence of a withering glare. His teeth make a loud clack-clack in defiance.

“I didn’t say we were sending her back.” Dororo placates, putting the baby down before her arms can start to burn with straign. “Just that we aren’t keeping her. We’ll find someone else who can better take care of the toddler. Alright?”

Hyaniki responds with snippish twitter, crossed arms, and hunched his shoulders. If she could see his face, Dororo imagines his mouth would be downturned in a pout.

The human girl rolls her eyes at her brother’s antics. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that he was the baby demon and not the little child still tucked in her arms. Dororo stifles a laugh as she turns to the real baby among them. The toddler is curling up against Dororo, thick lashes fluttering as the baby tries to keep herself awake. Little hands fist into Dororo’s nagagi. Its freaking adorable.

“First things first,” Dororo smiles at the baby girl, feeling behind the toddler’s head for the knot of the muzzle’s ribbon. “Lets get that awful muzzle off ya, yeah? The bamboo looks a little old. Sure hope there’s no splinters in your gums.”

The ribbon falls free, but the muzzle remains in place.

“Huh,” Dororo’s brows knit together. “Are you biting on it? Come on. Let it go.”

At first Dororo tries to tickle the child. The baby giggles, but keeps her mouth tightly clamped. Alright. Time for plan two then. An old trick she learned during her streat years from dogs that didn’t want to let go of food that was rightfully hers.

Dororo presses a finger into the toddler's cheek. This forces pressure on the upper and lower jaw and presses the inside of the toddler's cheek against her own teeth. Nobody likes biting their cheek, so of course the automatic response is to avoid possible pain and open the mouth.

At first the baby resists, which concerns Dororo a little bit. The toddler must really like the bamboo.

“Come on,” Dororo whispers gentle encouragement, “Let go of the chew toy, yeah? You’ll feel so much better after, I promise.”

Finally the toddler stops resisting and the muzzle comes free into Dororo’s hands. The girl starts to woop in triumph, but chokes on a gasp.

Two large wolf-like canines unsheath from the bamboo wood. Dororo gets a clear view of a mouth full of sharp predator teeth before the baby closes her mouth. The toddler hums happily at the freeing sensation, opening and closing her mouth several times and making little babbling noises.

“A demon.” Dororo whispers in slight terror, flinching back from the toddler.

Oh kami. The baby is a demon. The baby is a demon and is sitting right next to her. Those monster teeth are right next to her unguarded neck.

The baby looks up at Dororo and smiles broadly, showing off her fangs.

Flashes of other sharp smiles, other demons opening their mouths to dig them into her flesh and devour her body. A scream builds up in Dororo’s chest, rising up toward her throat to escape out of her mouth.

The feeling is cut short with a blur of movement. Dororo blinks, surprised to see Hyaniki in front of her. One hand rests on her shoulder, stilling her body which had been uncontrollably shaking. The other three hands hold the demon baby, caging the pink eyed demon against his chest. The baby does not struggle.

The hand moves from her shoulder to her chest and presses in, then relaxes, only to press in a moment more. That’s when Dororo realises she’s hyperventilating. Suddenly she can hear again and notices how loud and ragged her breaths are. Quick and panicked they barely manage to get the night air into her lungs. Dororo struggles a moment more, wrestling her body to respond to her will. She follows the feeling of her brother’s hand, her lungs relaxing in an exhale as he presses into her chest, then with an inhale following the touch of his hand as it draws away. The process repeats itself, Dororo focusing on nothing else but breathing.

The fog from her mind lifts away, the panic reseads. She’s okay. She’s okay. Hyaniki is here. He is holding the demon. He’ll keep the demon from hurting her. Hyaniki would never let a demon eat her. Never.

Her body relaxes and she slumps back against the cave wall. “Th-thanks b-bro,” she stutters out.

Hyaniki shifts so that another arm reaches out toward Dororo. Two wooden hands press against the side of her head, thumbs moving back and forth against her cheeks. Dororo relaxes fully into the touch, the fear melting away with the physical reassurance. The wooden puppet hands gently tilt her head to first look at the demon, now sleeping soundly in Dororo’s arms, then at him.

Wooden eyes of the mask look down at her, head bowed close to her own. This close Dororo can see nicks here and there where the brown paint of the irises is chipped enough to reveal the lighter brown wood underneath. She also feels his unrelenting gaze.

One day Dororo hopes Hyaniki can find a way to explain to her how his demon sight works. What does he see through his demon art? What does she look like to him? Will he ever know what he looks like to her? Was there a time where he was not blind, where he could see the sun and the forest through human eyes?

Not for the first time Dororo wishes she could turn him human.

Now with a clear mind, Dororo steals her resolve and asks, “Is… is she the reason those kids at the orphanage have been disappearing?”

Hyaniki shakes his head.

Good. Dororo did not think so. Hyaniki has killed child-like demons before. Perhaps not this young looking, but Dororo knows that Hyaniki is not one to be deceived by appearances.

“Is she dangerous? Will she try to eat me?”

Hyaniki snorts and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. Dororo can tell that her older brother is affronted she would even need to ask.

She chuckles, “Yeah, yeah. Dumb question. You’d never put me in danger like that.”

A thumb strokes underneath her eye, brushing away a small tear that had formed earlier during her panic attack, before the hand pulls away. Hyaniki shifts further, gently placing the baby demon on the ground, the copious fabric of her kimono acting like a mattress. He then scoots closer to Dororo, picking her up with all of his arms and tucks her under his chin. Two hands cradle her against him, another rubs her back soothingly and the fourth brushes her bangs out of her face.

Dororo laughs wetly, curling into her brother’s protective hold. Several moments pass in quiet. Dororo tries to relax further as she turns her gaze to look down at the pink eyed demon.

“Is she like you?” Dororo asks, peering up at her brother.

From this angle she can see a bit of his face where the mask does not lay flat against his skin. The skin stretches and she gets a peak of a smile from under the mask. Hyaniki nods, trilling out a light airy whistle.

Hyaniki is different from all other demon’s Dororo has met or ever heard stories about. She has never seen him eat a human. Not a bite of flesh, not a lick of blood. Not even her own spilled blood has ever enticed him. And she has seen the kind of hungry craze which other demons fall into at the mere smell of her blood.

Hyaniki is a demon who does not eat humans. Dororo always thought he was the only of his kind.

But now, if what Hyaniki believes is true…

Dororo taps one of the wooden forearms holding her, signaling Hyaniki to release her. The older demon relaxes his arms, unfolding the wooden appendages so she can crawl out of his hug. Taking a deep breath, Dororo shuffles over to the demon toddler and reaches out a hand and smooths the hair back from the baby’s face. The little child hums in response, the tip of one fang poking out of her gentle smile as the baby nuzzles into Dororo’s touch.

Dororo’s heart melts, all fear melting away.

“She’s so cute.” Dororo whispers, looking back at her brother with a grin.

Hyaniki chirps in agreement, then reaches over and scoops them both up into his arms. Dororo settles into his embrace again, this time with the baby demon tucked against her own side. She watches Hyaniki take the fish away from the fire, waving the smoking meat in the air to cool. Another hand feeds the fire to keep it’s warmth and light filling the cave. The mask wearing demon offers the fish to his little sister, which Dororo takes with a thanks and a yawn.

“Is she going to be stuck as a baby forever?” Dororo asks between tentative bites of the still hot meal.

Hyaniki tenses, then chuffs. He continues to mess with the fire, rearranging the burning coals and flaming sticks. Dororo reads his behaviour as a probably.

“That’s terrible. Poor thing,” Dororo sighs. “I can’t imagine being a baby forever. Do you think she’ll ever act older? Like a grown up? Or is she gonna stay a naive little baby in her head?”

Hyaniki shrugs his shoulders. Dororo supposes that’s an acceptable answer. After all, she does not know either.

Finishing the last few bites of her meal, a thought strikes Dororo. “Hey, Hyaniki? What should we name her?”

Her demon brother tilts his head to the side, the mask shifting just enough she can tell he is focusing on the baby demon. He then turns his head so his masked face is now looking at her, waiting for her to make a decision.

“Look,” Dororo reasons, “You’re the one who found her. She’s your responsibility, so you should name her!”

Hyaniki considers this for a moment, going silent and still in a way she knows he does whenever he is thinking hard. She can usually tell how deeply he is thinking by how much he forgets to breathe. It is weird to think how he does not need to breathe. She wonders if he breaths for comfort, or because he is copying her.

A deep inhale signals the end of his thoughts, and Hyaniki reaches out a hand which he thumps against the box the baby had come from.

Dororo blinks in surprise, “Hako? You want to name her Hako?”

Hyaniki chirps in affirmation.

“You can’t just call someone a box!” Dororo yells at her obviously idiot brother. “That’s demeaning! Think of something else.”

Hyaniki stares down at her. For a moment Dororo hopes it is a sign that he is thinking up a different name, but the hope dies when she feels the slow rise and fall of his chest against her back. Hyaniki slowly and deliberately lifts his hand up from the box and hits it twice more, the sound echoing more loudly then last time. The thumps seem almost belligerent to her ears.

Dororo mentally curses, realising her comment has only made him dig his heels in deeper. But Dororo can be stubborn too. The human girl did not give Hyaniki control only for him to sadle the baby with a stupid name. The innocent little pink demon does not deserve such a fate!

“How about Nadeshiko?” She offers the much more reasonable name instead. “She’s got pretty pink eyes and she’s dressed up in this pink kimono.”

Hyaniki shakes his head, clacking his teeth together twice.

Damn! The bait didn’t work.

“Hey! It’s a great name! Why don’t you like it?”

Hyaniki pinches the fabric of his kimono between his wooden fingers, then does the same to the baby’s clothes, and next her own. Lastly he draws a line to each kimono, tracing his hand back and forth.

Dororo considered herself a master at reading her big brother's gestures and signs, so she is pretty sure he is trying to say something about the kimono’s is similar to each other. Which does not make sense. He has some ability to feel touch and texture through that demon power of his which lets him control the puppet limbs. To what extent he can feel, Dororo does not know, but she figures that he can feel how much coarser her kimono is compared to his and the baby’s. And he must feel how the baby's in much better condition than his. No to mention he’d be able to fel the decorative So then, what is it about their clothing that he finds the same?

Oh… OH! Of course, how could she forget.

“Duh,” Dororo slaps her forehead, chuckled at herself. “You can’t see colour. Guess that name doesn’t make sense to you.”

Nodding, Hyaniki pats the box again and points at the baby once more.

Dororo sighed, “Look, we won’t name her after a colour. But why are you so insistent on box?”

Her demon brother responds by using two hands to make a box shape, his other hands gesturing to the baby.

“Oh…” Dororo’s eyes widen in realisation. “If we name her box, then you’d be able to call her by name too with your sign.”

Of course, before this it had always just been them. Hyaniki did not need a way to say her name. He just pointed to her or looked at her. But now that there would be three of them, that method wouldn’t work anymore. They would need a way for him to differentiate between the two girls.

“How about a compromise?” Dororo haggles. “We’ll call her Hakoko.”

Hyaniki tilts his head at her. Not a no, but not a yes either… yet.

“Hakoko still has the box meaning in it,” Dororo explains, “But with ko, it’ll sound more like a normal name. This way when I say her in public, people don’t think I’m insulting her.”

Hyaniki nods at this, trilling like a song bird which Dororo knows means he is happy. Dororo cheers with him, but quickly slaps a hand over her mouth to silence the noise. Thankfully the baby, now named Hakoko, stays asleep.

“Hakoko,” Dororo whispers the name, snuggling closer to the baby. “Sweet little Hakoko. I guess it fits her.”

Hakoko yawns, showing off her fangs. The sight should probably still scare Dororo, but the girl can’t deny how adorable their little demon charge is. Rosy round cheeks, long lashes, rich dark hair, chubby toddler hands, sharp little claw like nails, little fangs peeking out now and again. How is it possible that mini makes everything cute? Dororo is pretty sure if this demon grew a horn, she’d somehow make it look cute too.

Hakoko is just too precious.

Hyaniki must agree, he chirps like a bird to her chicks and starts brushing both Dororo and Hakoko’s hair.

“Hey bro?” Dororo looks up at Hyaniki, “You know how I said we’d find a family for her?”

Her demon brother nods, the mask of his face staring out toward the slowly brightening sky outside.

“Well…” Dororo bites her lip, “What if we didn’t?”

Hyaniki turns his head to her, his hands freeze in place, letting a few strands of Dororo’s bangs fall across her face.

The human girl rushes to explain herself, “I mean she’s a demon, right? Not a lot of people would be willing to take care of her. And if we did find a family, a demon slayer might find her. And normal people wouldn’t be able to protect Hakoko from the slayers. But we could. We know how to stay away from slayers and how to fight them off. And besides, I doubt we could find anyone that would love Hakoko the way she deserves. So… so what if Hakoko becomes part of our family?”

Hyaniki tilts his head then chirrups, bending down and pressing his forehead down against hers. Dororo accepts the affection, rubbing her forehead against his in response and laughing.

Dororo is momentarily surprised when Hyaniki shows the same affection to Hakoko. The little demon soaks it all up.

“You’ve really imprinted on her, huh.” Dororo giggles, beaming up at her brother. “You were probably going to keep her no matter what I said.”

Hyaniki hugs both Dororo and Hakoko tighter against him and settles them all back to rest. Dororo smiles as she rests her sleepy gaze on Hakoko. She feels a hand rub her back, coaxing her to sleep. A little chubby hand latches onto Dororo’s finger. Something warm blooming in the human girl’s chest. It's kind of exciting, she thinks as her mind drifts to sleep, that it's not just her and Hyaniki anymore.

Chapter Text

Dororo wakes to see warm daylight filtering in from the opening of their cave. The sun is high, gentle spring light casting the forest in its warm rays. Birds sing in pine bows and woodland critters skitter across the undergrowth carpeted by nettles. Shadows begin to slowly reammerge from where they hid from the noonday’s sun, tentative in their reach under the still brilliant glory of the near cloudless day.

Only in their cave do the shadows remain deep and strong.

The girl yawns loudly, stretching out her limbs and taking pleasure in the sound of the pops and cracks that travel up her back.

A light shink, shink sound lazaly glances against cavern walls and drifts into her ear. Dororo recognises it as a knife sliding against wood. Gentle pff, pff signal carving curls falling to the cavern floor. Dororo looks to the sound’s origin. Her brother sits a few feet away from her, draped in the safety of the deep shadows further within the cave. She is not surprised to see that in his hand he is wielding their only hunting knife against the inside of a mask, carving away at its wood.

A part of her still cringes to see him dulling their blade like that, but for the most part she tries to ignore the feeling. She had tried, in the beginning, to get him a knife just for carving. But to Hyaniki a blade is a blade. He will just as well use her family's katanas to chop down trees as he would to behead a demon. Honestly, her energy is better spent trying to keep him from ruining the katanas than it is saving the sharpened edge of their hunting knife.

“What’s up, bro?” she asks, one hand rubbing at her eyes to banish the last dredges of sleep. “Why’d you wake me up? It’s not sunset yet.”

Hyaniki shakes his head, a hand that is not busy carving a new mask points off to her left. Dororo follows the gesture and suddenly her vision is taken up by darling pink eyes, chubby cheeks, and long dark hair. The baby demon they took in last night stares up at her, little hands gripping at the blanket Dororo is curled up in.

“Hey Hakoko,” Dororo greets with a smile. “You want something?”

Hakoko blinks up at her, before returning the human girl's smile with one of her own.

Dororo’s heart melts all over again, “Aww, you are such a little swea- woah!”

Dororo almost falls backward as Hakoko pulls at her mat with a surprising amount of strength. “What are you-” the words get cut off by another powerful tug.

Dororo scrambles off the mat, “Okay, okay. I’m up. Didn’t know you wanted the mat so much. Sorry. Ya could have just asked. Sheesh.”

This does not actually make Hakoko happy. In fact, it seems to do the opposite. The little girl starts whining, hands reaching out toward Dororo and making grabby motions. Tears start forming in the child’s eyes.

“Hyaniki,” Dororo calls in a panick, “What’s wrong with the kid?!”

Hyaniki continues carving away, but she can hear a light chuffing sound. His shoulders shake slightly with the noise.

“Hey! Stop laughing!” Dororo whines. “You gotta help me! Hakoko’s crying.”

A little hand grabs at the tattered hem of Dororo’s nagami and suddenly the human girl finds herself being pulled right off her feet. Her head hits the ground and she curses before she can think better of it. Why the kami do demons have to be so much stronger than humans!

Spitting dirt, Dororo turns to glare at the demon, only to choke at the absolute adorableness of the baby. Hakoko is sitting back, little hands resting in her lap like a proper lady at a tea ceremony. She hums cheerily at Dororo, looking rather pleased with herself.

“It’s just not fair,” Dororo bemones. “You’re too cute! How am I supposed to stay mad at you?”

Hakoko smiles in answer, cooing.

“Nevermind,” Dororo hurumphs, sitting back up and trying to dust herself off. “What was that all about anyway?”

At first Hakoko does not answer, instead crawling over to her box and snuggling into it as if it were her crib. Once settled, she clicks lightly as if imitating irritated squirrel chatter and points a hand toward the outside world.

That’s when Dororo sees drag marks on the ground leading from where the blazing sun now cast light at the entrance of their cave over to where her mat now lay mostly in the shade.

“Oh… were you trying to get me out of the su-” Dororo bites off the end of her question when she turns around to find that Hakoko is already curled up for sleep.

More chuffing sounds cause Dororo to look toward her brother, whose shoulders are shaking in light laughter. Dororo finds herself giggling along with him. It is kind of funny, getting dragged around by a baby. She decides that it is kind of sweet, too. A little demon worried about her being burned by the sun as if she were one of them. Dororo thinks herself lucky to have somehow found the only two nice demons in the whole world.

“Awww, that was kind of you Hakoko,” Dororo praises the toddler, patting the top of her head. “But you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not a demon. The sun won’t hurt me, okay?”

Hakoko hums sleepily, preening into Dororo’s touch before curls back into her box.

“So cute,” Dororo coos, her fingers now running through the little child’s hair. “You look like a little mouse all curled up nice and snug in her nest. Jees, but your hair is like a rats nest though,” Dororo complains as her fingers get caught in terrible knots. “When was the last time someone brushed it, huh?”

At this moment the shink of the knife against wood ends, replaced by the sound of fabric brushing over skin and heals touching down on dirt. Hyaniki, now standing, walks over to them. Leaning down, her brother tries to push the mask he just made against Hakoko’s face, other hands reaching around to tie the mask in place.

Hakoko springs to alertness and starts fussing. Little hands come up to push Hyaniki’s hands away as the toddler turns her face out of reach. Dororo is about to speak up and ask what he’s doing when suddenly her brother snaps his teeth together in displeasure and grabs the baby’s head with two of his hands to keep it in place.

Hakoko squirms even more, a deep growl rising up from her chest. The baby demon’s claws sharpen and scrape grooves in Hyaniki’s wooden hands as she fights him, but even so the child is unable to free herself from the larger demon’s grasp. Hyaniki successfully ties the mask to the toddler’s face. He huffs in satisfaction, fixing Hakoko with a firm glare and a resolute tt before pulling away.

Dororo blinks, taking in the new mask. It is white with petit red lips, a gently smiling mouth, rosy cheeks, eyes painted a light honey brown, thick black strokes to make lush eyelashes, and thin black lines above the eyes for a fair brow.

It is a beautiful mask, but Dororo thinks she prefers being able to see Hakoko’s face.

Hakoko must think the same because no sooner does Hyaniki let her go, then the baby begins shaking her head back and forth to try and get the mask off. When this does not work, she reaches up with her demon claws and grabs at the edges. The claws dig into the mask, splintering the wood with her strength. There is a great crack as the mask snaps in two. Hakoko pulls the broken mask away from her face and with a final growl tosses the mask as far from herself as possible. The once pretty mask goes sailing out of the cave and clatters against the stones outside.

Hakoko hrumphs at the broken pieces, then fixes her glare on the older demon. Her cheeks puff out, dimples catching in the corners of a pouting frown. Hakoko hunkers down into her box all indignant like.

This does not please Dororo’s brother at all. Hyaniki huffs out a burst of air from his nose in annoyance and glares right back at the smaller demon. A mini staring match commences which Dororo thinks is highly unfair considering one contestant’s eyes are painted on while the other has to make do with real eyes. Hakoko makes up for it purely on cuteness factor, though. Every little furious blink of her long lashes over those blossom pink eyes only wins her another inch.

Dororo thinks Hyaniki caves in, obviously unable to take looking at the girl’s adorable little death glare any longer. With a shake of his head, he turns his back to Hakoko.

A moment later, Dororo is proven wrong. The human child feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise up as something in the air begins to shift and tingle. It is a familiar sensation the girl has gotten accustomed to ever since she started traveling with her demon brother. Thus it is no surprise to her when, at the peak of the tingling feeling, a human sized bunraku puppet appears in her brother’s hands.

This puppet seems to be modeled more after a child than a beautiful woman. Not that Dororo gets a chance to really look at the thing before Hyaniki rips its head off and tosses the body into a corner of the cave where several more headless puppets all dressed up in fancy costumes are piled.

Grabbing the handle of their axe, Hyaniki swings it down toward his hand. A thunk and the head falls down too. As it rolls it reveals that its entire face is gone, cut clean off. Hyaniki sits down, taking up their hunting knife again. The only thing left of the puppet in Hyaniki’s hand is the face, which he immediately begins cutting away at, shaving off slivers of wood from the underside of the face to make another mask.

Dororo tilts her head. “What are you doing bro? Why are you making Hakoko a mask?”

Hyaniki lifts up the mask and taps at the painted eyes, the bottom two hands coming together to make a box shape.

“But Hakoko obviously doesn’t like the mask.”

The demon waves his hand through the air as if brushing away her comment like it does not matter. He pointed to his own eyes, then gestured to the world around them.

Realisation dawns in her eyes, before Dororo bursts out laughing. This does not please Hyaniki at all. He glares at her, whistling a note that starts low then fluctuates up an octave.

Dororo tries to catch her breath and answer his questioning whistle, but her eye catches on the outside where more then one mask has been discarded by Hakoko. It looks to Dororo that her brother had been trying for quite a while to make a mask that Hakoko would like. That thought sends her into another bout of laughter.

Hyaniki folds his upper hands across his chest, twittering quick snappy notes to express how much he is enjoying being laughed at.

“Silly bro!” Dororo finally manages to say. She isn’t done laughing at him, mind you, just taking a moment to breathe. “It doesn’t matter what the masks look like or feel like. She’s going to throw away every single one.”

Her brother tilts his head, asking her why with another whistle.

“Because you’re actually blinding her by putting on that mask. Hakoko’s got two working eyes. She doesn’t need your special masks to see things with.”

The knife halts in its carving. Hyaniki looks down at his half finished handiwork, then at the pile of beheaded bunraku puppets, then at the broken and discarded masks at the mouth of the cave, and lastly at Hakoko who is still glaring at Hyaniki.

His shoulders droop. He sheeths the hunting knife and tosses the half finished mask without further hesitation, then curled up in a ball to pout in silence.

Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have laughed at him so much. Don’t get her wrong. It is funny, but now she kind of feels bad. Hyanik had only been trying to help, after all. Not his fault he’s the only demon she’s met whose face seems irredeemably messed up to the point that even his demonic healing powers have decided to call it quits and leave him blind.

Well, that’s alright. Dororo can fix this. She’s got a plan!

Walking over to Hakoko she picks the child up, a feat that is not any easier from last time but still manageable. Thankfully Hakoko does not seem mad enough to be angry at everyone, as the pinch between her brows releases and her frown disappears the moment Dororo even touches her. Instead the baby smiles at the human girl and reaches a hand up to pat her on the top of her head. It feels like the toddler is telling her, ‘Good girl.’

If Hakoko were not such a sweet little darling, Dororo would so be offended. She’s not a little child, after all. And she’s definitely the most mature out of the three of them. But Hakoko is Hakoko, which means she can do no wrong in Dororo’s eyes.

Is Dororo going to spoil this demon rotten? Yes. Will she regret it? Probably. Is that going to stop her from spoiling the child? Look! Dororo can’t help it! A person would have to have to be pure evil to resist Hakoko’s natural charm.

“Here Hyaniki,” Dororo places the two year old into her brother’s arms. “How about you brush her hair. She needs it.”

‘Operation: Cheer up Bro’ works. Not that there was ever any doubt that it wouldn’t. It is Dororo’s plan after all.

At first Hyaniki huffs, clicking and clacking with his teeth to express just how put out he is at Hakoko and Dororo. Rather quickly, though, the chattering quiets down as Hyaniki relaxes into the motion of brushing the tangles out of the little demon girl’s hair. His lower arms curl around the child, hugging the baby close as he smooths out her long locks. Within seconds Hakoko is sleeping and Hyaniki is chirruping affectionately.

Dororo grins proudly at herself, hands on hip and head giving a decisive nod. Job well done, if she does say so herself. The girl then turns around and heads toward the pile of discarded bunraku puppets. Pulling at a random wooden arm, Dororo unearths one puppet and begins pulling off its fancy costume.

The kimono is of quality silk and beautifully stitched just like the one Hyaniki wears, albeit without the wear and tear from her brother’s rather dangerous lifestyle. The outfit would surely get them a purse full of yen, if not for the large hole in the back of the nagagi and haori meant for the lever that controls the puppets head to poke through. Or the coffin stuffed into the clothing to give the wooden puppets underneath a softer look. These unique designs means that both articles of clothing are effectively useless for wearing. But cut the seams and pull out the stuffing and Dororo has a few good lengths of silk she can sell.

Still, odd scraps of silk- no matter how nice- do not get her as much yen as the costume is probably worth. It is definitely not worth all the effort she has to put into carefully cutting the seams or even finding someone who will take pre cut silk, no matter how nice it is.

“Sometimes I wish there was a way for you to only summon the parts of your fancy puppets you needed,” Dororo grumbles, “instead of you magicking the whole stinking thing. It’s just a lot of work for me, you know? Trying to cut all the seams without ruining the pretty silk, or dealing with all that stupid cotton stuffing.”

Hyaniki, still brushing Hakoko’s hair, points at the costumes then at their campfire which is still smoldering with heat.

“Burn all of this pretty silks! I can’t do that! It’d be such a waste of resources!” Dororo cries, her days thieving and conning to survive making it very hard for her to even consider the idea.

Hyaniki shrugs, turning his attention back to the baby in his lap. He starts gathering the locks into a high top ponytail just like his. Dororo huffs. Apparently her big brother considered his one suggestion (a terrible suggestion, really) enough of a help to call it quits.

Ah, stuff it all. She was not doing this right now. It was just too tedious. Throwing the still cotton filled fabric to the side, Dororo takes a hold of the axe and starts chopping up the puppets to make them into kindling. There only seem to be three bunrakus, so the work goes quickly. This kind of work Dororo likes. It is hard and taxing (or at least, it used to be- back when she had just lost everyone who had loved her and only had herself to rely on for survival), but the gratifying feeling of splitting up wood with her own strength and skill is worth it. She’s been cutting wood long enough that the axe feels at home in her grip.

As she works, Hyaniki starts whistling. It is a familiar tune, though not from her own childhood. Hyaniki brought it with him, singing the melody to her the first time he tried to sooth her after a nightmare. Dororo thinks maybe it is from his human life, a song his mom might have sung to him. At least, that is what Dororo likes to imagine. The idea that this lullaby comes from a time before he was a demon comforts her.

The day’s warmth and her own heavy work makes Dororo feel hot. She pauses a moment to wipe her brow. A mistake, apparently. Her moment’s break is enough for Hyaniki to slip a wooden arm around her waist and pull her into his lap.

“Wha- bro! I gotta finish-” Hyaniki covers her mouth, another hand motioning to Hakoko who sleeps peacefully against his right side. Dororo huffs, rolling her eyes. They may not have had Hakoko for long, but Dororo is starting to realise that the toddler is a heavy sleeper. The girl had been chopping wood as loud as a woodpecker, yet the little demon had no problem falling asleep.

Still, Dororo relents, relaxing into her brother’s hold and going silent. More than likely her brother just wants snuggle time. She doesn’t really have the heart to deny him. Especially since the physical affection helps her feel secure and loved too.

Dororo giggles to see that Hakoko’s new hairdo is now almost an exact copy of Hyaniki’s high top ponytail. Maybe exact copy isn’t the right word, though. While the style is the same, the little demon’s darker and silkier hair make the look almost entirely different from her brother’s. Where Hyaniki’s hair takes after the untamed tale of a wild horse, Hakoko’s hair falls from the ponytail in long ribbons more like a cascading waterfall. Not to mention Hakoko does not have those crazy unruly bangs that both Hyaniki and Dororo seem to have.

Dororo feels the tie around her own messy ponytail loosen and Hyaniki’s fingers begin to comb through her shorter, lighter hair. The girl sighs happily, relaxing as her brother carefully untangles the knots in her hair. The song he was whistling before starts up again, though this time he hums it.

“Hey Hyaniki?” Dororo looks up at her brother. His humming stops as he looks back down at her in return.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Dororo tries to say nonchalantly, but her fingers betray her by playing with the sleeve of her nagagi. “Well, it's not that important really. Nevermind.”

Dororo turns back around to let her brother continue brushing her hair, but Hyaniki doesn’t start up again. He nudges her shoulder, whistling a note she knows means What?.

“It's just… you know how you chose Hakoko so you could sign her name?” Dororo says, twisting her nervous fingers into an L shape, then putting them together to make a box shape. “Can- can I have a name sign too?”

Hyaniki trills out a chipper bird song.

“You already have one for me?”

Her brother nods and raises up two hands to sign. The first hand he cups as if to hold water in his palm. The second hand hovers over the cupped palm, its fingers facing upward and wiggling about.

“A fire in a hearth? Or…” Dororo’s eyes widen. “Tatara! The furnace that sword smiths use!”

(“Tatara,” a gentle womanly voice whispers in Dororo’s memories. A hand strokes her hair. An embrace both warm and soft holds her. “My little, Tatara.”)

Tears well up in Dororo’s eyes. “You remembered.”

Hyaniki chirrups, tapping out a yes on her shoulder.

Dororo dives forward, hugging Hyaniki around his neck. “Th-thanks, bro. It’s... it’s p-perfect!”

Hyaniki hugs back. A second body moves in beside Dororo, a little arm stretches across Dororo’s back. The girl turns her head to the side to see that little Hakoko has woken up. The toddler demon looks to be attempting to try and hug both her and Hyaniki at the same time, but only manages to reach the tip of Hyaniki’s shoulder and the middle of Dororo’s back.

Hakoko hums, smiling cheerfully up at both of them. A warm fizzy feeling bubbles up from inside of Dororo and comes out as laughter. Dororo pulls away from the hug for a moment, then swoops back in to put an arm around Hakoko as well as Hyaniki, hugging them both.

“You gotta keep it a secret now,” she jokes with the little demon. “Tatara is my secret name. Only my family is supposed to know about it. Guess you’re part of the family now, huh.”

Hyaniki seems to agree, nuzzling them both and signing the same motion over and over. Two hands coming together, the left rapping around the thumb while the right curls its own way around the left. Together.

Hakoko yawns, snuggling back down to sleep. Dororo squeezes the arm around her brother one more time, whispering, “I love you bro.”

She knows her brother is smiling when he motions with his hands. One hand closing into a fist and pressing from his heart to hers. Then he signs her name.

I love you, Tatara.

Chapter Text

The sky is dark again. The moon, barely a sliver, does little against the thick blackness that blankets the forested mountain. The moon may be barely visible, but the stars do not hide in the darkness. The sky speckled with white, a band of dotted lights stretches across the dark void. For once barely a springtime cloud blocks the heavenly view.

Dororo finds herself lost in the sky's display, smiling widely as she takes in the night's beauty. Stargazing was a cherished pastime between her and her father. He used to connect lines between lights to create people and yokai, making up stories and legends about them. Oh how Dororo loved to listen to his stories.

A tension tugs at Dororo’s hand, snapping her out of her gazing. She looks down only to curse. The needle in her hand is suddenly without thread, which means she’s pulled it right out of the eye again. Such a pain! Dororo can never seem to get the thread through the needle’s eye without fraying the whole string.

Grumbling under her breath, Dororo forces herself to focus back on the nagigi she is trying to sew for Hakoko. Look, the clothing Hakoko is wearing now is nice and all, but the thing is huge! Dororo is half convinced that if the little toddler weren’t a demon (and therefore, immune to most forms of death) she would have strangled herself with all that excess fabric by now. Not to mention it just isn’t practical. How in kami’s good graces is Hakoko supposed to move around in that thing without it either tripping her up or falling clean off her?

So yeah, Dororo had thought to try and make Hakoko clothing that actually fit. She had also thought to save money by using silk from one of the bunraku puppet’s fancy outfits. Turns out, bad plan. Like, a really bad plan. Dororo had figured she wouldn’t be the best seamstress considering the few times she had patched up her own clothing, but she didn’t think she was this bad at it!

Dororo glares down at her shoddy sewmenship. Her attempt to cut the fabric left frayed ends and uneven lengths. Her stitching job was even worse, the string dipping in and out of the fabric at odd angles and strange places. Holding up her work, Dororo despaired when not even she could tell what the garment was supposed to be.

“Uuuugh,” Dororo throws the garment down, “This is hopeless! We’d be better off just buying some new clothes for you, Hakoko.”

Hakoko does not respond. Dororo looks over to see the little demon curled up in her box, her small form rising up and down with slow, even breaths. Hakoko is sleeping… Again.

Dororo bites her lip. Is it normal for a baby demon to sleep so much? The human girl hadn’t thought demons slept at all, actually. At least, that was the impression she got from her brother.

A long cooing whistle calls out through the night, the sound almost reminding her of a shakuhachi. Dororo grins. Speak of the devil- er, demon.

Dororo lifts her chin up and whistles back. A moment later Hyaniki materializes out from the forest depths, unveiled by the flickering light of the little campfire they have going in their cave.

“Hey bro!” Dororo cheerfully waves. “That didn’t take you long. Got anything good?”

Instead of answering, Hyaniki steps closer to the campfire, allowing the flames’ glow to illuminate a large shape slung across his shoulders. Golden fur aged with silver and speckled with dried blood catch on the firelight.

Dororo’s eyes bug out, “A wolf! You caught a wolf! Nice! A rare pelt like that is sure to get us a good string of yen.”

Hyaniki nods, dropping the old creature to the ground. Dororo gets up to inspect the kill, happy for any excuse that can pull her away from her sewing. There is a quick cut along its throat, meaning there is little damage to the animal's coat. Dororo sends her brother a quick grin and thumbs up when she notices. It may seem like a small thing, but you would not believe how long it took her to convince her bro to try and cause as little damage as possible to their future yen investments! Sometimes Dororo is convinced her brother purposely hacks up the prey he catches just to see her get all mad and stompy.

The rest of the inspection soon wipes the smile off Dororo’s face. The grey and white in its fur has almost bleached all of the creature's golden coat. Her hand brushes over the coat, feeling against her fingers just how coarse the fur really is. The wolf must have been really old. Its tail barely has any fur on it, looking more like it belongs to a rat than a regal wolf.

“Sheesh,” Dororo grumbles. “Not that it isn’t impressive you took down a wolf, but this guy’s ancient. No way am I going to get much for the pelt. Plus the meat is going to be tough as leather.”

Hyaniki shrugs. Of course he would. He’s got his demon teeth and strength to help him eat. She’s going to have to soak the meat for ages in a stew if there’s any hope of her eating this without breaking her jaw. Not to mention her brother has no taste buds. He eats animals raw, for kami sake! Dororo gives a quick glance toward the still peacefully sleeping Hakoko. Will the baby demon be picky eater like most children or have terrible taste in food just like her brother? Is eating food without cooking it a demon thing or just a Hyaniki thing?

(A part of Dororo’s mind notes that Hakoko is still sleeping. Worry knots in her stomach. If Hakoko were human, this much sleep would mean the toddler is sick or something. What does it mean for a demon?)

Hyaniki takes out their hunting knife and looks ready to cut into the beast.

Dororo taps her brother's shoulder to get his attention. “Nah-ah. Don’t think the fur is worth all the effort of skinning the thing. You and Hakoko might as well have it.”

Hyaniki signs Dororo’s new name sign (warmth blooms in her stomach upon seeing the sign again) then presses thumb and forefingers of one hand against each other and gestures the fingertips toward her mouth. He ends by pointing a finger at the wolf, cocking his head to the side and whistling in that questioning tone of his. Tatara eat this?

Dororo shakes her head. “Nope. It’s way too old for me to eat. I’d probably lose some of my teeth chewing on his meat. Get me a rabbit or squirrel instead.”

Hyaniki looks at Dororo, the way his balance teeters in his crouched position and one shoulder has hitched higher than the other tells her of his bewilderment.

“I’m not like you.” Dororo says, then hooks a finger in her mouth and pulls her upper lip back to show off her teeth. “Fee? Mah teef wo ee a’wo fo few e meaf.”

Her brother leans in close, sticking his head right up in her face. Dororo startles back by the sudden motion, but quickly catches herself and holds still so Hyaniki can get a good look at her perfectly normal, stubby human teeth. Dororo swears that sometimes Hyaniki forgets she’s not like him. It's kind of funny the way her human-ness can sometimes take him by surprise.

A wooden digit invades Dororo’s mouth, poking at her gumb, slipping past her moler, and stabbing into her tongue.

Dororo reels back, coughing at the taste of wood, dirt, and hint of blood. “Bro! What the- Don’t stick your fingers in my mouth! Yuck! Do you ever wash your hands?”

Hyaniki isn’t paying attention to his little sister anymore (which- rude!) and is instead glaring down at the wolf. He hemms as he pokes at the stiff body before grunting decisively. Without saying (or in his case, signing and whistling) a word, Hyaniki glides right back out into the dark night. Dororo hopes it's to get her something she can actually chew.

The fire crackles. Frog sing out from some nearby river. The steady sound of Hakoko breathing in and out melds with the night sounds.

With nothing to distract her Dororo glumly looks back at the sewing. “I hate you.”

Sighing, Dororo sits down and pulls the silk back into her lap, determined to at least try and salvage the garment into something wearable. She mumbles a few choice words as she stabs the thread against the needle until she miraculously gets it through the hole. Scowling hard in concentration, Dororo bends back over her work and begins furiously stabbing the needle in and out of the pretty silk.

A few minutes later Dororo is tempted to admit defeat. It’s just getting uglier and uglier the more she tries. But Dororo is no quitter. She just knows that once she’s finished it’ll work out. Yeah sure it might end up being the most miserable garment ever made, but it’ll fit and Hakoko will wear it and they won’t have to spend any yen getting the toddler clothing. Dororo will make this work if it takes-

Dororo yelps as a stinging pain stabs into her finger. Curse words fly out of her mouth as she whips her hand out from under the fabric, pulling the needle out of the meat of her finger as she does.

Red liquid, rich as a ruby, pools onto the tip of her pointer finger. Dororo swears she can smell the iron with a tang of something especially sweet spilling out into the air. Her heart sinks with dread.

Blood.

Mariachi blood.

Dororo turns toward the box. Her vision tunnels. Demon eyes stare back. Demon eyes are all she can see. Black slits of a predatory gaze. Unearthly glow lit by inhuman pink.

The human girl’s heart skyrockets. Hit hits painfully against her ribs. Sound is masked by a rushing in her ears and the world around her blurs into obscurity as her mind falls into panic. She’s not thinking anymore, not really seeing or feeling either. She knows she must get up. She knows she turns to flee. But outside of knowing what she is doing, Dororo has no sense of actually doing it.

Something must go wrong. Either the panic makes her feet clumsy or a stone flies loose beneath her feet. Whatever the case, her mind momentarily catches on the fact that she is falling before pain slams against her skull and the wind is knocked from her lungs.

Dororo gasps, lungs fighting to regain their air. She is overwhelmed by the sense of coming back into herself, a fog slipping away as her senses sliding back in place. Her head hurts. Her body is bent into an awkward position. Her previous sense of panic is now mixed with confusion and a nebulous feeling of lost time.

Why was she panicked?

A growl that tapers out into a whine echoes against stone walls.

Still dazed, Dororo looks up toward the noise. Its… she’s pretty sure that’s Hakoko. Her little sibling sounds stressed. Dororo should- uh… Dororo should make sure Hakoko is alright.

Shaking her head (Ack! Bad idea!), Dororo blinks away the last of the fuzzy blots in her image and focuses solely on the little demon toddler who is still growling and whining.

“Hey now, what wro-” Dororo blinks in surprise at the sight before her. Hakoko’s eyes are slit and glowing, reminding Dororo of demons in her past who were filled with hunger for her blood. But more than that Dororo sees the way her little sibling’s claws dig into the wooden box as if to try and anchor herself there. Hakoko’s teeth are biting her lips into ribbons and the sounds coming out of her are more desperate than hungry.

Fear spikes in Dororo’s heart. Oh yeah. She’s bleeding. So that’s why she had been trying to run. Maybe she should get back to doing that.

Dororo hesitates. She has never seen a demon fight their blood hunger before. All demons she had met wanted to eat her, and the spilling of her blood only doubled their hunger. For her big brother, there was no such hunger. The first time they met he barely paid her attention. The first time she bled? He did not seem to even notice.

But for Hakoko… oh she definitely noticed, and Dororo’s blood was definitely affecting her. Yet Hakoko had not moved from her box.

Dororo should still be afraid. She should probably be putting distance between them if Hakoko lost this battle of will. But she wasn’t scared. She was… touched.

Dororo reached out a hand, warmth in her chest rising up her throat and quirking her mouth into an opening smile. “Hako-”

Something flashed past her. Dororo blinked from the passing air, and the next thing she saw was Hyaniki standing between her and the demon baby. Katanas drawn, weight pressing down, blades crossing over skin, hackles up, and vicious snarls throwing up from a deep growling in the chest.

Hakoko growls right back, but does not struggle.

Dororo gasped, scrambling to her feet and dashing toward her brother. “No wait! Hyaniki don’t! She- she didn’t do anything! She wasn’t gonna hurt me! She was fighting it!”

Dororo tugged desperately at one of her brother’s wooden arms. He resisted her a moment, snarling out his fear for her safety and need to protect her. Dororo clicked back at him stubbornly. A final huff and Hyaniki steps back, dropping Hakoko from where he had been holding her against the cave wall.

Hakoko growls at Hyaniki, snapping her canines with a sharp clack and then scurries back into her box. She snubs her nose at Hyaniki to make extra sure he knows how upset she is at him, before tucking herself deeper into her box and turning away in what Dororo is pretty sure is the demon child’s version of the silent treatment.

Sighing in relief, Dororo moves toward Hakoko only to have two wooden arms snatch her up and hold her back.

“Hey! Put me down!” Dororo snaps at her brother from over her shoulder. “I gotta check on Hakoko.”

Hyaniki huffs at her and she’s positive that behind that mask of his he’s rolling his one eye at her.

“I’m serious!” Hakoko squirms. “You might have hurt her!”

The hands not holding her in place rise up to make horns at the top of his head with his pointer fingers, then the right hand reaches over and grips the left, thumb rubbing over where the pulse point would be if his arms weren’t made of wood. He ends the signing with a careless gesture toward Hakoko who still refuses to look at either of them. Demon. She’s fine/okay.

“Her feelings, stupid brother.” Dororo rolls her eyes. “You might have hurt her feelings.”

The mask eyes stare down at her. Dororo stares right back. She knows exactly what her brother is trying to do, but she will not let him intimidate her!

Finally Hyaniki sighs heavily and Dororo cheers knowing she won this round of battle of wills.

The moment her feet touch down onto the ground again, Dororo tries to scramble toward Hakoko only to find her feet yanked out from under her and her arm wrenched back.

“Hey!” Dororo glares back at her bro who has a vice grip on her arm. “What’s the big-”

Hyaniki points to the dried blood on her finger, then begins dragging her toward their watersachel.

“Ugh, fine.” Dororo concedes, making sure her voice drips with the weight of someone pressed into doing something they don’t think is necessary. At this point, though, she’s just purposely making it hard on her brother. It is smart to try and wash away the blood, if not only to keep her finger from infection but also to not cause Hakoko any further stress. But Dororo has had a long night and her head still kind of hurts, so she feels entitled to some younger sibling rights: the right to annoy her older sibling.
Cool water washes over her finger and Hyaniki uses the corner of the nagigi Dororo had been trying to make for Hakoko to clean off the dried blood. Dororo thinks about complaining, but decides the garment was doomed to a fiery death the moment she even thought of putting string to needle. Hyaniki rips off a clean strand of silk from her sewing failure and throws the rest into their meager fire.

As her brother carefully wraps up her finger, Dororo takes vindictive pleasure in watching her handiwork burn into ash. Serves the stupid clothing right. It's the reason this mess started in the first place. She is definitely not going to try and make any clothes again.

The moment she is done Dororo scrambles over to her little demon sister. “Hey, Hakoko.”

The little demon tucks her head down into her box.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’m not mad. Hakoko, please look at me.” Dororo cooes at the little demon child, reaching out a hand and begins patting her head in soothing motions. It takes some more cajoling before Hakoko finally looks up. Dororo can see the guilt in her eyes.

Dororo makes sure to give her little sibling the brightest smile she can. “It’s okay, Hakoko. You didn’t hurt me. In fact, I’m very proud of you. You did such a good job. You protected me.”

The word protect seems to get through to the soulful eyed demon, and Dororo startles to see Hakoko preening. Smiling, Dororo makes sure to pepper her praise and head pats with more words about how much Hakoko’s actions protected her. Soon the toddler is beaming up at Dororo and nuzzling into her palm.

Dororo reaches down and scoops the demon into her arms, hugging the child tightly to her. “Thank you so much for fighting it, Hakoko. You were super strong. You did a really good job protecting me. You know who else was protecting me?”

Hakoko tilts her head to the side, eyes blinking wide.

“Our big brother Hyaniki was also trying to protect me.”

The pouty look is back on Hakoko’s face. A quick glance to the side shows that Hyaniki is also pouting.

The big babies.

“That’s right.” Dororo crows loudly. “You both did a good job protecting me. You made me feel so safe.”

Both demons preen under her words. Immediately after they give each other nasty looks. Dororo does not miss this.

“You know what would really make me feel even safer?” Dororo smiles, turning her head away so Hyaniki cannot see the mischievous grin playing across her face. Hakoko is still new to their little family, so Dororo doesn’t have to worry about the baby demon being wise to her crafty ways.

“If both of my siblings gave me a nice warm hug.” Dororo declares, setting the trap.

Dororo laughs to see the absolute withering glare her brother is sending her through his belligerent body language. Oh he is not falling for her tricks.

But he doesn’t have to. Hakoko does.

And Hakoko is officially Dororo’s favourite sibling, because she eagerly falls into Dororo’s trap.

Hakoko chitters cheerfully in reply, wrapping her short little arms around Dororo’s neck and squeezing tight. Dororo sends her brother a smug look as she nuzzles into the embrace.

Hyaniki stews in his corner, back hunched and all his arms folded up across his chest. She sees the moment he breaks when his shoulders drop and he sighs gustily. Her brother makes sure to stomp his way over to her before he carefully hugs Dororo, making sure no part of him touches Hakoko.

Dororo presses her back into her brother, purposely pushing him down into a sitting position so she can snuggle in his lap. In this new position, the two demons cannot help but touch each other. Above her head she feels them stare at one another, pink globes staring at painted wood. Some understanding must pass between the two because Hyaniki then pats the smaller demon’s head and Hakoko gives their older sibling a single decisive nod.

“Thanks guys.” Dororo pulls away from her bro and settles her sis back on the ground. “You’re the best.”

Hakoko snuggles down into the excess pink fabric of her kimono and hums happily while Hyaniki chuffs fondly at them both before retreating outside the cave. He comes back a second later with three dead quails clutched in his hand which he tosses to Dororo for plucking and cleaning.

Dororo sighs, “This’ll take forever. Guess I’m gonna be eating in the morning, huh.”

Still, Dororo is not one to shirk from work, especially when it’s her own meal she needs to prepare. Taking hold of the leftover spool of thread and their hunting knife, Dororo marches outside into the crisk night air. Quick chops take off their heads and she strings them up in a row by their legs to let the blood drain out. It is just as she is finishing tying up the last knot that she realises Hyaniki and Hakoko have not followed her out. Which he definitely should be if he and Hakoko want to eat their meal before the sun comes up. No way are they going to be eating inside their nice, dry, non blood stained cave.

Oh drat. They are totally eating inside the cave, aren’t they.

Rushing back in, Dororo screeches at the sight of the torn open carcass, blood and entrails pooling out onto the cave floor.

“Bro! What have I said about eating inside!” Dororo shouts, waving her hands wildly in the air. She tries to glare at him but quickly looks away before she hurls at the sight of blood and gore all over him.

“AGH! Gross!” Dororo backs up, one hand plugging her nose while the other covers her eyes. “I will never get used to seeing you eat.”

Stomping back outside, Dororo slams her back against the rock face of the cliff their cave is situated within and kicks out her feet as she sits down. “Great. This is just great! Now I’m gonna have to sleep outside!”

From within the cave she can hear Hyaniki whistle out a confusing why?

“Cause!” Dororo shouts back. “Animal blood smells disgusting to me! Remember?! I can’t stand it.”

She doesn’t say that the ripped apart remains he leaves makes her feel uncomfortable. That the way he eats reminds her of other demon meals she’s seen, only the food wasn’t animals and the smell of spilled flesh was mixed with her own cloying terror.

Hyaniki must hear the tremble in her voice, as a crooning whistle that sounds like despair and self loathing. A moment later, her brother comes out to her. His mask is back over his face and his hands are wet from water, not blood. The smell of death still clings to his clothes and the wood of his hands are stained red, but she appreciates him trying to clean up for her. She imagines they will probably have to refill their water satchel.

Hakoko pokes her head out of the cave a moment after Hyaniki comes out, then toddles toward them and begins patting Dororo comfortingly on her head. The human girl notes absently that there is no signs of washed off blood or smell of death on the toddler.

Hyaniki crouches down in front of her and beats two fingers against his chest in a repeated sign for sorry. He then motions at the three of them before gesturing out toward the woods and pointing at the moon that still hung in the sky. Dororo smiled.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Dororo pats her brother's arm. “We won’t have time for you guys to finish your meal and find a new safe spot before the sun rises. I’ll just camp out here.”

Hyaniki taps his fingers against his wooden forearms but nevertheless nods his head. He points to her and signs fire with his two lower hands while pointing to himself and making a tent shape with his two upper hands.

“Right.” Dororo smiles and gives him a thumbs up. “You better make me one fancy shelter to make up for the mess in the cave, yeah?”

Hyaniki chirrups, all four of his hands returning her thumbs up before he disappears into the woods. For herself Dororo gathers up some stones and sticks from the nearby area and begins building a new campfire for herself. Hakoko watches on, her large pink eyes tracking her back and forth movement with a quizzical expression on her face. Dororo considers for a moment asking Hakoko to help her, but decides not to. Hyaniki is the one who has to make up for forgetting her important no eating where we sleep rule, not Hakoko. Besides, the little tyke’s a baby and as far as Dororo can tell, people don’t assign chores to babies.

Hyaniki returns with several thickly spruced pine branches and the two work efficiently together to build the shelter and start the campfire. It is not until an hour before dawn that Hyaniki finally retreats back into the cave to finish his meal, taking a slumbering Hakoko with him. Dororo is drowsily tucked into her cozy new shelter, snuggling into warm blankets and surrounded by fluffy feathers as she watches a pot of water, quail carcasses, and vegetables finish boiling over a fire.

By the time the sun touches the forest with morning light and the world awakens for another day, Dororo and Hakoko are fast asleep. From the safety of the shadows a demon watches over his two sisters.